Читать книгу Hard-Hearted Highlander - Julia London - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

BERNADETTE HOLLY LOOKED around the dank room to which she’d been assigned. Or rather, the room to which Avaline had been assigned. Bernadette had been given the small antechamber attached to this room, where she was to sleep on a straw mattress so that she might serve her mistress in the event the girl couldn’t find the chamber pot in the middle of the night.

If Bernadette ever uttered such a thing aloud, one would think she was ungrateful for her position and disdainful of Avaline. Nothing could be further from the truth—she was grateful and she was not the least disdainful of Avaline. But she was a bit uncertain if the girl possessed a full head of brains.

The room was quaint if not medieval in its appearance, and quite drafty—Bernadette could feel the gusts of wind coming through the windows. She shivered and walked to the window, pushed aside the heavy brocade draperies, then sneezed at the dust collected in their folds. The window rattled with another gust of cold air, which seeped in around the edges of the old panes.

Bernadette leaned forward over the deep sill and looked out. The sun was just sliding down behind the hills, its golden light turning the hills red, which in turn cast dark green shadows onto bright yellow rapeseed.

She found the landscape stark and barren, but strangely beautiful. England was scenic country, too, but Bernadette had never seen anything quite so severe in its allure as this landscape.

Avaline, however, had found the land intimidating. Worrying a knot of ribbon at her waist, she’d stood beside Bernadette at the bow of the ship as it had glided toward the harbor earlier today. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone about. It looks...bleak.”

Behind Bernadette, the door of the room suddenly swung open, startling her. She dropped the drapes and turned around to see Avaline backing into the room, profusely thanking whomever had delivered her here. When she had gone well past the point of polite thanks, and the person had tried to dart away into the dark corridor, Avaline leaned forward, craning her neck around the doorframe. “Good night!” she called out, then shut the door very quietly, as if she feared she might disturb someone, and turned to Bernadette.

“Well?” Bernadette asked brightly. “How did you find him?”

Avaline looked as if she might collapse at any moment. But then again, Avaline often looked near collapse. “He’s so big,” she said in a near whisper.

He was certainly that. A tall, ruggedly built man, with very dark, cold eyes.

“Oh, Bernadette,” Avaline moaned, and staggered to the bed, sinking onto it. “I don’t know how I shall ever manage.”

“Now, now, you mustn’t despair,” Bernadette said, and moved to sit beside her charge. “It’s the first meeting, after all. Everyone is on tenterhooks. Mr. Mackenzie was undoubtedly as nervous as you,” she said kindly, although she sensed, having observed him, that the man hadn’t a single nerve in him. He’d appeared insouciant, overly confident and quite secure in his idea that he was much grander than the girl he was meant to wed. A rooster, if one wished to put a name to it.

“Do you really think so?” Avaline asked.

“Yes, of course.” That was not true—she didn’t believe it at all.

Neither did Avaline, and she fell over onto her side, distraught. “They are negotiating the terms of our betrothal now. My father and—and him, naturally, and his father, and his brother. He is so distant and he seems unfeeling, and yet his brother has been very kind, has he not?” she asked anxiously, pushing herself up again. “Don’t you think the captain is kind? I said as much to my mother, but she said I was not to think of him at all. I wasn’t thinking of him. I was merely pointing out that he seems kinder than his brother.”

“Where is your mother?” Bernadette asked curiously. She often lost track of Lady Kent, who was as quiet and unobtrusive as a mouse. Avaline was boisterous in comparison.

“She is with Lady Mackenzie somewhere in this huge and wretched place,” Avaline said morosely, and gestured lamely to the walls around them. “Lady Mackenzie bid me join them, but I begged her pardon and said I was so very tired after the journey, but really, Bernadette,” she said. “Really, I thought I might burst into tears if I remained another moment.”

“Then it’s good you came here,” Bernadette said, and put an arm around Avaline’s shoulders.

Avaline suddenly burst into tears and buried her face in Bernadette’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I must marry him!” she wailed.

Neither could Bernadette, frankly, but it was the way of things for a girl born to Avaline’s station in life. They married men who strengthened their families’ connections and made them all richer. “Men always appear much fiercer when they are unknown,” she said, patting Avaline’s back. “It’s natural for them to appear so.”

“It is?”

No, of course it wasn’t natural. Had the girl learned anything from Bernadette in the last six years? “Yes, always. They must preen and show their fierceness to attract a mate. Much like a rooster.”

“Like a rooster,” Avaline repeated, sounding hopeful now. She sat up again and folded her hands primly in her lap.

“Avaline...” Bernadette stood from the bed and kneeled down before her, so that she was looking her in the eye. “You must reserve judgment of him. In situations like this, the first meeting is truly the hardest. But when you are alone with him—”

“Alone!”

