“You heard that I rode my horse here? Inside Castle Tadgh?”
Fiona cleared her throat a little. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“On a dare.”
“On a dare as a grown man?”
“Uh . . . yes.”
“And you think I’d do it? Likely breaking the spirit of my horse by forcing it to do such a thing, and quite possibly risking its life for a prank?”
Well, when he put it that way . . . And clearly it would be a bad idea to mention the part about him not wearing any clothes. Fiona now felt more than a little foolish. Plus, that horrible red flush was still making her feel like someone had been poking at her with a lit candle. So she took refuge in prim hostility again.
“Since I don’t know you, laird, it’s not unreasonable to suppose you capable of anything.”
Now he smiled at her in a way she didn’t like one bit.
“I don’t know you either, Miss Douglass, but to be listening to gossip? And you such a mature woman, too. I’d never have credited it.”
“I notice you didn’t deny it,” she snapped, nettled despite herself.
“Since you seem to have an active imagination, I’ll let you decide for yourself.”
Oh, splendid. It was as if he was making her picture him stark naked on a horse. With a flash of temper Fiona got to her feet. “Well!” she said, with an affability that was utterly false. “This has been instructional, laird, hasn’t it? Now, if you’ll excuse my cousin and me . . . ? I’m sure those other young ladies are simply champing at their bits for their time with you. An apt metaphor, don’t you agree, for are they not creatures to be bought and sold?”
“I will excuse you with pleasure,” said Alasdair Penhallow, his smile a little grim, standing up as well.
She dipped a little curtsy and left the room with long strides. That same feeling of mildly spiteful satisfaction remained even as she had to endure the breathless chatter of Cousin Isobel, who struggled to keep up with her along the various passageways to their rooms.
“Oh! That insufferable Duff MacDermott! I simply observed what a handsome couple you and Alasdair Penhallow make, and he had the gall to—I wish you would slow down, Fiona dear! Why must you lope so? It’s not at all proper, I do assure you!—What was I saying? Oh, yes, that dreadful man, and his beard! I could barely keep my eyes from it the entire time. Why, he scratched at it in the most vulgar way!”
A sidelong glance revealed to Fiona that Cousin Isobel was herself digging her fingers into her armpits, but nobly she refrained from comment.
“This castle is massive, is it not? Oh, my dear, what a thing to be mistress of it! Are you quite sure we ought to go left here? Yes? Well, thank goodness you remember where they placed us! Isn’t that a magnificent hanging? How ancient it looks, yet so well-preserved! But I haven’t yet told you what that MacDermott said! He commented that you and the laird seemed a most ill-suited couple, with such very different temperaments! The cheek of that man!”
Fiona caught at Cousin Isobel’s arm and steered her away from going into someone else’s room. “He’s right, you know.”
Her cousin fairly quivered with outrage. “Nonsense! Such matters can’t be deduced so quickly! Although with dear Logan and yourself, of course—but that’s neither here nor there! Do slow down, Fiona dear! Else I fear a palpitation may come on, which would never do, as we’ve so much planned for tomorrow! Have you heard? An excursion to the Keep o’ the Mòr, an old monastery. Isn’t that delightful?”
“I adore crumbling ruins,” answered Fiona sarcastically, “as every female must. If we’re lucky, there will be a hermit, or possibly even a ghost or two.”
“Oh, no, do you think so? A ghost, really? Surely not, in this day and age! But a hermit would be most interesting! I’ve always longed to see one. What on earth do they eat, do you suppose? And how do they protect their clothing from the damp? It seems terribly unhealthy. But what was I saying? Oh! Yes! Of course Laird Penhallow will choose you, for you are infinitely superior to those other girls.”
“Well, I’m certainly taller than them. Here’s your door, Cousin. Good night.” Fiona practically bundled Isobel into her room, and swiftly went on to her own, sorry she had neglected to bring her knitting from home, and that she had finished the two books she’d brought along with her. It was going to be a long night. But then, they all were.
Later, much later that evening, Alasdair lay with his head resting on interlaced fingers and his elbows akimbo. He was a big man, but even so his own self took up but little space within the great laird’s bed. Four massive oaken posts, carved long ago, upheld a canopy and looped hangings of rich cream-colored linen, upon which had been skillfully embroidered figures of falcons, hawks, eagles, does and stags, foxes and wildcats. At this canopy Alasdair gazed unseeingly, for he was thinking about the four women.