His lady’s friend was wise.
If her machinations to summon him hadn’t proved it, her ploy just now had. Her boldness also proved where her heart lay, and Marmaduke’s own sentimental soul smiled at the revelation.
James Keith would need a woman with backbone at his side when Marmaduke and his men returned to Balkenzie.
“Now you’ve seen the way of it.” Rhona sank back onto the windowseat. With a breathy little sigh, she looked out at the sea, but she hadn’t turned away fast enough for him to miss the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“So I have,” Marmaduke said gently, some of the darkness inside him ebbing. Indeed, for the first time since his arrival at Dunlaidir, a true shimmer of hope quickened inside him.
If he could convince Caterine that her stepson, and Dunlaidir, would be in sound hands after their departure, his chances of persuading her to accompany him should improve.
“I wanted you to know.” Rhona touched a hand to the stone edge of the window, her gaze still on the water. “I do what I must – always.”
“Lady, you possess greater insight than many men I know,” he praised her, meaning every word. “Were you not a woman, I would knight you here and now. James is fortunate to have your devotion.”
“He is not lame,” she said, glancing at him. “His right leg was hurt when a horse kicked him, but I suspect he scarce remembers which leg took the blow. The injury is long healed.”
She paused to tuck her hair behind an ear. “Regrettably, he is convinced otherwise. Perhaps you can persuade him to believe differently?”
“I shall try,” Marmaduke promised, a plan already forming in his mind.
“You will succeed, my lord,” Rhona predicted. “Both with James and my lady.”
Marmaduke raised her hand and kissed it. “Fair lady, I shall hold you to your word.”
“Then go and see you to it.” She smiled at him, then turned back to the window, giving him leave to do just that.
Moving away, he scanned the dimly lit hall, looking for James. He spotted him making for the great iron-studded door to the outer stairs.
And, once again, he walked with an exaggerated limp.
Marmaduke caught up to him just as he reached to open the door. “Have you a smithy?” he asked, closing his hand around the younger man’s arm.
James stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns. “A smithy?”
“A blacksmith. A master ironworker.”
“I am not a dullwit,” James seethed, struggling to free his arm. “I know what a smithy is, and, nae, we do not have one. Not any longer.”
“A shame.” Marmaduke released him, but blocked the door by leaning his back against its thick oak panels. “But no bother. We shall make do on our own,” he said, crossing his ankles, his tone deliberately light. “We can reward our efforts with a refreshing plunge in the cold waters of the sea.”
“The sea?”
“Of course.” Marmaduke smiled. “After we visit the forge.”
“Say you?” James’ brows lifted. “I am not an underling to be ordered about.”
“To be sure.” Marmaduke flicked an invisible speck of lint off his steel-clad arm, aware all eyes in the hall watched their exchange. “I said we, my friend. Never would I breach the laws of hospitality by issuing orders to my host.”
Satisfied when a bit of the fire went out of the younger man’s eyes, Marmaduke pushed away from the door. “A well-meant suggestion, perhaps, but not a command.”
“Ah, well…” Visible tension running through him, James glanced toward the shadowy window embrasure where Lady Rhona still sat. “There is no point in visiting the forge. It holds nothing but rusting iron and dust-covered bellows. Our smith abandoned us months ago. As for bathing in the sea, I do not swim.”
True alarm had glimmered in James’ eyes just then, so Marmaduke focused on the task at hand. Securing the latrine chutes and bolstering the younger man’s confidence.
“Four strong arms should compensate for one disloyal smithy,” he said.
James tightened his lips for a moment. “I will take you to the forge, but do not expect assistance from me. As you saw this morn, I am not much good to anyone.”
