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Authors: PATRICIA POTTER
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not fancy having a knife plunged into my own.” He curled his lips in a half smile he hoped indicated fond remembrance. “As I said, I have no interest in your bedchamber, but Cumberland must not know that.”
“Why? All he cares about is the nuptials.” She obviously could not resist the question. It came reluctantly from her tongue. “That I am chained to you, a—Protestant.”
He looked at her curiously. He knew that not all Jacobites were Catholic, though many were, especially the fierce northern clans. “You are Catholic?”
“Aye,” she said proudly.
“You said nothing before the marriage.”
She stood silent.
“Do you consider it a valid marriage?”
She said nothing again.
“It will not work, my lady. We are wed in accordance to the law of Scotland, and the king’s law, whether or not either of us wants it.”
Her face flushed.
“Cumberland and the king want this marriage. They will want proof that it is valid. That means blood, my lady.”
“Then why do you not give them what they want?” It was a direct challenge, a probing of his sincerity.
He frowned, trying to find a way to quiet her fears while revealing little. He was saying much more than he wanted to say, giving away more than he should.
He gave her the vacuous grin he’d perfected. “As I said, you do not suit my taste, madam. You are much too thin and your disposition too sour. So you may rest easy. Although I will join you this evening, I plan to spend my time playing cards.”
“Cards?”
“Aye, madam wife. I play very well, particularly with myself.” Rory knew he was good at playing the fool. “And I like Cumberland no more than you. It… pleases me to outfox him.”
Her gaze bored into him, and he wondered whether she saw more than the fool he hoped she saw.
“What do you want in return?”
“I told you. I want my complete freedom. As well as the lands you bring with you.”
“I pay for your freedom with my imprisonment.”
“It is a silken imprisonment, and one many would not find difficult.”
“I despise you. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“No, madam, it does not. I do not require your approval, only your obedience. I believe you swore to give it to me in the ceremony today.”
“You are a traitor to Scotland!”
“Ah, but that is what the king calls you. And I believe our side has won. History tells us the victor is always right. And so you will do as you are told. You will attend the banquet tonight. You will be an obedient, if reluctant, wife. You will accept the toasts. You will accompany me up here tonight without discussion of previous conversations. And I will stay here, at least for several hours. Do you understand this?”
He spoke to her as if she were a child, and he saw the fury bank in her blue eyes. Her fingers clenched into fists at her side, and he knew how much she wanted to strike him.
“Will you at least consider trying to bring my brother here?” The words sounded forced from her throat.
Rory knew how difficult they were, how she must hate asking him for a favor, particularly after he had denied it once. He had to hold back his own desire to grant it, to tell her not to worry, that he would rescue her brother. But he knew the castle where the lad was held. He also knew from Cumberland’s own mouth that he would not release the boy until the lass was safely with child. That was something he could not tell her. God only knew what she would do, or say, then.
“I cannot, madam.”
“Will not,” she corrected.
He turned. “I will come and fetch you in another hour. You will have time to change your dress. I rather like the blue one. And no MacDonell plaids, my lady.” He turned and left the room.
Her husband had evidently told Trilby to attend her, for Bethia had no more than sat on the bed when the girl appeared.
“My lady,” the girl said softly. “‘Twas a fine wedding,” she added, apparently at a loss of anything else to say.
Bethia ignored the
“Why? All he cares about is the nuptials.” She obviously could not resist the question. It came reluctantly from her tongue. “That I am chained to you, a—Protestant.”
He looked at her curiously. He knew that not all Jacobites were Catholic, though many were, especially the fierce northern clans. “You are Catholic?”
“Aye,” she said proudly.
“You said nothing before the marriage.”
She stood silent.
“Do you consider it a valid marriage?”
She said nothing again.
“It will not work, my lady. We are wed in accordance to the law of Scotland, and the king’s law, whether or not either of us wants it.”
Her face flushed.
“Cumberland and the king want this marriage. They will want proof that it is valid. That means blood, my lady.”
“Then why do you not give them what they want?” It was a direct challenge, a probing of his sincerity.
He frowned, trying to find a way to quiet her fears while revealing little. He was saying much more than he wanted to say, giving away more than he should.
He gave her the vacuous grin he’d perfected. “As I said, you do not suit my taste, madam. You are much too thin and your disposition too sour. So you may rest easy. Although I will join you this evening, I plan to spend my time playing cards.”
“Cards?”
“Aye, madam wife. I play very well, particularly with myself.” Rory knew he was good at playing the fool. “And I like Cumberland no more than you. It… pleases me to outfox him.”
Her gaze bored into him, and he wondered whether she saw more than the fool he hoped she saw.
“What do you want in return?”
“I told you. I want my complete freedom. As well as the lands you bring with you.”
“I pay for your freedom with my imprisonment.”
“It is a silken imprisonment, and one many would not find difficult.”
“I despise you. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“No, madam, it does not. I do not require your approval, only your obedience. I believe you swore to give it to me in the ceremony today.”
“You are a traitor to Scotland!”
“Ah, but that is what the king calls you. And I believe our side has won. History tells us the victor is always right. And so you will do as you are told. You will attend the banquet tonight. You will be an obedient, if reluctant, wife. You will accept the toasts. You will accompany me up here tonight without discussion of previous conversations. And I will stay here, at least for several hours. Do you understand this?”
He spoke to her as if she were a child, and he saw the fury bank in her blue eyes. Her fingers clenched into fists at her side, and he knew how much she wanted to strike him.
“Will you at least consider trying to bring my brother here?” The words sounded forced from her throat.
Rory knew how difficult they were, how she must hate asking him for a favor, particularly after he had denied it once. He had to hold back his own desire to grant it, to tell her not to worry, that he would rescue her brother. But he knew the castle where the lad was held. He also knew from Cumberland’s own mouth that he would not release the boy until the lass was safely with child. That was something he could not tell her. God only knew what she would do, or say, then.
“I cannot, madam.”
“Will not,” she corrected.
He turned. “I will come and fetch you in another hour. You will have time to change your dress. I rather like the blue one. And no MacDonell plaids, my lady.” He turned and left the room.
Her husband had evidently told Trilby to attend her, for Bethia had no more than sat on the bed when the girl appeared.
“My lady,” the girl said softly. “‘Twas a fine wedding,” she added, apparently at a loss of anything else to say.
Bethia ignored the
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