Rorie crossed her arms over her chest and then sent Graeme a look he’d long ago associated with absolute scheming. She may not like blood or violence, but she had a mind worthy of any bloodthirsty warrior. She always went for the kill, even if it was figurative. “How much is my niceness worth to you?”
Graeme had to clear his throat to keep from outright laughing. The lass had audacity and yet he’d never been able to bring himself to chasten her. She’d been allowed to run wild, no doubt about it.
Raised without a mother figure, Rorie likely spent most of her childhood believing she was a lad.
“What do you want, you little chit,” Graeme said in amusement.
“I want a tutor. A real one, Graeme. I want to learn to read and write.”
Her chin came up a notch, and she boldly stared him down.
“And where do you propose for me to find this tutor?”
“Father Drummond.”
“Rorie, he’s a man of God, and he has duties to more than one clan. I can’t appropriate him for your own personal gain.”
“It seems to me that as you aren’t entirely certain of the faculties of your new wife, it would behoove you to have a man of God bless your union and furthermore convince your clan that your bride isn’t marked by the devil. In his free time, of course, he could instruct me.”
Graeme had to laugh then. The little schemer. What galled him was that she had a very solid point and having the father’s blessing on the marriage as well as calming his clan’s fears and superstitions could go a long way in ensuring Eveline’s well-being and happiness.
“All right, Rorie. I’ll send word to the father. You, however, I want to show Eveline every kindness. She’s a sweet lass and I think you’ll like her. She’s just … different.”
“I’ve never known you to be so diplomatic,” she said dryly.
He pointed out the door. “Just go, you little imp. Before I put my boot to your arse.”
She grinned and hurried past him, her hand covering her behind as she fled.
Rorie hesitated outside of Eveline’s closed door. As much as she was loath to admit it, she was nervous about the impending meeting with her sister by marriage.
On the one hand, having a sister was an interesting thought. Having a crazed sister was not, however, appealing.
She rested her palm against the wood for a long moment, then sucked in her breath and knocked. She waited, growing more nervous by the moment. When she received no response, she knocked again. Only to wait several long seconds.
She stuck her ear to the door, frowning. There were odd sounds emanating from within. Scraping? As if something was being dragged across the floor. And the sound was growing louder until suddenly the door flew open and Rorie found herself face-to-face with a blond-haired woman barely larger than herself.
Eveline jumped, obviously startled by Rorie’s presence. Her face was red with exertion and her hair was in disarray. As Rorie glanced down, she saw that Eveline had dragged one of her trunks toward the door and indeed, it appeared as though she was planning to shove it out of the room all together.
“I’m Rorie,” she said, unsure of what she was supposed to do. “I’m Graeme’s sister.”
Eveline stared at Rorie, studying her intently until Rorie squirmed. There was something intelligent and discerning about her gaze, almost as if she were judging Rorie, and it made her distinctly uncomfortable.
Eveline was the intruder here, not Rorie. Rorie belonged and Eveline was the outsider. The enemy.
Then, to her further bewilderment, Eveline reached out and grabbed Rorie’s hand and pulled her downward, motioning toward the trunk.
“Uhhh, Eveline? What do you intend to do with the trunk?” Rorie asked.
Eveline paused and frowned. Then she stood to her full height—not that it was much—and peered out of the chamber and down the hall.
Her expression grew more perplexed, and then she abruptly left Rorie and walked across the hall and opened Bowen’s door.
“Hey! You can’t just barge into my brother’s room like that,” Rorie protested.
Eveline stuck her head in, then withdrew and turned to Rorie, her brows drawn together in a deep furrow. She licked her lips almost as if she wanted to speak, but Rorie knew that was impossible. Graeme had said she was mute and had been ever since her accident.
Then she pointed to the open chamber door and raised her palms in question.
Rorie shook her head, confused.
Eveline pointed to Rorie and then back at the chamber and then once again raised her palms.
Understanding finally, Rorie shook her head. “Nay, it’s not my chamber. ’Tis Bowen’s.”
Once more, Eveline grabbed Rorie’s hand and fairly dragged her down the hallway to the next chamber. She slapped her palm against the door and then turned to Rorie, that same question in her eyes.
By now, Rorie understood what it was she wanted.
“ ’Tis my chamber,” Rorie said.
Eveline frowned in displeasure and once more, Rorie found herself dragged to the next chamber. By now she had figured out the point of all this and she was tired of being hauled around by a woman only slightly larger than herself, so she extricated her hand from Eveline’s hold and then took Eveline’s hand herself so she could direct the movement.
She took Eveline down the hall, pointing at each of the chambers and saying whose it was or what purpose it served. Eveline seemed to grow more frustrated with each one.
Understanding smacked Rorie in the face. “You’re looking for Graeme’s chamber, aren’t you?”
Eveline smiled and nodded vigorously. For a moment, Rorie was spellbound by the change the smile brought to the young woman’s face. She was quite beautiful and not all daft looking. No crazed look in her eyes, even if her behavior bordered on unusual. Or maybe a lot unusual …
Then Rorie’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Eveline’s smile turned into a quick frown, and then Rorie found herself hauled right back down the hall to Eveline’s chamber. There, Eveline pointed at the trunk and then made an away motion as if she were pushing the trunk down the hall.
Then she jutted out her chin, pointed inward to her chamber and shook her head mutinously as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Rorie burst out laughing. Her sister-in-law wasn’t happy over her accommodations and she wanted to move into Graeme’s chamber. She should be loyal and sternly inform her brother’s new bride that if Graeme had wanted her in his chamber, he would have put her there. But the devil on her shoulder told her it could be quite fun to aid Eveline in her endeavor and give Graeme a shock when he retired later.
