There was no smile, no expression of civility—just a dark scowl. Yet, Eliza had done nothing to them at all; she had not been rude or unpleasant in any way.
Then she realised the reason for their hostility. She was English, and she remembered Duncan saying that his mother was English and had been hated by the staff for that reason, eventhough she had treated them all with the greatest of respect. Still, she reasoned, she would not be staying for long; as soon as she had played her part she would be gone—she hoped.
Eliza began to feel indignant, but decided not to let the women’s attitude get the better of her, so she persevered, trying to coax answers to her questions out of them, but all she received were monosyllabic replies. The older woman was especially curt, the younger one slightly less so, but the effect was the same, and Eliza felt belittled and angry.
When she emerged from the bath she felt clean and refreshed, and donned the dark blue dress, which fitted her as well as if it had been made for her. She wanted to ask where it had come from, but she knew what kind of answer she would receive, so she stayed silent.
Eliza said nothing while the young maid brushed her hair, but watched her in the mirror. The girl looked infinitely sad, and was submissive to the older woman who gave her curt orders which she hurried to obey. Eliza hated the way the older woman bullied her, but did not wish to interfere in case it caused more trouble.
When she had brushed all the tangles out of Eliza’s hair, the young woman began to style it—not elaborately as if she were going to a ball, but in a neat, smart fashion that emphasised the perfect oval of her face.
When she had finished, Eliza smiled at her. “That looks lovely, thank you. What is your name, by the way?”
“I’m Maisie, Milady,” the young woman answered.
Eliza noticed that she never looked directly at her, but always kept her eyes averted. Was she humble or truly scared of her?
“That’s a lovely name,” Eliza answered. “Very Scottish, I believe. Now, I think it is time I joined the Laird for dinner. Can you show me where the dining room is?”
Maisie nodded, then guided Eliza out of the bedroom and down what seemed to be an endless maze of corridors before they reached a set of large double doors.
“Thank you, Maisie.” Eliza smiled at the young woman, and received a tentative smile in return, before Maisie turned and scurried away. Eliza watched her until she turned a corner and passed out of sight, since she did not wish Maisie to see all her good work being undone.
Eliza reached up into her neatly coiffed hair and pulled out a few of the pins that were holding it in place, then dug her fingers into it, pulling and ruffling it until it was a tangled mess. She did not have a mirror, but she smiled with dark satisfaction, knowing that she probably looked like a scarecrow.
Now, how are you going to like this, Duncan Sinclair?she thought.Are you going to be as angry as I would like you to be? I cannot wait to find out!
She would not bend over to the whims of any man—especially a fake fiancé—and she was about to make it crystal clear to Duncan Sinclair. She lifted the skirt of her dress and crushed it in her hands to add a few wrinkles, then she giggled, pushed the door open and stepped into the dining room.
5
Duncan poured himself a glass of his best French wine as he waited for Eliza and sipped it, lost in deep thought. It had been a terrifying day, and the shock was only now beginning to sink in, but as always, he was determined not to cope with it by drinking himself senseless. He had seen too many other men going down that route and ruining their lives in the process.
As well as that, he had a feeling that the woman he had chosen to play the role of his betrothed was going to be more than a little troublesome—but then, what else had he expected? Would it be better if he had sought someone who was as meek as a lamb to play the role? He thought not, but then he had never expected to be in this situation, and he had to admit that he was more than a little lost.
He could imagine the little tigress, as he now thought of her, antagonising every Scot that she met just by opening her mouth and letting her smooth English vowels reach their ears. However, she had an air of determination and confidence that he would have to somehow tame or make her lose altogether because that would ruffle the feathers of all the elders of the clan. To be defiantly addressed by a woman was bad enough—but a Sassenach! The effect would be beyond horrific.
He laughed at the thought of his curmudgeon of a housekeeper, Jessie, who kept all the servants and even some guards under her iron fist, taking orders from Eliza. But had she not proved, with a mixture of humour and sheer stubbornness, that she was a force to be reckoned with?
My tigress,he thought, still laughing. His English mother, who had died when he was only ten years old, had been a gentle soul, but gentle was the last word he would use to describe Eliza. The appropriate word was wild.
At that moment, the door opened and the object of his thoughts walked in. Duncan’s mouth fell open as he set eyes on Eliza.
“My god,” he said, standing up reflexively, as he always did when a lady entered the room. “What the hell?”
Eliza gave him a sweet smile and a deep curtsey. She waited for him to pull a chair out for her then sat down and took a sip of the deep, fragrant red wine in front of her, giving a long murmur of appreciation.
Duncan stared at Eliza in disbelief. She was a study in chaos, her dark hair thick with clouds of tangles, knots and stray hairpins clinging to the mass of her thick brown locks. He was reminded of the mythological story of the gorgon Medusa, whose hair was made of writhing snakes and turned anyone who looked at her to stone.
Of course, Eliza was extremely beautiful, and the comparison was completely inaccurate, but it flitted through his mind and made him laugh out loud. Eliza was not a gorgon; she was the complete opposite of such a horrific creature, but she had the same effect on him in some ways in that she could shock him almost senseless.
Duncan fixed his gaze on her, then his first look of horror turned into a smile of wry amusement. “I like the new hairstyle,”he drawled. “Perhaps you should wear it to our next ceilidh. You may start a new fashion.”
If he had thought he could outsmart her, Duncan was sadly mistaken. “I will consider your suggestion, my Laird,” she said thoughtfully. “Mind you, I imagine that many Scottish ladies might be too scared to try this style. They are not as brave as we English are.”
Duncan grimaced. “I would recommend that you donotlet a Scottish person hear you say that,” he advised grimly. “You might not get out of this place alive.”
Eliza studied Duncan for a moment, trying to figure out whether he was serious or not. Seeing her slightly confused expression, he smiled wickedly.
