Robert sat on a rock in silent regard of all that was going on around him and thought about the woman he would soon marry, the woman who was English to the core.
He was already past caring. He was damned, for he had tasted the aromatic wine of retribution. Now it was time to drink the rest of it, to savor it, warm and tangy, never thinking of its bitter aftertaste. He had chosen this woman. She was the victim he would prepare for sacrifice, although he knew he would sacrifice his own happiness along with it.
She had been willing to marry him in Gretna, he was certain of that. Still, it did not mean he trusted her, it simply meant she wanted a husband. It would only be a matter of time until her English breeding won out. He was glad that it would. There were too many times he felt himself softening toward her. He knew that would spell disaster for him.
From here on, he would plan carefully, minutely, for he had to allay the fire that burned in his belly, the pain that swelled in his heart. He would adhere to his plan carefully and thus would he be indifferent in his deception, callous in his vengeance, tenacious of purpose, unscrupulous in method, always driven forward by profound and deep-rooted hatred for English injustice. He would not care, nor would he feel. There was room for only cold-blooded calculation in his heart and a two-edged sword in his hand—to execute vengeance and punishment. He had no choice. He no longer controlled his destiny any more than he knew himself. Some unseen force guided him now, and he wondered, dear God in heaven, he wondered if he had been abandoned by God himself and handed over to the devil.
He drew his brows together, watching Meleri, while considering his feelings. At that moment, she turned her head and looked straight at him, and then she smiled. For a blinding moment, a brilliant flash of light—one that seemed to radiate from her—stunned him. He wondered if some charm had taken hold. Was she an English witch, sent to seduce him? Was that why he suffered such disturbing and lustful thoughts? Even now, when he looked at her, he thought only of the way she would look turning toward him, her naked body draped in an incredible length of red hair.
His body reacted to the image, but he checked it. He could not afford the luxury of giving in to passion or his emotions. It was another burden heaped upon him along with his inheritance and his title. He was a master at control, and he was glad of it, for he knew already that where she was concerned, he would need it. Damn unsettling woman. Around her, he was as vulnerable as an open wound.
“My, my, that was a hungry look,” Hugh said, joining him. “I guess that means you still intend to marry her.”
“Like it or not, I will have to marry her. We need money and I still have the king’s edict hanging over my head. I have neither the time nor the inclination to find another. I must marry her and quickly, and settle the matter of her dowry, if we are to keep a roof over our heads. Otherwise, we lose everything at the end of three months.”
“You realize how fortunate you are to have found a lass so easily, and to have found one who looks as she does, and with a wealthy father and a sizeable dowry…quite remarkable!”
“I would like to see the expression on King George’s face when he hears I have beat him at his own game. I not only found a titled English lass, but I did it my first day in England.”
Hugh laughed. “That won’t endear you to him.”
“As if I care. The man’s mind is like the sky: full of air. He bends his ear too often to those foppish advisors that surround him.”
“Speaking of the king, don’t let your pride force you into waiting too long. If anything should happen to change her mind, we lose it all. To tarry any longer than necessary is to take a great risk.”
“Aye, I know that.”
Hugh changed the subject. “I have a feeling they will be surprised when we return home. I don’t think anyone will be expecting us back so soon.”
Robert did not respond. He glanced heavenward and said, “It will be dark soon. The sun has almost gone down.”
Hugh looked back at where the women sat. “I know they must be tired.”
“Good. A tired woman is a quiet woman.”
Hugh laughed. “I wouldn’t bet on it. Your lass is a talker. What do you plan on feeding them?”
“Whatever we eat.”
“Fine. What are we going to eat?”
“Whatever you find to shoot.”
“Me?”
“I furnished the last meal, if my memory serves me right.”
“You call that tiny rabbit a meal?”
“We’ll discuss that after we see what you come up with.”
Hugh grumbled a bit, then made a few halfhearted attempts to talk Robert into hunting their dinner. He might as well have saved his breath, for in the end, Hugh ambled off in search of food.
While he was gone, Robert unsaddled the horses and led them down to the stream to drink, then tethered them nearby. When Hugh came walking into camp some time later, he offered his excuse before showing the meager results of his hunt. “This area has been hunted overmuch.”
Robert took in the two squirrels he held up. “That’s it?”
“Aye. This will have to suffice. It was this, or a couple of scrawny birds.” He must have noticed the critical way Robert was looking at him, for he said, “Do you think you could have done better?”
“Aye. With a slingshot.”
