The two remaining boys shot to their feet and fled.
“And dunnae think ye’ll be escaping withoot punishment,” Graeme called after them.
Once they’d gone, he sat forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. If he caused his brothers some worry, then good. They should be worried. This was not sneaking out to go spy on the half-dressed lasses dyeing wool down by the river.
And however serious they thought this might be, it was even worse than that. The lads had dropped them directly into the middle of a fight between two of the most powerful men in Scotland. He’d always preferred action to words, but at this moment he’d be walking into cannonfire either by releasing her or sending her on to Dunncraigh.
Cowen knocked on the half-open door. “M’laird, she—the grand lady, that is—is pounding on the door and demanding to see ye. She asked fer ye by name, sir.”
Graeme pushed to his feet. “That’s because I gave her my name.”
“Why in God’s name would ye do that?” the butler asked, clearly dismayed.
“So when everything goes awry she’ll accuse me instead of Connell or Dùghlas or Brendan.” He paused in the foyer. “Did ye drag that chain oot of the cellar?”
“Aye. And we’ve nailed shut the windows in the bedchamber beside yers. I reckoned ye’d want her close by.”
“Thank ye, Cowen.” He glanced over his shoulder at the older man as they continued down the hallway and the trio of stairs that marked the lower back half of the house. “Ye seem to be settling into this fairly easily.”
“I’m all a-tremble inside, Master Graeme, but I reckoned it wouldnae do any good to let the rest of the staff see it.”
The muffled pounding ahead of him grew steadily louder as he approached. “I know someone’s out there!” she called. “I demand to speak to Graeme Maxton at once!”
“Och, yedemand,do ye, yer highness?” he returned, glad she met his expectations of a rich, delicate, spoiled aristocrat. While he couldn’t quite manage to blame her for all of this, to himself he could agree that she likely deserved a little fright and discomfort. “I’m here, then, so stop yer yowling. What do ye want?”
“There… There are foxes in here.”
Graeme shared a glance with Cowen, amusement pulling at him. Served her right, the spoiled miss. “Foxes, ye say?”
“Yes. Two of them. They’re both staring at me with their beady eyes, and one of them is growling. And they stole my mutton.”
He didn’t want her bitten, damn it all. Turning the key, he shoved open the door. The lass staggered backward, and he caught her arm before he could stop himself. Her skin was soft and warm and smooth, and he released her the second she got her feet under her again.
“You see?” she enunciated in her precise English tones, pointing beneath the small couch. “Foxes.”
“Daisy. Pete. Go find Connell,” he ordered, stepping farther into the room.
The pair of foxes bounded out of the sitting room in a flash of red fur and white-tipped tails. It wouldn’t do for the foxes to reside in Connell’s room while the lad had rabbit kits hidden there, but once he moved Lady Marjorie to her guest bedchamber they could return to their sitting room den.
“Better, m’lady?” he asked, finally giving her his full attention. Black hair, aye, a bit disheveled after the sack and the travel in the back of the wagon, but still long and curling and soft-looking. She likely had a maid brush each strand a dozen times before bed. That wouldn’t be happening tonight, however.
“Yes. Thank you. Though you might have told me they were pets.”
“I might ask in return whether ye reckon all Highlands hooses have wild foxes settled in their sitting rooms,” he commented, folding his arms across his chest. Graeme cocked his head at her. “How the devil did ye manage to get stolen by a handful of bairns? Or are ye daft enough to think yerself safe alone in the Highlands?”
“I’m not alone,” she retorted, managing to look regal despite the half-fallen hair and the mud-edged green gown. “I stepped away for a breath of fresh air, and the little boy lured me away by asking for my help.” She put her hands on her slender hips. “Do you often use children in your nefarious dealings? That is shameful, sir.”
“Ye’ve mud on yer cheek,” he noted, curling his fingers against the desire to brush it away. “Ye’d look more indignant if ye were clean and yer hair put back up, I reckon.”
“Iwasclean and my hair put up, before your hoodlums kidnapped me,” she retorted. “And my goodwill is swiftly vanishing. Set me free by sunset, or—”
Graeme closed the distance between them. “Or what?” he murmured. “Dunnae make threats against me or mine, lass. Ye’ve nae idea what’s afoot here, or how very restrained I’m being.”
She lifted her chin to continue meeting his gaze. “Clearly I don’t know what’s going on. All Idoknow is that I was on my way to see my brother and now I’m Graeme Maxton’s prisoner somewhere in the Highlands. You tell me not to threaten you, but you’ve already done far worse to me, sir.”
A man could get lost in those sky-blue eyes of hers, he decided. And she’d likely smile and dance away and entangle the next unfortunate lad who crossed her path, and then the one after that. “I’ll find ye someaught else to eat, ye’ll stay here another hour or so, then we’ll move ye into somewhere a mite more comfortable. Likely nae as luxurious as what ye’re accustomed to, but it’ll have to do.”
“And then?” she demanded, looking fierce but for the ghostly pallor of her cheeks—unless the hue of fine porcelain was her normal color.
