Glenna was passing the wide opening of the great hall when a tawny shape within the high-ceilinged room caught her eye. She stopped, swaying on her feet, and stepped backward.
There was a man in the hall, standing to the left of the chimney and looking out the window, his boots braced wide on the still-damp floor. Her stomach leaped before she realized that it was not Frang Roy who trespassed. She blinked.
It was that blasted Edinburgh merchant.
“What are you doing in here?” she blurted. And then she strode through the doorway even as he turned his head lazily to glance at her over his shoulder, seeming entirely unconcerned at her arrival or the discovery of his escape. “How did you get out of the chamber?”
“That lock is rubbish,” he said mildly, looking once more out the window at the firth, its waters beginning to sparkle gloriously in the dawn. “I’m not accustomed to being held prisoner when I’ve paid for accommodation. In fact, I’ve a mind to ask for the return of my coin when I complain to the proprietor. Wait a moment—would that be you?”
“I didn’t wish togiveyou accommodation,” Glenna clarified through gritted teeth. Her heart began pounding in her chest again at his casual threat to recoup his pathetic payment. “Roscraig isn’t an inn, and I am no proprietor.”
He looked at her at last, one eyebrow quirked. “Ah. That explains the absence of biscuits when the maid didn’t come in to bank the fire.”
Glenna felt her face heat to the tips of her ears.
But the man wasn’t finished. “Lest you be too very embarrassed—I did find the last of some wine in that hovel that might have once been a kitchen.”
Glenna’s heart plummeted into her stomach. “You drank my wine?”
“I’d complain at the grittiness, but that can’t be helped when ’tis not properly decanted.”
Glenna felt her shoulders shaking with rage and humiliation. “’Tis time you were on your way. Even were I not offended at your trespass through my private quarters, the sun has risen, and you gave your word that you would leave at the dawn.”
“Actually,” he drawled, “Ididn’t givemyword. ’Twas my knightly companion who made that vow and, true to his promise, he has already gone. Ridiculously honorable, that one.”
“Well, you’re certainly not staying any longer, vow or nay.”
“Actually,” he repeated, and if Glenna had had her father’s sword at hand, she would have run the bastard through, “I am staying. Quite a bit longer.”
“I’ll have you thrown out,” she threatened, but her fear was growing with each crash of her frantic heart. She was completely alone in all of the Tower with this man.
“Aye? By whom?” It was as though she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. “The young man in the village? Or the crusty old farmer? Who I’ll be speaking strongly to about stealing eggs from the doocot, by the by. In case he happens to be a relative of yours.”
Glenna could feel her nostrils flaring. “I don’t require assistance disciplining my villagers. I—”
“My villagers,” he interrupted.
“—know exactly—” She broke off. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘my villagers.’” He reached into his vest and withdrew the rolled parchment he’d tried to show her yesterday. “Perhaps you will better understand that I was taken aback yesterday at your denial of a guardian of Tower Roscraig, and by your mention of your father as laird. For, you see,” he was unrolling the creamy page now, “although I don’t know who you truly are or why you’re here, I have indeed come at the behest of Lord Annesley, the rightful laird of this place, whether you know his name or nay.” He held the parchment open. “Lord Thomas Annesley was my father, and he has bequeathed Roscraig to me.”
There was a loud ringing in Glenna’s ears. She glanced at the scrawled black writing on the page and then back into the blue eyes of the man watching her closely.
“So, aye, they are my villagers. And I believe you are the one trespassing.”
“You told me you were a merchant,” she accused, and was alarmed at the wild trembling of her words. “A merchant from Edinburgh.”
“Aye, I am,” he acquiesced.
“And yet your father was noble?” she taunted incredulously, but her words held little force. “Were you some gutter bastard of his? A last resort as an heir?”
His lips quirked then, although his eyes fell steely, and Glenna knew she’d at last hit a sensitive area. “Guilty,” he said lightly. “But we only have to consider the history of our own ruling families to know that the circumstances surrounding one’s birth actually mean very little. Tower Roscraig is rightfully mine.”
“You’re a liar. Get out of my house,” Glenna demanded.
“Read it yourself,” the man invited. “Och, but you probably can’t.”
Glenna reached out and snatched the page from his hand and scanned it quickly. From what she could make out with her throbbing eyesight, the decree looked authentic. She thrust it back to him without finishing it.
