Seduced by a Rogue (14 page)

He
had
managed to fling up a hand and deflect it slightly, thus saving himself a harder knock on the head. But he had missed catching
the thing. One leg struck his head and another his shoulder before the stool clattered to the floor behind him.

Ignoring it, he said, “I
don’t
advise you to do that again.”

“Faith, sir, I have never done such a thing before in all my life,” she said in a higher-pitched tone than usual. “By my troth,
I do not know what to say to you. An apology seems too small. Forbye, I don’t think I
am
sorry. I…I am too angry!”

“Then I shall leave you to recover your temper,” he said. “My people will have supper ready in an hour or so. When they do,
I will bring yours to you.”

Ignoring her open-mouthed astonishment and stepping over the stool as he turned, he left the room and shut the heavy door
behind him.

On the landing, he paused to lock the door, snapping the two iron hooks—one high on the frame, one low—into the iron rings
he’d screwed into the door.

Stunned by Maxwell’s abrupt departure, Mairi stared at the closed door for a long moment before she heard metallic noises
on the other side, followed by rapid footsteps fading down the stairs to silence.

Her suddenly unpredictable temper stirring again, she crossed the room in swift, angry strides and lifted the latch. The door
refused to budge.

The villain had locked her in!

Shutting her eyes and drawing a breath, she warned herself that losing one’s temper brought no good, and wondered at herself
for losing hers with him.

Even Fiona was no longer able to stir her to such fury. And she had long ago learned to take Phaeline in stride, accepting
her authority and reacting with submissive calm even to her complaining and her scolds.

Turning from the door, Mairi picked up the stool and carried it back to where she had found it. Then, realizing that light
was fast fading in the chamber, she decided it would be only sensible to take stock of its contents.

Her first and most urgent need was a night jar, and she found one near the curtained bed. Feeling better after she had relieved
herself, she moved to the kists he had indicated and opened the first.

The fabrics inside were wonderful, silks and satins, soft cambric shifts and woolen scarves and gloves, even stockings, shoes,
and slippers. Removing the stout hide boots she had put on to walk to the river, she soon found that the footwear was all
a little larger than she normally wore, but not uncomfortably so.

Finding a hairbrush and comb, she took off her veil and the net she wore under it. Then, before unbraiding her plaits, she
went to the washstand and poured water from the ewer to wash her face and hands. Next, collecting her cloak from the settle,
she found a hook for it on the wall by the door.

Her first impulse had been to disdain the use of anything
he
had provided. But as she picked up the brush to deal with her untidy hair, she recalled that she had on her least favorite
kirtle. She had chosen it on purpose for her walk to the river.

Now, she looked ruefully down at its rumpled, faded blue skirt.

The villain was bringing supper to her. She would be alone with him again, because although he plainly had
servants—she had seen a number of them in the kitchen—he just as plainly did not mean to provide anyone for her.

“Faith,” she muttered. “He cannot give me a woman even to help me dress. What self-respecting woman would agree to help him
keep me captive?”

She often conferred with herself so. In a situation that promised long periods of undesired solitude, however, it brought
home to her just how alone she was and how far from home.

At the thought, unexpected tears welled in her eyes. When one spilled down her cheek, she dashed it away. She would not let
anything the man did upset her so easily. She would find a way instead to defeat him.

“I must.”

Believing he would expect further defiance, she imagined Fiona in her place and knew that her sister would try to scream the
tower down. She would surely defy Robert Maxwell at every turn until she had exhausted herself.

In fairness to Fiona, her tactics often worked. But they did not suit Mairi.

She wondered if coaxing would persuade Maxwell to free her but decided he was unlikely to succumb to such a strategy. She
also doubted that she could bring herself to coax him. She certainly would not flutter her eyelashes at him the way Fiona
fluttered hers at their father whenever she was being outrageous.

Mairi’s thoughts continued along these lines as she sorted through the items in the two large kists. But no plan presented
itself. Resigning herself for at least the one night to putting up with things as they were, she shook out a fresh cambric
shift, a green woolen underskirt, and a tunic of deliciously soft rose-pink velvet.

Stripping off the clothes she had worn all day, still damp from their hours on the water, she noted again the cold breeze
wafting more intensively now through the open window. Unwilling to shut out what little light remained by closing the shutter,
she dressed quickly and slipped her feet into a pair of matching rose-silk slippers with ribbon ties. The tunic fit well enough,
but the skirt was much too long.

Having seen a small covered basket with scissors, needles, and threads for mending in one of the kists, she might have hemmed
it but decided to do so later and take care in the meantime not to trip. Only as she clasped her own silver-linked girdle
over the gown and adjusted its position at her hips did she realize that she still had the keys to the Annan House pantry
and buttery attached to it.

Biting her lip at the mental image that arose of Phaeline’s likely reaction to their loss, Mairi decided her stepmother would
curse her absence more sincerely than she might have before that discovery.

However, finding the keys reminded her that the only thing in the kists that might occupy her for a time had been the mending
basket. She wondered how she would keep from going mad with boredom if her captor kept her locked up for long.

Time crept then until she feared she might go mad before she got supper.

