Amanda Scott (10 page)

Molly did not know his grace the King, but she did not believe that he had given any thought to her well-being. Had he done
so, he would not have given her in ward at the tender age of five to her uncle Angus or at the age of six to any man with
“the Grim” appended to his name. Had James had the least care for her, he would have allowed her to grow up in her own home
with her own mother and her beloved little sister; and had that been the case, Bessie would still be alive.

She did not point out any of this to her ladyship, however. Not only was it an uncomfortable subject to discuss with anyone,
but being fully occupied with taking off her hunting dress and donning the gaily embroidered yellow wool, Molly was content
to listen while the others listed tasks that awaited their attention after the meal. Her imagination insisted on presenting
one image after another of the powerful Kintail, usually frowning, but she banished each one as it appeared. It was enough
that he would control her future. She would not allow him to occupy her mind. Her ladyship offered a stream of orders and
advice, but despite her own straying thoughts and these well-intended interruptions, Molly was soon ready.

Leaving Doreen to tidy up the room before she joined the other servants to eat her meal, the two ladies went together to the
great hall, where they found men and maids surging in through the main entrance and hurrying to take places at several trestle
tables set at right angles to the laird’s table.

Clatter and noisy conversation accompanied this invasion, and the conversation continued unabated while the two ladies wended
their way to the high table. Two of Lady Mackinnon’s three sons—one a year younger than Molly, the other several years older—stood
at their places. The other places were still empty.

Try as she did to appear calm and disinterested in Kintail’s absence, she could not help glancing around, wondering if he
would dare comment publicly on her choice of attire. A flutter of apprehension and the little she had already experienced
of the man told her that he might.

When he entered a few moments later with Mackinnon and Mackinnon’s eldest son, Rory, the embroidered collar on the loose smock
Kintail wore belted over his russet hose and rawhide boots told Molly the smock was one of Rory’s. Despite its excellent cut,
it was too short and fitted too tightly across his big shoulders, making his arms and legs look like those of a boy who had
outgrown his clothes. There was nothing boylike about the rest of him, though. He looked formidable, and she knew in a flash
that he had seen her, noted the yellow gown and thus her defiance of his request—nay, his command—and that he was displeased.

The flutter of apprehension turned into a shiver that shot up her spine, but that served only to stiffen it. She raised her
chin and gave him back look for look.

Mackinnon spoke to him, and when Kintail turned to respond, Molly felt a rush of gratitude to her foster father for diverting
that stern look from her. Her gratitude was short-lived, however.

“See ye, Molly lass,” Mackinnon said bluffly, “d’ye take her ladyship’s chair this once and I’ll shift mine wi’ Kintail’s,
so ye and he can sit together. He tells me he’s hardly had a moment t’ tell ye aught o’ his Eilean Donan, and I dinna doubt
but that ye’ll be yearning t’ hear all about it.”

She could think of no polite way to refuse, but it did not matter, for as soon as those below them in the hall saw that their
laird was present, a silence fell and what little opportunity she might have had was gone.

Obediently, she stood behind the chair Mackinnon indicated, trying to ignore mounting tension as Kintail moved to stand beside
her. She knew he was watching every move she made, because she could feel his gaze, and his displeasure.

Mackinnon said a few words to serve as grace-before-meat, and the meal officially began with a rumble and scrape of people
taking their seats on the long benches at the trestle tables.

Kintail held Molly’s chair for her, deftly sliding it in as she sat down.

Good manners demanded that she thank him, but over-conscious of his daunting presence and determined that he would not know
how strongly he affected her, she could not bring herself to do so.

Servers moved among them, plunking down platters of meat and trays of bread trenchers on the tables.

As Molly waited for the laird’s carver to serve her meat, her tension increased. She wished she could turn and engage Lady
Mackinnon in conversation, but her ladyship was issuing orders to a gilly setting side dishes on the table. Bereft of aid
from that source, Molly signed to another lad to pour her some ale.

“Art color blind, mistress?”

His voice sounded like she imagined the growl of a tiger might sound.

“I believe not, sir,” she replied, avoiding his gaze easily when the gilly reached between them to pick up her goblet.

“I believe you must be,” he said when the gilly stepped back. “That dress is yellow. I cannot deny that it becomes you—better
than such a bright color would become most women, in fact—but it is not blue.”

Flattered despite her determination to let nothing he said affect her more than his looming presence already had, she said,
“I chose not to wear blue.”

“I see.” He was silent while the gilly set down her goblet again and departed, and for a long moment after that. Indeed, he
waited almost long enough to make her look at him. Then he said, “Very well, I will allow the lapse this time, because I can
see that you chose well, and because perhaps you did not understand that I meant for you to obey me. You may wear blue to
supper tonight instead.”

“I am not accustomed to letting anyone dictate what I shall wear,” Molly said, glowering at her trencher and wishing that
his sternness did not incite such a turmoil inside her.

“I am rapidly coming to believe that you are not accustomed to anyone telling you anything,” he retorted. “Such license is
not appropriate for a young, unmarried female. You must learn to look to others to guide you.”

“Why?” She did look at him then, astonished.

