The redhead gave an exasperated sigh. “Where am I to take it,Miss Keane,” she corrected. “For the next month any matter, and then you shall address me as Lady Cameron. Do you understand?Do you?” She put her hands on her hips. “Are you slow?”
Frang stuttered. He had the instinctive urge to step forward and twist the woman’s head sharply just so she would cease talking.
“Where am I to take it, Miss—Miss Keane?”
“Harriet’s hired you, likely,” the woman murmured with a roll of her eyes. “It’s to go to the other tower. The chamber the laird has taken up.” Her tone was so cool, Frang wouldn’t have been surprised to see frost come from her lips as she spoke. “For now.”
Frang said no more, but stepped forward to heft the heavy chair into his arms. He turned it horizontally against his ribs and left the chamber.
He had to slant the chair up as he made his way down the tight curve of the staircase, and again after he crossed the entry and mounted the steps to the east tower. Each of his footfalls trod more forcefully than the last as he tried to make sense of the woman’s words.
He came into Glenna’s chamber once more, his breathing labored more by his mental exertions rather than the physical act of carrying the chair. He set it down on the floorboards with a grunt and a crash and soon realized that the chamber was no longer unoccupied. His and Glenna Douglas’s eyes met in the same instant, and even as she turned quickly toward the door, Frang reached behind him and closed it, stepping fully between the blond woman and the exit.
She stiffened her posture. “Get out, Frang.” Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks flushed, her lips scarlet slashes in the daytime gloom of the chamber that washed her skin to chalk.
“You didna give me an answer, Lady Glenna,” he said. “An answer to my offer. And now look at the mess we’re all in.”
She said nothing, but he saw her throat flex as she swallowed. Then she held out her arms and looked around pointedly, indicating the chamber in which they faced each other. “This is the only choice I have if I am to retain any sort of hold over my home and the laird’s health.”
Frang frowned. “I s’pose you reckon you’ve a better lot with that prick what’s taken over ’round here, aye?” He began to step toward her. “You his whore now? S’what the redhead woman said.”
“Stop right where you are, Frang Roy,” she warned boldly, but he could hear the warble in her voice.
“You think he’s to let you keep the Tower s’long as you spread your legs for him? What would yer da say? Your mother?”
“What I do as lady of this hold has naught to do with you. If…if you go now, I shan’t say anything to him. He’ll not know you were here.”
“Here?” Frang needled. “In your bedchamber, you mean, where his servants are bringing his belongings?” He stopped now, in arms’ reach of her. “I said, that redheaded bitch told me you was his whore now. But I wanna hear it from you.”
“Frang, you surely understand that I could never marry you,” she said in a breathy voice, as if her throat was being constricted, making the words’ escape difficult. “I am a lady. You…you are a—”
“Peasant?” he finished for her. “A common farmer?” He snorted darkly. “If it’s coin you think we’ll be lacking, I can get you coin.”
“Frang,” she began.
He stepped closer, lowered his voice. “Oh, my Glenna…there are things I want to say. Things I will tell you, teach you.” He raised his hand as if to touch her hair.
She flinched and backed away. “You frighten me when you speak this way. I am waiting for the king’s arrival. I will present my case to him, and he will decide Roscraig’s fate.”
“’Twas my hope that you’d choose me willingly,” Frang said, his words cajoling even as he voice tightened with impatience. He stepped closer to her. “I can give you all you wish but for a bit of kindness.”
“You canna give me anything,” she said, sliding her feet backward. “You would have hurt me had Dubhán nae come along.”
“I only wished to protect you. I love you, milady—I do.” He followed. “Your cruelty isna comely. I’m giving you a choice yet again. If you again refuse me, you will have nae protection from the piss ant Cameron, the king—nor even the servants what’s been brung here and ordered to treat you like dirt. There are worse people than I who would do you harm. And when they are finished with you…” He raised his hands.
The door to the chamber opened with a squeak, and Frang Roy turned his head.
“—enough to wait for—” Tavish Cameron broke off, his hand still on the door latch. Dubhán and a rugged-looking gray-haired man stood behind him in the corridor. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
Frang Roy walked casually toward the door. “Miss Keane bade me carry a chair to this chamber.” He made to move past the smaller man, but Tavish Cameron stopped him with a hand upon his chest. Frang reluctantly halted and looked pointedly down at the man’s offending touch—like a cat’s paw upon the chest of an ox. He then looked into Tavish’s face.
“I told you not to show yourself about this hold until you were able to act respectfully. And now I find you in my very chamber.”
“Worried I’ll steal your sweet?” Frang smirked.
“This is only our second meeting, and I’ve already had more than enough of you,” Cameron said. “Gather your things and join the party leaving for Dunfermline this afternoon. I’ll have Alec give you a coin for your work today.”
“You’re banishing me from Roscraig?” Frang asked with a chuckle. “Do you wish to starve?”