“All right, I’ll help you,” Rorie said, still smiling.
Eveline beamed back at her and then bent to grasp the handle of the trunk. Rorie bent down as well, and they slid it out of the doorway and into the hall.
Rorie pointed toward the end. “Graeme’s chamber is all the way down. We’ll need to hurry if we’re to move all your belongings before someone finds us.”
CHAPTER 13
Graeme paused outside of Eveline’s door, indecision wreaking havoc with his mind. Guilt plagued him because after dumping her in her chamber, he hadn’t come back for her. Hadn’t checked to see if she’d settled in. He hadn’t even assigned a lady’s maid to aid her in unpacking her trunks.
The truth was, he wasn’t at all sure who he could trust with the task because everywhere he turned, he was treated to overt hostility over an Armstrong taking up residence at Montgomery Keep.
It was time for her to come down for dinner. He wasn’t at all certain he should set her among her new clan so soon, but waiting would only prolong the agony. Better to have done with it quickly and then set to work on making her fit in with his kin.
How he was going to accomplish that, he had no idea.
He knocked softly and waited, not wanting to intrude on her privacy even though he had every right as her husband to do as he wished. It wasn’t his intention to set her against him or to make her fear him. In fact, the thought was repugnant to him.
After a moment, he frowned when she didn’t respond to the summons. He pushed open the door only to find the room completely dark. He took one of the candles from the wall sconce and walked into Eveline’s room and to his further surprise, the room was bare.
No trunks. None of her things. It was as pristine as it had been before he’d delivered her to the chamber just hours before.
For a moment he wondered if he’d given her the wrong room, but even he wasn’t that absentminded. He retreated quickly and then strode down the hall, throwing open doors left and right.
When he got to his own, he nearly didn’t go in, but then thought better of it and opened his door. If he was to find her, he needed to cover every inch of the keep. He certainly would have known if she’d made an appearance below stairs.
This wasn’t what he had in mind for his first day of wedded bliss. A missing wife who may or may not be in full control of her faculties.
He almost missed her when he pushed inside his chamber and hastily scanned the room. But he certainly didn’t miss the fact that his chamber now housed all the trunks that had accompanied her to Montgomery Keep. They were also unpacked and her things covered most of the available surfaces in his chamber.
Most notably, she was curled into a small ball on the far side of his bed, the side closest to the wall, and from all appearances she was fast asleep.
He blew out his breath, raised his hands and then let them fall to his sides in exasperation. She was everywhere in his chamber. Her belongings. Even her smell. Trunks. Clothing. And then there was the fact that she was in his bed. Where he had to sleep.
She hadn’t even eaten, and she had to be starving. He’d yanked her from her home the moment the vows were recited, and she hadn’t eaten when they’d arrived here. The lass was slight enough as it was. She certainly didn’t need to be missing any meals.
And yet he didn’t want to disturb her sleep. She hadn’t so much as stirred, and he hadn’t been quiet when he’d come into the chamber. The day had likely exhausted her.
Still he crept closer to the bed and leaned over to peer down at her. It was ridiculous that he was tiptoeing around his own chamber out of deference to a wife who’d taken it upon herself to move herself into his private quarters.
She looked angelic in sleep, dark lashes resting against pale cheeks. Her blond hair was tousled and in disarray and spread out. Over his pillow. He frowned. She’d even stolen his pillow.
She was dressed in a white linen plain shift that modestly covered all the necessary parts. All that he could see was her face and one bare arm that rested down her side. The other was tucked beneath her as she faced the wall.
If he woke her, she’d have to dress to come below stairs and by the time she made an appearance, the meal would be over with anyway. He’d just make certain that there would be food available to her as soon as she woke in the morning.
He lingered for another long moment, staring down at the soft rise and fall of her chest. And then he glanced around once more at all the things that now occupied his chamber. Or rather their chamber, since it appeared she’d laid claim to his.
He turned away, gripping his nape and rubbing it as he quietly retreated. He had no idea what to do in this matter. He couldn’t very well pursue a normal marriage with her. Their marriage couldn’t even be consummated.
And yet there she was in his bed, on his pillow, sound asleep as if she fully expected she should be there.
He walked down the stairs and into the hall where the serving women were busy putting food out on the tables. He took a seat at the end where he always sat, Teague on his left and Bowen on his right. Rorie sat on Bowen’s other side, and suspiciously, she wouldn’t look up to greet him as he sat.
“Know you anything about how Eveline was able to move all her trunks into my chamber?” he asked mildly as he stared down at Rorie. “Or for that matter, how she knew which chamber was mine?”
Rorie’s face colored and she stared down, suddenly very fascinated with her food.
“What do you speak of?” Bowen demanded. “The lass moved into your chamber?”
Teague’s eyebrows went up. “What’s her intention?”
“As she was asleep when I went up, I could hardly ask her,” Graeme said dryly. “I’m more interested in how she wound up there.”
Rorie huffed. “I helped her.”
Graeme’s eyes narrowed. “Was it her idea or yours? Is this some trick you’re playing?”
“You asked me to be nice to her,” she said pointedly. “I went up to her chamber and was met at the door by her pulling—or rather trying to pull—her trunks into the hall. She then dragged me down the hall, wanting to know which room was yours.”
Graeme held up his hand. “Wait a minute. She asked you this? How do you know this is what she wanted?”
“Of course not. She doesn’t speak. You told me as much, and she never uttered a single word. But she certainly has a way of making her point understood.”
