“You canna do this to me,” Roland yelled, repeatedly slamming the back of the laird’s head against the stones. “No after all the years I’ve given you!”
“Father, you must stop!” Agneys pulled at her father’s shoulder, backing away as soon as he dropped his hold on the laird.
Roland slowly got to his feet before he turned to her. His earlier fury spent, his eyes lit in instant panic before he regained control.
Agneys hurried forward, dropping to her knees by the laird’s body. “No,” she moaned, the denial ripped from deep inside.Not now. Not yet. Not like this.
“It will look like an accident. Yer husband, well in his cups, attacked you, and then he staggered out for more drink, ordering you to wait in his bed for his return.”
She struggled through her shock, through the emotions threatening to overwhelm her, fear and anger chief among them.
How convenient her father had a story ready to feed to the people of the castle. A story that covered everything, right down to the painful swelling he himself had left on her face.
Roland hurried into the laird’s chamber, returning with the tankard that had sat on Randulf’s table.
“This little... incident will simply speed up our original plans. Now get out of that nightdress and into his bed. You’ll remain there until someone comes to tell you they’ve found yer husband. I’ll throw his body down the stairs. Once he’s found, I’ll ride out to meet the MacDowylt as if it was what the laird had instructed me to do. No one will question any of it.”
“Randulf MacGahan would never have struck me. No one will ever believe—”
Roland flew at her, his eyes glittering with his anger. Before she could run, he grabbed the neck of her nightdress, ripping in down the front with a force that caused the material to bite into the back of her neck, surely marking her tender skin.
“Now take off that rag and get into the old man’s bed.” He hissed the command through his teeth, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth, reminding Agneys of a mad dog she’d once seen.
As was necessary, the dog had quickly been put out of his misery.
She backed away from her father, turning once she was out of his reach to hurry into the laird’s chamber. She stepped out of the tatters that remained of her lovely, soft nightdress and climbed into the high bed, pulling the curtains shut around her.
Damn her father! He’d stolen from her the time she’d hoped to use to come up with a logical course of action. His temper had cost her the weeks she’d expected to have for planning. Just as his impatience had forced her to pretend a pregnancy he still hoped would be true. A pregnancy she knew was impossible since the old laird had never actually lain with her.
Agneys wiped at the tears streaming down her face and curled under the covers, trying to come to terms with what had just happened.
Poor Randulf. He’d been nothing but nice to her over the years, and though she could never have loved him as his wife, she had cared for him in her own way.
With a deep shuddering breath, she fought to clear her mind. Everything had changed with her father’s actions this night. She had to decide, and quickly, what to do next.
Within hours, the whole of the castle would know their laird was dead. Shortly after, the MacDowylt would arrive. Her father might have managed to trick the poor old laird, but she suspected he’d find less success in using his wiles on the warrior. Unless she missed her guess, MacDowylt wouldn’t be satisfied with waiting outside the castle walls as her father planned. She had no doubt he’d be riding through those gates within a day or two, more anxious than ever to get his hands on that half-wit, Isabella, in order to secure a hold on the MacGahan lands.
None of these things worked to her advantage.
Or did they?
She rolled onto her back, concentrating on the thin edge of an idea. Perhaps, with some clever planning and a little luck, she could use her father’s blunders to her advantage.
Thanks to his ill-conceived announcement at the wedding feast, everyone assumed she carried the laird’s child. Her father told her he’d already sent for the MacDowylt to return and would be riding out to meet him tomorrow. Surely the warrior would want to come to the castle.
If she arranged to find herself in the MacDowylt’s bed soon enough, a pregnancy might still be possible. It could be his child she carried. And with the old laird out of the way, MacDowylt could claim her in marriage.
Now that sounded like a scheme that would surely appeal to the handsome warrior. After all, he wanted the MacGahan lands and she wanted to be taken care of. It was an arrangement that would suit them both.
Her father’s plans to deal with Isabella still bothered her, but she could only deal with what was before her right now.
That still left her father as a major loose end. He’d reached a point where his temper made him more liability than asset. And after what he’d done to Randulf? He needed to be dealt with. Perhaps a grateful MacDowylt could be persuaded to dispatch of him. Especially once he learned of her father’s plans to have him killed along with Isabella.
In the dark, Agneys smiled to herself as she considered her new course of action. Her father’s impatient bumbling could well have provided her all the cards she needed to play out this hand to her own advantage.
Foolishly Roland had always underestimated her. Because she had her mother’s beauty, he saw her only as her mother’s daughter. Too bad for him, he didn’t seem to understand that she was her father’s daughter as well.
Only smarter.
