“It will be a joyous time for all,” she said blithely, and put a sheet of vellum before her on the dining table. “Might I suggest that ye begin, ‘To my cousin Neacel Douglas, greetings and felicitations on yer happy news from one important Douglas laird and master of all he surveys, to another Douglas laird who is likewise impressed by himself?’”
Payton chuckled weakly at her beaming smile. “Quite poetic. But I suggest we start with this: ‘Cousin, greetings and felicitations,’ ” he dictated. “ ‘Please accept my heartfelt congratulations on the happy news of yer betrothal. I quite look forward to meeting yer intended bride, for I fondly recall from our childhood that Miss Braxton was indeed a bonny lass, and I trust she will make ye a good and dutiful wife….’ ”
He paused there and slanted Mared a look. “Ye are writing this down, are ye, word for word?”
“Do ye doubt it?”
“Of course I do. Ye’re writing it down as I say, aye?”
“Of course.”
He looked skeptical, but leaned his head back and continued. “ ‘I am right pleased to inform ye that ye may count me among the number who will attend and witness the celebration of yer betrothal. I shall require lodging for myself and three servants. Until the time I may congratulate you personally, I remain, as ever, yer loyal and faithful cousin.’ ” He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Aye, then, ye may put my name to it.”
“Where shall I direct it?” she asked as she signed his name.
“Kinlochmore, near Fort William.”
“Diah,” she said absently. “That’s quite a journey, aye?”
“Two days. Longer if there is rain. Ye best pack warmly.”
That garnered her immediate attention. “Beg yer pardon?”
“Ye might bring the purple gown ye are so fond of—ye’ll need a heavy fabric in a month’s time, I’d wager.”
He confused her, and for a moment, she thought perhaps his fever was returning. “Are ye quite all right, milord?” she asked, putting the letter aside.
“Quite.” And he flashed a weak, but devilish smile.
Oh no. No, no. “But as I’ll no’ be traveling to Kinlochmore, I’ll have no need of anything but this plain black gown,” she said sweetly.
“Ah, but ye will be traveling there,” he said calmly.
“I donna see how ye can possibly say I will,” she said patiently, thinking how she would very much like to stuff the letter down his throat at present. “Ye will go in the company of yer footmen. I will remain here and do what it is I’ve been enslaved to do.”
“But I donna keep a valet, and I’ll need ye along to tend to my clothing.”
“Yer clothing?” she cried, coming up out of her chair. “Can ye no’ impress on one of yer footmen the importance of keeping yer bloody clothing neat and tidy and at the ready, then?” she demanded. “I shall go to my grave wondering how a man so fully convinced of his own glory might have managed this long without a valet!”
“But I have. And I need ye to accompany me.”
“How can ye ask it of me? Can ye imagine what will be said? Have ye thought of how I’ll be persecuted in the midst of so many blasted Douglases?”
“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “That is a rather appealing thought, a Lockhart surrounded by Douglases. But ye needn’t fret, Mared. There was no talk of Mrs. Craig when she accompanied me. Most saw it for what it was—a laird with his housekeeper along to tend to his clothing and his suite. Neacel’s household will be taxed enough as it is, what with Douglases coming from far and wide. I canna impose on him for my own needs.”
“Yer needs!” she exploded helplessly. “I willna go along as yer lackey!” she insisted, striding angrily to the bed. “Ye can humiliate me into what ye will within the walls of this house, but I shall no’ go abroad and be presented to all the bloody Douglases of the world as yer servant.”
“Of course ye will,” he said, sinking low into the pillows, his brow creased in a frown. “For ye are my servant. A wee bit of broth, aye, Mared? I’m feeling rather weak.”
“Augh!” she cried, and whirled away from the bed, marched to the door, and flung it open. Then she just as suddenly slammed it shut and whirled about to argue her point again. Only Payton had rolled over onto his side and was already sleeping.
Mared’s fingers dug into her palms as she struggled to maintain her calm. She snatched up the post and left his room to make his damned broth.
Had she walked over to the bed and leaned over to have a look, she might have seen his smile.
As the days unfurled, Payton grew stronger quickly and chafed at the confines of his illness. The servants who had fled in terror of wasting fever had slowly returned as news of his rather miraculous recovery spread through the lochs.
The house returned to its natural rhythm, and Payton saw less and less of Mared.