Sitting on their plaids, Agnes and Meleri watched the two brothers skewer their dinner on two green branches, then roast it over the fire. Meleri had been occupying herself with watching them…or rather, watching Robert. Every time she looked at him, something strange happened, something that began innocently enough, nothing more than a gradual warming sensation in her stomach. Soon the warming gave way to a fluttering of her heart and perspiring palms. She did not want to be so determined to watch him, but she could not seem to help it. She would have loved it, if at that very moment, he would turn to look directly at her, and smile.
“Oh, I do hope they have it ready soon. It must be all that riding that has made me so hungry,” Agnes said.
“Did you see what Hugh brought back?”
“No, milady, I saw him carrying something, but I could not make out what it was. He was too far away.”
Meleri put her elbows on her drawn-up knees and rested her chin in her palms. “Perhaps it is just as well we don’t know. It does seem to be taking a dreadfully long time to cook.” She did not know what they were having, but whatever it was, it was not big. It should have been easy to cook—and quick. Her stomach growled, and she closed her eyes and inhaled the savory smell of cooking meat. “I’m so hungry, my stomach does nothing but growl.”
“Faith! I don’t think I have enough strength for mine to growl.”
Meleri began to drum her fingers against her cheek. “You know how much I love to wait.”
Agnes smiled in remembrance. “I remember you were never one to enjoy being idle, unless you had something to do.”
“Well, where is the fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do? Mother of humanity! What is taking so long? If they do not hurry up, I’m going to say something I’ll regret. I’m about at the end of my patience.” Meleri made a move to stand up.
Agnes put her hand on Meleri’s arm. “Don’t say anything just yet. I think they’re finished.”
With mouthwatering anticipation, Meleri watched Hugh hungrily as he picked up one of the sticks and carried it out to them. He thrust it toward them. “It isn’t much,” he said, “but it’s hot and filling.”
She looked down at the roasted meat skewered on a branch, swaying mere inches from her nose. “You are right. It isn’t much.” Even at this distance, she still could not make out what it was. It smelled delicious, but it did not look appetizing in the least, for there it was, bobbing up and down, legs sprawled and impaled. “A rather ignoble end, isn’t it?”
Hugh swung the stick around and looked at it. He grinned and said, “Aye, I suppose it is.”
“What is it?”
Hugh did not answer.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you know?”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
“What difference does it make to you? If it’s good, eat it. If it isn’t, leave it alone. It’s as simple as that.”
“But I want to know what it is that I’m eating.”
“Squirrel.”
Her stomach lurched. Squirrel? Those darling little bushy-tailed creatures that sat back on their haunches on her window-sill and took nuts from her hand? They had personalities and families. Some, she knew so well she had given them names. They were like friends. How could he expect her to eat something that was like an acquaintance? She turned her head away, unable to look at the distressing circumstances that had befallen this unfortunate little creature. “Take it away.”
Hugh looked down at the roasted meat. “Take it away? Why? You haven’t tasted it.”
“I could never taste it, because I could never eat a squirrel. I can’t believe anyone would.”
He looked down at the squirrel again, as if he expected it to change. “Why not?”
“If you had ever played with them as a child, you could never eat one.”
“Even if I had, it wouldn’t bother me to eat one.”
“I don’t expect a Scot to understand. The English are a people of delicate sensitivity. We could never eat something we watched scampering about our yard.”
This time, he held the limb up to eye level and looked the meat over with critical appraisal. “Those were English squirrels,” he said. He shoved the splayed squirrel toward her. “This one is a Scot.” When that did not seem to work, he added, “It isn’t as if you knew this squirrel personally.”
“All squirrels, like people, are related,” she said with haughty presence. “If I knew one, I knew them all.”
Hugh’s boisterous laughter shattered the stillness.
She gave him a disapproving look and said, “A loud laugh, a vacant mind.”
“Loud laughs and vacant minds aside, this is the only choice for dinner, I’m afraid. It’s squirrel or nothing.” He thrust it back at her.
She drew back. “I’ll have nothing,” she said softly.
“This is perfectly good meat. You need to eat. Try a little bite.” He shoved it toward her again.
She turned her head away. “I don’t like squirrel.”
“Have you ever eaten squirrel?”
She looked offended. “No! Of course not.”
“Then how do you know you don’t like it?”
“I simply know. I can tell by looking at it.” She turned her head and waved him off. “Please. Take it away. I can’t eat a squirrel.”
“I can!” Agnes said, cheerfully scooting to the edge of her plaid. She must have seen Meleri’s horrified look and thought better of it, for she straightened and said in a dignified manner, “However, I don’t think I’m in the mood for squirrel tonight.” She gave the squirrel a fond look and scooted back.
Hugh was determined. “I understand your tender feelings, but once it’s in your stomach, you won’t know the difference.”
“I would know,” Meleri replied.
“You need to eat. We’ve a long day tomorrow.”
