Devil in a Kilt (33 page)

But
the knocking came anew, persistent and unrelenting. "Lady? Be you in
there?" a youth's voice called between the sharp raps.

"Damnation,"
Duncan repeated, easing Linnet to her feet.

Snatching
a large drying cloth off a chair, he thrust it at her, and she gratefully
wrapped it around her shivering body.

Heart
in her throat, she watched Duncan stride angrily across the room and jerk open
the door.

His
nude body blocked her view of whatever hapless soul sought to find her, but she
heard a sharp intake of breath, then a young male voice stammer, "A good
... good morrow to you, sir."

"And
a fine one it was till now," Duncan quipped, folding his arms. "What
brings you to my lady's chamber at this early hour?"

"I
dinna ... I dinna ken you'd be here, sir." The lad shifted nervously from
one foot to the other as he spoke, and Linnet caught a brief glimpse of him.
Despite the high color staining his cheeks, she recognized him as her husband's
youngest squire. "‘Twas Fergus sent me. He bid me to fetch the Lady
Linnet."

"Fergus?"
Duncan shot a quizzical glance at Linnet. "And pray what does he want with
her that could not wait till my lady wife finished her bath and made her own
way belowstairs?"

The
squire gulped noisily, then tried to explain. "He wishes to ask her
blessing, milord."

"Her
blessing!"

"Aye,
sir," the young man confirmed. "I... I believe he means to marry the
Lady Linnet's woman servant."

"Marry
her?"
Duncan asked, his tone incredulous. "Do you mean
my wife's old nurse? The one called Elspeth?"

"Aye,
she be the one, sir."

"Then
tell Fergus my wife and I shall meet him and his intended in my former solar
within the hour," Duncan ordered. "Now be gone from here and dinna
disturb us again," he added, already closing the door.

Turning,
he leaned against the heavy oak panels of the door. "Did you hear
that?" he asked, shaking his head. "Fergus wanting to marry? The old
goat! He never wanted aught to do with women, save his rare trips to the
village to slake his ... eh... needs."

Linnet
hugged the linen drying cloth tighter about her body. "I've noticed they
seem fond of one another. I canna say I'm surprised."

"But
marry
her? Next, he'll be claiming he's fallen in love."

"Mayhap
he has," Linnet said. "Mayhap they both have."

"Bah!"
Duncan gave a derisive snort. " ‘Tis no such thing. And if they think so,
they're both old fools."

Linnet
shrugged. "Whatever you say, milord."

But,
in truth, she couldn't disagree with him more.

Not
quite an hour later, Duncan walked into his solar, or what
used
to be
his solar, his lady wife following on his heels. A cheery fire burned in the
hearth and it was more than obvious his dearest friend and brother-in-law, Sir
Marmaduke, had laid claim to the chamber.

The
romantically inclined English knight had cluttered the once-austere solar with
all manner of useless trappings. Duncan pressed his lips together in a tight
frown as he surveyed the many changes.

Indeed,
were it not for the wicked-looking sword and other knightly attrapments resting
in a far corner next to the door to his former bedchamber, Duncan would've
sworn he'd entered the quarters of a lady.

A
fanciful one with naught but nonsense in her head.

Duncan
spied the one-eyed lout leaning nonchalantly against the closed bedchamber
door, his arms folded. Ever the gallant, Sir Marmaduke sprang to attention,
coming forward to give Linnet a courtly bow. When he straightened and claimed
Linnet's hand for a kiss, Duncan had had enough.

"Cease
conducting yourself as if you're at court," he said irritably, whilst the
Englishman fawned over his wife's hand. "‘Tis instructing my squires in
swordplay you should be at this young hour and not pandering about pretending
you're the fabled Sir Lancelot."

Taking
hold of Linnet's elbow, Duncan drew her closer to his side, away from the
Sassunach. "Where is Fergus? I was told he wished to speak with my
lady."

"Fergus
and his intended should arrive any moment," Sir Marmaduke assured him,
returning to his position in front of the closed bedchamber door. "You
won't deny his request, will you?" he asked.

"Of
course not," Duncan snapped. "Why should I? If he wants to tie
hisself to a wife, ‘tis his decision."

Beside
him, Linnet stiffened. With a little jerk, she freed her elbow from his grasp
and went to stand before the tall, narrow windows. Her back to the room, she
clasped her hands loosely behind her and appeared to stare out at the waters of
Loch Duich far below.

Marmaduke
shot a quick glance her way, then turned his one-eyed gaze on Duncan. The look
of reproach on the Sassunach's scarred face made Duncan feel as if he were once
again a wee laddie and had just been dressed down by his father.

"I
doubt Fergus sees it that way," Marmaduke said. "He's quite fond of
Elspeth. I daresay he loves her." Pausing, he narrowed his good eye at
Duncan. "As all men should love and cherish the woman they take to wife."

"And
who made you an expert on marriage?" Duncan quipped sourly before
remembering how deeply the Englishman had loved his late wife, Duncan's sister,
Arabella.

How
much he still mourned her death.

As
so often of late, Duncan cringed at the harshness of his own words. By the
Rood, what had come over him? Angry at himself, and embarrassed as well, he
sought to change the subject. "Since when have you become Fergus's
champion? ‘Twas not long ago the two of you couldn't abide each other."

"Times
change, people change, my friend. ‘Tis a wise man who can admit he is
wrong."

The
neck opening of Duncan's tunic suddenly seemed inexplicably tight, and heat
stole up his neck and into his cheeks. "If you're referring to—"

A
knocking on the still-open door behind Duncan saved him from finishing.
"‘Tis good of you to meet with us," Fergus called from the door.
"May we come in?" he asked, although he'd already stepped inside.

Duncan's
jaw dropped. Never had Fergus asked his permission for aught. More oft than
not, the bristly old seneschal spoke his mind and did as he pleased.

