His smirk fell from his face when she didn’t rise to his hurtful bait, and his expression became enigmatic. “It actually does belong to you.”
Glenna blinked, and her eyes ached at the motion. She turned to follow him with her gaze as he passed her. “What?”
“The trunk.” He poured a chalice of wine from the decanter and replaced the stopper with a scrape of rough glass.
Glenna’s mind instantly went to the leather pouch hidden behind the wardrobe, filled with an unknown poison.Steep half o’ this in a drink and give it to him…
Then Tavish faced her, his cup in hand. His eyes flicked to the large case. “It’s yours.”
“Nay, it’s not,” she said, wondering what game he was playing now. Why would he be so intentionally cruel? “I’ve not seen it before tonight.”
Tavish shrugged. “It’s yours all the same. Open it.”
She shook her head. “Nay.”
“Why?” he said with a bemused smile.
Because I know what’s inside; I know it’s the wedding gown you had made for Audrey Keane. I know it is just the beginning thread to the end of my time here at Roscraig; perhaps the end of everything I’ve ever thought I was. And I do not want to see.
But outwardly she only continued to stare at him.
Tavish Cameron took a long drink and then set his cup down on the table before crossing the floor once more. This time he stopped before Glenna so that her straightforward gaze was on the hollow of his collarbone, visible through the V-notch in his high tunic. The smell of him was warm and tangy and made Glenna’s jaw prickle, causing her to swallow.
“Youarestill angry with me, aren’t you?”
Glenna shook her head. She didn’t know what she was with him any longer, but angry wasn’t an accurate description of her feelings.
His hand came under her chin and tilted her face up so that she was made to look into his eyes. “I want you to open the trunk,” he said. “Obey me, princess.”
She pulled her face from his touch, wounded that he had revealed himself to be as cruel as she originally thought. It should have eased the troubled knowledge of Frang Roy’s intentions for him, but it did not. She turned to the trunk without a word and sank to her knees before it, steeling herself to show no reaction whatever to the sight she knew would be revealed. She would not give him the satisfaction of feigned surprise, nor would she humiliate herself by confessing how she already knew what the trunk contained.
Glenna turned the two thumb latches and then lifted the hasps. She drew a deep, bracing breath and raised the lid.
There was indeed a folded width of shimmering cloth inside, and yet it was a deep violet hue rather than the light-colored gown that Audrey Keane had held in the torchlight of the corridor. Glenn turned her head to find Tavish sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her.
“What is it?” she asked.
A faint smile played at his mouth again. “I don’t know. Take it out.”
Glenna turned back and hesitantly took hold of the topmost corners of the fabric, raising it from its resting place. It was in fact a gown, the color of the dark violets on the forest floor, the skirt—most of its length still folding in on itself in the trunk—covered with tiny embroidered green vines climbing the peaks and valleys of lavish fabric. It was heavy and luxurious and felt like a physical manifestation of royalty in her hands.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“It’s yours,” Tavish said from behind her.
Glenna stood slowly, drawing the gown up out of the trunk and then stepping backward to pull it free. She held it against her chest and turned to face him.
“The color suits you,” he said with a smile, his eyes traveling the length of her body. “Fortunate that the young lady whose trousseau this was to be was of similar size. I could only guess.”
“I don’t understand,” Glenna whispered.
“I sent Muir around to a tailor I knew on Market Street to see what could be done about your lack of wardrobe. Luckily enough, he didn’t just have one or two gowns nearly finished for another patron, but was ahead of schedule on an entire trousseau for a wealthy young lady. I paid him double what he was owed for it, and now,”—his lips quirked again—“the princess shall be obligated once more to fulfill her royal duty to me and to Roscraig.”
“There’s more?” Glenna said even as she turned back to the trunk. She sank to her knees again and laid the heavy gown across the crook of her arm while she hesitantly peeked inside, using her thumb and forefinger to gingerly explore the puddles and tunnels of cloth—silks and linens; corded beltings; gossamer pieces so fine and delicate that Glenna dared not slide them free.
This was not the same trunk Captain Muir had given to Audrey Keane—it was filled with an entire wardrobe of wildly expensive items, all purchased for Glenna by Tavish Cameron. He’d clearly spent a small fortune on her. But why?
Before she could begin to puzzle what the clothing meant, Tavish Cameron was pulling her to her feet.