In spite of her determination to remain cheerful, optimistic and pleasant, she was finding it difficult. She was tired of this bantering back and forth. “I…do not…eat…squirrel,” she said slowly, enunciating each word. “I am speaking perfect English. Now, what part of that do you not understand?”
“Only the part that prompted you to be so stubborn. You will eat when you are hungry enough.”
“I am hungry now.”
“But not so hungry that you can’t get your dander up. You are being foolish. If you would try being reasonable—”
“I have slept on the ground without complaining. I have ridden when I was wet and tired and covered with mud. I have gone without a bath and slept on hard ground. I have eaten rabbit and fish, neither of which was very tasty, but I cannot—and will not—eat a squirrel. It would be like eating a friend.”
Hugh shrugged and offered the squirrel to Agnes. “Is this a friend of yours?”
Agnes looked longingly at the meat and shook her head. “No…I mean, yes…that is…I think so.”
“I suggest you eat now and make up your mind later,” he said.
Agnes looked indecisive for a moment, but hunger must have gotten the best of her for she reached for the squirrel. She probably would have taken it, too, if she had not taken a quick glance in Meleri’s direction and seen the disapproving frown. “No, thank you,” she said at last, never lifting her hungry gaze from the morsel of meat.
“That will be enough!” Robert’s voice boomed out so suddenly Meleri gave a start. “If they prefer to be hungry, so be it,” he said. “Bring the squirrel here! We will eat.”
Hugh gave Meleri one last look. “It isn’t my fault if you go hungry. I tried.”
Meleri paid him no mind. Anger was burning inside of her, tingling like an itch in the palm that needs scratching. She took in completely the cynical and hard mouth, the way Robert’s very stance said he had not forgotten that she was English—as if she could do something about it.
Shaking his head, Hugh walked back to where Robert sat on a rock near the fire. “Looks like we get a bigger meal than we thought.” He handed one squirrel to Robert. “You take this one and I’ll have this one.”
They began eating and talking softly, until Hugh suddenly said, “You know, this tastes just like roast pheasant to me.” His voice was extraordinarily loud, and Meleri knew it was for her benefit.
From where Meleri sat, it looked to her like Robert almost choked on his food, but he managed to recover enough to maintain the same dark unsmiling countenance she had observed since leaving the smithy’s.
“Yes, it is definitely like roast pheasant,” Hugh continued, “but this is a bit more succulent, I think. I’m truly surprised it’s so juicy.”
“Are you?” Robert asked.
“Aye. Fair to dripping off my fingers, it is.” He turned toward Meleri. “Change your mind?”
“Leave them to choke on their own hunger,” Robert said.
Hugh shrugged and continued eating. “I’ve decided I don’t understand women.”
“Why would you want to? When it comes to understanding women, it is rarely worthwhile going through so much, to learn so little.”
She doubled her hands into fists and had to bite her tongue to keep from lashing out with her opinion of that comment. Meleri knew Robert was baiting her, testing her temperament. Keep this up, she thought, and you may be testing my aim, when I decide to pick up this rock next to me. Men could be such children.
She knew she was too smart to be caught in so obvious a trap. She would give him his pound of flesh, if for no other reason than the fact that he had saved her from Philip.
In apparent high spirits, Hugh zealously finished off the last of his meal, licked his fingers with flamboyant drama and tossed the remains in the fire. Robert tossed his in as well. Meleri barely noticed. She was busy trying to reason how everything had gotten so far off track. As for Agnes, she sat there as if she didn’t have a care in the world, or an inkling as to what was going on. In some ways, Meleri envied her. It was ever so much easier to go through life, floating like a bubble, drifting hither and yon and never lighting anywhere.
Dear, sweet Agnes. Sincere ignorance was her chief asset—and more than likely the mother of her devotion. Whenever she looked at people, she saw only good. It was one of the reasons Meleri had always been so fond of her, and protective.
Finished with his squirrel, Hugh took four oatcakes out of his bags. He put two down for himself and handed two to Robert. “Perhaps the ladies would like an oatcake,” he said, and fished out two more and handed them to Robert.
Robert took the oatcakes. He looked them over, as if he were weighing something in his mind, then he handed them back to Hugh. “Where are your brains, Hugh? These humble oatcakes are not fine enough for two such ladies. It would be insulting to offer lowly oatcakes to ladies of such refinement and gentle birth.”
Hugh looked puzzled. “But I thought…”
Robert did not let him finish. “As your older brother, it is my responsibility to instruct you in the areas I find lacking. I can see that you are obviously ignorant of the ways of a true lady. You must understand that she is a paragon of well-bred refinement with obvious and delicate sensibilities. Such a noblewoman should never be offered anything but true feminine subsistence, such as lobster and champagne. Small wonder that such discriminating and dainty fragility could not only refuse, but would be repulsed at the mere mention of eating something so base as squirrel.”
