He was neither stupid nor brave. He was desperate, but he didn’t bother pointing that out.
The cocky bastard continued, “This is a great deal of fuss over a housekeeper, is it no’?”
“Where is she?” Marcus repeated, not bothering to respond to that allegation.
“Readying for bed,” the laird said with decided satisfaction, seeming to relish the word bed. He gestured upstairs with a flippant wave of the hand and Marcus wanted to shoot him right then. He might as well as said she was readying herself for his bed. An amused light glinted in the man’s eyes. He was enjoying himself.
“She doesn’t belong here with you,” Marcus insisted.
“Nay, she doesn’t belong wi’ ye.”
“Hunt, wot is ’appening ’ere?” An older woman appeared, her hair white as snow and plaited in several ropes elaborately around the crown of her head.
“’Tis nothing, Nana. The Sassenach here thinks he has claim on the wee lass I brought home.” His lip curled as thought the notion was distasteful.
“I do.” Marcus stepped forward.
The old woman looked Marcus up and down. “Och. So yer the Englishmon. She was fretting over ye. Feared ye might be dead. She will be verra relieved.”
She had spoken of him and she was worried about him. It lightened his chest to hear that. She couldn’t be too unwell if she was fearful for him, could she?
The old woman added, “Me grandson ’ere said ye dinna want ’er.” She shot the young man an accusing look.
Rather than address the untruth of that, Marcus flung out, “He abducted her!”
The laird shrugged. “They were bickering. Seemed like they would be happy to part ways.”
“Your men beat me.”
“Lower that weapon, would ye,” the old woman asked, waving at his pistol. “Before ye ’urt someone. Ye stand in the hall of Clan MacLarin. Show some respect and put that thing away.”
Sighing, he lowered his pistol.
She looked with fond reproach to her grandson. “The lad ’ere always ’ad a soft spot for damsels in distress and she is a bonny lass.” She shrugged one bony shoulder. “For a Lowlander.”
Marcus gnashed his teeth. Alyse was no damsel in distress. Not since he freed her from that auction block. She was more. So much more. An infuriating magpie, to be sure . . . but somewhere along the way he had begun to think of her as his infuriating magpie.
“And,” the old woman added, “this could have something to do with Hunt having a hatred for all things English. No doubt he relished tweaking your nose.”
“I don’t give a damn how he feels about me. He needs to free Alyse—”
“Free ’er? Ye think we’re holding ’er against ’er will? We’re no kidnappers.” Nana laughed. Cackled really. “The lass is no’ hostage ’ere.”
He snorted. “Your grandson carted her off against her will.”
The old dame shrugged again and snapped at a nearby serving girl. “Fetch the lass.” As the girl scurried off to do her bidding, she looked back at Marcus again. “Perhaps she was a reluctant guest in the beginning but—”
“Abducted,” he insisted. “She was abducted!”
“Och, well, she’s quite comfortable now,” the woman finished. “Ye needn’t fash yerself.”
“Aye, quite comfortable,” the smug laird echoed with a waggle of his eyebrows, enjoying himself immensely.
His grandmother cackled again. “That one.” She waved a hand at him. “Such a way wi’ the lassies. But in truth, ye can rest easy. She is in good ’ands ’ere. Nae need tae feel obligated further.”
Obligated?
It was as though she could see into the past and all the times he’d flung that word at Alyse. Had Alyse said anything to the woman to lead her to believe he would so easily let her go?
“Marcus?” At the sound of his name, his gaze jerked from the old woman.
Alyse emerged through a large arched threshold, one hand lifting her skirts so they didn’t catch on her feet as she hastened forward. She pressed a hand to her stomach and all of her body seemed to sag with relief as her gaze swept over him. “You are alive! They said you were not dead, but I was not certain.”
He inhaled. “Indeed, I am not dead.” He had perhaps never felt so alive. So furiously alive.
She grinned rather widely then. Her happiness to see him was heartening at least.
She wore a fresh gown of red velvet and her hair shimmered from a recent wash, a set of jeweled combs held the strands back from her face. Gone was her worn and ragged clothing. She looked elegant and noble. Immediately, he felt like a wretch for not supplying such nice things for her. Instead he’d dragged her through the cold on the back of a mule, prompting her to sicken.
He shot a scathing look to the blackguard for giving her the things he had not.
“See,” Laird MacLarin declared effusively. “We’ve no’ put ’er in chains.”
Alyse’s smile slipped. An air of restraint came over her. “Aye. They’ve treated me quite well.”
“There now,” the laird’s grandmother chimed in. “All is well.”
All was decidedly not well.
“I appreciate you coming after me,” Alyse started. “But you needn’t put yourself to such trouble.”
“Trouble?” he echoed dumbly.
“Aye. I am well cared for here. They’ve invited me to stay—”
“Like bloody hell!” Did she think he would leave her to a bunch of brigands? Is that what she thought of him? That he would gladly abandon her at the first opportunity? Wouldn’t you have done so? That first day of your meeting? Perhaps but that was then. This was now and he wasn’t letting her go.
“Marcus!” she exclaimed at his outburst with a small shake of her head, looking truly bewildered. “What is so objectionable about leaving me here?” She stepped forward to whisper for his ears alone. “You can’t have really wanted me as a housekeeper. You made the offer out of pity. We both know that.” The look she gave him then was fairly indulgent and it set his teeth on edge. He didn’t want her condescension. He wasn’t so na?ve that he didn’t pick up on it.
She continued, “I don’t need your generosity anymore. I will be quite safe here. You can go. Continue on your journey without me as a yoke about your neck.”
A yoke about his neck. He looked her up and down. She hardly resembled that. Her gown of rich red that brought out the amber in her eyes, making them appear all the more afire. They gleamed like topaz in the firelit hall. The bodice was snug, as though it had belonged to a smaller woman before her. The fabric pulled tight across her chest, emphasizing the curve of her breasts.
She looked at home here. As though she fit in this castle. As though she were a lady that belonged in this hall. A lady that could stand at the helm of any fine household . . . a lady of the manor. Not a housekeeper.
“I’ve come for you,” he bit out. “I’ll not leave you here.”
Her gaze traveled over him. She cleared her throat and said slowly, “But . . . why?” She shook her head as though truly puzzled. “Why should I go with you?”
“Because . . .” He motioned to the clan laird who was watching them as though they were quite the diverting spectacle. “He abducted you.”
Her chin went up. “We’ve put that aside.”
“Have we?”
“Of course. Now,” she began in a rather dismissing tone. “You’ve saved me enough. Fret no more on the matter. You will not be required to rescue me further. You are free of me.”
“Alyse,” he said tightly, stepping closer. “We had an arrangement. What happened in Collie-Ben—”
“Speak not of it.” She waved a hand. “You needn’t concern yourself with that anymore.”
He stared at her, unblinking, wondering what he needed to do or say to get through to her. “I cannot do that. You are my obligation.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but then the emotion was gone before he had a proper read on it.
Her expression returned to mild amiableness. She smiled tightly and nodded as though reaching a decision. “I release you from our arrangement. There. I’ve said it.”