Seduced by a Rogue (15 page)

“It was rude. Aye, I ken that fine. And for the rudeness I will apologize. But I do know what you were going to say both times.”

“What, then?”

“The same thing, that interrupting you was unmannerly. So, now that we have that sorted out,” he went on without waiting for
her to reply, “shall we eat our supper—what that wee villain has left us of it?”

“It didn’t look large enough to be a cat,” she said. “How old is it?”

“Just weaned, if I understood my grandmother…or no, it was my nephew, or mayhap it was Gibby who told me its mother had stopped
feeding her kits.”

“Who is Gibby?”

“A lad of nine or ten who is another acquisition from my grandmother,” he said as he moved the tray from the settle to the
table.

“Does your grandmother live here, then?”

“Nay, she lives much of the year with my brother and his family, and the rest with her son in Glasgow. Trailinghail was part
of her tocher when she married my grandfather, Lord Kelso. He left it to me when he died about four years ago.”

“Was it not still hers if it was part of her portion?”

“Nay, lass, the lands usually become the husband’s to dispose unless the wife bears a title in her own right, as you will
one day.”

“My future is not as certain as you make it sound,” she said with a sigh.

“I know, aye, but from what I hear, ’tis likely,” he said, lighting a second and third candle from the first and placing them
all on the table. He liked to see what he was eating when he could. “Sit down, lass, here on the settle.”

She hesitated, and he knew without her saying so that she did not want to sit beside him. “I’ll draw up yon stool for myself,”
he said.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth and shooting him a rueful look, she said, “You do see what is in my mind. But I do
not
think I should apologize for it.”

“Nay, you owe me no apologies. The boot is on the other foot.”

“Sakes, I hope you don’t mean to pretend that you are sorry for abducting me,” she said scornfully. “I shan’t believe a word
of it if you do.”

“What I did was necessary,” he said. “That is not to deny, however, that I regret having to take such a course.”

“Now
you
are quibbling.”

“Aye, perhaps,” he admitted, thinking as he moved the stool to the table that the way her eyes sparkled in the candlelight
and reflected the flames made her look magical, the way a child might imagine a good witch or a fairy queen to look.

“Why do you stare at me like that? Have I got something on my face?”

He chuckled. “Nay, I was just admiring the way your eyes shoot sparks even when your voice sounds as soothing as water trickling
over stones.”

“Very pretty speech for a villainous rogue, sir,” she said. “Do not think you will charm me again so easily.”

“Are you saying that I have charmed you before?”

Ignoring that gambit without hesitation, she said, “What you did today was shameful, and I have yet to hear any good reason
for it. Nor do you answer my questions. Are you going to serve me some of that mutton?”

He proceeded to do so, placing three generous slices on a wooden trencher for her, along with a cold chicken leg. As he set
the plate of raspberry tarts where she could help herself, he was glad to see her take her eating knife from its narrow sheath
on her girdle, and to see that the knife was the common lady’s implement.

He would not have wanted to trust her with his dirk and had no doubt that he would anger her again if he suggested she eat
with her fingers.

“Do you want some barley water?” he asked, hefting the jug.

“I do, aye,” she said.

“What question have I failed to answer?” he asked as he filled both goblets.

“For one thing, you have not yet explained why you abducted me, although I have asked you more than once.”

“I did it in the hope of avoiding clan war and the considerable number of deaths that would result from one,” he said.

“You did say ’twas to avoid much bloodshed. That sounded ridiculous.”

“You called it ‘noble intent,’” he said.

“I expect I did not mean that,” she said.

“It is not noble, but it
is
practical,” he said. “I thought long before I decided it might work. You know that my brother sent me to Dunwythie Mains
to persuade your father to submit to his authority. Sithee, he kens fine that if your father submits, others will emulate
him just as they do now in his refusal.”

Her mouth opened but shut again firmly. She reached for her goblet.

“What?” he asked.

“’Tis naught we need discuss now,” she said. “By ‘submitting,’ you mean, do you not, that the sheriff wants my father to agree
to let him collect all the gelt that Annandale owes to the Crown, rather than continuing in our usual way?”

“That, aye, and some other things,” he said. “It is all rather complicated.”

“I think it is simple,” she said in much the same casual tone as his. “Your brother wants to acquire more power and thinks
to do so at my father’s expense. That brings me to the second question you have not answered.”

“What is it?”

“You’ve not actually said that your brother does
not
mean to kill my father.”

Words leaped to his tongue to deny it forcefully. But the intent way she watched him made him leave the words unspoken. He
thought, then said frankly, “I cannot swear to what is in another man’s mind, especially my brother’s. I know only that he
is angry because your father and the others refuse to bow to his authority. I will say, though, that he’d be a damned fool
to kill Dunwythie.”

“Why?” she asked as she finally took a sip of her barley water.

“Because to do so
would
start a war between the Maxwells and the Annandale clans. And it is not Alex’s place as Sheriff of Dumfries to start clan
wars. Nor is it his place as a chieftain of Clan Maxwell to do such a daft thing.”

“Might there be any other powerful Maxwell who would wish to do so?”

“Nay, for that could only mean our chief, Maxwell of Caerlaverock. He prefers court life in Stirling or a peaceful existence
at his house near Glasgow to greater exertion. I’d wager he expects Alex to
keep
the peace, not to break it.”

Niggling doubt stirred even as he said it. Maxwell of Caerlaverock still called himself so despite years since the castle’s
ruin and his lack of success in stirring anyone else to aid in rebuilding it. He might rejoice at Alex’s determination to
control all of Dumfriesshire—especially if Alex did not ask for his assistance and presented him afterward with the “chief’s
share” of the income.

“You do not look as if you believe your own words, Robert Maxwell,” Mairi said, eyeing him narrowly.

