“My father has been laird here since before I was born.”
The man shook his head. “He never was.”
“He is!” She resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “I’ll send a plea to the king. You’ll be hanged.”
“No need for all that,” he said mildly. “I’ve already sent word to him. James shall be my guest over the warmer months.” He looked around the hall pointedly. “Once I see the Tower outfitted properly for guests. Or residence. Goats even, really.”
She’d hoped to bluff him. But what if this man had actually invited the king to Roscraig? The last thing Glenna needed now was James’s personal witness to her and her father’s dire straits.
Her heart was so high in her throat that she feared she would vomit it up were she to open her mouth. But she struggled to swallow, thinking of the thin, motionless figure lying unconscious above their very heads.
“My father is Iain Douglas, the laird of Roscraig. He fell ill when the sickness came to our village a fortnight ago. You can’t possibly think I would simply take your word for such an outrage when he is too weak to defend his home and his honor. An accusation such as this would surely kill him.”
The man rolled the parchment neatly while she spoke and glanced out the window repeatedly, as if only half listening to her begrudged plea.
Now he nodded at her. “I am truly sorry for your troubles, Miss Douglas.”
“Lady,” Glenna insisted, feeling as though he’d slapped her. She lifted her chin. “I am Lady Glenna Douglas, and you will address me as such.”
“Whatever you say, princess. But Roscraig is mine by rights, and I owe you or your father naught. Collect your things and be gone. I have more important business to be about. In fact”—he turned and pointed a long arm toward the window, where a small, dark shape could be seen on the glistening water of the Forth—“that is my ship, just there. I must greet my captain and be about my duties. My home shall require much attention in the days to come, for it’s been woefully neglected.”
He tucked the parchment back into his vest and seemed to hesitate before he gave her a short, stiff bow. “Good day,MissDouglas. Och, I beg your pardon;princess.And good journey to you.” He walked away from her swiftly.
Fear seemed to be clawing at her insides now. “I’ll bar the door against you!”
“I’ll break it down!” he shouted at the ceiling, not bothering to look back at her.
In a blink, he was gone from the room.
Glenna backed up into the stones and then looked out the window. Indeed, there was a small, sturdy-looking cog swiftly gaining on the beach, its sails falling down with graceful ripples, its deck alive with a score of tiny figures.
Roscraig was being invaded.
She slid down the wall until she rested on her hip, her knees falling to one side and both hands shooting out to brace herself against the damp floorboards while her head dropped forward. A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she felt the blood leave her face.
My father has been laird here since before I was born.
He never was.
She raised her head as sounds of footsteps echoed in the large room.
Harriet Cameron had entered the hall and stopped abruptly, her hands going to her bosom with a gasp as she seemed quite surprised to see Glenna.
“Good heavens!” She crossed the floor with flapping skirts—sturdy, woolen garments, but they were bright and colorful and well made, with a crisp, double-bodiced apron covering them. She immediately knelt at Glenna’s side and laid a gentle hand upon her back.
Glenna flinched away. “Leave me.”
“Tav’s never been one for gentleness, I fear,” she said softly, and her hand did not move. “Why do ye nae come with me, and let’s have a bite to eat, shall we? You’re naught but skin and bones, my lady.”
Glenna’s breath caught on her inhale. “There’s nae food,” she admitted inanely, unable to think of her pride in this moment. “There’s naught.”
The old woman’s hand moved in a gentle circles on Glenna’s back, and she could feel the prominent ripples of her own spine against the woman’s plump palm.
“Och, there’s plenty of food,” she said. “And there will be more to come.”
“’Tis nae mine,” she said on a reedy whisper. “Please, leave me. My father lies above, dying, and your son has just told me that the only home I’ve known isn’t mine. And never was. Either he is a liar, or my father is. I know not what I’m to do.”
“Come,” the woman insisted, gaining her feet and tugging Glenna to stand, taking much of her weight against her bosom. “We’ll worry about all that later. Nae matter what happens, you’ll need your strength to care for your da now, will ye nae? Who else does he have?”
