Douglas stood straight and tall, his hands clasped at his back. He knew, only too well, that this meeting was an inspection of sorts, and he was damned if he was going to fail it.
The Laird of Kilmarin was a crusty old demon, one who knew how to intimidate those who might challenge his command. But there was also a glint of humorin his eye, as if he knew only too well that he was being an ass about this meeting.
Donald sat at a table in the front of the chapel, not far from the altar itself. Douglas wouldn’t have been surprised if the laird had chosen to use the altar as a desk. Again, the comparison to God occurred to him, and he knew it was one Donald encouraged.
“Sit,” he finally said.
Douglas slid a chair forward by hooking it with his foot, and sat, resting one ankle on the opposite knee and loosely clasping his hands in his lap.
“Does Sarah know you’re here?” Donald asked.
“She doesn’t. It was your request to keep our meeting secret.”
“Not secret,” Donald said, “just not something to be gossiped about. Women always speculate, have to whisper about everything.” He sat back in his thronelike chair, one similar to those in the dining hall, and studied him from beneath bushy white brows.
“It’s my opinion that woman are similar to men in that regard,” Douglas said. “Give a person enough information, and he will not have to speculate.”
“Are you given to sharing your opinion all that often?”
“Relatively often,” Douglas said. “It depends, of course, if I find myself in a friendly country or one ruled by a despot.”
Donald snorted and leaned back, pushing himself up on one side, as if the hip pained him.
““Robert tells me you’re from Perth.”
“I am.”
“Who’s your family?” Donald asked, eyes narrowing.
“No one you would know,” Douglas said. “Theydied from cholera when I was eight. Any family they had is scattered.”
“Yet you somehow managed to marry the daughter of a duke.”
“An event I will forever treasure,” Douglas said, looking straight at the older man. He had no intention of telling the old demon of the circumstances of his marriage.
Donald didn’t say anything for a long while, but if it was a test, Douglas was more than ready for it. He’d stayed some months at a monastery, where the rules of silence were rigorously obeyed. He had no difficulty with the Laird of Kilmarin’s petty tyranny.
“You’re as arrogant as any duke,” Donald finally said.
“Am I?” Douglas smiled.
“It wasn’t a damned compliment.” Donald rearranged himself on the chair again.
A few more minutes passed while Donald looked him over.
“Did you know my daughter?” he finally asked.
“I didn’t have that pleasure,” Douglas said.
“Is she happy? My granddaughter?”
Douglas stared at the altar, stymied as to how to answer that question. Sarah had everything a woman would need to be happy—a magnificent estate in which to live, adequate food, and clothing. Someone to love her? Someone to love? He’d have offered himself up to her had he been certain she’d be willing to have him. Last night, perhaps, but passion died with the dawn and was sometimes replaced by regret.
Did she regret her wedding night?
“I don’t know,” he said finally. Perhaps his honesty would prove to be too blunt an answer.
The old man levered himself up from his chair.
