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“Elspeth? Is that you?” The wench sat on the edge of her narrow bed and swung her blank gaze in the direction of the door as he opened it.
Blair regarded her in silence for a few moments. By the saints, but she was lovely, especially with her beautiful dark blond hair uncovered and falling in loose waves about her shoulders. The sunlight pouring through the window played across the golden tresses, bringing out the titian highlights. Her features were delicate, but he had noticed that on first meeting her on the steps at Etal castle. He did not, however, recall that her mouth was quite so full, nor her brows so elegantly arched. And the lavender-blue of her sightless eyes was quite wondrous, he decided. Neither had he properly appreciated the slender curve of her waist, nor the gentle swell of her breasts beneath the snug woollen gown she now wore. The deep aqua colour suited her. It somehow deepened the shade of her eyes and complemented her lustrous hair.
“Elspeth?” she repeated. Her tone was nervous, apprehensive.
“Nay, ‘tis I. The McGregor. We need to talk.”
She scrambled to her feet. “Of course, my lord. I… I am ready.”
Blair doubted that. “Are ye?”
“Yes, my lord. I heard the clatter of hooves, voices, and I was sure that you must have returned. I was expecting you to send for me.”
“Send for ye? An’ why would I be needin’ tae send for ye when ye are right here, takin’ yer ease i’ my private apartments?”
“Oh.” She appeared nonplussed by his observation.
“Ye did nae ken where ye be?” Blair pressed her for a response.
The girl before him paled visibly, then proceeded to gnaw on her lower lip, becoming more agitated by the second. Blair’s patience was thin already, his temper simmering dangerously, and the Sassenach wench seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time in answering even the most basic of questions. He had far weightier matters to address with this conniving little English bitch, as she would soon learn.
“Answer me, Sassenach.” he demanded.
The strangely alluring lavender eyes widened, their colour deepening to a glorious shade of amethyst. Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks and she stepped back, her fear evident. “I cannot… Please, I do not understand…”
“What are ye blatherin’ about, wench? ‘Tis a simple enough question. Do ye ken where ye are?”
“My lord…? What…? I do not understand your speech. Please, is there someone—?”
“What?” Blair peered at her, only now starting to comprehend her dilemma. “Have ye no’ heard a Highland brogue afore, lass?”
His prisoner shook her head, her expression uncertain as she continued to chew on her lip and wring her hands though she did appear to have at least grasped the meaning of his last question as she had managed to answer him. Blair was raised in the Highlands and among those in his household he usually spoke the native Gaelic. He would not have expected an English noblewoman to understand that tongue so had addressed her in English, though with no attempt to modulate his dialect. Clearly his speech was incomprehensible to the girl.
Blair drew a deep breath. He was a Highlander but far from uneducated. He could draw on a more orthodox form of speech though rarely found it necessary to do unless called upon to present himself at court. However if he was to have any sense out of this prisoner he would need to at least make himself understood.
“I asked, did you not know where in my castle you had been housed?” He spoke to her more slowly, enunciating the words with care.
Comprehension dawned in her beautiful eyes and she shook her head. “I was brought to this chamber by Elspeth. I never thought to ask…”
“No matter. We will talk in my solar. Come.”
“Sir?” She remained where she was.
Blair stepped forward and took her hand. He placed her fingers on his arm just as he had in the bailey at Etal and led her from the small chamber into his much larger solar. He considered inviting her to sit, but reminded himself just in time that she was his prisoner and guilty of a heinous act of greed and treachery. She could bloody well stand in his presence.
He disengaged her fingers from his sleeve and slumped into the heavy oak chair which he preferred. He stretched out his long legs and considered his next move. Elspeth had been keen that he talk to the wench, and despite his irritation with the cook who had served his family for as long as he could remember he was accustomed to heeding her advice.
He dispensed with any preamble. “Tell me what happened at Mortain, and your part in the affair.”
“Sir?”
“You have a story to tell, I gather. Now is your chance, Lady Roselyn. I advise you not to squander it as you may not be afforded another opportunity to be heard.”
The girl drew in a breath, tipped up her chin in a manner he found engaging rather than defiant, and she began to speak.
Blair listened, for the most part in silence. He prompted occasionally, seeking clarification here, more detail there, but in the main he allowed her to explain the circumstances in her own way. Eventually she was silent. He was too as he considered the account she had given.
