“There’s more.” Greyson’s eyes narrowed. “What isit?”
Devorgilla adjusted her cloak. “Only that time is of theessence.”
“Why do I feel as if I’m walking into atrap?”
“Do ye?” She tilted her head, peering up at him like a tiny, just-offended bird. “That benonsense.”
“I’ll decide thatmyself.”
“Ah, well…” She spread her hands, now looking defeated. “I see you must hear all of it. I only wish to spare a deserving lass the misery of being forced to wed a man who would cause her to perish of boredom, or perhaps worse, one more than twice her age and whose rigid views would crush her spirit. Mrs. Russell is fond of her niece, but the young woman has her own ways and Mr. Russell frowns on her fancies. The lass isnae prim enough to suit him. He says she has a wild heart and so he wants her out of Kettle House before she ‘taints’ theplace.”
“I see.” Greyson considered. “You said she works at the house. Can she no’ seek employmentelsewhere?”
“She could, aye.” Devorgilla flicked at her sleeve. “I’d rather gain time to find her a husband who’d appreciate her. You can help me do that by speaking to theaunt.
“No’ that I’d see it as returning a long-done good deed,” she added, her words pinching hishonor.
Shehadhelped his mother all those yearsago.
Greyson’s heart sank. He knew when he’d been maneuvered into a corner – when his every argument would ring as hollow as an emptywell.
Still…
There were plenty other men in Aberdeen – even here in Tullie village – who could deliver such a plea to Mrs. Russell, a woman he didn’t evenknow.
His life was broken, knit together with frayed threads, the cloth not sound enough to carry a heavierburden.
He’d have torefuse.
Before he could, Wiggle dashed over to him, ran up his leg, and climbed into his sporran. After a moment of vigorous scrambling about, he popped his little red head out of the specially-made carrier and then thrust out his hand, wanting anut.
As always, Greyson indulged him and took a nut from a small wooden chest on the table. “Here you are, my wee friend,” he said, giving the treat to hispet.
That done, he turned back to Devorgilla. “I rescued a squirrel, aye,” he said, rubbing Wiggle’s red-tufted ears as he spoke. “I see that those hurt by theSilver Thistletragedy receive funds each month, as much as I can send them. I do no’ save damsels in distress, as I toldyou.”
“This one is special.” Devorgilla wouldn’t let it go. “You’ll be glad to helpher.”
“I cannae.” Greyson was just as firm. “You’ll have to find someoneelse.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, the crone frowned. “Come, laddie, I would no’ lead youastray.”
“You have my answer.” Greyson strode to the great hall’s door, standing there to indicate the old woman should go. “I will no’ change mymind.”
“Very well.” Devorgilla nodded and startedforward.
Relief sluiced Greyson. He hadn’t expected her to take the hint. But his ill ease returned when Devorgilla stopped halfway across the room and turned to head for his desk. There, she withdrew something from the inside of her cloak and placed it on thedesk.
“A small likeness of Miss Raines,” she told Greyson, joining him at the door. “Should you take heart and pay a call at Kettle House. The portrait might change yourmind.”
“It won’t.” He wasn’t even going tolook.
So as soon as he closed the door behind the crone, he went to the desk, intending to toss the woman’s image into the fire. Unfortunately, Wiggle chose that moment to hop out of his sporran. And in doing so, he landed on thedesk.
Of course, his fast little feet sent the portrait fluttering to thefloor.
And as the fates wantedit…
The lovely face peering up at him wasn’t astranger’s.
She was the ghosthunting lass from Samhain Eve. And with recognition, a flood of images swept his mind. Her raven hair shining in the moonlight, the swell of her breasts beneath the shimmery silver of her shawl, her remarkable eyes challenging him in themoonlight.
Above all, he recalled holding her crushed to him, how her arms slid around him, her soft, sweet lips parting beneath his, the silken touch of hertongue.
And that meant only onething…
He was introuble.
Already he could feel the walls closing in on him. His pulse quickened and his heart thumped hard. His ears even buzzed, though on another day, he might credit the sound to Gannet House. Either way, his world would soonupend.
How unsettling that he didn’t give adamn.
