She glared at him in defiance. “Because I said a vow? I happen to take my vows very seriously, even if you don’t.”
She saw his shoulders slump. He pulled his hand through his hair. It was thick, wavy and dark brown—on one side. It was rather too long and in need of a haircut. Or he could bind it together as was fashionable in the previous century. And if he’d get a decent shave and get rid of that dark stubble and put on a neater set of clothes—even Birdie could tell what he was wearing was grossly out of fashion—he’d look devilishly handsome.
Gabriel pulled himself up and turned to her. In the light of day, she saw the thick red and blue welts crisscrossing the side of his face and down his neck. His skin appeared melted and welded together into thick lesions. His long, scraggly hair covered his ear. Birdie assumed it was partly gone. Not that it mattered, as the man seemed to hear very well without it.
“You are mistaken,” Gabriel said hoarsely. “I take my vows very seriously. I made a vow to both our fathers before they died. I intend to fulfil it. But I can only do so successfully if you leave and carve out for yourself a life away from this unwholesome environment.” He lifted a hand and waved around. She saw it was scarred as well. “Away from me.” He added with a low voice. “There is no happiness to be had here. I can offer you my name and whatever money I have. But nothing more.”
“Oh.” Suddenly, Birdie understood. “I see. You think you will make me unhappy.”
His shoulders drooped.
She picked up a pile of books from the floor and stacked them on the table. “What if I have decided that this––this rainy corner of Scotland––will suit me perfectly? This, admittedly, ghoulish place? And when you don’t shout, growl, or snipe at me, you are not half bad to be around.” She smiled.
Her husband looked taken aback.
“What on earth do you intend to do here? There is nothing––nothing at all for a young woman like you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Birdie set her hands against her hips. “I’d like to clean up this library, for one. I do like books, you know. Look!” She lifted a book. “A first Folio of Shakespeare! It’s astounding!” She leafed through the book reverently and laughed out loud. “The Taming of the Shrew. Do you think this place has more treasures like this? Why aren’t you taking better care of it?”
“I have no idea. And I couldn’t care less.” Gabriel shrugged. “This is the previous duke’s home. He left it in shambles. The estates aren’t any better.” He threw up his hands in defeat. “Do what you need to do. I can’t be bothered with any of it.”
He turned and left abruptly.
Birdie stared after him with an open mouth. Had he just said he couldn’t be bothered with it? With his own dukedom? What on earth?
Gabriel stopped in his tracks. “Also, thank you for those biscuits.” He cleared his throat. “I haven’t had biscuits since I was a child.” Birdie had sent up Higgins with a plate of lavender biscuits earlier.
“Goodness me!” Birdie cried. “You poor man. How can one not eat biscuits for so long!”
He rubbed his neck. “One commonly isn’t served lavender biscuits in the army.”
“Of course not.” Birdie decided immediately to bake up a storm. The poor man had to catch up.
She closed the book with a snap. After she was done with the house, she’d have to refurnish her husband.
Chapter 9
After having spent the entire day in the library, Birdie retreated to her room, tired and covered in dust. She’d never felt so dirty. There were still mud flecks in her clothes, and cobwebs in her hair. She’d tried to scrub the dirt off her face, neck and arms as best as could by dipping a towel into ice-cold water from the pitcher. She fervently wished for a hot bath. But who would carry the pails of hot water? Surely not Higgins.
She’d fallen into her large, canopied bed and slept like the dead. In the middle of the night, she sat straight up in bed, her heart hammering.
What was that?
Her hands grappled for the candle, and it took her three tries to light it.
She listened intently.
The castle seemed alive at night. There were unidentifiable sounds deep within its walls.
Footsteps. Thumps. Scraping, scratching sounds.
There were surely ghosts within these walls. Birdie shivered and drew her blanket closer around her.
“Stuff and nonsense, Roberta. There are no such things as ghosts.” She padded the pillow around her head, lay down again and fell asleep.
Before any kindof refurbishing could happen to house, man, or otherwise, one needed to have man—or womanpower.
Which meant servants.
