"That will never happen," Barclay yelled.
What? Why, that bastard!After yanking on his linen shirt, Rebbie grabbed his breeches and pulled them on. He shoved the chest away from the door and yanked it open. "What do you want?" he demanded.
Barclay stabbed a finger at him. "You, sir, have compromised my daughter and I demand that you marry her immediately."
"Are you mad?" Rebbie assessed where the other man's weapons were. He saw none in evidence, but he could have a hidden knife anywhere.
"Nay. Word has spread all over the castle this morn that she was seen leaving your chamber at midnight. And she smelled like a distillery. My daughter does not drink whisky. She admitted to me that you had spilled it on her smock."
"You want the truth, Barclay?" Rebbie seethed, moving closer, wanting to punch the bastard in his smug mouth. "I'll give it to you. I was in my chamber, minding my own business, when she slipped into my room, then threw herself upon my person, causing me to spill my whisky, and demanded that I kiss her. I refused and deposited her into the corridor."
"Ha!" Barclay's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. "Do you expect me to believe that of my innocent daughter?"
"Believe it or not.'Tisthe truth."
"Well…" Barclay shrugged, obviously seeing himself as superior to anyone else. "Everyone knows she was in your chamber, barely dressed, at midnight without her chaperone. And you are already bound by contract to marry her, so you may as well make it official."
"Nay." Rebbie ground the word out. "I'll not be forced to marry the coddled brat. She's naught but an overgrown child." Rebbie returned to his chamber and drew on his boots, then his doublet, while Barclay blathered on.
Damned if he was going to stay here and take this. He was tempted to throttle the man so he would shut up. After donning all his weapons and grabbing his sack of supplies, including a change of clothes, he shoved past Barclay and strode down the corridor toward the steps.
In the great hall, the servants were setting up the tables for breakfast. The guard opened the exit door for him and he jogged down the steps and toward the stables.Hell!He wished he could've spoken to Lachlan before departing, but there was no time. His friend would figure out what had happened soon enough. More than that, he wished he could talk to Calla for a moment, but… what would he say to her? He could think of naught that didn't sound daft.
"George!" he called, entering the stables.
Moments later, his manservant appeared from the stable loft, his clothes askew and his hair mussed from sleep.
"Saddle my horse, and be quick about it."
"Aye,m'laird." He hastened toward the stalls.
Rebbie waited just outside the door, his gaze scanning the empty courtyard. He didn't want to have to kill that whoreson, Barclay, in a duel. Compromised his daughter… ha! She needed a sound thrashing.
Rebbie paced. Where would he go? He knew not, but anywhere far away from Barclay and his whining daughter. A life with her would be like being imprisoned in thetolboothfor the rest of his days.
Torture. Absolute and utter torture. He'd rather be tied to a whipping post.
"Robert!" his father yelled as he trotted across the courtyard. "What the devil do you think you're doing? Running away?"
"Nay, I'm not running away. I'm leaving so I'll not be forced to kill that bastard! I won't be trapped into marrying that brat. Not by you. Not by her. And not by Barclay."
"Och! Calm yourself, son." His father stopped before him, breathing hard. "Let's go back inside and talk about it in a reasonable manner."
"There is no such thing! None of you understandreasonable."
Fortunately, at that moment, George led his horse out to him.
"I thank you, George." Rebbie dropped three coins into the servant's hand, then hoisted himself into the saddle and took up the reins.
"When will you be back?" his father called after him as he guided the horse toward the portcullis.
"I don't ken," Rebbie yelled back. "Open the gates," he told the guards.
Once outside the walls, he gave the horse his head and flew away fromDraughonas thick dark clouds hovered over the green, rolling landscape. He would not stay one more day under the roof with people trying to manipulate him and turn his life into a living hell. Barclay and his daughter grated upon his nerves worse than any people he'd ever met.
Normally, he enjoyed spending time atDraughon, with Lachlan and Angelique. Aye, but not the rest of them. Well… Calla… he enjoyed her company, of course, but damnation, he could not relax around her. His mind constantly drifted back to that night at the inn inStirlingand he would find himself getting aroused at the worst possible times.
He would go to Perth, he decided, and see a horse breeder there he'd been negotiating a deal with. For a while, he'd been considering venturing into horse breeding, especially since he'd acquired Devil.
