“—waste of such a fine location,” one was harrumphing. “James has been too accommodating, I say.”
The other nodded. “Aye, but why should the king care what is on such cursed lands when he is profiting twice its worth in fees?”
Now Tavish’s attention was caught. “Profiting twice from Douglas, you mean?”
The two old men exchanged guarded glances, but before either could answer, Tavish saw in his peripheral vision the maid he’d sent to find Glenna inching through the crowd.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Tavish said, then turned to meet the maid halfway. “Did you find her?” he asked straight away.
“Aye, laird,” the woman squeaked. “She was in the old man’s chamber, as you thought.” Something inside Tavish relaxed, and the maid continued with her report. “Miss said she didna wish to be disturbed but that she’d be along.”
Tavish cocked an eyebrow. “Did she, now?”
“Aye, laird.”
“Very well.” Tavish turned from the timid woman even as she was curtseying and felt his ears heat a bit. Whatever tingle of concern for Glenna Douglas’s welfare had seized him dissipated behind a shimmer of stinging pride.
The princess didn’t wish to be disturbed, did she? Very well. She could sit in the chamber and wait forhim. And Tavish would not give her another thought.
Although he had planned on cutting his evening with the boring barons short so that he could watch the woman open the trunk Muir had brought from Edinburgh, now he thought he’d stay on a bit. Get to know his neighbors, dismal as they were, and perhaps continue the conversation about the Tower’s supposedly substantial fees.
“I beg your pardon,” he said to the two frowning gentlemen, obviously put out with Tavish’s earlier dismissal. He exchanged his empty chalice for a full one from a servant’s tray. “Roscraig is experiencing a bit of an adjustment with the staff.”
The baron with the hairy ears harrumphed and met Tavish’s gaze squarely. “You’d be wise to correct with an iron fist at the verra start, Cameron. Left unchecked, those devil’s maids will believe ’tis they who rule the hold rather than you.”
Tavish saluted the man with a dark chuckle and then drained his cup.
* * * *
Glenna would have perhaps been furious to have returned to her chamber at being summoned by Tavish Cameron only to find him absent, if not for the fact that she couldn’t get the damned leather pouch out of her grasp quickly enough. She shoved it between the wall and the back of the wardrobe as deeply as her fingers could wedge it, then dashed to the bowl and washed her hands with the strong soap while her heart pounded, her legs trembled.
She paced the chamber in a wide arc from wall to hearth, letting the enormous leather trunk that was now in the middle of her floor squash the ludicrous idea that she anticipated Tavish Cameron’s return. Why must Miss Keane’s wedding costume be stored in her own chamber? Was it so that Glenna might look inside curiously and be beset with a case of outrageous envy? Glenna would not satisfy such delighted imaginings by opening the trunk.
After all, unbeknownst to Audrey Keane, Glenna had already seen more of the gown than she wished, and was sufficiently bitter.
No, now the larger source of Glenna’s torment lay in the dilemma presented to her by Frang Roy’s words. She must find a way to examine the portrait hanging over the hearth. If the painting showed the unique barred brooch…
She heard the scrape of the door and turned quickly to face the man as he entered. Tavish Cameron stood in the doorway for a moment, his gaze finding her immediately. Glenna stared back, a traitorous relief in her heart; almost a sigh of her beleaguered emotions that he was here at last.
The spell was broken as Tavish Cameron stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Did you open it?” he asked as he slid the bolt closed.
Glenna frowned and glanced at the large object sitting conspicuously in the floor. “The trunk? Nay. It doesn’t belong to me.”
When he turned, his handsome mouth was curved in a knowing smirk, but he said no more about the trunk. “How is your father tonight?”
Glenna swallowed. Iain Douglas had slept through her encounter with Frang Roy. “He seemed very tired.”
“Is he waking more?”
“He has been.” Glenna’s frown increased. Tavish Cameron had never seemed so interested in her father before. “Why do you ask? Hoping that he died and no one wished to disturb you from your elegant feast?”
“Do you truly think me such a villain to bar you from attending when you had nothing appropriate to wear? If anything, you should thank me.”
“Aye, I’m so grateful for your disdain. Perhaps with all the visitors to Roscraig, you might inquire as to whether there is one willing to take the burden of an unwanted lady from you. No one notices my absence, any matter; your servants, your rich guests, my own father—certainly not you.”
He sighed, his hands on his hips.“You’re being childish.I’m sure I would notice your absence—the silence alone would be deafening.”
They stared at each other again, and Glenna felt a sudden, odd swelling of painful tears behind her eyes. She was a fool for ever trusting him. He couldn’t care less what happened to her. She was nothing more than a temporary amusement.