He stared back steadily. “Because you cannot otherwise know how to go on. Females don’t. They lack the education and experience
necessary to make wise decisions on their own.”

Indignant now, she said, “I warrant my education must be the match of most men’s educations.”

“Is it?” He smiled patronizingly. “What university did you attend?”

“You know very well that females do not attend universities, and I think that it is a great misfortune that they do not. Nonetheless,
when I took my lessons with Rory Mackinnon and his brothers, I frequently knew the correct answers to our tutor’s questions
when they did not.”

“You had a tutor?” He was clearly surprised.

“Aye, I shared Micheil Love with the lads, of course, but he often said that I was his best pupil and that it was a shame
I could not study Greek and Latin. He believed that I would excel at those subjects, too.”

“Why did you not study them, then?”

“Because Rory and the others did not want to do so, and the laird would not pay Micheil to tutor me alone. I could share only
what they were willing to learn.”

“I see.” His brow furrowed, and she expected him to make another acid comment about what females could and could not do, but
to her surprise, he did not. Instead, he smiled wryly and said, “I’ll admit that you are not what I expected, mistress. Are
you perhaps apt with numbers then, as well?”

“Aye,” she said, seeing nothing to gain with false modesty. She added frankly, “I can do sums and subtractions, at all events,
and I can multiply and divide if the numbers are not too great. I do not know more than that, though, for the same reason
that I did not learn Greek.”

“That is enough,” he said thoughtfully. “You might prove more useful at Eilean Donan than I had reason to suspect.”

“Indeed?” She would not give him the satisfaction of asking what he meant, although she was dying to know.

He did not tell her, either. He smiled enigmatically, and then, just when she thought he would at last turn his attention
to his meal, he added, “First, of course, you must learn obedience. I look forward to seeing that blue dress this evening.”

Molly sighed. Clearly, it would take time to show Kintail that he could not so easily master her. The foolish man seemed to
think that he had only to speak and everyone would obey.

Mackinnon diverted Fin’s attention just then to suggest that they enjoy another game of chess later, but although Fin agreed,
he did not allow his host to divert him long. He was more interested in taking the opportunity to study his ward.

Her magnificent hair no longer tumbled in a cloud of curls down her back. She had tamed it, confined it in a coil at the nape
of her slender neck, where escaping tendrils trailed enticingly. Others escaped her coif, softly caressing her rosy cheeks.

She seemed unnaturally interested in her food, peering at the juicy slices of rare beef on her trencher as if she were oblivious
of the noise and chatter in the hall, and blind and deaf to his presence, as well. She selected a narrow slice, picking it
up daintily and raising it to her lips. When her little pink tongue darted out to lick running juice from the meat, his loins
tensed sharply.

He had picked up a leg of roasted chicken, but it remained hovering, forgotten, halfway between his trencher and his mouth,
while he watched her.

She seemed to be lost in thought, for surely no one could keep her attention so solidly fixed on a bit of food. Still oblivious
of his attention, she sucked on one end of the meat, drawing out the juices, savoring the taste.

His throat tightened. When she bit off the end she had been sucking and set the rest down on the trencher to reach for her
goblet, he stifled a gasp of protest.

She sipped the ale, and he watched her swallow. When she set down the goblet, he continued to watch her lips, waiting for
her to lick them. She did, and he realized with a jolt of desire that he would have liked to lick them for her.

Just then, she turned, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “Do you mean to eat that chicken, or will you wave it about
all night?”

Realizing that she had been aware of his gaze all along, and feeling flames in his cheeks that he had not felt since the earliest
days of his puberty, he said curtly, “Impertinence is not becoming in a young woman, mistress. You must learn to curb your
tongue.”

A sweet smile touched her lips. “If we are to speak of manners, sir, you should know that here at Dunakin we consider it rude
for a man to stare at a woman whilst she is eating.”

“I was not—”

“You were.”

“Nevertheless, it is not for you to criticize my conduct.”

“Someone should,” she retorted. “If you mean to act the guardian one moment and revert to your previous role as seducer the
next, I can promise you that we will not get on well at all.”

Without waiting for him to reply, she returned her attention to her food.

It was just as well, for he could think of nothing to say. Remembering the way he had behaved at their first meeting, he winced
inwardly, knowing that he had given her good cause to condemn his manners. It was just as he had feared, though. Guardianship
presented pitfalls that he had not anticipated. He certainly had not expected to feel such a physical attraction to his ward.

Since he could not act on that attraction, he would have to get over it, for seducing her would gain him nothing unless he
could lay hands on her fortune. He would do far better to use her to form an alliance with another powerful clan.

He saw her breasts heave and realized that she was repressing emotions of her own—anger with him, no doubt. The soft curve
of her bosom made his fingers itch to touch her. He looked away. She was right to rebuke him, but he could control himself.
Duty demanded it, and since duty also demanded that he teach her obedience, he would have to do so without allowing his baser
instincts to interfere.

Turning back to her, he said quietly but nonetheless firmly, “We will get on better, mistress, if you do not defy me. I promise,
you are safe from me, except insofar as you flout my authority.”

When she pressed her lovely lips tightly together but did not speak, he decided that he had made his point. He could handle
this guardianship business as well as he handled everything else. It was just a matter of practice.