He liked that she had a protective mothering instinct where the lass was concerned. Now, he hated to launch directly into his questions about what MacTarril had said. Cyrus thought of her guard, a less volatile subject. "Has Stillman remembered anything further about the assault?"
"I haven't talked to him since this morn, but, nay, at that time, he hadn't." Still very stiff, she perched on the edge of the wooden chair across from him.
Her discontent grated at him, but it couldn't be helped.
Unsure how to broach the subject except in his usual way, he inhaled a deep breath. "Elspeth, I ken you don't wish to discuss it, but I need to know what MacTarril meant when he mentioned a wealthy earl. Which earl was he referring to?"
Her face reddened and a spark of irritation lit her eyes. "You like to get right to the point, do you not?"
"Aye, saves time. No sense beating about the bush."
Biting her lip, she twisted her fingers together and stared down at them. His own stomach tensed, for he knew he would not like what she was about to reveal.
"I was hoping you wouldn't ask," she admitted.
"I must. He could be the one who paid your guards to leave."
She shook her head and finally lifted her hesitant gaze to him. "He was killed last year in a sword duel."
Perplexed with this bit of information, Cyrus frowned and scrutinized her. She seemed unemotional when she spoke of the man's death. If he'd been her lover, wouldn't she be upset now? "What was his name?"
She stared into the fire. "Alexander Crawford, the Earl of Dalacroy."
Having never heard of the earl, Cyrus waited a long moment for her to elaborate but grew impatient. "Was he a relative of yours?"
"Nay." She shot him a sharp glance, then looked away. "He was… my protector."
In other words, her lover. Cyrus felt as if he'd been slammed in the gut with a battering ram. Although he shouldn't have been surprised. His first instinct had been correct. Why on earth would she have agreed to be an earl's mistress?
"'Twas not an arrangement I wanted." Her normally determined eyes now appeared haunted. "But the alternative was poverty and starvation, not just for me, but for my wee son and my younger sister and brother, who were fifteen and thirteen at the time."
Imagining her being forced into the bed of a nobleman she probably didn't even like, he felt strangely sick. "What happened?"
"When my much older husband died, we were destitute. Grey had borrowed funds from Dalacroy, whom he owed fealty to. If I hadn't gone along with the earl's bargain, we would've been turned out on the muddy streets of Aberdeen."
"I see." Cyrus frowned.
Elspeth wondered what he thought of her now. Did he find her repulsive, or could he understand her predicament? As a powerful man, he'd probably never considered how difficult life could be for a woman as she was tossed about on the whims, fortunes, and misfortunes of men.
"I was able to negotiate with Alexander and gain this home for myself and have my son's inheritance returned to him. He also agreed to grant me the businesses and property that had been my father's, which Grey had used to pay debts."
Cyrus quirked a brow, his dark eyes too observant. "Dalacroy was very generous."
Elspeth was uncertain how to interpret those words or his expression. Did he see her as a shrewd businesswoman or a shameless whore? She would not tell him she'd endured hardships and sacrificed for every square foot of property she'd earned. Would he be like most other men who knew the circumstances of her life? Would he be irked by her independence and wealth? Or disgusted by how she'd regained it? His opinion should not concern her, either way. But because men had control of most things in the world, a woman alone was still vulnerable in many ways without a husband or protector.
He arose and paced to the fireplace. With the fire poker, he stabbed roughly at the hearth coals, then pitched in a stick of wood. After placing the poker aside, he dusted off his hands. "So, Dalacroy was killed in a duel?"
"Aye, by a jealous, angry husband. He had several mistresses in various parts of the kingdom, some of them married."
Cyrus's glance was just short of a glare. "I see."
Clearly, he was holding back questions. No doubt he wondered why on earth she remained mistress to a man who was unfaithful to all. It had naught to do with intimacy or love.
She had not shared a bed with Dalacroy for more than three years. She was glad he'd moved on to other women. By that time, all her properties were securely in her possession. Dalacroy had visited her about once per year, but by then, 'twas only a business arrangement.
Cyrus stood before the mantel, staring into the fire, burning brighter than before. He was so much taller and broader of shoulder than either Dalacroy or Grey. In fact, Grey had been a small, slim man not much taller than her own height of five and a half feet. Cyrus possessed the imposing presence of a stealthy warrior and commander. She knew very few Highlanders, but she'd always heard they were taller than average.
He turned to her. "Who is Dalacroy's heir?"
