‘Didn’t give his name, but black he was, as pitch, and ‘twas not Lawson, I know him. No, this fiend had a look about him that made my blood run cold. He came asking after her, just like you, and I told him plenty. I hope he works for the English and puts a noose around her neck.’
Bryce stared down the alley, the cold ocean wind snatching at his hair and chilling his soul. Had Maren come out to this alley and allowed herself to be folded up against the wall and taken for coin or for secrets. Could she have fallen so low?
He turned to Angel and looked her square in the eye. ‘Listen, lass. Don’t tell me what I want to hear or speak in spite about Maren. Tell me the truth. Please. I beg you. I just want the absolute truth.’
Angel gave him a bitter smile. ‘You want to know if she was a whore, don’t you? Maren has cast her spell on you, as she always does. Leads men by the nose, every time.’ Angel bit her lip. ‘But she was right about one thing. Whether they are Scots, English, redcoat or Jacobite, all men are bastards at heart. Her telling me to leave my man irked me, but it was kindly meant, and sometimes she gave me food when I had none. So I will tell the truth and nothing else, though it would give me more sport to wound her in your eyes. Maren is not and has never been, a whore, which is part of why I hate her. She strives for a higher purpose in this life, and if that purpose leads her to you, then she deserves whatever happiness she can get, I suppose.’
Bryce let out a breath he had been holding. This woman had no reason to lie about Maren. And deep down, he knew in his heart that she was no whore. She was instead a fighter, a survivor, a hard lass doing what she had to do to stop life consuming her as it had this poor wretch before him.
Angel held out her hand. ‘Seeing as I’ve given you good cheer, perhaps you can return the favour, Sir. I have lots more secrets to spill.’
Bryce thrust a handful of coins into her palm, and her eyes widened joyfully. ‘I will give you coins along with a favour,’ said Bryce. ‘It is this. Follow Maren’s advice and leave the blackguard who did that to you before you are doomed, Angel. Now tell me everything, lass.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
The gardens around Penhallion were a haven of sorts but their greenery had long since been banished by frost, and all the summer flowers left for dead, hanging dry and forlorn, a little like her mood. Bryce had gone off somewhere in anger and mistrust, but what else did she deserve?
Maren picked up a stick and thrashed the dead rose heads off violently, scattering a snowfall of shrivelled petals in all directions. Anger at her predicament was like a beast raging inside her breast which could not be contained. She wanted to curse to the heavens at the unfairness of it all.
‘Steady your temper, lass or you will do yourself a mischief on their thorns.’ Jasper Cullan stood there, watching her, his fine eyes narrowed and curious.
‘Forgive me,’ she said, dropping the stick.
‘Nothing to forgive,’ he said lightly, ‘well, not as far as my rose garden is concerned, but there is one other matter where you might make amends. You have lied to my son and me.’
All the breath seemed to leave her body in a rush. Maren balled her fists and braced for a confrontation. Jasper came closer and rubbed a thumb into his palm.
‘It seems my son has taken his leave again, and I am left to watch over you. Which, I suppose, makes me your jailor. Now I do not wish to know your secrets, lass. But you will not be given a horse or allowed to wander to Inverness or anywhere else. Instead, you will confine yourself to the grounds around Penhallion until my son returns.’
‘I am sorry that I left. I would not have done so were it not a dire emergency.’
‘Something about you and my son does not ring true, Maren. Oh, I can see his regard, plain as day. He is besotted. I’ve not seen that kind of devotion on his face before, the pride he takes in you, the delight when you show him favour. Yet in you, I see only hesitation. So I ask myself why?’
‘And what answer came?’ said Maren.
‘That all was not what it seemed. I decided to dig a little deeper into your past, lass, so I sent Mr Stuart to Drumdarroch Manor.’
‘You sent your bloodhound after me?’
‘And why should I not? You will one day be Lady Cullan, heiress to my land, title and heritage, and I’ll not suffer a cuckoo in the nest.’
Maren crossed her arms and looked away up at Penhallion’s walls, everything here was so grand, so rich. The Cullans’ status meant nothing to her but Bryce did, and she had to protect him from his father’s ire. She must stall Jasper.
‘I am no cuckoo, merely an orphan,’ she said.
‘Oh, aye. Mr Stuart did indeed verify that there is a Drumdarroch Manor. But it has all but fallen into dereliction. Apparently, its owners, the Armstrongs, died in a carriage accident several years ago. Tragic it was, too, snapped their necks like sticks, leaving their only surviving issue – a daughter. Unfortunately, she was a little touched in the head and plain as milk. Now there is not anyone who has met you who could describe you thus, lass. Quite the contrary. You are bonnie and clever. Some would say too clever for your own good. Oh, and one more thing. Her name was Elspeth, not Maren, and she found some fool to marry and took ship for the Americas. What have you to say to that?’
There was nothing to be done. ‘Forgive the lie, Laird. I heard about the Armstrongs’ demise from one of their servants who was cast out when a new master took on the estate. I have never known any of those people. It was a story I made up to give myself a respectable past.’
‘So, you are a skilled liar, just like my ingrate of a son.’
‘No. I lied to Bryce. It is true that we fell for each other, but he believes my story. He is blameless.’
‘Bah, my son is never blameless, nor is he a fool to fall for that kind of tale. As for you, what are you – whore, villain, thief?’
‘No, I am only guilty of one thing – being poor. You would never have accepted a woman without fortune wedded to your son and heir. Bryce told me you wanted him to marry to swell the wealth of Clan Cullan.’
‘No. I wanted my son wed for his own good and for his future as Laird of Penhallion. I bid him marry a strong woman who would make him settle down and accept his responsibilities. I have only ever wanted his happiness.’
