Tavish raised his eyebrows and looked—slightly up, to his chagrin—at the hulking villager. “Who are you?”
“’Oo am I?” the man repeated. “That’s nae yer affair, stranger. I’ve come to see Lady Glenna. I know where she stays.”
“You do, do you?” Tavish said.
“Aye, I’ve brung ’er her eggs.” He gestured with the basket, and Tavish glanced down to see three tiny ovals rolling nestled in a shallow layer of straw. “’Oo are you?”
“Tavish Cameron. Laird of Roscraig.”
“Laird of—wha?” The man snorted a laugh and looked around the hall as if seeking someone to share the joke with. He looked back at Tavish. “You’re nae the laird. Douglas—” The man broke off. “The old man’s dead?”
“He’s nae,” Mam interjected sternly. “Lady Glenna doesna wish to be disturbed.”
“I’ll nae be turned away, old woman,” the brutish man said, offense clear in his gravelly, slow tone. He looked back to Tavish, his small eyes narrowing even further. “I’m Frang Roy, Lady Glenna’s own man. She wants me.”
“Well, now that we’ve introduced ourselves, you may kindly hand the basket to my mother,” Tavish said, “and be on your way until I call for you.”
“Bugger off,” the man snorted again. “I doona take orders from the likes of you, ye bonny laddie. With those long locks, I’d have me dinker in your crack before I kenned you was a bloke.” He broke out into a guffaw that Tavish joined him in readily.
“Oh, that’s…that’s good!” Tavish said. “That’s jolly! One moment while I—” He groaned through his laughter as he set the heavy chest on the stones and then straightened, still chuckling. “Aye, that’s much better.” He smiled.
Tavish punched Frang Roy squarely in the nose, twice, in blurring fast succession.
While the man was still bringing his hand to his battered face, Mam swooped in and snatched the basket with the pitiful offerings in it as she crossed the entry hall and disappeared down the corridor. By the time Frang Roy dropped his hand and charged forward with an enraged yell, Tavish had drawn his short sword.
Frang Roy halted, but Tavish could see that he was searching with those small, watchful eyes, waiting for an opening to catch Tavish unawares. If the man did manage to lay hand to him, he could likely break Tavish in two.
“Have I your full attention now?” Tavish asked. At the giant’s answering nod, he continued. “Good. You and I seem to have made a poor start, and that’s a shame, I say. So here’s what we’re going to do: You’re to turn about and take your smelly, dimwitted self through the door and over yonder bridge. When you’ve quite remembered how to address the laird of the hold, as well as how to mind your language in front of a lady, you may return and request audience…with me.”
“But, Lady Glenna—”
“Lady Glenna no longer has anything to do with the running of Roscraig.”
Frang Roy stood there, his shoulders heaving, and Tavish could almost hear the creak of his brains grinding together as he sought to make sense of the situation.
“Who sent—?”
“Nay,” Tavish cut him off. Then he gestured with his sword point. “Go.”
Frang Roy paused a moment longer, staring at Tavish with dull eyes, and then his gaze went pointedly to the money chest at Tavish’s feet.
“Things have a habit of disappearin’ at Roscraig. Coin. People. Mind yerself, Tavish Cameron, that someone doona make you disappear.” Then he turned and opened the door, leaving it swinging wide after he passed through and began to clomp his way across the long, narrow bridge in the pouring rain.
Tavish let out a sigh and closed and barred the door after the man, thinking once more of the gouges on the outside wood, and the way Frang Roy had identified himself as Lady Glenna’s man.
Was it possible the slight blond woman felt kindly toward such a slow beast? Would she have granted him entry into her private quarters with no one else in the hold? He had seemed quite confident in his intentions. The idea of it brought a frown to Tavish’s face.
Tavish picked up the money chest once again with a grunt and hefted it to his shoulder. He paused and looked toward the dark, quiet stairwell to the east tower for a moment. Then he turned and began to climb the western steps.
* * * *
Glenna watched from the shadows as Tavish Cameron’s wide back disappeared across the corridor, her hand pressed to her chest as if it might quiet her galloping heart.
Nothing would change the fact that she hated the Edinburgh merchant.
But for the first time in weeks, she felt temporarily safe from Frang Roy.
Chapter 6
