“Eliza, what a stupid English name!” one of the councillors said angrily. “And as if we didn’t have enough problems without yet another English bride! What’s to be done about it?”
Suddenly, the door opened and the man who had been speaking stepped out, but froze when he saw her. Eliza’s heartskipped a beat, but she pasted on a smile and gave him a brief curtsy.
“Good day,” Eliza said politely.
She slipped past the elder and went into the room where a dozen men were seated drinking tea and ale, obviously talking about her. A hostile silence fell immediately, and Eliza looked around, pretending to be surprised.
“Oh, what a nice meeting, but I thought the Laird would be here,” she said, sounding surprised. “Was he not invited?”
The tallest of the elders stood up and walked over to her, then stood a yard away from her so that Eliza had to tilt her head back to look at him. He was as tall as Duncan, but thinner, older and much, much less handsome. He was obviously hoping that his stature would intimidate her, but Eliza was made of sterner stuff. Her heart was beating furiously, but she stood her ground, and met his dark eyes squarely with her own.
“My Lady,” he said, his voice grim and threatening, “you are a stranger here, and you have no idea how things work, so perhaps you should go back to doing whatever English ladies do all day.”
“Yes,” another man spoke up and came forward to stand beside his colleague. He was fat and had a long red beard, and Eliza found him absolutely repulsive. “You are not the mistress of the castle yet, My Lady. You really should not be interfering in matters about which you know nothing.”
Their condescending manner was infuriating, but Eliza would not back down. She had been smiling for so long, her face was beginning to hurt.
“I may not be mistress of the castle yet, but I soon will be.”
At that statement, the atmosphere in the room became even more palpably hostile, but Eliza did not react; these horrible men were not going to get the better of her.
She sighed, and her face took on a pained expression. “I heard about the tragedy of the Laird’s cousin being killed,” shesaid sadly. “Was it because someone thought he had tainted blood because he was half-English?”
For a moment, there was a shocked silence, then one of the elders, a slightly younger man, said grimly, “It was a tragedy indeed and one that should never have happened, but there is obviously a traitor in our midst, and we do not, and never will suffer traitors to live amongst us. Whoever it is will be found out and justice will come down hard on them.”
“I see,” Eliza nodded in agreement. “And I agree with you that all traitors are evil and should be rooted out and dealt with. You have my full support, gentlemen. Now, I will leave you to resume your meeting.”
Eliza turned and made a dignified exit, even though her hands were shaking, and her heartbeat sounded so loud in her ears that she thought the men in the council chamber might be able to hear it.
She walked sedately along the passage until she was out of sight of the chamber, then she broke into a run, heading as fast as her skirts would allow her towards Duncan’s study.
The councilmen were planning something—she was sure of it, and she also knew that it would not spell good news for Duncan. She had to tell him, and quickly because she could not bear the thought of any harm coming to him.
17
Duncan groaned when Iona walked into his study that morning. He had work to do—a pile of it—and where once Iona would have been a pleasant distraction, she was now no more than an annoyance.
However, he had to put up with her for the next few days, since she had told him, she would be staying for a week. He pasted on a smile and did his best to pretend to be pleased to see her.
“Good morning, Duncan,” she said pleasantly. “Did you sleep well?”
Something in her manner told him this was a loaded question, but he answered with an expression of calm and nonchalance, although he was still on his guard. Iona had a surfeit of women’s wiles, and was very hard to read.
“Fine, thank you,” he said with a slight smile. “And you?”
He was not even remotely interested, but he was putting on a stoic front.
“Well enough, I suppose,” Iona replied. “I had a nightmare that kept me up for a while, though.” She grimaced and rubbed her forehead.
Now I am supposed to ask what the dream was about,he thought, annoyed. However, he was not about to indulge her.
“We all have them sometimes,” he replied, his face completely expressionless.
Iona frowned, but did not pursue the subject. Instead, she tilted her head to one side and observed, “You have changed, Duncan.”
“How?” Duncan asked, puzzled.
He was genuinely intrigued. If Iona thought he had changed in any way, especially if it was for the worse, then she could likely have influenced others for good or bad.
