Bronwyn closed her eyes for a moment and smiled. Stephen! she thought. Her dear, sweet Stephen. She came back to the present and realized she was wasting time listening to these two. She must escape!
But Roger’s next words halted her. “How the hell was I to know you’d choose this time to kidnap Mary Montgomery?”
Bronwyn stopped dead still, her whole body listening.
The woman kept her face turned as she smiled broadly, showing crooked teeth. “I meant to have his wife,” she said dreamily.
“By that I take it you mean Gavin’s wife, Judith.”
“Aye! that whore who stole my Gavin!”
“I’m not sure he was ever yours, and if he was, you were the one who discarded him when you agreed to marry my dear, departed older brother.”
The woman ignored him.
“Why did you take Mary instead?” Roger continued. They may have been discussing the weather for all the interest he showed.
“She was returning to that convent where she lives, and she was conveniently at hand. I’d like to kill all the Montgomerys one by one. It doesn’t matter which I begin with. Now! tell me of this one you captured. She is Stephen’s wife?” Still the woman did not turn. She kept her profile to both Roger and Bronwyn.
“The woman has changed. In England, before she married, she was easy to manipulate. I told her an outrageous story about some cousins in Scotland.” He paused to give a derisive laugh. “How could she believe thatIam related to a filthy Scot?”
“You got her to ask for a fight between you,” the beautiful woman said.
“It was easy enough to put ideas in her empty head,” Roger said. “And Montgomery was willing enough to fight for her. He was so hot for her his eyes were burning out of his head.”
“I’ve heard she’s beautiful,” the woman said with great bitterness.
“No woman is more beautiful than all that land she owns. Had she married me, I would have sent English farmers in there and gotten some good out of the land. Those Scots think they should share the land with the serfs.”
“But you lost her and the fight,” the woman said quietly.
Roger stood, nearly upsetting the heavy chair. “The bastard!” he cursed. “He ridiculed me. He laughed at me—and he’s made all of England laugh at me.”
“Would you rather he killed you?” she demanded.
Roger stood in front of her. “Wouldn’t you rather have been killed?” he asked quietly.
The woman bent her head. “Yes, oh, yes,” she whispered, then her head came up. “But we will make them pay, won’t we? We have Stephen’s wife and Gavin’s sister. Tell me, what do you plan for the two of them?”
Roger smiled. “Bronwyn is mine. If I can’t have the lands, I must make do with the woman herself. Mary is of course yours.”
The woman put up her hand. “She is poor sport for anyone. She’s terrified of everyone and everything. Perhaps I should send her home like this,” she said with hatred as she turned her face so Bronwyn could see her fully.
It was a combination of the sight of the woman’s hideously scarred cheek and the words about Mary that made Bronwyn gasp. Before she could move, Roger was at the door and had her by the arm. He pulled her into the room.
Bronwyn winced with pain as Roger’s fingers bit into her skin.
“So! This is the laird you captured,” the woman sneered.
Bronwyn stared at her. The once beautiful face was distorted on one side, long ridges of ugly scars drawing the eye down, the mouth up. It gave her an evil, sneering look.
“Look your fill!” the woman screeched. “You should see it, for you’ll help pay for what you’ve done.”
Roger released Bronwyn and grabbed the woman’s hands. “Sit down!” he commanded. “We have more to settle than your immediate hatreds.”
The woman sat down, but she continued to stare at Bronwyn.
“Where is Mary?” Bronwyn asked quietly. “If you release her, I will not try to escape again. You may do with me what you want.”
