“Well, no…see. He, I mean, Chieftain MacDonald—”
Teague interrupted her with a loud clearing of his throat.
Her mouth tightened with a determined pucker. “Teaguehas been verra kind,” she said. “Both to myself and Robbie. We are grateful for his hospitality.” She shrugged. “And clothes are really just clothes, aren’t they? I needed these. So, I wore them.”
“I see.” Vivyanne quirked a sparse brow. “And who is Robbie?”
“Her son,” Teague said. “Fine lad. Bhric and Calder asked him to help with the load and team.”
“Ahh.” With a knowing lean closer, the madam winked at Mila. “They are trying to impress ye, lass. Both have decided they are ready to sow their seeds at home rather than in rented fields.”
Mila parted her lips in surprise and eased back a step.
Teague groaned. “Vivyanne! Is there nowhere else ye need be?”
Unfazed by his scolding tone, the old harlot shrugged. “Ye willna let me kill that useless feckin’ chicken. I have already rousted the girls, and they are nearly finished moving all our things into our grand new place.” Her overly painted cheeks plumped even rounder as she aimed a proud smile at Mila. “’Tis finer than Moll’s coffee house by Covent Garden. Wait till I write her.”
“MollKing?” Mila repeated. Both her brows rose to her hairline. Her uncomfortably knowing gaze slid to him. “On Drury Lane?” Apparently, she knew Covent Garden to be the heart of London’s prostitution trade. He heard it in her tone. Clear and loud, as if she had shouted it from the top of the keep.
“Aye, Moll King and Vivyanne are sisters,” he said. “In a manner of speaking.”
With a thoughtful tilt of her head, Mila remained silent for a long, tense moment. Then she offered a polite nod. “Congratulations on yer new establishment.”
“Why thank ye, lass.” Vivyanne aimed a smirk at Teague before turning back to Mila. “Come by anytime ye like. I’d be more than happy to show ye around.”
“That willna be necessary,” Teague interrupted. Again, he took hold of Mila’s arm and steered her away. “Goodbye, Vivyanne. We shall speak later, ye ken?”
“Oh, Iken, all right.” Vivyanne gathered her skirts in both hands and trudged off in the other direction. “Pleasure meeting ye, Mistress Abernathy,” she called back. “I am looking forward to more chats.”
“Thank ye, Mistress Vivyanne.” Mila returned her attention to him with a stern narrowing of her lovely eyes. “I am not a prostitute, by the way.” She lengthened her stride to keep up with his faster pace to escape Vivyanne.
“I never said ye were.”
“Just wanted us to be on the same page.” She pulled her arm free. “And Robbie and I will be moving on as soon as we figure things out for ourselves.”
Figure things out for themselves? Interesting way to put it, but he daren’t press her for more information. At least not yet. “Ye are both guests here, lass. Not prisoners. However, when ye choose to leave, ye will be escorted out in such a way that ye willna be able to reveal our whereabouts. Too many lives depend on it.”
While he hadn’t ordered them blindfolded on the way in, he sorely doubted she could retrace the route. As frightened as she was, and as worried about the boy, he would lay odds she didn’t remember which turns had led them to the castle. And she also would not be allowed to leave until she explained how she knew so much about the ground preparation for his home. But he wouldn’t tell her all that just yet.
He held out a hand to help her up the front steps. The builders had made them a mite steep.
She stared at him, then looked down at his hand as though weighing the consequences of accepting his help.
“Ye seem a bit wobbly in the knees, lass. If ye dinna wish to take my hand, I dinna mind throwing ye over my shoulder.” He couldn’t resist a teasing smirk. This fine lady needed to realize he meant her no harm. On the contrary, he would treat her very well indeed. If only she would allow it.
Her eyes narrowed to slits, and her jawline hardened. He fully expected a terse comment, but she surprised him and took his hand. “I dinna mind. I appreciate agentleman’shelp.”
That made him laugh as they climbed the steps. “Verra few have ever accused me of being a gentleman. As I am sure ye can imagine.” He shouldered open the heavy oak door and waited for her to enter. “But I thank ye for the kindness of yer words.”
Her steps slowed as she entered the great hall. It appeared she couldn’t look in every direction fast enough to suit herself. She turned in a slow circle, taking in his life’s work. Or, at least, one of his life’s many accomplishments.
“Is it not grand?” he said, unable to contain his pride.
“It is indeed.” She trailed a hand across the end of the nearest long table, one of the many arranged in an open-ended square around the room with their benches on the outside so diners could see each other whilst enjoying their food and drink. Her gaze lit on the MacDonald colors and crests flanking the wide hearth. Something made her smile.
“What is it, lass?”
“It is even more beautiful than I imagined,” she said in a hushed tone as her focus rose to the gallery above them. Then she twitched as if shaken and stared at him. Her fearful expression had returned. “I mean—the finery and workmanship in everything. The grain of the wood gleaming with polish. The brass sconces, how they shine. And those mahogany cabinets are lovely. I have never seen such elegance firsthand.”
