Cicely attempted to pull away from him, but his grip was firm, his step sure as he led her into the house and down a short passageway into his hall. It was cold, as there was no fire burning. There were two rushlights burning that had been coated with tallow. The fat sputtered and the rushlights smoked, adding to the stink of the hall. There were rushes on the stone floor, and two dogs came forth to greet their master. Then they went back to seeking among the rushes for a bone that had not already been chewed.
“Why is there no fire?” Cicely wanted to know.
“Why would we burn wood when there was no one here?” the laird asked. “ ’Tis wasteful.”
“It will take hours to warm this drafty hall,” Cicely said irritably. “You would have used less wood keeping it comfortable. And have you no beeswax candles? Tallow is dirty when used for light, and it smokes. And rushes on the floor? Blessed Mother, my lord! No one uses rushes anymore. ’Tis old-fashioned. And the stink of the place is not to be borne! Tallow, rotting food, and dog piss! Disgusting! Absolutely disgusting!”
“ ’Tis to be your home,” he said angrily. Why had the hall not been warm and clean? He had sent a man ahead this morning to alert the house that he would be arriving by dark. “Take charge of the servants, and make it over to please you, madam. Housewifery is not my province. ’Tis yours!”
“I am not the mistress here, my lord, and you should not be giving your servants the wrong impression,” Cicely replied stubbornly. “Now, where am I to stay while I am forced to abide your company?”
“Bethia!” the laird roared. “Where the hell are you, woman?”
After a few minutes a woman shuffled into the hall. “You called me, my lord?”
Looking at her, Cicely could see why the hall was as it was. Bethia was of indeterminate age, and from the way she squinted her eyesight was not the best. Cicely shook her head.
“What is it you want of me, laird?” Bethia asked.
“Did you not receive word that I would be arriving before nightfall earlier today?” Ian Douglas asked his serving woman.
“Aye,” Bethia answered him.
“Then why is there no fire in the hall?” he said.
“The messenger did not say preciselywhenyou were coming, my lord. Why would I waste the wood?” the woman replied. “Look. Here is Pol to light the fire.” She pointed at a man who was even now struggling to bend towards the large fireplace. “Will you be wanting a meal, laird?”
Cicely made an exasperated sound that set her suitor into a furious temper.
“Aye, you witch,” he exploded. “We’ll be wanting a meal that should erstwhile be cooked and be ready to be brought to the high board! And have my mother’s old bedchamber made ready for my guest.”
“Is she not to share your bed, laird?” Bethia said. “Since you sent no word to have another chamber prepared, and we were not expecting a visitor, how could I know to make ready your late mam’s rooms? It will take time. I shall have to send into the village for a lass or two to come, and ’tis already dark.”
Cicely now snickered. She couldn’t help it. The masterful laird of Glengorm had absolutely no control over his servants. While she knew it didn’t bode well for her comfort, she was hard-pressed not to burst out laughing. Seeing the grim look in Ian Douglas’s eye, however, she managed to restrain herself.
“I’ll be going home now to my wife,” Fergus Douglas said as he hastily exited the hall. If his sibling had thought to call after him, Fergus would have pretended not to hear.
“Then send for someone, or do it yourself. This lady with me is to be my wife.”
“I am not!” Cicely said firmly.
“Ahh!” A light dawned in Bethia’s eye. “You went bride stealing,laird, did you?” She chuckled. Then she looked Cicely up and down. “She’s pretty, and looks sturdy enough to give Glengorm some heirs. Why bother with your mother’s chamber if you mean to wed her? Send for the priest, bed her, and be done with it. Her people will certainly be coming after her soon enough. You’ll want the deed done, laird, or they’ll take her back.”
“He will not bed me, and when the priest comes I will tell him so,” Cicely said. She turned to the laird. “You have a priest in this hidey-hole of yours, my lord? Ohh, yes, I will certainly want to speak with him.”
Old Pol was still struggling to light the fire. Cursing, the laird pushed him aside and did it himself. Then he rounded on Bethia. “Do as you have been told, woman. See to a hot meal and see to the lady’s chamber!”
With a shrug Bethia, followed by Pol, shuffled from the hall.
“Come and sit by the fire,” the laird invited Cicely. “You’ll be warm in a few minutes. Would you like some wine?” He moved towards a sideboard.
“It will take this hall at least a day to warm, provided you keep the fire going,” she said as she sat herself in a straight-backed chair that was near the hearth. “And I think if you have it I would prefer some of that whiskey Fergus gave me the other night. It took the chill out of my bones quite nicely.”
He poured the requested liquid into a small pewter half-dram cup and handed it to her. “You liked our whiskey?”
“It serves its purpose,” Cicely answered him, then gulped it down. She gasped, and tears came to her eyes, but the instant warmth that spread through her was gratifying. Then she looked up at him. “You can’t make me marry you,” she said quietly. “I don’t even know you, my lord. What made you do such a foolish thing as kidnapping me?”
Kneeling before her, he looked up into her eyes. “The moment I saw you on the Perth road that day I knew you were the woman for me, ladyfaire. I have already told you that. I fell in love with youat first sight, but when I met you at court I could not pay you my addresses, for Andrew Gordon and his kin were always around you. When you come to know me you will see I am a better husband for you than he is.”