She stared out the window until the cliffs opposite hers vanished into dusky gray shadows. Hoping that there might be a moon
visible through the other, still shuttered window, she went to it and felt for its latch hooks, muttering to herself when
she discovered they were of heavy steel and fit tightly into steel eyes.

She got the lower hook out, whereupon the shutter seemed to tremble with relief as great as her own. The higher hook fit tighter,
and she had to stand on the three-legged stool to get purchase. By putting the heel of her hand under the hook and shoving
upward with all her strength, she felt it move at last. Her hand hurt, so she stopped to rub away the indentation the metal
had pressed into it before she tried again, giving the hook a sharp upward jab.

The hook flew up, and the shutter flew open, bringing a gale in with it and striking her shoulder hard enough to knock her
off balance. Jumping awkwardly back off the stool, she stepped on the hem of her too-long skirt and sat down hard just as
the door opened from the landing.

Wind gusted through the room from the newly opened window, blowing the bed hangings as it dashed wildly about and through
the other window.

“What the devil do you think you are doing?” Maxwell demanded.

She glowered at him from the floor. He stood there in the doorway and appeared to be holding a tray. She smelled warm mutton,
so at least he ignored Lent. “I wanted more light and thought there might be a moon,” she said. “One can hardly see in here.
Why did you not at least bring a candle?”

“I did,” he said. “Your windstorm blew it out as I opened the door.”

“Oh.” She moved to stand up and trod on her hem again but managed, awkwardly, to get to her feet.

Meantime, he set the tray on the floor and hurried to slam and latch the shutter, evicting the gale. “Don’t open this one
without first closing the other,” he said. “The wind nearly always blows from the west or southwest here, so the window overlooking
the bay gets only a breeze. This one can bring in a tempest.”

“You said only that it provided a fine view,” she reminded him.

“So I did, but ’tis wiser to wait for a calm day to enjoy it. Wait until we have a storm, though. This wind is nowt to what
you’ll see—aye, and hear—then.”

“I don’t like storms, so I trust I’ll be long gone by then,” she said, lifting her skirts so she would not trip. The smell
of roast mutton was making her mouth water.

“Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” he asked as he finished hooking the shutter back into place.

“Just my pride because you came in,” she said. “I’m sorry you saw that, but thank you for bringing supper. Have you candles
here—or flint, come to that?”

“I have both, aye. But let me get that tray up off—Here you!” he exclaimed, leaping with unexpected speed toward the still
open doorway.

Mairi saw a flash of movement as a small shadow dashed through the doorway and no doubt on down the stairs.

“Mercy, was that a rat?”

“Nay, just a small feline thief,” he said as he shut the door. “I think it may have snagged some of our food.”

“
Our
food?”

“I want to share your meal if you’ve no objection.” He moved to set the tray on the settle before he turned and added, “If
my presence will spoil it for you, you have only to say so and I’ll leave you in peace.”

“Prithee, do not suggest peace to me just now,” she begged. “I have been yearning for a task to occupy my hands and keep my
mind from dwelling on my situation. In troth, I am more likely to die of boredom than to object to sharing a meal. Otherwise,
I’d point out the extreme impropriety of your even being in my bedchamber. At this point, though, it seems priggish to quibble
over such a thing.”

“Your virtue is in no danger from me, my lady,” he said with earnestness she had not heard from him before. “I promise you
I will not harm you any more than I have already done by abducting you.”

“Good sakes, you stole my reputation with that act alone,” she snapped. “So do
not
tell me again that you will not harm me. I am grateful to know that I need not fear rape. But others will
never
believe that you didn’t…That is, once my abduction becomes known…” She spread her hands, letting him fill in the rest for
himself.

“Calm your fidgets, lass,” he said. “When you inherit your father’s wealth, if not long before then, you will have offers
aplenty.”

The breath caught in her throat, and she stared at him in horror as, with a scratch of flint and a glow of tinder, the candle
he held caught flame.

Hearing Lady Mairi’s quick intake of breath, Rob looked up to see horror on her beautiful, candlelit face. “What is it?” he
asked. “What have I said?”

“They mean to kill him, don’t they?” she said.

“Kill who?”

“Whom,” she said, but as though her thoughts were elsewhere. “My father, of course. I can hardly say you did not warn us that
there would be trouble, but—”

“Don’t be a fool,” he snapped. “And
don’t
correct my grammar.”

Her blush visible even in the candle’s glow, she grimaced and said, “I fear I responded as automatically as I would have with
my sister.” Then, without actually apologizing for correcting him, she said, “Why is it foolish to believe that? You say I
will inherit his wealth. And you did warn him that the sheriff would seize—”

Impatiently, he said as he picked up a gate-leg table near the wall, “I said the sheriff has the power to seize your estates,
not that he would do so immediately.”

“Prithee, do stop interrupting me.”

“Was that not what you were going to say?”

“It was, aye, but—”

“Then I need not listen to the whole before replying.” He set the small table down in front of the settle and began to put
up its leaves.

“You cannot possibly know what I was about to say just
then
! But you interrupted me again. In any event—”