* * *
“Ah?” said Lord Lovat, giving me the benefit of a cold blue eye. “I’d heard you’d married an Englishwoman.” His tone made it clear that this act confirmed all his worst suspicions about the grandson he’d never met.
He raised a thick gray brow in my direction, and shifted the gimlet stare to Jamie. “No more sense than your father, it seems.”
I could see Jamie’s hands twitch slightly, resisting the urge to clench into fists.
“At the least, I had nay need to take a wife by rape or trickery,” he observed evenly.
His grandfather grunted, unfazed by the insult. I thought I saw the corner of his wrinkled mouth twitch, but wasn’t sure.
“Aye, and ye’ve gained little enough by the bargain ye struck,” he observed. “Though at that, this one’s less expensive than that MacKenzie harlot Brian fell prey to. If this sassenach wench brings ye naught, at least she looks as though she costs ye little.” The slanted blue eyes, so much like Jamie’s own, ran over my travel-stained gown, taking in the unstitched hem, the burst seam, and the splashes of mud on the skirt.
I could feel a fine vibration run through Jamie, and wasn’t sure whether it was anger or laughter.
“Thanks,” I said, with a friendly smile at his lordship. “I don’t eat much, either. But I could use a bit of a wash. Just water; don’t bother about the soap, if it comes too dear.”
This time I was sure about the twitch.
“Aye, I see,” his lordship said. “I shall send a maid to see ye to your rooms, then. And provide ye with soap. We shall see ye in the library before supper…grandson,” he added to Jamie, and turning on his heel, disappeared back under the archway.
“Who’s we?” I asked.
“Young Simon, I suppose,” Jamie answered. “His lordship’s heir. A stray cousin or two, maybe. And some of the tacksmen, I should imagine, judging from the horses in the courtyard. If Lovat’s going to consider sending troops to join the Stuarts, his tacksmen and tenants may have a bit to say about it.”