But
something had changed him.

He
even
looked
different.

So
much so, Duncan highly suspected he'd taken a bath, a small miracle in itself.
‘Twas glaringly apparent, too, that he'd tried, albeit without much success, to
comb his shaggy mane of gray hair into a semblance of neatness.

He'd
also donned his best plaid and polished the silver brooch holding it in place
at his shoulder.

"What's
this about you wanting to marry?" Duncan asked, his voice purposely gruff
in an attempt to hide his astonishment at the old man's jaunty appearance.
"Be that the truth?"

"Aye,
‘tis God's truth, milord. I ken you willna deny me my happiness," he said,
stepping farther into the solar, his intended close beside him, holding tightly
to his gnarled hand. "With all due respect to you as laird, ‘tis your lady
wife's blessing I wish to have, as my Elspeth and I dinna want to do aught what
doesna meet her approval."

Duncan
crossed his arms and forced himself not to lose his temper.

Or
let another rash statement pass his lips.

‘Twould
seem his entire world had been turned inside out since he'd fetched Linnet
MacDonnell to be his bride: Sir Marmaduke had used trickery to oust him from
his quarters, he couldn't open his mouth without putting his foot in it, he was
master of his castle and rightful laird, yet everyone under his roof would lead
him around by the nose.

And
now his cranky old tale-spinner of a seneschal had spruced himself up like a
lovesick squire and sought not his, but his wife's blessing to marry!

A
wife who had yet to fulfill the one task he asked of her, to tell him the truth
about Robbie.

A
wife whose very nearness unsettled and excited him.

"Milord?
Have we stirred your ire?" Fergus asked, causing Duncan to scowl even
more.

Saints,
the old buzzard had ne'er called him aught but his given name. That, and a few
choice titles Duncan didn't care to recall.

But
never
milord.

"Nay,
you have not," Duncan replied with a vigorous shake of his head, trying
in vain to rid himself of the persistent notion his entire household had gone
raving mad while he wasn't looking. "‘Tis merely surprised I am."

Turning
to his wife, he said, "Lady, you've heard Fergus's plea. Will you grant
them your blessing?"

Linnet
took a hesitant step forward, her hands tightly clasped before her, her gaze
intent on the older pair still hovering near the door. "Is this your wish,
too, Elspeth?" she asked her former nurse. "Be you certain?"

Elspeth
nodded, her gray curls bouncing. "Aye, child, it is, and ‘tis more than
sure I am. When Angus passed, I did not expect I'd meet a man I could care for
again, but"—she paused to beam at Fergus—"I have, and it is my hope
you'll be happy for me. For both of us."

‘Twas
all his lady wife needed to hear apparently, for she abandoned her cautious
stance and fair charged across the room, throwing herself first into Elspeth's
arms, then allowing Fergus, the bandy-legged old goat, to embrace her as well.

"Ahem,"
Duncan tried to catch their attention, to bring a spot of order, nay, dignity,
to the moment, but the three ignored him.

Ooohing
and aaahing, they continued to hug, kissing each other upon their cheeks as if
he wasn't even present.

From
his post by the bedchamber door, Sir Marmaduke shrugged. He wore an expression
Duncan could only call a self-satisfied smirk and obviously found the situation
highly amusing.

"Ahem!"
Duncan tried again, louder this time.

All
three stopped their silly prattle and turned toward Duncan. "Aye?"
Fergus answered him, plucking his plaid into place, then drawing himself as
tall as his somewhat-stooped frame would allow. "What's ailing you, boy?
Have you lost proper use of yer tongue?" His bushy brows snapped together
as if daring Duncan to shed ill favor on his newfound happiness.

"Naught
ails me," Duncan countered crossly. "Naught at all."

Except
wondering when every man, woman, and child under my roof had their brains
pickled!

He
turned to his wife. "You approve of this union?"

"Oh,
aye," she said, smiling in a way she'd never smiled at him. "If
Elspeth is so happy, how can I do aught but approve?" She grasped
Elspeth's hands then, holding them between her own. "‘Tis a fine pair they
make. A bonnie pair."

"Then
so be it," Duncan pronounced firmly.

He
refused to be party to such gushing sentimentality.

‘Twas
a frivolous waste of time better left to women and his softhearted Sassunach
brother-in-law.

Indeed,
he'd let Marmaduke, with his unbridled love of French romances and constant
gibberish about chivalry and courtly love, see to the reading of the banns and
organizing a small wedding ceremony for the besotted old fools.

He,
as laird, had more important matters to attend to.

Fixing
the Sassunach with a pointed stare, he ordered, "You can help them make
arrangements. I must hie myself below and dinna have the time. A patrol is due
in this morn, and ‘tis anxious I am to hear what tidings they bring."

Because
it was no doubt expected of him, he strode over to the older couple and placed
a hand on each of their shoulders. "‘Tis pleased I am to see you both content.
May God grant you many long and happy years together."

Stepping
away from them, he heaved a deep sigh and made for the door. Without another
word, and not looking back, he left them.

He
truly did have much to tend to this morn. Reports of cattle snatching had been
filtering in of late, as well as the scattered accounts of kinsmen being
harassed. He couldn't spend the day dallying about planning a wedding when
such trouble was underfoot, when his people needed him.

Besides,
so much blissfulness as he'd just been forced to witness was hard for a man to
bear.

Especially
when his own heart ached for even a meager share of such happiness.

A
fierce scowl settled over his face as he began the circular descent to the
hall.

By
the devil, the truth hurt.

Bad.

And
knowing he was too much of a coward to do aught about it pained him even more.

An
uncomfortable silence ensued after Elspeth and Fergus excused themselves a
while later, leaving Linnet alone in the solar with Sir Marmaduke.