Samantha James (9 page)

“And so you will abandon her?”

“Abandon her! She demanded that I leave!”

“Protect her, for there is no one else to do it. She will regret her rashness.”

Egan’s jaw thrust out. “You cannot know that.”

“I
feel
it.”

His eyes narrowed. “What has she said to you?”

“She has said nothing. I told you—I
feel
it, as only another woman can feel.”

Egan’s mind turned furiously. Nessa offered little in the way of explanation, yet now that his anger had begun to abate, he could feel himself weakening.

God knew he did not wish to leave. God’s bones, it was the last thing he wanted!

“Why?” He tipped his head to the side. “Why do you trust me?”

Nessa’s answer was a long time in coming. “I do not know. I only know that I do. And indeed, ’tis far better that she be with you than him.”

Him
. Without ever speaking his name, they both knew the wretch to whom she referred.

“He wants her,” he said slowly.

“I know. He is not what he seems. He is slippery as a greased eel.”

Egan swore hotly. “How the devil am I to protect her, when she wants naught to do with me?”

“How? Must I do yer thinking for ye, man?” Faith, but men were sometimes the most helpless, hapless of creatures. “There must be a way. ’Tis up to you to find it!”

Egan was all at once reminded of Robin. If the rogue were of a mind to seek revenge, wouldn’t he have done so by now? If only he could be certain!

Then there was Simon Ruthven. Blackness stole over him anew. He clamped his jaw tight. Nay, he decided, he could not go. If Glenda were to endure any harm, he would never forgive himself.

Nor, he suspected, would Nessa. She would guard Glenda’s safety like a mother goose guarded her goslings.

He was unaware of Nessa’s closely held scrutiny. Inside she held her breath. If she could sway him, then she might breathe easier. It was not her own welfare she was concerned with, for she had lived a long life. When God was ready to take her, she would not fight.

But she would battle to the ends of the earth for her beloved Glenda. Now that Glenda was home, Nessa viewed life with renewed vigor. She did not like that women were rarely granted respect and even less credit for their achievements. Home and hearth might run like a well-oiled lock through the wits and wisdom of its mistress, but it was the lord who gained—and claimed!—what credit was to be taken. Yet when it came to brawn and the might of the sword, she could not argue that it was much better to stand behind a strong arm.

She prayed he would relent, else all might be lost! Most Lowlanders were wary of Highlanders—and Englishmen! Such was the way of life here in the Borders. Her bones might be old and creaking, but she could spot a strong, powerful man as surely as any woman less than half her age.

She watched a brown, callused fingertip absently stroke the scar on his cheek. It lent him a dangerous, wicked look, but no matter. She uttered a silent, fervent prayer that Egan MacBain was a man who would give all for those whom he cared for.

For if not, then this effort might well be in vain—and she could not bear the thought.

“Stay,” she pleaded one last time. “If all goes well and no danger comes this way, then you may leave, if that is what you wish.”

“I will think on it.”

“Do not think too long,” she warned.

Egan remained where he was long after Nessa hobbled from the chamber.

Protect her, she urged. Protect the woman who scorned the sight of him and banished him from her home!

All because of a kiss.

He was tempted to laugh, and ended up groaning instead. Had he known the furor that would arise, would he have done it?

He could not regret it. By God, but he could not! Yet he could not help but wonder…If it had been but a fleeting, simple kiss—the wispiest brush of his lips against hers—would she have been so incensed?

Almost tiredly he dropped his pouch onto the floor. His anger at her had faded. When, he asked himself tiredly, would hers?

In the next breath, his shoulders straightened. He had sworn to protect her—whether or not she willed it, whether or not she wanted it. So he had vowed, and so he would.

He had only to find a way.

When Glenda arose the next morning, her head was pounding. She had hoped a night’s rest would ease her scrambled turmoil, but it was not to be. She could not rid her mind of him…Egan. A part of her could not believe he was gone. As the twilight shadows crept across the treetops, she had watched him pass beneath the gatehouse, watched until horse and rider were well beyond the wooden palisade. An odd feeling knotted her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She grappled with the certainty that she had made a horrible mistake.

