“Aye. I’m glad ye think so. It must stop.”
“I will speak to the duke. Or to whomever will be acting as duke if there is . . .”
“A baby in the belly of the duchess.”
“Yes. Why didn’t you complain to Norman MacNaughton, the last duke?”
“As I told ye, he never came here. I complained to his steward, his other men, his shepherds. About the sheep, the clearances, the burnings, the injuries done to a young girl. I wrote many letters to London. I heard naething. And there is nae money for me to go to London myself and make my case.”
Jack cleared his throat. “I will make your case.”
And then something happened. She was still standing, her cup in both her hands, close to her chin. The firelight flickered across her features. And despite her gauntness, her too large jaw, her too large and bony nose, her too large forehead with its heavy brow, she was . . . what was she? The first word which came to Jack’s mind wasbeautiful. But she wasn’t. Not at all. Not like other women. She was something else entirely. Something noble and brutal and . . .
He didn’t know what it was, but it took his breath.
She moved her cup down. “Thank ye.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured.
“I’m glad to find yer nae just a pretty face and pretty words, Jack Pike.”
He choked out a laugh. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
“But ye listened to me. Which is more than anyone else from the duchy has ever done.”
A moment of quiet. Something surged and pulsed in that moment. There was something unfamiliar here. Something uncomfortable. Something pure which hurt him deep inside.
There was only one thing for it. He would have to ruin it.
He stood. He put his cup down and leered. “Well, I am always willing to listen to a fair lady who plies me with tea in her keep. I will have to return your hospitality.”
That had done the trick. She stiffened and was the ordinary woman in muddy breeches again. “I dinnae think that’s necessary, Mr. Pike.”
“Jack,” he corrected her.
She said nothing, staring at him.
He went on, rubbing his hands together, grinning. “But I think it’s necessary. You owe me that if I am to make your case to His Grace. You’ll come to dinner at Dunmore Castle tomorrow night. You can show me around since you grew up there. The secret passages. The dungeons.”
She nodded, but he could tell from the narrowing of her eyes and the set of her jaw, she would very much like to show him the dungeons. Personally. And then throw him into one, slam the door shut, and hurl the key into the deepest, coldest loch in Scotland.
The Countess of Kinmarloch hated Jack Pike, that much was clear.
The dog jumped up from the hearth and barked, Helen raised her hand to make him sit, and in the next ten seconds, it became clear she hated someone else much, much more than she hated Jack Pike.
A man entered the keep without knocking. Not asking permission, not taking his hat from his head.
“Lord Reeves.” Helen made a very small curtsy. Her voice was as cold as the rain outside.
The man was thin and well-dressed in a heavy tweed greatcoat. He glanced at Helen for only a moment and then his eyes went to Jack. “Are you the duke’s man? Are you Jack Pike?” His accent matched Jack’s.
“I am.”
“Well, I am Lord Reeves, the greater baron of the land south of here. I was told at Dunmore Castle that you had come this way. I saw your horse outside. You should be careful. The peasants will steal your mount.”
Jack could feel Helen bristle at his elbow. He moved half a foot closer to her, but he did not bow to Reeves. He would not. Reeves was in the keep of a countess, and a countess ranked above a greater baron. This man should bow to Helen. Then, and only then, Jack would bow to him.
He was glad to see Reeves did not know how to react to Jack’s silence and his obvious refusal to perform an act of obeisance.
