“But ye do,” Grif said softly, and it felt as if her blood began to empty from her veins. She gaped at Douglas and his villainous smile. He was, she understood, triumphant. She’d refused him and now he’d seek his revenge by humiliating her.
Mared abruptly twisted in Grif’s arms, away from that cold, hateful smile, and pressed her cheek to her brother’s shoulder. “No, Grif!” she pleaded on a sob. “No, no, please donna do this—he means to humiliate me.”
Grif sighed sadly and put his hand to her head, holding her against him. “Listen to me now, Mared. Ye refused his suit and reneged on our debt, so now it is for Douglas to say what he will have. And he would have our cattle, or…” His voice trailed off, and he suddenly moved, grabbed Mared by the shoulders and pushed her back so that he could look in her eye. “He would have our cattle, which we need to survive, or he will have ye as his housekeeper for one year to satisfy the debt.”
It was worse than she could have imagined. “No!” she shrieked, but Grif’s hands held her steady. “Ye canna agree!” she cried out. “It’s preposterous! Absurd! Let him whip me in the old bailey, but donna do this, Grif, please!”
“We gambled—ye gambled—and we lost, Mared! But we are Lockharts, and Lockharts pay their debts. If ye willna honor yer own agreement, then ye will honor this for us all. Ye will do as he demands!”
Mared caught a sob in her throat and dropped her forehead to Grif’s shoulder. “I’ll walk through the fiery pits of hell before I’d serve him even a moment,” she muttered miserably.
“That is no’ an option,” Beelzebub said at her back. “Ye may have one hour to gather yer things and make yer good-byes.”
His stone cold voice infuriated her, and she abruptly pushed away from Grif, twisting about to glare at him. “Donna think ye will order me about as if I were a bloody chambermaid!”
“I will order ye about as I see fit. And when ye address me, lass,” he said, walking forward so that she could see the icy glint in his eye and the set of his jaw, “ye will address me as yer laird.”
Mared opened her mouth, but Liam caught her by the arm, spun her around, and gave her a healthy push toward Ellie. “Take her from here. Help her pack her things,” he said gruffly and turned a murderous look to Payton.
“Ye’ll no’ silence me! I’ve scarcely begun to say what I think!” Mared cried as Ellie took firm hand of her, yanking her from the room, with her mother and Anna right behind. But before she could speak, before she could tell him what a bastard he was, she was pulled out of the study and into the corridor, and the door was shut soundly behind them.
That was when she began to sob uncontrollably.
Eight
M ared sobbed as her mother packed for her and Ellie and Anna desperately urged her to try a different tack with Douglas.
“What tack?” she groaned miserably.
“A softer hand,” Anna said. “It’s something Grif taught me. It is possible to slay a man with kindness.”
That only made Mared wail more loudly, and she continued to sob through her farewell to her family—and particularly when Douglas assured her mother that she’d be free, just as all his servants were free on Sunday afternoons, to leave Eilean Ros and call on whomever she pleased.
Her mother hugged her, whispered in her ear to go, and Mared followed him out onto the drive, where the black coach painted with the crest of Eilean Ros waited.
The footman took her old portmanteau, and Mared hastily wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of her plaid as she waited for the footman to open the coach door.
But when he opened the coach door, Payton stepped in front of her, and said gruffly over his shoulder, “Ye’ll ride atop, with the coachman,” and stepped into the luxurious interior of the coach.
The footman shut the door behind him and looked at Mared. When she didn’t move, he motioned to the driver’s bench and pulled his coat more closely around his throat. “Aye, there’s a lass,” he said kindly. “’Tis too bloody wet to dally. Come on then, step lively.” And he retreated to the back of the coach.
She was mortified and wounded by the sudden and sharp turn in her situation, but Mared was too proud to let the bastard see it. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed onto the iron handles and pulled herself up to the driver’s bench and gave the elderly coachman a halfhearted smile. “Looks as if it might rain, aye?”
“That it does. Ho, walk on!” he shouted at the team and sent them out of the drive at a trot.
Mared pulled her arisaidh over her head and stared straight ahead, refusing to look back. One day, when she had means, she would hunt Hugh MacAlister down and squeeze the very life from him.