No.
No
. She was stronger than that. She had only to get through each day, one at a time.

Pray God she did not have another like yesterday!

Her people would have to be told of his departure. At supper last night Jeannine had glanced more than once at the chair he usually occupied, but she didn’t inquire as to his whereabouts. Glenda sighed and tied a ribbon around the end of her thick chestnut braid, flipping it over her shoulder. Bernard, in particular, would no doubt be searching for Egan this morning.

So caught up was she in recounting the day’s onerous tasks that she didn’t notice the strident blare of the horn. It was Nessa who peered through the window. “We have visitors,” she announced.

Glenda frowned. “Who is it, Nessa?”

“I cannot be certain,” Nessa murmured, “but I think it’s the earl’s men. They wear his colors.” Her gaze sharpened. “And if I am not mistaken, there is the earl himself.”

All thoughts of Egan were driven from her mind. Glenda fairly flew to the arched window and looked down. Chickens flapped their wings and squawked, teetering out of the way of flashing hooves as a half-dozen men emerged from beneath the gatehouse.

She turned away with a smothered moan. “The earl! Oh, I know why he is here. He comes to collect the rents, but I cannot pay them. There is simply not enough in the treasury.”

“Calm yourself, Glenda. It cannot be so bad as all that. Your father always believed the earl was a fair, just man, and so must you.”

How easy it was for her to say! Yet no hint of Glenda’s distress showed through, an hour later. The earl sat at the head of the table in the great hall. Glenda had ordered that food and wine be brought.

She studied him covertly. He was garbed in a tunic of his colors—a rich, forest-green rimmed with gold. A man of trim, compact build, no hint of paunch hung over the belt that encircled his hips. Streaks of silver swept back from his temples. An ornate, bejeweled ring adorned the third finger of his left hand. Unremarkable of looks, his bearing, speech, and
grace of movement carried an aristocratic air that reflected his position and his title. His men, Glenda noted, were quick to do his bidding.

Glenda ate a few bites of bread and cheese, but could manage no more. Her stomach would have protested most heartily, and the last thing she wanted was to embarrass herself before the earl. This meeting was difficult enough as it was.

She motioned for Jeannine to step forward to refill the earl’s cup. He declined with a wave of his hand and turned to her.

“I offer my regret on the passing of your father and uncle.” There was a slight pause. “And your husband as well.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Her tone was quiet. She lowered her gaze. Her fingers caught nervously at each other in her lap; she stilled them, hoping against hope that Nessa was right, that the earl was truly a just, fair man.

Slowly she raised her head. “My lord, there is a matter which I would like to discuss with you. It concerns the rents.”

“Oh?”

Of a certainty, she’d captured his interest. His eyes fixed on her, like a hawk’s upon its prey.

Somehow Glenda willed the tremor from her voice. “I know my father respected you greatly, as do I, my lord, and everyone here at Blackstone Tower. Yet I must plead for your indulgence in the matter of the rents. Our circumstances are dire. I arrived from the Highlands to find the treasury nearly depleted. It seems the past twelve-month has not been a profitable one.”

“And why is that? It has been bountiful elsewhere on my lands,” he observed coolly. “Why not here at Blackstone Tower?”

Glenda took a deep breath. “I fear some of our tenants—both free and unfree—have gone elsewhere, my lord.”

“Elsewhere!” he exclaimed. “Why?”

Quaking inside, her voice low, Glenda related much that had happened. Her mind raced as she spoke. Quickly she weighed and considered. Did she dare lay the blame at Simon’s door? If only it were so simple! She sensed that the earl was not a man who would submit to such without proof—and she had none. Mayhap it was not Simon at all. Mayhap it was just as Nessa had stated that first day—men bent on making mischief. No, she decided, she could say nothing.

With his fingertips, the earl tapped out an impatient rhythm against the arm of the chair. “If some were bound to the land, then they are fugitives. Are they being sought?”

