It was said loudly, for the benefit of one and all, and dozens of people had followed them into the hall and fell silent now. Kimberly had gasped, her cheeks glowing, never having experienced such direct malice from a woman before. Nessa smiled smugly.
At least she was smug until Lachlan growled, “You little witch. She has a unique beauty of her own, and you’re blind if you dinna see it. And she’s no giant. For me, her size canna be more perfect. If you dinna think so, ’tis because you’re no bigger than a child yourself.”
That struck a nerve apparently, and had Nessa shouting, “Achildwho came up wi’ the money you needed! You didna have tae go marrying no damned Sassenach just for her money!”
“As it happens, Nessa, I asked the lady tae marry me when I thought she was poor as a kirk mouse. Did it no’ occur tae you in your one-sided thinking that I might love her? And dinna be calling her a Sassenach again, when she’s got a father as Scottish as you and me.”
“Who?”
“Never mind who—”
“Aye, as I thought,” the girl interrupted with a smirk. “’Tis a lie tae try and make her acceptable here, which she’ll ne’er be.”
Lachlan’s scowl turned positively black at that accusation and he gritted out, “So now I’m a liar, am I? ’Tis Ian MacFearson if you mun know—” The collective gasp that followed had him glancing about the hall to add, “And I dinna want that spreading beyond Kregora. I’d as soon the legend doesna pay us a visit.”
There were many nods of agreement, and that last had apparently worked to silence Nessa as well. Lachlan was still furious that she’d managed to spoil his homecoming with her jealousy, and embarrass Kimberly, who was still tight-lipped and pink cheeked.
Kimberly was more than embarrassed, she was shocked. Jealousy was no excuse for that type of mean-spirited behavior, words meant to cut to the quick. The girl deserved a good slap. Had no one ever taught her better?
Apparently not, and Kimberly had little doubt that this wouldn’t be the end of her spite. Was she expected to put up with such verbal attacks every time she and Nessa came upon each other? Not bloody likely.
Lachlan had come to her defense. It wasn’t the first time, and it was apparently his nature to do so. But in this case, she was his wife. He could do no less in front of his kin. And he’d even lied, in reference to loving her. Well, actually, he hadn’t needed to. The way he’d put the question, it implied much, but didn’t admit a thing.
However, Nessa lived here. There would be times when Lachlan wouldn’t be available to intervene. And Kimberly had no idea how much abuse she could put up with before she fought back. She supposed she was going to find out.
48
Kimberly would have preferred to remain tucked away in her room until she fully recovered from that disastrous first meeting with Nessa. But thelairdwas home and a gala banquet was planned for that first night at Kregora, with all clan members invited, as well as close neighbors.
Lachlan had apologized profusely for Nessa’s behavior when he took Kimberly upstairs to show her their suite of private rooms. He’d tried to tease her out of her upset by pointing out that out of the four connecting rooms—one was a very large bathing chamber that was thoroughly modernized with hot and cold running water—she could have one of the extra rooms for dressing or whatever she chose to use it for, as long as she didn’t try sleeping in it. There’d be only one bed, he’d told her, and they’d be sharing it.
He hadn’t gotten a blush out of her, hadn’t gotten much of a response at all. And he’d finally left her alone there to rest and settle in.
Rest wasn’t needed, but activity was. Yes, that was definitely one cure for rotten moods. So Kimberly had helped Jean put her belongings away, while the maid had chattered nearly nonstop, between mumbles about barbarian wenches, to try and keep her distracted.
Kimberly had then sent her to find where her things from Northumberland had been stored. She wasn’t going to feel like Castle Kregora was truly her home until her treasures were dispersed to their appropriate locations, leaving her mark, as it were.
Lachlan’s rooms were very nice, she found, when she got around to really noticing them. There was a lot of light from large windows in each room that offered that splendid view of the lake and the mountains beyond. The bedchamber, the largest of the rooms, even had a small balcony with French doors that looked down on a boating dock far below. She imagined it would be nice having breakfast out there come summer.
Dark emerald drapes in soft velvet framed each window, drawn back with tasseled ropes. The wallpaper was in several shades of pastel blues, with numerous paintings of ladies and gentlemen of the French court from the era when white powdered wigs was the fashion for both men and women. Thick rugs were so large, they nearly covered every inch of the wood floors, and had likely been specially made, since they were in leafy swirls of blue and black on a green background, the colors of the MacGregor tartan.
One of the rooms Lachlan had definitely been using for dressing—the wardrobe was full of his clothes—as well as for private relaxing. There was a chaise lounge there, a large desk, several reading chairs and tables. It was quite big enough to serve both purposes. As was the other chamber, which Kimberly would use as a dressing-sitting room, at least until it was time to plan a nursery. That was if there wasn’t already a nursery somewhere nearby.
Thoughts of her own children running through those rooms someday did much to lighten Kimberly’s mood. She was even looking forward again to exploring the rest of the castle. And when Jean came back to tell her that her belongings that had been delivered from Northumberland had been stored in the cellar—well, she didn’t question why they had been put there, her clothing included. She simply took the maid with her to find out if the cellar wasn’t something other than what one might expect, just as the great hall had been.
It wasn’t. It was dark and dank, and the one place inside the castle where the original stone walls were still in use, and the home of countless spiders. It was also filthy, being the storage area for coal, the main fuel source since Scotland didn’t have an abundance of trees.
They’d had to backtrack to find a lantern, as well as a couple of stout servants to carry the trunks and furniture upstairs once they found it. Locating it was another matter. There were a lot of rooms down there, small cubbyholes that might have been cells at one time, larger rooms, and a lot of narrow halls that went off in all directions. Centuries of stuff seemed to be stored down there, mostly old furniture all covered in cobwebs.
But the room was finally found where Kimberly’s belongings had been brought, and her smile of relief lasted all of one second as she held the lantern high and surveyed the total destruction of her family heirlooms.
The grandfather clock lay on its side, the hour hands missing, the body cracked, dented, raw chips of wood sliced open as if an ax had been taken to it. The legs were gone from the chinoiserie, the doors broken off their hinges, more raw slices in the intricate wood carvings, again, as if an ax had chopped and hacked at it.
The mammoth painting looked like someone had stood on one end of it and pulled the other end down until the frame and canvas cracked in the middle. The small tables, the three-hundred-year-old hall bench, the antique vases, the deeply carved Chinese bedding trunk, everything was broken, sliced open, shattered. Even her clothes trunks had been ripped open, the clothing dumped about the dirt floor.
Kimberly stared, and stared, so horrified she couldn’t breathe. She took a step forward, another, then dropped to her knees, her hand stretching out, but not reaching anything, and the tears started. This was all she had left of her mother, and it was gone now, broken junk, good only for firewood. The willful destruction, and even in her shock, she had no doubt it was deliberate, was unbelievable. And there was only one person here who she could think would do such a thing.
Kimberly got slowly to her feet, the name on her tongue: “Nessa…”