“Not alone. You know I’ll be nearby,” Bernadette said soothingly. “Say you are invited to walk with him. You might use that opportunity to converse with him, ask him questions about himself and assure yourself he is not as...” Boorish. Primitive. Savage? “As distant as he has appeared to you,” she said, and smiled. “Men are quite eager to speak of themselves and need only the slightest encouragement. I’ve no doubt you’ll find him a wonderful companion if you allow him to focus his attention on himself.”

Avaline seemed highly skeptical. Bernadette would have to improve her powers of persuasion, but her belly chose that moment to growl with hunger. And rather loudly, too. She hadn’t had a bite of food since early in the morning.

Avaline looked at Bernadette’s belly. “Oh, dear! You haven’t eaten!”

No, she’d not eaten, because that craggy old bastard of a butler had instructed her to come and prepare her lady’s bedchamber. Firstly, Avaline was not a lady. Secondly, Bernadette was not a bloody chambermaid. Granted, she was scarcely a rung above it, but she had her pride. She was, after all, the daughter of a recognized knight, Sir Whitman Holly, and his wife, her mother, Lady Esme Holly.

“How very careless of us,” Avaline said.

“You mustn’t give it another thought,” Bernadette said. She would be thinking about it all night, enough for the both of them.

“No, I am going to summon them now, and tell them—”

“I’ve an idea,” Bernadette said. “I’ll help you ready for bed, then I’ll go and seek out the kitchen. I shan’t disturb anyone—they’ll be quite well occupied with putting the house to bed.”

“Well...” Avaline said uncertainly, and bit her bottom lip again. Bernadette pointed to her own lip, and Avaline stopped chewing at once. It was a dreadful habit the girl had, and on more than one occasion, she’d ended the day looking as if someone had slapped her across the mouth.

“Come,” Bernadette said. “I’ll brush your hair.”

When she’d brushed and braided Avaline’s hair and put her in bed with a book she wouldn’t read, Bernadette said good-night and went in search of the kitchens. She was not accustomed to missing her supper and she didn’t much like it. She hoped she was not too late.

The castle was a confusing maze of winding corridors, some of them poorly lit, but Bernadette possessed a keen sense of direction and found her way to the great hall. It was empty now, save for four dogs that had staked their places before the massive hearth and the warm embers there. They scarcely lifted their heads when she paused to look inside.

She walked on, turning down one of the more brightly lit corridors. She heard voices, and realized the sound was coming from an open door. She moved closer. The voices were male, and she paused just outside the door, listening. She couldn’t make it out, really, and honestly didn’t care what they were saying—she only wanted to sneak by. She darted past the open door, but realized, too late, that in the shadows just past the open door was another door that closed off the hallway. “Of all the bother!” she whispered, and tried the handle, but it was locked.

Bernadette turned around, prepared to dart past the open door once more, but she realized with significant consternation that she was plainly visible from the room where the men had gathered, and they were visible to her. And there, facing the door, sat Avaline’s intended. Or was he now officially her fiancé? Whoever he was, he was staring at Bernadette, his expression unreadable...unless one looked at his eyes.

She didn’t know the man’s eye color, but from here, it looked as black and as hard as obsidian. His gaze moved over her, slowly and deliberately, as if he found her wanting. His casual perusal felt as if it had singed her, leaving a tingling trail down her chest to her abdomen. He was a beast! An uncivilized beast.

Bernadette glared right back at him. Men didn’t scare her as they did Avaline. Quite the contrary.

She lifted her chin and walked on, aware that his gaze followed her for the space of that open door.

“Madam?”

Bernadette had been so intent on showing that wretched man she was not the least bit intimidated by him that she hadn’t seen Captain Mackenzie moving down the corridor toward her, and almost jumped out of her skin.

He smiled at her obvious surprise. He was carrying a bottle in one hand.

“I beg your pardon, Captain,” she said as he neared her. “I’m a bit lost. Would you kindly point me to the kitchen?”

“The kitchen?”

“I, ah... I was tending to Miss Kent’s things during the supper hour,” she said, wincing slightly with apology.

“Ah. Come then,” he said, his warm smile returned. “You’ll be quite lost if you attempt to find it on your own, you will. Our ancestors didna think much of efficiency when they built this fortress.” He gestured for her to come with him.

He had such a lovely smile and even lovelier light blue eyes. He’d been unfailingly kind to them all since the moment they’d boarded his ship, and Bernadette couldn’t help but smile now, happy to have been rescued by him.

“Miss Kent, she’s well, is she?” he asked pleasantly as they took another turn into another corridor.

“Quite. A bit tired, what with the journey, but very well, thank you.”

“Aye. Here we are then,” he said, opening a door and allowing Bernadette to pass through before him. A wooden table stretched long through the middle of the kitchen. On one wall were the many pots used for cooking. On another wall, jars of spices. The smell of lamb roasting made her stomach growl, and she smiled sheepishly at her escort.

Captain Mackenzie walked to the bell pull and tugged on it. A moment later, a woman appeared. Her gray hair was knotted on the top of her head and her apron was wet from the chest down, as if she’d been washing.