“Nay, my lord. My uncle had been ill and—and had not the men to spare.” Inside she winced, for there was no doubt his expression was now dark with disapproval. “And so, my lord, there you have it. This is the reason our resources are scarce. Yet ’tis my hope that by year’s end all will have changed. With God’s grace the harvest will be bountiful and I may then repay all that is owed and more.” She held her breath and waited.

That restless tapping continued. Light reflected off the jewels of his ring.

“I commend your directness.” Above his thin, aquiline nose, the earl’s eyes pinned hers. “However, that does not change my circumstances. I have obligations as well.”

“I understand that, my lord.” She spoke with painful dignity.

“I would be justified in stripping this keep and its lands from you, for your family has held them only because mine allowed it.”

She cried out inside. Please, no! Blackstone Tower had always been her father’s pride and joy. He would have been so disappointed—she had returned here to save her family’s home, not to lose it!

“There must be order on my lands,” the earl continued.

Her heartbeat quickened. For the life of him, what was he about? “Aye, my lord. That is my intention.”

“The tenants look to their lord in times of strife. Their leader cannot be weak.”

Glenda’s chin came up a notch. “I am not weak, my lord.”

“Perhaps not in will or spirit, but you are a woman.”

Sheer resolve kept a biting retort clogged deep in her breast. She was both furious and dismayed. Did all men have so little faith in women? Did he have so little faith in her? Yet she dare not defy the earl, for if she did, it might very well result in losing Blackstone—and that was the one thing she wanted to avoid at all costs. She must find a way to fight to keep these lands, and so she made no reply.

“If your tenants desert, my coffers empty as well.
However, I recognize that fate has not been kind to you, and I am prepared to be generous. Therefore, I will delay the payment of your rents for half a year. But you must heed my advice, lady.”

The relief that poured through her was immense. “I will do all that is necessary.” Graciously she inclined her head, then looked up at him. “What is it you wish, my lord?”

“Find yourself a husband, and quickly,” he stated grimly, “else I will choose one for you.”

Egan had caught a glimpse of the earl, whose richness of garments gave away his identity, and his small troop of men earlier that morning from the side of the drove-road. He did not think twice about the earl making the rounds of his estates, but watched as the small assemblage turned toward Blackstone Tower. He gave it no further thought. No doubt the earl had learned of Rowan’s death and come to visit Glenda.

He had done as Nessa suggested and spent the night in the woodcutter’s cottage. As soon as the earl’s men were no longer in sight, he turned his horse in the direction of the village alehouse. He would not skulk about in the dark like a thief afraid to be discovered. At the moment he did not particularly care if Glenda knew he lingered nearby. By God, he was free to do as he wanted and if she did not like it, then she would simply have to remove him herself.

In the alehouse he seated himself in the far corner. It was a tiny place, dark and dingy. What light there
was came from the window near the fireplace, where someone had scraped aside the dirt and soot near the center.

An hour later the ale he’d ordered had done little to improve his mood. He glanced up only when he heard the clatter of hooves upon the wooden planks of the bridge, just outside the alehouse—the earl and his men again. It took no great powers of the mind to discern that the earl was now headed for Simon’s keep.

Egan stared into his cup, then grimaced as he took a long draught. The brew was as clouded and stale as his temperament.

He’d been brooding since yesterday afternoon. Guilt had blunted the edges of his anger. He should not have spoken as he had to Glenda. He should not have reminded her of Niall’s death. Yet it was true: Niall was dead. No matter how much she—or anyone—wished otherwise, Niall was gone. Never would he return.

You are arrogant. You are vile and heartless and disgusting! And to think Niall called you his friend
.

Her words echoed through the chambers of his mind. Mayhap he was as arrogant as Glenda claimed. Clearly her devotion to Niall was as strong as ever. He chafed inside for he was not blind, nor was he a youth who knew naught of the ways of women.

