She shook her head. “There are no more.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Glenna shrugged. “Your belief or nae doesn’t change the fact that I have three gowns. But it does say much about your pigheadedness that you would think me willing to humiliate myself in front of scores of strangers in my own house in an attempt to prick your puny conscience.”
“Where are your clothes?” he demanded, becoming unreasonably angry at her refusal to confess.
“I don’t have any more clothes!” she shouted at him at last. “As they wore, they couldn’t be replaced.” She took several shallow breaths. “I had no…I had no idea that everyone would be dressed so finely.”
“I told you it was a feast,” Tavish began.
“There’s never been a feast like that at Roscraig before!” Glenna shot back. “We’ve considered ourselves fortunate to have enough food for one full daily meal for years. You think my father would squander what we had to entertain a bunch of greedy merchants?”
“He certainly squandered it on something.” Tavish would be damned if he would apologize for his success where Iain Douglas had failed. “The Tower is in a prime location on the firth, with no tolls to pay. The land is rich; there are woodlands and pasture. You’d have totrynot to prosper.”
“What would you know of running an estate?” Glenna challenged in a choked voice. Her face was colorless now, such a change from when she’d arrived in the hall. Her hair was soft and mussed, her pathetic kirtle faded nearly white in the fire glow. The violets in her hair were shriveled, drooping and black now. “The king’s taxes—they take all.”
Tavish watched her, acknowledging only to himself that, indeed, Roscraig wasn’t in arrears in taxes, and never had been. Had this woman been kept in poverty her entire life for the sake of the Tower? So destitute that she couldn’t clothe herself properly, couldn’t obtain adequate sustenance; had been made to struggle for the basest survival alongside the likes of Frang Roy while repeated sickness swept the village?
He briefly recalled his mother’s warning, her mad idea that Iain Douglas had been poisoned; the possessive way of Frang Roy, and his expertise with the land and its plants. He’d been the last villager to see Iain Douglas well.
Had it not been for Tavish’s arrival, Glenna Douglas would have likely been claimed by the brutish peasant, an idea with which Tavish found himself very uneasy. He also recognized that at least part of his irritation with the woman this night was that her inappropriate attire had stolen away the opportunity for Tavish to observe her in the hall.
“You’ll not shame me before my guests again,” he said at last. “Keep to this chamber or your father’s.”
“I’d not dare offend them further with my hideous appearance.” Her cheeks flushed, and Tavish knew he had succeeded in chastening her. “I assume Miss Keane will be more than eager to step into my role.”
“Audrey will remain here until the king comes.”
“She must ensure you aren’t stolen away by your shepherdess in the meantime.”
Tavish felt his lips quirk, and whether it was the drink or his victory, he liked the soft look of her just then, appreciated it over the cologned and powdered women who had made eyes at him and not so veiled overtures. Glenna Douglas did not pretend to be enamored of him; but neither did she begrudge him an honest word of praise.
Or an impassioned response to his body.
“Perhaps she has reason to worry,” he said.
Glenna met his eyes, and her chin lifted a fraction. Honest.
The idea that she had been naught but truthful in all their interactions suddenly troubled him in a mysterious way.
Tavish turned away and began to unbuckle his belt. “Get in bed, princess,” he said. “Perhaps you will yet prove yourself useful this night.” He laid his shawl and tunic over the back of the chair near the fire, covering up the old gray gown. He caught sight of a slickstone on the hearth and a small basket containing thread and tiny scraps of fabric the same color as the kirtle Glenna had worn tonight. He paused in his movements, realizing that she’d genuinely done everything she could to look her best. Tavish turned around to face the bed.
Glenna was beneath the covers, but turned on her side toward him, one arm outside the coverlet dragged beneath her chin. She was watching him unabashedly, and he liked the way her eyes lingered on the bare skin of his chest. Besides her face, Tavish could only see the yellowed sleeve of her underdress.
“I’m nae accustomed to sharing a bed with a woman fully clothed,” he said, hoping his gruffness concealed the foreign wave of regret that wanted to rise up in him.
Her green eyes met his. “Would you have me remove my gown?”
He knelt on the bed and crawled toward her until he loomed over her and she rolled onto her back. “Would you remove it if I said aye?”
Tavish saw her throat convulse in the fire glow before she spoke. “You wounded me unnecessarily tonight,” she whispered. “But I will keep my word to you.” The very ends of her hair trailing out from her coif trembled.
Tavish slid his palm behind her slender neck, lowered his head, and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her slowly and deeply until he felt his desire grow to the very edge of his restraint.I’m sorry,he tried to convey. And yet this time Glenna did not respond. He drew back at last and looked into her cat eyes once more, and he saw fear there and sadness and still a good deal of resentment.
“Go to sleep, princess,” he said to her. “I’ll not hurt you twice in one night.”
She rolled over to face the wall and squeezed her eyes shut while still within the cage of his arms. The faint perfume of violets wafted up from her. Tavish looked at the fringe of her pale lashes against her cheek for a moment, took his time in examining the texture of her skin in shadow before he finally pulled away and lay on his back beside her. He sighed silently and then stilled.
