“I came to see yer uncle and do some fishing at Mòriasg, nae that it’s any of yer affair. Who’s the Sassenach?”
Graeme glanced at her as he put himself between her and them. “Nae that it’s any ofyeraffair, but this is Marjorie Giswell. She’s to—”
“I’m Connell’s new governess,” she broke in hurriedly.There. That should put a stop to his marriage plans for her.
He sent her a black look. “Aye. Governess,” he ground out.
“A governess?” Raibeart asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Ye’re a mite young fer that, are ye nae, Miss Giswell?”
Yes, she’d out-maneuvered him, but her internal gloating only lasted a moment. Now she’d made herself a governess, the one thing she’d vowed never to become. A companion had been awful enough. Caring for and instructing someone else’s children because she couldn’t make a home herself had seemed the worst form of torture possible. Even so, it had to be an improvement over being anyone’s unwilling bride. And for the moment, that was enough. Mrs. Giswell would faint at the idea that now she’d become an actress, a governess, and escaped a marriage, all in the same moment. She fixed a smile on her face. “I am one-and-twenty, sir. How old should a governess be?”
“She shouldnae be English, and that’s fer damned certain,” Sir Hamish put in. “Nae in a Scottish hoose.”
Marjorie inclined her head. “Well, I cannot change where I was born, but if I can teach young Connell the difference between an exclamation and an interjection, I believe I will be satisfied.” She backed down the hallway away from the three men. “Please excuse me. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
As soon as she turned the corner she found the nearest open room, slipped inside, and sagged against the wall. The moment Hamish Paulk set eyes on her she’d felt in more danger than she ever had in Graeme’s presence. That didn’t make any sense, of course, when one had been holding her captive and the other had only eyed her rather boldly, but she felt it down to her bones. She would not be throwing herself on Sir Hamish Paulk’s mercy.
For the moment she wasn’t a prisoner. But if she fled now, after she’d provided everyone with a reason for her to be staying, she’d raise even more suspicions. Considering that here she at least had food and warmth, the last thing she wanted was to end up on foot somewhere in the Highlands wilderness while at least two sets of men hunted her. Graeme’s first priority was protecting his brothers. If she fled while his guests were here, he might well have no choice but to tell them the truth about her to save the boys.
Deciding all those things in two hard beats of her heart, she’d moved from being an adversary to an ally of Graeme Maxton—at least from her viewpoint. She had no idea how he would see it. All she did know was that she would not be wearing that shackle again. Not without a blasted fight.
“There ye are,” a younger voice said.
With a surprised gasp she straightened. “Oh, goodness. You startled me.”
Light gray eyes beneath a straight mop of dark hair regarded her. Was this Brendan, the one who, according to Connell, had been her chief kidnapper? Or the other one? He stood as tall as she did, which didn’t tell her much, and though she’d heard both boys’ voices during the long, bumpy wagon ride, she didn’t know which voice belonged to which Maxton.
“How’d ye get oot?”
“I think I’ll keep that information to myself.”
A grin crinkled his eyes. “Are ye angry at Brendan and me? I reckon ye ken that ye cannae blame Connell.”
So this was Dùghlas, the fourteen-year-old. She made a note of that for future reference. “Iwasangry,” she admitted. “And I’m still not convinced you and Brendan don’t deserve a walloping.”
The boy nodded, his hair flopping across his forehead. All of the Maxtons she’d seen so far, with the exception of their uncle, badly needed a haircut. “That’s fair enough,” he said. “Ye’re still nae to leave the hoose, if ye hadn’t already figured that.”
She cocked her head. “And you’re to stop me if I do?”
“We’re all to grab hold of ye and drag ye back upstairs. Ye’re nae as delicate as I thought, but I’d wager two or three of us could manage that.”
The matter-of-fact way he spoke actually left her feeling somewhat calmer. He wasn’t angry, or frightened, or particularly worried over Paulk’s presence, at least. Unless he didn’t understand the implications. Or unless she had figured them wrong. “I imagine you could. Very well, then. I’ll remain in the house.”
“Good. Graeme’s closed in his office with Uncle Raibeart and Sir Hamish, likely trying to explain why he needed to see our uncle. I’m to take ye back to the sitting room and show ye how I help Connell with his lessons so ye willnae look like a nodcock if they stay fer luncheon, which I reckon they will.”
Of course the Maxtons would assume she had no idea how to be a governess; given the number of ways Graeme had referred to her as a princess, he probably thought she’d been born into wealth and position. He had no idea that she’d gone to school with the idea of serving in a household, even if it had been as a companion rather than as a governess or tutor. Well, for the moment she had no intention of correcting his misapprehensions.
“Lead the way,” she said, gesturing. “And please tell me where things are in the house as we go, since I’ll be expected to know.”
“Nae. I’m nae telling ye a damned thing withoot Graeme’s permission,” he countered. “If ye need someaught, Connell or I’ll fetch it fer ye.”
Blast it. “Not Brendan, though?”
“Brendan thinks sending ye on to Dunncraigh is the answer to all our ills, so ye’d do well to stay away from him.”
They walked back into the sitting room where Connell still sat on the couch, his eyes wide enough that he knew at least something of what was afoot. “Sir Hamish is here?” he whispered loudly. “Did Graeme tell him to come take ye to—”
“Hush, duckling,” his brother interrupted, ruffling his brother’s red hair. “All ye need to know is that this is Lady—I mean Miss—Marjorie Giswell, and she’s yer governess.”