The feel of her washed through him anew. He had not imagined the way her lips quivered beneath his; he’d felt for himself the wild thunder of her heart beneath his very fingertips! Oh, she could deny it all she wanted, but he was no tender youth to be taken aback by such a claim. The sweetness of her response
was all he craved—ah, but far too fleeting!

So what was he to do? Stay, Nessa urged. Protect her. Ah, but he had watched from afar for too many years. To do so much longer, while she forever yearned for Niall…Darkness crept around his heart, like shadows over the sun. The thought was untenable. He might as well plunge a red-hot knife in his gut and twist it. Clearly he’d not been meant for the church, he decided with a faintly self-derisive smile. He was not so selfless as he should have been.

He was caught in a web, snared deep in its threads. How could he leave…yet how could he stay?

On and on his mind turned. Perhaps it was just as he’d suggested, and she was lonely. Could he make her want him? If only he could! But he was not like Niall. Wearily he reminded himself he wasn’t the son of a chieftain, as Niall had been. As Simon had so cleverly needled, he possessed neither wealth nor lands, nothing that would make her want him…
need
him.

Unbidden, a fingertip came up to absently rub his scar. Nor was he as handsome as Niall…

And Glenda still loved him—that was the greatest hurdle of all.

How could he stay? Yet how could he leave her alone?

The sun began to sink below the treetops. Still he remained, though no answer to his dilemma revealed itself. He really should leave, he told himself a dozen times. Yet he could not summon the willpower to take himself to the door.

He barely glanced up when three men strode
boldly within. On their part, they gave no notice to the figure in the corner.

“It seems the earl was not pleased when the mistress of Blackstone was not able to pay the rents.”

The earl…Egan’s head nearly jerked up. He stopped himself just in time. It was Glenda they spoke of! In light of the current state of affairs at Blackstone, he could not doubt the validity of the statement. Yet why the devil hadn’t she confided in him?
Fool
, chided a voice inside,
you should have known. ’Tis plain how she feels about you! Why would she confide in you
?

Yet who else might she have confided in?

He did not like the answer that leaped to the fore…Surely not Simon!

One of the men gave a grating laugh. “I know how I would have made her pay! A fine piece of womanhood, she is!”

The bald man across from him pinched his nostrils and made a face. “You? Why, methinks she would sooner lie with a rotting pig!”

“What!” said the first. “Why, she would welcome it! She’s not been had for many a year, or so it’s said.”

“Och, but ye wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like her!”

“And you would?”

“Can you doubt it?” With a boastful grin, the man was on his feet. Chest high, he swaggered forward, stopped, clapped his hand to his groin, and pumped obscenely.

Lewd laughter erupted.

“Perhaps we should place a wager on the next man to warm her bed,” the third man chimed in. A few
sparse, gray hairs sprouted atop his pate.

Egan was about to rise and throttle all three, but their next words caught him cold.

“That’s not a wager I’ll make,” the first said promptly.

“Nor I,” said the second. “We all know ’tis our own lord Simon who will have her.”

So. They were Simon’s men. Egan had suspected as much.

“Ah, but ye should have heard him crowing when he heard that the earl demanded she find a husband.”

“What! Find a husband?”

What, indeed? Egan thought furiously. He had gone very still both inwardly and outwardly. Every inch of his being was focused on the three men.

The trio continued with gusto. “The earl told her she must marry. If she does not choose a husband soon, then he will find one for her.”

“Aye, and all know that would be Simon. Who else would it be, for he at least pays his rents on time!”

“Aye,” nodded the bald one. He drank deeply, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The earl has played right into Simon’s hands. I heard him bragging to the steward. He said that mayhap if he takes the lady Glenda to his bed, ’twill hasten the inevitable and she will have no choice but to wed him.” He went on to describe in base, bawdy detail precisely what Simon had said he would have her do. “Perhaps he does the deed even now!” he finished with a leer.

“Simon is at Blackstone?”

“I daresay he rode out just after we did. The stableboy was readying his horse.”

“Then mayhap we should join him and give the Scots lass a ride she’ll never forget!”