“Rumored,” she repeated. “Aye, that’s the key here, MacDowylt. And the proposition I have for you is no exactly what yer thinking. It’s business. Though”—here she trailed a delicate finger carelessly around the low-cut neck of the nightdress she wore—“it has the potential to be more. Much more.”
Malcolm took a step back, holding out the chair his brother had earlier vacated for his beautiful guest. “Have a seat, my lady, and we’ll discuss this...businessof yers.”
He returned to his own chair, leaning forward as he sat to disguise his obvious response to this woman.
No point in letting her know of his physical interest in her. Not yet anyway. She was, after all, the daughter of Lardiner. And as much as he distrusted that man, he trusted this woman even less.
Roland, his world a red-hot haze of fury, kicked the tinder basket off the hearth in the laird’s solar, scattering bits of wood and wool as it tumbled across the floor.
Where the hell was Shaw anyway? He’d sent that deformed idiot lad to fetch the man. How was he to function as laird if his second in command didn’t come when he was called?
And Agneys! His ungrateful bitch of a daughter would pay for her disobedience tonight. The bruise she wore on her cheek was nothing compared to what he’d leave her with next time. As soon as he had this annoying MacDowylt out of the way, he’d see to her punishment personally, laird’s widow or no.
Conspiracy! He could see it clearly now. They all conspired against him, just to make his life more difficult than necessary.
They’d pay. “They’ll all pay,” he vowed, looking for something to throw to vent his anger.
“I’ve brought him for you.” Jamie stood in the doorway ahead of Shaw, with that pathetic half smile of his.
“Get out of here, you misshapen whelp!” he yelled, coming as close as he had all evening to happiness at the fear in the lad’s eyes.
The child’s voice grated on his sensitive nerves. The burn-scarred deformity of his face disgusted Roland. Looking on the whoreson made him think of...
“It’s no my conscience,” he muttered aloud. That bitch, Jone, had brought it on herself by sleeping with the laird in the first place. Her brat should have died in that fire with her.
“I beg yer pardon, Lardiner... er... my laird.” Shaw stumbled over his words, his eyes darting to the door as if he thought of escape. “Were you speaking to me?”
“No!” Roland yelled before catching himself. He needed this man to follow his commands flawlessly. Angering the fool would not serve his purpose at the moment. “No,” he repeated, quietly this time.
“You sent for me, aye?”
Roland felt much calmer now. In complete control of his emotions. “I did. On the morrow, MacDowylt will, I am sure, accede to my wishes and go after the MacGahan half-wit. As we discussed, you’ve picked the men you can trust to go along with you when you accompany him?”
“I have indeed. The most generous payment you offered was incentive enough to recruit them.”
“Good.” Roland rubbed his hands together. At last his plans were coming together. “You’ll make sure they understand, aye? Neither Isabella nor the MacDowylt are to make it back to the castle alive.”
As Shaw nodded his agreement, a noise outside the door caught Roland’s attention. An odd scraping sound.
“Go,” Roland ordered his man as he flew to the door, throwing it open and lurching outside. Down the hallway, his pathetic limp having slowed his escape, Jamie cowered against the wall.
In a fury, Roland reached the child, grabbing a handful of his filthy hair and dragging him up off his feet.
“You dare to spy on me? Yer laird?”
“Yer no my laird,” the boy cried. “You killed my laird. I saw you on the stairs after you’d pushed him down.”
The red haze filled Roland again, and he flung the boy into the wall, fighting to catch his breath as the small body crumpled into the corner.
“You’ll regret those words,” Roland said, kicking his foot into the soft little mound hunkering in front of him.
Ignoring the child’s screams, he had drawn back his foot to kick again when a weight landed on his shoulder, pulling him back and off balance.
“Here now, what’s this?”
A large man, much larger than himself, moved in between him and the object of his fury.
“This is none of yer business, whoever you are. Be on yer way.” He’d deal with the intruder later.
