“I would like your permission to train for combat,” Eliza said firmly, tilting her chin and folding her arms.
Duncan looked down at her in disbelief, while a ripple of laughter spread amongst the assembled men behind him.
“A woman with a sword?” someone shouted derisively. “Might as well give it to a wee boy!”
This time the laughter was even louder. “Come on, Duncan, tell her to go and do her sewing!” one man said.
“Aye, she will be too busy having babies tae learn tae fight!” another one piped up, causing the mirth to become almost deafening.
“Dinnae gie a sword tae a Sassenach!” someone else shouted angrily. “She will stab ye in the back while ye’re sleepin’!”
Duncan held up his hand for silence. “I do not wish my wife to be a warrior,” he said firmly. “She is to be a lady, not a soldier, that is a man’s work.”
“I might become your wife,” Eliza acknowledged, “but I am still a person in my own right, free to make decisions for myself.”
“When we are married, you will submit to me.” Duncan’s voice was decisive, and his amber eyes were dark with displeasure.
Eliza gave him a poisonous glare and turned away. “We shall see about that,” she growled.
However, she did not expect what happened next.
“Guards!” Duncan pointed to two of the big armed men standing by the door. “Take Lady Eliza to her room and make sure she does not leave.”
Eliza’s eyes widened, then took on an expression of pure scorn. “So this is how a mighty Laird wins his battles?” she sneered. “I wonder if he would be so brave against someone his own size?”
Then she was led away by the two guards, leaving Duncan to stare after her, embarrassed, but at the same time furious.
Eliza glanced over her shoulder.
She was not finished.
7
Maisie watched as Eliza paced the room, her face red and her whole body tense and trembling with fury. Her mistress’s anger made her afraid that Eliza would take her anger out on her in some way. However, she somehow felt that Eliza Tewsbury was not the kind of woman who would do such a thing—she had shown herself to be gentle and kind, and Maisie was already fond of her.
Eliza had no intention of taking out her rage and frustration on Maisie, however. It was directed solely and directly at one person—Duncan Sinclair, whom she could cheerfully have knocked down with her fist had she been big enough and strong enough to do so.
“Are ye all right, Milady?” Maisie’s timid voice intruded into Eliza’s thoughts, and she stopped pacing and covered her face with her hands for a moment. When she sighed and removed them, she smiled as she looked down at Maisie’s anxious face and realised how selfishly she was behaving.
Maisie was nervously picking away at the hem of her already tattered dress, and she looked scared. In fact, Eliza realised, she nearly always looked that way.
“I am fine, Maisie,” she replied with a smile. “I had a bit of a quarrel with the Laird, but I’m sure it will blow over. I had fights with my sisters all the time, but we usually managed to make up very quickly. We love each other very much.”
Maisie smiled. “That’s lovely. Milady,” she said, but there was a hint of sadness in her voice.
Suddenly, Eliza realised that she knew next to nothing about the young woman who took care of her, and she was curious to find out more. She poured them both a glass of ale and sat down beside Maisie on the bed.
“Are you happy here, Maisie?” she asked.
The young woman’s eyes widened in disbelief, clearly astonished to be asked such a question. The upper class typically cared nothing about the feelings of their servants.
“I suppose so, Milady,” she answered. “I have never lived anywhere else.”
“Do your family live close by?” Eliza took a sip of her ale and looked keenly at the young woman. Clearly something was bothering her.
Maisie sighed. “I have nae family, Milady,” she said sadly.
“None at all?” A wave of sadness passed over Eliza. “I’m so sorry. Maisie.” She wanted to ask what had happened to them, but did not wish to distress the young woman any further.