“You might find it more convenient to call me Rob,” he suggested.

“You do make a good argument against assassinating my father,” she said, clearly ignoring his suggestion. “However, I do not
believe that your brother has considered that argument, or he would not be threatening to seize our lands. He did issue such
a threat, did he not? It was not of your own devising?”

“Nay, it was not,” he said. “But Alex believes simply knowing that he
can
seize them will bring your father and the others into line.”

“Then he does not know them,” she said tartly, pushing her trencher away. “Heed me well, sir. I can see that you hope to persuade
my father by holding me prisoner until he submits to the Maxwell demands. But such tactics will persuade him of naught but
Maxwell perfidy, and perfidy he will fight to his last breath.”

“Nay, lass, you underrate your worth to him. Sakes, you
must
be more important to him than this defiance of proper authority.”

“How easily you claim proper authority,” she said, her anger clear again. “Maxwell authority
must
be proper, must it not? Dunwythie authority, which I’d remind you has held sway in Annandale for centuries, is as naught
to you!”

“You would be wise to refrain from taking such a discourteous tone with me,” he said, his own temper threatening to ignite.
Not that he was angry with her. She just seemed to have a knack for arousing his more volatile emotions.

When she stood, it took every effort for him to remain as he was.

Her chin jutted. Her icy expression challenged him.

“Sit down, lass. You have not finished your supper.”

“I have, aye,” she said. “As have you. I am tired after today’s adventures and do not want to debate further with you now.
We are unlikely to agree, so I would bid you goodnight. Faith, though, if you can sleep after all you have done, you are a
greater villain than you have yet shown yourself to be.”

“By the Rood, woman, you will not talk so to me!” he exclaimed, coming to his feet so quickly that he rocked the table. Hastily
catching and righting it before its contents could crash to the floor, he looked up to see that although her expression was
no less chilly and she had hooded her eyes, they had not quite shut.

Before they did, he detected the glimmer of a twinkle.

Her lips pressed harder together.

Although he had come to his feet with a strong urge to shake her and tell her exactly what he thought of such impertinence,
and though he still wanted to catch hold of her, he knew his reason was an entirely different one now.

Staring at her lips, waiting for them to soften, he felt himself stir, and he stirred again when her lips parted slightly.

Collecting his wits and naming himself every inch the villain she had called him, he said in a more controlled voice, “I’ll
not burden you further tonight with my presence, my lady. I will bring food to break your fast in the morning, though. Mayhap
we can talk more then. For now, I
will
bid you goodnight.”

“I shall need someone to help me dress,” she said, her own words carefully measured. “Also, I
must
have some task or other to pass the hours.”

“I’ll help with whatever you need,” he said, wondering what tasks existed that might keep her amused for more than an hour.
He could always find something to do, but women’s interests were none of his. Still, he’d have to think of something.

He realized she had said something while he was pondering what to provide for her. But her words had flowed past without penetrating.
“What did you say?”

“Faith, you are standing right there! How could you not hear me?”

“I was thinking.”

“By heaven, can you not think and listen at the same time? I said that while you must certainly find tasks I can do, I don’t
want
you to help me dress. Surely, there must be a maidservant or someone’s wife who could aid me.”

He thought of Fin Walters’s wife, Dora, a most capable woman and loyal. But she was less likely than most of his people to
turn a blind eye to holding a lass against her will. He could trust his men to keep silent. But, although he had brought her
in through the sea entrance, word of her presence at Trailinghail would spread.

He would need an explanation to give out. And none would survive long if she refused to agree to support it. But then he would
be asking her to lie, and he would not do that even if he thought she might agree.

“Well?” she said, tapping her foot.

Her impatience made it easy for him to sound stern again. “We have said enough tonight. If you still wish it, we can discuss
this more tomorrow.”

“By heaven, we will talk of it now!”

“Nay, we will not!”

“I say we will!” She reached for the trencher, still laden with uneaten food.

“Do
not
touch that unless you want to start something that
I
will finish.”

She froze with her hand hovering uncertainly above the trencher and glared at him. Then, with a sigh, she lowered her hand
and looked rueful.

“I do not suppose you will believe me when I tell you that I had never thrown anything at anyone before meeting you.”

“You are right,” he said curtly. “I
don’t
believe it.”

With that, he turned toward the door, opened it, and took a long step out.

The little cat, poised to dart in, ruined the dignity of his grand exit when he had to stoop with startled swiftness to scoop
it up before it could shoot past him.

Shutting the door with a snap, he lifted the first hook into place just as something crashed against the other side of the
door and then to the floor.

Grinning, he set the kitten on his shoulder and went downstairs to his bedchamber. But his improved state of mind was short-lived.

He had long prided himself on his ability to plan his actions. But in this event, he had clearly failed to consider a number
of things. Not least of them was what he should do if he came to like his captive and to feel as if abducting her might have
been the greatest mistake he had ever made.

The lass was right about one thing. He would not sleep well.

M
airi stared at the mess of cold, fatty mutton slices, bread, and raspberries on the floor, wondering what demon had possessed
her to heave the trencher at him.

From the moment the devilish man had brought her into his tower, she had behaved in a manner most unlike her usual self.

She was not, by nature, an impulsive woman.

Staring at the mess, she sighed, wishing she were one who could just leave it all where it was. But she was not.

It had been such a futile act, too.

“I’d have done better to have flung it in his face,” she muttered, then smiled at the thought. To her astonishment, she found
herself wondering what he would have done if she
had
flung it when the temptation had first struck her.

Dangerous musing, she decided. To taunt or challenge a man so much larger and stronger than she was would clearly indicate
that she had lost her senses. In some ways she thought she had. What else could explain this recurring desire of hers to throw
things at someone most people would believe she ought to fear?