Page 47 of The Return of the Heir

Chapter Fourteen

Alastair had ended the council meeting abruptly, sending the men in different directions to calm down after an hour of arguing and accusing each other of villainy. The men left the chamber, including Beatrice’s father, Callum, and Graeme. Yet Beatrice and Gwendolyn remained in the big, empty room.

Beatrice came forward—undulated was a more apt description of the way her hips swayed beneath her cinnamon-coloured gown as she crossed the planked floor. “So you’re the dead girl.”

Gwendolyn bristled. “I’m neither dead nor a girl.”

Beatrice’s gaze scanned the tight bodice of Gwendolyn’s gown, her narrow waist, and the worn slippers that had yet to be replaced. “You aren’t much to look at, are you? Captivity must have stunted your growth.”

Gwendolyn had no response for the insult. With a twinge of envy, she couldn’t help but notice that her rival was both tall and curvaceous. Her skin was pale, and yet a smattering of freckles brought a hint of colour to her cheeks. Her long, fiery-red hair was lush, with natural waves that cascaded across her shoulders. Her eyes were large and brown, with flecks of gold. She stopped before Gwendolyn and put a hand on her hips, a stance she had apparently perfected to best display the fullness of her breasts.

“Alastair and I are to be married soon. And when we are, you will no longer be a member of this household.”

Gwendolyn was tempted to divulge the information the solicitor had shared with Alastair earlier, but that was a blow that would be best dealt by Alastair himself. At least the thought of that meeting brought a sense of peace to Gwendolyn. Beatrice might not know it, but they were battling upon equal ground. “That is Alastair’s decision, not yours.”

Beatrice’s eyes flared. “A wife has ways of making her husband see what is in the best interest of their relationship. And that means sending you and your little family away. Far away.”

“From what I know of Alastair, he always goes against what others expect of him,” Gwendolyn countered as she brushed past Beatrice, heading for the door. “Though I’ve enjoyed your company, I must excuse myself. I have duties that must be attended to. Since you cannot say the same until you are made mistress of this castle, I can have a light repast sent up to your chamber for you and your father.”

Beatrice’s eyes sparked. “You’ll do no such thing. I shall do it myself. Is it Mrs Morgan or Mrs Honey who is the cook? Oh, never mind. I’ll figure it out myself.”

*

Gwendolyn sat ather sister’s bedside, watching Arabella’s chest rising and falling with ease while she slept. It warmed her spirit seeing her sister looking healthier, peaceful, calm. Gwendolyn shifted her gaze to Lottie who quietly rocked in a chair by the hearth, to the window, then back again to her sister. Gwendolyn’s own nerves were anything but calm as idea after idea flitted through her mind about how she could wrest Alastair away from Beatrice. Manipulation and lies were not for her, which left Gwendolyn with nothing but brutal honesty to make her case against his marrying Beatrice.

But even that might not work in Gwendolyn’s favour since only hours before Gwendolyn had claimed to want nothing more than to venture out on her own and somehow provide for herself and her family. She released her breath in a rush as despair overtook her. Would Alastair see her change of heart as a lie? Would he decide she was no better for him than Beatrice? Would the MacDonalds win this battle no matter what Gwendolyn tried to do? They did have the Fairy Flag after all. Garrick had told her he’d sent the flag back to the seat of their clan at Monkstadt House. She could only imagine he’d told her such because he hadn’t expected them to live long enough to convey that information to anyone else. But since she had lived, could she retrieve the Fairy Flag and return it to its proper place at Dunvegan? Laird MacDonald had indicated that he would return the stolen item. Yet she doubted he would. Five years of lies from Garrick MacDonald had taught her not to believe any of them.

Alastair was more than capable of going after the flag himself, but to do so with a full company of men would be seen as an act of war. She, on the other hand, could use stealth to recover the MacLeods’ most treasured possession. In spite of the fact that she’d had no choice but to steal the flag and hand it over to the MacDonalds, Gwendolyn still felt a deep-seated guilt over what she had done. With her guilt assuaged and his resentment of what she’d done no longer a factor between them, they might actually have a change to start anew.

Gwendolyn pressed her lips together, giving the idea serious consideration when the door to the chamber opened and the steward, Becks, stepped inside. She hastened to the door, to prevent any conversation that might wake her sister. In a whisper she asked, “Is there something you need?”

He understood the wish for quiet and stepped back outside the door, signalling for her to follow.

In the hallway, Gwendolyn shut the door behind her, suddenly noticing the worry etched into the lines of the steward’s face. “What is it, Becks? What’s wrong?”

He opened and closed his hands nervously before him. “I didn’t know where else to turn, milady. M’laird asked that no one disturb him while he returned to the council meeting. Master Callum is with him, as is his Captain of the Guard. I do not feel right in discussing the matter with Miss Lamont, and Lady Rowena is out of the question,” he hesitated, “so I came to you.”

Gwendolyn reached out and placed her hand atop his, stilling his movements. “I will help with whatever I can. Please explain the situation more fully.”

“Can we walk belowstairs while we talk, milady?”

“Of course.” They walked quickly down the hallway and to the stairs, making their way towards the front of the castle.

“It’s Marcus MacDonald,” Becks said. “He’s outside the castle gate and refusing to leave, especially now that Lady Rowena is on the opposite side of the gate, begging for someone to let him in.”

“That is a problem,” Gwendolyn agreed as they stepped outside and into the front courtyard. They continued towards the gate where a small crowd of the household staff and some of the castle’s warriors had gathered to watch the unfolding drama.

When they drew nearer, Gwendolyn saw Rowena pressed against the gate with Marcus’s arms wrapped around her. “I will take care of the situation, but you must convince the gatekeeper to open the portcullis.”

Becks released a heavy sigh. “Thank you, milady. I know m’laird will be grateful to have your assistance in this matter.”

Gwendolyn frowned. She wasn’t so certain Alastair would be glad of her help when it came to Rowena, but someone had to do something before the situation got further out of hand. Making her way to Rowena’s side, Gwendolyn looked past the love-stricken girl to the man on the other side of the gate. “If you ever want to see each other again, the two of you need to release each other this moment.”

They shared a look, then stepped apart. As they separated, the gatekeeper raised the portcullis. When it was halfway raised, Marcus stepped through. Becks immediately signalled for the barrier to be dropped once more.

Before Rowena and Marcus could come together, Gwendolyn stepped between them, and linking Rowena’s arm through her own, headed back towards the castle. Marcus trailed behind them. “Whatever else you have to say to each other would be best discussed in private. Understood?”

They both agreed as the three of them headed into the castle. They needed somewhere public to talk, yet without an audience. The two lovebirds had already overstepped the bounds of propriety. They needed a public room, but most of the chambers were either filled with people going about their daily routines, or with the clan leaders and their entourage.