Vivien reached out and took the plate from the girl, thanking her again. “Please get yourself off to your bed now; I don’t want you to be out at this time of night. It was most thoughtful of you to bring this to me. Go, quickly.” She waved Helen down the corridor; she took off at a quick pace, disappearing around the corner a few seconds later.
Vivien sighed in relief as she closed her door, returning to her chair by the fire. She ate slowly, too busy contemplating how on earth she would handle this situation in the future. She needed to appear to be a strong Lady of the house, not one to be coddled and pitied. She shook her head at herself; what had she done to end up here, at the mercy of her maid for her supper?
Lost in her musings, Vivien didn’t hear her door opening behind her.
“What on God’s green earth is this?” Reginald roared from behind her.
He frightened her so badly she jumped up out of her seat, the plate on her lap flying across the room to shatter into thousands of pieces, the remaining flood splattering against the wall and floor.
Vivien faced him, shaking like a leaf. She couldn’t find a reasonable explanation for the plate of food, and the last thing she wanted to do was get her maid in trouble.
“Speak, woman!” he shouted, shaking his fist at her.
“My Lord,” she stuttered, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean, don’t play the fool with me,” he sneered, waking towards her, his hand outstretched as though he would throttle her.
“I’m sorry, I really am. I was just hungry; I didn’t mean to –” she stammered.
“When I send you to bed without food, you do not defy me. Do you understand me?” Vivien flinched; Reginald was so close she could smell the alcohol on his breath again.
“I do. It won’t happen again, I swear it.”
“You’re right. It won’t. You’ll have no supper for the next week; I will make sure of that. A guard will be posted outside your door at night. You push me too hard, woman. Be careful,” he shook his finger in her face.
“I apologize, I do. I swear it, Lord,” Vivien couldn’t stop trembling. Her mind turned to Kieran, and in her heart, she knew he would never do such a thing to a woman. He might be a strong, wild man, but she could see in his eyes that he could never hurt a woman the way Reginald hurt her every day of her life. He had done everything in his power to save her, a woman he did not even know. She could only imagine what he would do for one he loved and cared for. The kindness with which he had handled her, his sense of humor, and his soft touch were all things she wished she had in her life. The harsh, cruel reality of what her father had sent her into with his choice of a husband was never more obvious to her than in that very moment.
Nothing about Lord Stone had ever stirred any desire within her body; his touch horrified her, and his presence brought her nothing but fear. Vivien had never felt safer than she had with Kieran, even if it had been such a brief time. Even if she barely knew him, something in her knew that Kieran was a good man. He was rough around the edges, yes, but he would never have treated her the way her own husband did.
Eyes brimming with tears, Vivien watched as Reginald stalked out of the room, muttering abominable words about her in his wake. Vivien wished for a different life then – she wished she belonged in Kieran’s arms instead of Reginald’s prison.
* * *
Kieran and Tilly were sitting in front of the fire in her rooms, each of them holding their whiskey goblet in one hand, contemplating the fire in silence for the moment.
“I dinnae ken what tae tell ye, brother,” Tilly murmured, breaking the silence.
“Aye, I dinnae ken what tae think, Tilly,” he shrugged.
“I hate tae think you’re right about this, but I cannae see any other reasonable explanation either. Ye mak’ a strong case for it,” she shook her head, concern clearly etched in her frown.
Kieran had finally sought her out after the meeting with the families had ended, leaving him exhausted and emotionally over-wrought. He needed to say the things he was thinking out loud, to see if they made any sense whatsoever, or if he was just merely overthinking things and seeing ghosts in the fog where there were none.
“I really cannae think o’ anything else, Tilly. All o’ this started when this new English nobleman settled in. It only makes sense tha’ he’s the root o’ the problem. Doesn’t it?” he asked in despair, clutching his face in his hands.
“I’m afraid so,” she said softly, “I think yer right, an’ that doesn’t bring me any peace of mind. It is just too coincidental. But then, maybe we are just looking for answers without weighing all o’ the truth properly.”
“Ye could be right, but my guts tell me he has something tae dae with this.” Kieran shook his head. He wanted to believe that the nobleman had only good intentions – that he was there in good faith – to build a lasting treating between Kieran’s clan and the crown, not to destroy their relations further. But he was also a realist. His instincts screamed that it was the Englishman – Kieran’s gut was rarely wrong.
“I just dinnae ken what they want with my necklace,” Tilly shook her head.
It was a disgraceful thing to do, in Kieran’s opinion. They had taken a family heirloom that held little to no value to them. It was mainly a sentimental item – the only thing Tilly had left of their mother’s.
The pendant on the necklace was a dainty work of art – their family crest expertly crafted in silver, their clan’s name, MacBride, encircling the bottom half of the pendant. The necklace had been passed down through their family for generations, from one ancestor to the next, until it finally had made its way to Tilly’s hands.
There was nothing of more value to her that they could possibly have taken, Kieran thought sourly.
“Why not rest, brother?” Tilly said, pulling Kieran out of his musings, “You’ve had too much tae deal with these last two days. Get some rest, an’ perhaps in a day or three, the answers will become more obvious. Ye cannae expect tae fix everything immediately, an’ ye cannae run on no sleep either.”