Captain Mackenzie spoke to her in Gaelic. She responded in kind and disappeared through the door from where she’d come. The captain turned to Bernadette and bowed. “Barabel will prepare something for you, aye?”

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

“Will you find your way to your room, then? I’ll have Frang come and—”

“No, please. I am confident I know the way.” She wasn’t the least bit confident, but she’d as sooner wander all night than see Frang again.

“Aye, verra well. Oidhche mhath, Miss Holly,” he said, and walked out of the kitchen with his bottle.

Bernadette watched him go, marveling at the way nature worked. How on earth could two brothers be so entirely opposite of one another in both looks and mien?

Barabel returned with a platter of brown bread, cheese and meat. She very unceremoniously slapped it down on the table in the center of the kitchen with a pointed glare for Bernadette.

“My apologies for the inconvenience,” Bernadette said, and smiled.

Barabel did not return her smile.

“Do you speak English?”

Barabel responded to that by turning about and walking through the door. A moment later, Bernadette heard the clink of china and the slosh of water.

She moved cautiously to the table and looked around for a stool. There was none. Neither were there any dining utensils. Well, that wouldn’t deter her, not when she was this hungry. She hoisted herself up onto the table and put the platter on her lap and ate with her fingers, listening to the moans and groans of the wind moving through this heap of stones, sighing with relief at the taste of food.

She had managed to have some bread, some chicken and a bit of cheese when she heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward the kitchen. She assumed it was the captain, and looked up, smiling self-consciously.

It was not Captain Mackenzie at all, but his darker, gruffer, angrier brother. He paused just inside the kitchen door and fixed his gaze on her. His expression was hard, unyielding. He reminded her of the granite face of some of the hills around here—she didn’t think he could possibly smile if he tried.

Bernadette needed a moment to collect herself. Judging by the way he looked at her, she didn’t know if he intended to give her a tongue-lashing or hang her. Or...well, she didn’t want to think about what else he might intend. She licked the grease from one finger for lack of a napkin, then another, and carefully moved the platter off her lap and onto the table before hopping down. She realized, now that she stood before him, that he was even bigger than he’d first appeared across the great hall. Quite broad of shoulder and powerful. And with waves of enmity rolling off of him and lapping over her.

No wonder Avaline was so shaky.

He didn’t say a word, but continued to stare at her, and she could feel that look piercing clean through her as a muscle worked in his jaw, as if he was biting his tongue. Bernadette stared back at him. Did he want to speak? Then speak. Did he want something of her? Ask. Was he perhaps only surprised to find her here? Or did he always stomp about looking so displeased and disgruntled?

Barabel returned to the kitchen, dipped a curtsy to him and spoke in the Scots language. He responded with few words in a tone so low and silky that Bernadette suppressed a small but surprising little shiver. Barabel disappeared once more, and he sidled up to the table, staring down at her plate. He picked up a piece of chicken and ate it.

Well, then. She could add ungentlemanly to her growing list of dislikes about him.

“Have you had your fill, then?”

The beast spoke after all. No, she hadn’t had her fill, and yes, she was still hungry. But she resisted the urge to look longingly at her food. “Yes. Thank you.”

He ate another bite, then folded his arms across his chest and turned away from her a moment. Then back again, those dark eyes piercing hers again. “Is it the custom in England for a servant to invade the kitchen of another man’s house?”

Invade? He made it sound as if she’d entered with an army demanding bread. “Not at all. Unfortunately, I missed—”

“Aye, my brother has told me.”

Then why, pray tell, did he ask? “I beg your pardon,” she said, and moved to pass him. But he shifted slightly, blocking her path. Bernadette lifted her gaze to his—she could see nothing but hardness in his eyes, could feel nothing but coldness radiating off of him. There was something very dark about him that Bernadette was certain there was not a bit of kindness in him. She thought of Avaline, how gentle and young and naive she was. To be married to this man? She couldn’t help herself—another shiver ran down her.

He noticed it. “Do you find the Scottish night too fuar for your thin English blood?”

“I hardly know what that means. But I will own that my thin English blood finds churlishness to be jarring.”

Her remark surprised him, clearly—she saw something spark in him, and one brow rose slowly above the other. “You are bloody well bold for a maid,” he said, his gaze moving over her body, taking her in so boldly and unapologetically that she could feel her skin begin to heat under his perusal.

“And you are bloody well discourteous for a gentleman,” she returned. She tried to slip past him, but he refused to move, and her arm brushed against his chest as she maneuvered around him. Once clear of him, she refused to sprint, as she very much wanted to do. She walked calmly away from him in spite of her racing her heart, her back ramrod-straight, her chin lifted. She could feel his gaze on her back, could feel it slicing between her shoulder blades and piercing her through.

It is no small miracle that Bernadette found her way back to her small antechamber. She dressed for bed and collapsed onto the straw mattress, her heart still beating faster than it ought to have. She tried desperately to sleep, but she kept seeing his dark eyes, the color of a stormy sea, boring into her.