Mared stood there a moment, her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming, and listened to his footfall move away from her door. When she could hear it no longer, she released her sobbing, and clutching her arms tightly around her body, she slid down the wall onto her haunches and sobbed like a bairn.
How long she sobbed, she really didn’t know, for there was no timepiece in her possession, but the coals in the brazier had gone cold when she was finally spent from the sobbing and stopped. She wiped her nose and her eyes and put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the small phial Donalda had given her.
Nine
P ayton did not sleep well.
He hated that he’d reacted with such anger, hated even worse that he still could not seem to keep his hands from her…especially now that she was under his protection. His emotions, he realized, were so close to the surface that they were bubbling through—anger, desire—it made for a rather toxic combination.
This was, he was realizing well too late, a fatuous, thick-witted plan. It was imperative therefore, he reasoned, that he keep his distance from her.
But Mared startled him when he entered the library the next morning at a quarter past ten, for she was already there, standing at the bookshelves. She was perusing the many books his family had collected over the centuries, her hands clasped behind her back, a long braid of hair reaching almost to her waist, and wearing an old gown the color of a Scottish sunset he’d seen her wear many times.
He instantly suspected chicanery.
She’d have a bloody bad time of enacting her scheme, whatever it was, for this morning his mood was all the more sour, his patience thin, and he prepared to do battle as he strode across the room.
But much to his great astonishment, she turned when she heard him enter and smiled. A full and glorious smile, complete with sunny dimples and the very same sparkling green eyes that came to him in his dreams from time to time. “Maduinn math, milord. Good morning.”
Payton stopped dead in his tracks and eyed her suspiciously. “Good morning.” She nodded; Payton glared at her a moment longer. She smiled again.
No. Whatever the chit was about, he’d not be so easily lured into her trap. He stalked on to the library desk and sat. “Thank ye for being prompt. I hardly expected it. Please be seated,” he said, indicating a chair directly across the desk from him.
She did not so much as frown, but crossed the room and sat, her spine straight, her hands in her lap, her smile bright. “Ye’ve a lot of books,” she lightly remarked. “It’s quite an extensive library ye have.”
He said nothing, just observed her skeptically as she calmly returned his gaze. Quite a change in demeanor from the banshee of last evening. Oh, aye, she was up to something, he was certain of it.
“My cousin Sarah shall take her leave of Eilean Ros today. Ye shall attend her,” he began, watching Mared closely for any sign of mutiny.
“Very well,” she said pleasantly.
Very well his arse. Payton’s frown went deeper, and he steepled his fingers, openly studying her. “Miss Douglas will give ye the keys to the stores. I shall expect a competent handling of the household accounts.”
One of her brows rose above the other, but Mared smiled and nodded.
“Ye are to wear the black-and-white uniform Mrs. Craig wore. Miss Douglas will instruct ye as to where they are kept, aye?”
“Aye. A uniform,” she said with a resolute nod.
“Now, as to yer duties,” he said, and abruptly leaned forward, propping his arms on the desk, his gaze narrowed on hers. “I am a practical laird, Miss Lockhart. I’ve no need for squads of servants. We’ve the usual groundsmen and livestock handlers. In addition, I’ve Beckwith, with whom ye are acquainted, and under him, there are three footmen, a coachman, a groom, and a gamekeeper. We’ve a cook, and she has the help of a scullery maid. In addition to yerself, there are two chambermaids. Ye will oversee their work in the performance of yer everyday duties.”
“All right, then.”
She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even flinched, just kept observing him with that serene countenance, as if she fully accepted her fate. Bloody hell if she did. This was Mared Lockhart before him, not some shy young chambermaid.
Payton leaned forward a little closer and narrowed his eyes again. “I shall expect ye to keep Eilean Ros as clean as if it were Talla Dileas. I shall expect the floors to be polished and scrubbed, the carpets beaten and swept, the furniture and fixtures kept free of dust. Ye shall launder my clothing and attend the master rooms morning and night, aye? And ye will attend the guest rooms. In short, Miss Lockhart, ye will see to it that this house shines like a golden bauble. Do ye quite understand?”
“Quite,” she said politely, but he was certain he detected a slight stiffening of her spine.
He leaned back, frowning still. “Forgive me…but ye seem remarkably improved from yer rather dramatic arrival, aye? May I trust that we are in complete agreement as to the terms of yer service here?”