‘Ah, a little trouble never hurt a lusty young man. Let him have his head, and he will come right.’ Rufus waved her away, leant on the stall and retched like a cat bringing up a fur ball. ‘Now leave me to suffer in peace, Rowenna.’
‘But, Father, you must attend to this matter.’
‘I said, leave me be. I will hear no more of your complaints fit to split my head open. Peck, peck, peck.’ He sank back into the hay with a deep sigh, closing his eyes.
The pound of anger in Rowenna’s breast was amplified by the silence that followed, suddenly broken by Morgan. ‘I have some coin if you need it.’
Oh, God. She could not, or else he might want something in return. ‘I cannot take it, Morgan. ‘Tis not fair.’
‘Please. Let me help, Rowenna.’ He took her hand in his.
Sensing Morgan might be on the brink of declaring something mortifying to them both, Rowenna cut him off. ‘Thank you, Morgan. I will not forget this kindness, but I cannot accept your coin. Now, I must saddle a horse and go and find a whorehouse called Rascals Inn.’
‘A respectable lass going to a whorehouse! You cannot.’
Rowenna took hold of a saddle. ‘This family is far from respectable, as we have both just witnessed, and who else is there to do it?’
‘Me.’ Morgan squeezed her hand, and Rowenna forced herself not to recoil from this touch. ‘Do not fash. I will go and fetch Bran home from Rascals Inn and pay what is needed.’
‘Bran does not deserve your kindness.’
‘I’m not doing it for Bran.’
Again, Rowenna squirmed. ‘But Morgan. You do not know where it is.’
‘Erm, aye, lass, I do.’ He reddened and left in great haste.
Rowenna sighed with relief. She had once considered encouraging Morgan. As his wife, she would have protection and a prosperous farm to run. She would be provided for and adored. And looked at coldly, Morgan had a kind of sturdy appeal. Yet he had no interesting conversation beyond hunting, fighting and farming, rarely laughed, and the thought of being pressed under his bull-like bulk with those meaty hands roaming her flesh brought only distaste. No. Morgan was just another trap to fall into.
Morag sauntered back in. ‘There’s a man come,’ she said. ‘Says he is to see the master as soon as may be. I left him cooling his heels in the hall.’
‘What man?’
‘Says his name is Wymon Carruthers and that he is a laird, is all he said. Old as dirt he is and ugly with it.’ Morag smirked, which was never a good sign.
‘Alright. I will be along shortly.’
What on earth could a laird have to do with her father? He had fallen so far from grace that such exalted company was now above him. In a fair temper, Rowenna kicked her father’s foot, sending a string of curse words from his mouth. He groaned. ‘Let me alone, banshee.’
‘Father, you must rouse yourself. You cannot idle your life away in drink, and we have a visitor.’
‘I care not. I have no joy in my life any more. What have I to live for, tell me that?’
The urge to slap the self-pity out of him came out as cruelty. ‘Mother is gone. She is dead, and she is not coming back. Pull yourself together, for all our sakes.’
He opened one rheumy eye. ‘Mark me, I will marry you off, you and your sister, and then I will have peace.’
‘And who will take us without a dowry?’ spat Rowenna. ‘And let us not forget that you are in debt to some ruthless men. What are you going to do when they call in those debts? Selling us in marriage won’t keep them at bay nor raise enough.’
‘Your sister is as bonnie as the sun, and you’ve a fair countenance when you are not scowling. Men like soft lasses to warm their beds, and you’ll fetch a pretty penny from the right buyer.’ He raised a bony finger at her. ‘Somewhere out there is a man hard enough to bring you to heel once and for all, Rowenna.’
‘If any man tries to command me, he will get an arrow to the heart,’ she snapped.
Rufus rolled onto his side, groaning. ‘Someone must take care of my two bonnie lasses when I am gone.’
‘Which will be soon if you carry on pickling yourself in whisky.’
But her father had sunk into a drunken stupor once more, and Rowenna’s words were lost on the horses and pigs. She stomped out of the stables to see Cecily hurrying out of the house, head sunk into her fur-collared cloak to keep out the cold. Her lovely face was twisted with anger.
