Page 37 of When the Laird Conquers

He had been devilishly handsome with his beard. Without it, he was godly. Categorically the most handsome man she had ever seen, the perfect blend of rugged and beautiful. And he had not even shaved his strong jaw smooth. There had been a shadow of stubble, and yet that had only served to make him even more appealing.

If any gentleman in England had left stubble behind, he would have been bombarded with a million not-so-polite recommendations for a barber.

“Where did he go?” she murmured, lifting her head.

He had not attended dinner. Iona had claimed she had no notion of where he was, and Agnes had not seen him from the window, though to her shame, she had looked. She had even made a game out of it for Lizzy, who had quickly grown bored.

“I bet he is in that tower of his, counting knucklebones or something.” She sat up on the bed, brimming with irritation that overwhelmed any shudder of fear.

Another trick? Another way to toy with me?

She paused, tilting her head. “What do you think, Lizzy?” She glanced across at the baby’s crib. “Is he saying one thing but meaning another? When he says I should forbid him from touching me, does he really mean I should invite him to touch me? And if so, when he says ‘never go to the eastern tower,’” she put on a rather good impression of him, “does he mean that I should go to the eastern tower?”

Lizzy said nothing, of course.

“Bored of me, are you?”

Sighing, Agnes got off the bed and tiptoed over to the crib, pulling aside the draped silk covering. Lizzy lay sound asleep, her fist next to her mouth.

Agnes smiled and backed away, in case her presence woke her niece.

The trouble was, with Lizzy like that but sleep entirely impossible for her, she had no idea what to do with herself. If she were back at her aunt’s house, she might have gone to the library to read. If she were at her father’s house, she would have crept down to the kitchens to play chess with the cook. If Christine were still alive, the two of them would have lain close together, talking about everything and nothing, chattering until dawn.

I wonder if Marcus is outside.

The housekeeper’s husband had taken to sitting out in the hallway during the night, clearly at his wife’s behest.

Agnes crept to the door and opened it carefully, peering out into the hallway. As she had thought, Marcus was right there, perfectly content in a comfortable chair, whittling away at a chunk of wood.

He looked up, surprised. “Miss Agnes, what are ye doin’ awake?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” Agnes replied with a fond smile.

“I couldnae sleep.”

“Nor could I.” She paused, an idea coming to her. “Could you keep an eye on Lizzy for me? I’m just going to make myself some warm milk. Might put some whiskey in it, see if that helps.”

Marcus chuckled. “If ye put enough in, it will. But me wife willnae forgive me if I let ye do that on yer own. Let me wake her, and she can fetch ye some.”

“Absolutely not!” Agnes insisted, gently closing the door. “I am entirely capable of making warm milk for myself, and you and Iona have done more than enough for me. Indeed, it is time for me to return your generosity. What would you say to some warm milk?”

Marcus shook his head. “Nay, thank ye, but… I suppose I can watch the room while ye have some time to yerself.” There was something like sympathy on his weathered face. “Go on, and we’ll both tell me wife that I made the warm milk for ye.”

“Thank you.” Agnes drew in a relieved breath.

She had been aunt and mother and nursemaid without pause, but tonight, she just wanted to have a wander by herself. If not, she would surely go mad in that room, lying hopelessly in bed, having nothing to do and nothing to distract herself.

Satisfied that Lizzy would be under adequate protection, safe with Marcus guarding her, she headed for the stairs.

She truly meant to go to the kitchens, the idea of warm milk with a splash of whiskey tempting to her tired body, but her wide-awake mind had other ideas.

Before she could really think about it, she found herself heading eastward, along hallways that she had avoided until now. Curiosity prompted her to poke her head into the rooms she passed, all of them ready for occupation but utterly devoid of life, as if they were waiting for the people who had once filled these halls to return.

It wasn’t exactly her intention to seek out the eastern tower, but she couldn’t get the mysterious place out of her thoughts. She had to know if it was bursting with corpses, or if there was some other grisly secret hiding in it.

Indeed, what could be so bad that he would forbid her from going there?

At length, a door stood right in front of her at the end of a long hallway. It wasn’t the door from her dream, but it intrigued her all the same, for it was the last possible door that could be opened.