“My thanks, maid—” he began, but his words fell off abruptly as the woman who had denied him thus far came into view.
She stood framed by the tall, dark rectangle of the interior, one hand still hidden behind the door, perhaps holding fast to the handle in consideration of yet denying Tavish entry. The fingers of her other hand clutched at the dingy gray shawl knotted across her chest and covering the faded stripes of her kirtle, which at one time might have been colored burgundy and deep green but now held only the worn hues of an autumn leaf still clinging to its twig in the midst of winter’s icy assault. The finest part of her costume was the delicate golden chain around her waist, boasting several keys at its dangling end. Her hair was unveiled, a riot of blond, springy curls parted in the center of her head and falling over one shoulder. Her eyes were narrowed, pale green like a cat’s, appraising Tavish as he stood there staring dumbly at her, the rain now running in a stream from the end of his nose.
She appeared wild and wary and dangerously beautiful—like the very striations of cliff and wood holding Roscraig poised above the Forth.
Tavish felt a sharp jab in his back and started, giving the woman a short bow. “I thank you for your kindness, maiden.” He began to step forward but was drawn upright at the sudden appearance of a sword tip from behind the door, pointed in the general direction of his throat.
It wasn’t the door handle she’d been holding, after all.
“Your name,” the woman demanded.
“Tavish Cameron,” he supplied immediately. “Of Edinburgh. I’ve a shop there, and merchant ship, theStygian.”
Her cat eyes darted pointedly behind him.
“Sir Lucan Montague—he’s English; I do hope you’ll forgive him that. My mother, as I’ve already said, Harriet Cameron.”
The woman met Tavish’s gaze once more, and her eyes narrowed even further, examining him openly. “Are you well?”
Tavish thought the polite inquiry was delivered with more than a bit of hostility. “We are weary from the road and rather wet at the moment, but aye, I am feeling fit. Kind of you to ask.”
Her lips thinned. “Have any of you beenill?”
Tavish paused, thinking of the abandoned village, the fallow fields he’d seen. Was he risking his life in entering this stone hold?
“I think we run more of a risk of the ague are we to stand about in the rain,” he answered pointedly. If he was going to die, it would be in his own home. A home he had been owed for many years.
“I’ll give you shelter for the night—naught more than a chamber. But I’ll first have your word that you’ll take your leave at first light, and I don’t care what yourdecreesays.”
Tavish opened his mouth, but hesitated.
Lucan Montague came to his aid at just the right moment, stepping forward with a bow and declaring, “Upon my honor, dawn shall witness my departure,mademoiselle.”
The woman nodded warily and then stepped back into the blackness, swinging the door open with her. Tavish handed the reins of his mount to Montague before dashing halfway across the bridge to hurry Mam’s horse over the moat. The storm chose that moment to release its full fury, ushering the party at last into the safety of Tower Roscraig. Their hostess pushed the door closed against an explosion of thunder as the horses danced and shook and threw water onto the stone floor of the wide entrance passage that appeared to divide the hold in half. A large, square opening at the far end was illumined by the storm, and through the black grid of a half-lowered portcullis Tavish could see a long finger of land disappearing into the deluge, the black shadows crouched at its sides hinting at buildings.
The maiden did not reengage the chain through the thick brackets set into the mortar of the walls, nor did she drop the hinged bar into place to secure the door. Instead she turned to the group, the weapon that was obviously too large for her still at the ready, and Tavish marveled that a girl so slight could even heft it, much less hold it aloft with one hand.
“I am Glenna Douglas,” she said at last. “As I’ve already told you, my father isn’t entertaining visitors. You may see to your horses in the stable.” She pointed toward the storm through the far end of the passage. “And then I will show you to a chamber.” Her gaze flitted from one to the other in Tavish’s party. “Again, a chamber and no more—I’ll not feed the lot of you. So take what provisions you would have from your packs.”
The silence hanging around the woman’s words seemed to grow louder than the fierce storm as the three travelers stared at the blond woman in the wake of her announcement. Her frown increased as the moments crawled by.
Tavish at last bowed to cover his shock. “As you wish, mai—my lady.”
If anything, Glenna Douglas’s gaze was still distrustful. “I’ll fetch water while you tend your mounts—our well isn’t tainted. You’ll be staying in the west tower.” Her blond curls inclined toward the doorway behind her, and Tavish recalled that was the shorter, wider of the two turrets. The great hall and the family apartments must be in the taller, east tower. He itched to take off and explore every last corner of the keep.
The lady stared at them pointedly as they all continued to drip on the stones. “The rain’ll get no drier the longer you wait. If you’re not returned by the time I’ve fetched the water, I’ll have a mind to lower yonder gate and leave you to the stables. You’ll have plenty to drink there.” Glenna Douglas then lifted the hem of her skirt while still wielding her weapon and turned to disappear into the dark doorway of the west tower,
“My thanks,” Tavish called after her, but his genial air was quickly fading as the reality of the woman’s claims settled around him. He turned to help Harriet dismount. “I should have known she was noble by her spiteful tongue.”
“Can you blame her? A wee thing like that, minding the door for strangers on her own?” Harriet said. She limped to the doorway, her hand on one rounded hip as she stretched her other arm up to brace it on the doorway. “I’d’ve likely nae had the courage to open it in the first place. We’ve given her a bit of a surprise, is all.”
Tavish looked to Lucan Montague, and the two exchanged a silent thought as they each took charge of the horses—Glenna Douglas was in for a much deeper shock than the arrival of unexpected guests.
He looked back to his mother. “You’ll be all right here, until we return?”
“Aye, aye—go on,” she said, waving at him briefly. “I’ll loosen up the old joints a bit and follow the lady. She might need my help.”
“You stay there and rest, Mam,” Tavish ordered. He glanced around the passage and then lowered his voice. “You’re no servant. You don’t fetch water any longer.”
