An awkward silence fell between them for a moment, and then Muir asked, “Is aught amiss, Tav? I ken we’ve had words, but—”
“After you take the hides to market,” Tavish interrupted, “it is my wish that you turn theStygianover to your first mate. I shall pay you your contracted wage, plus a generous separation fee. Perhaps if I had known of your plan in the beginning, I might have called it a wedding gift, I suppose.”
Muir went still, but there was no alarm or dismay in his matter of fact demeanor. “You seem sure I will wed.”
“I know you’ve schemed a way to lure her from Roscraig. Played on her doubts about me.”
“I played on naught, Tav,” Muir said with a sigh, clearly not so dishonorable that he would deny it. He turned his mild gaze back to the room of swirling guests. “Any doubts she had about you are your own doing. You were clear enough that you don’t wish to marry her. What is she to do? Stay here at Roscraig forever, humiliated? You care not even for her father’s reputation.”
“You betray me. Both of you.”
John turned to him then, and quickly. “No one’s betrayed you. ’Tis your own disloyalty at fault here. You’ve railed against the nobility and their egos, their greed, for years. But learn you your blood is a wee bit violet, and you become Count Cockhead.”
“You’re only jealous I’m something you’ll never be.”
“A fool?” Muir laughed his salty laugh, hearty and genuine. “Nay.” He drained his chalice and placed it on the tray of a passing servant. “Seems I truly doona belong here. So I bid you farewell, Tav. Farewell, and good fortune.”
“She’ll not go with you,” Tavish warned, somewhat surprised that the end of such a long friendship had come so swiftly and with so few words.
“Send my wages to theStygian. We’ll be casting off at first light.Laird.” John Muir walked away.
Tavish watched him weave through the guests, nearly bowling over the thin crier who had just stepped into the doorway of the hall. The young man stumbled aright and smoothed down his tunic while clearing his throat and tossing a cross look over his shoulder at the vanished Muir before projecting over the crowd.
“Lord Vaughn Hargrave, Baron Annesley.”
The crier stepped aside, and a tall, thickly built older man stood in the doorway, surveying the hall with a sweeping, arrogant gaze. His hair was the color of the loch when it was whipped into a storm frenzy: dark gray with a crest of white along the beach of his forehead. His hat was wide and plush, hanging fashionably alongside his head and punctuated with a tall, white plume. His tunic was adorned with loops of hammered chains, their links glinting in the candlelight. A discernible murmur rippled through the crowd.
Vaughn Hargrave? Tavish frowned. That was the name of the man living in the estate that was Thomas Annesley’s childhood home—but why was he using Darlyrede’s title? Had there been a judgment handed down from the English king?
Regardless of the title he used, Tavish certainly hadn’t invited the Englishman. Alarm rose in the deep recesses of Tavish’s mind.
Then he saw Audrey Keane approach Hargrave and give a graceful curtsey. The lord bent low over Audrey’s hand with a smile and a kiss for her knuckles, and then Audrey turned and gestured to the beautiful woman in violet at her side. Glenna did not curtsey, but did nod and offer her hand, upon which Hargrave bestowed the same affected show of homage.
Tavish had had quite enough of being thwarted in his own home. He struck out through the crowd, pushing between those who leaned their heads together and murmured as they covertly watched the elegant Englishman interacting with the enigmatic blonde. Tavish was surprised and rather cross that his mother was not at Glenna’s side; he looked around the crowd briefly for her, but she seemed to have disappeared from the festivities.
It was Glenna who noticed Tavish’s approach; she turned her head, and her gaze seemed to ignite at the sight of him. There was such a different guise about her tonight, not only her costume, but her demeanor. One of challenge and boldness that he had not seen before, and he wondered if thoughts of her escape heartened her.
The very sight of her made Tavish’s knees weak. But before he could reach the group, Glenna turned away to disappear into the crowd.
Hargrave be damned—Tavish would deal with him later.
“Laird Cameron,” Audrey called out with a smile and forcefully grabbed Tavish’s arm to draw him into the group with a laugh. She snaked her arm fully through his. “You’ll not escape before greeting Lord Hargrave—he’s only just arrived. I must tell you how wonderful it is to encounter an old friend of my father’s here at Roscraig.”
So the man’s presence was Audrey’s doing.
“Old?” Hargrave mimicked, a palm to his chest and his eyes wide. “Miss Keane, you dash all hope.”
Audrey’s laughter tinkled. “Perhaps I should have said longtime friend and business partner. No one could possibly deny your youthful vigor, my lord.”
“You are too kind, my dear,” Hargrave said with a grotesque moue of sincerity.
“My lord, this is Laird Tavish Cameron of Roscraig,” Audrey continued. “Of course, you are already well familiar.”
Tavish frowned but said nothing, but he’d no need, for the older man spoke right away with a bow.
“I thank you for your gracious hospitality, Laird Cameron,” Hargrave said, and Tavish wondered that Audrey could not see through the man’s blatant dramatics. “It is no small feat for a lesser lord to engage the interest of a monarch. Especially a lord whose lineage is perhaps in question. Quite an honor, indeed, for the king of Scotland to deign to visit your wee demesne on the firth. You must have God’s own ear. I should do well to watch the laird of Roscraig closely.”
It was all said with a broad smile and even a chuckle, but Tavish felt as though the man had spat on him with the veiled insults.