Hugh was looking a bit puzzled, but managed to go along with whatever it was his brother was setting up. “Why, thank you for pointing out such a shortcoming. I don’t know what I would do without your wise, brotherly instruction.”
“You must also understand that a woman of refined taste would be similarly repulsed at the insulting thought of partaking of such peasant’s fare as an oatcake.”
Meleri rolled her eyes and said, “Oatcakes would be lovely. I am quite fond of oatcakes. Aren’t you, Agnes?”
Agnes sat there mutely staring at the squirrel remains crackling in the fire, until Meleri elbowed her and she blurted out, “Oh, yes, I love oatcakes. I eat them all the time.”
Robert went on talking, as if he had not heard a word she said. “I am glad you have seen the error of your ways. I hope you never forget that English ladies are tender, discriminating creatures made with a fragile constitution. I do hope you never forget your manners in such a way again.”
Hugh slapped himself on the forehead and exclaimed with great drama, “For the love of St. Andrew! When I think how close I came to being so rude to such flowers of femininity. Well, I can tell you I am shamed to think I almost offered them these…these…ignoble oatcakes.” He tossed the oatcakes into the fire.
“Don’t overdo it,” Robert whispered, then they went on calmly eating their oatcakes as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
Meleri grabbed a stick and began pawing and stabbing at the burning oatcakes, berating Robert as she did. “Of all the thick-witted numskulls! What do you use for ears? Didn’t you hear me? I said I like oatcakes! So did Agnes.”
“I do apologize for my brother,” Robert said.
“Stuff your apology. We are hungry!” she said, wondering what was happening to her. She was frustrated beyond measure. She felt as if he had poured water on her fuse, reducing her outburst to a sputter, which was quite humiliating for one who had never been guilty of sputtering in her life. To make matters worse, she was speechless.
He was not.
“Alas,” he said so dramatically that Hugh, who had been munching on his oatcake, stopped eating and sat there grinning like a fool. “I must beg your forgiveness again. I have nothing else to offer you. Be assured I shall rectify this on the morrow. Go to sleep and dream of your forthcoming wedding night.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you are doing,” said Meleri angrily. “I did not just fall off the hay wagon. I am a very astute person.”
“Are you, now?”
“I hope you are enjoying yourself.” She kicked at the fire, more from a lack of direction than any real anger.
“Go to sleep and you won’t know you are hungry,” Hugh offered.
“Blast you! I can’t sleep when my ribs are clanking together.” She made another halfhearted attempt to paw through the coals. This time, she managed to get the two oatcakes out, but by then, they were nothing more than two smoldering charcoal circles. She gazed forlornly at the smoking rounds, saying more to herself than him, “I said we wanted the oatcakes and you threw them in the fire. I cannot believe anyone would throw away perfectly good food.”
She threw the stick in the fire. “Well, there is nothing to be done about it now.” Without giving either of them another look, she walked back to where Agnes was waiting.
As Meleri sat down, she said, “If you expected a change of circumstance, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. Sleeping with our hunger is the only offer we’ve had.”
“What shall we do now, milady?”
“We do as they said. We go to bed hungry.”
“Good night, milady.”
“Good night, Agnes. I am truly glad you are here and sorry you must go to bed hungry on your first night.”
“Do not worry overmuch. I have had a most enjoyable day.” Without another word, Agnes lay down. Meleri did likewise; only she made certain she gave the men her back before she pulled the plaid over her shoulders.
Robert stared at Meleri’s back for a few minutes, then pulled two oatcakes out of his bags.
Hugh leaned back, looked at the oatcakes and raised his brows in an interested manner.
Robert put his hand to his mouth, indicating Hugh should be quiet, something he should have known was impossible.
“Can’t play the beast overlong, can you?” Hugh whispered. “I knew it was only a matter of time until you showed your soft side. This was another test, wasn’t it?”
“And if it was?”
“I am dying to learn what you discovered.”
“You should be more observant and you would learn it for yourself.”
“Does that mean you aren’t going to tell me?”
“For the time being.”
“What are you going to do now? Give them the oatcakes, or toss them in the fire like the others?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m going to content myself with silent observation, so I can learn.” Still leaning back, he folded his arms over his middle, locked his fingers together and began drumming them against his chest. “My, my, I’m certainly going to enjoy watching this.”
“Really?” Robert brought the oatcakes closer and looked them over. “What do you suggest I do with them?”
“You aren’t going to eat them, are you? Surely you’re going to give them to the women.”
Robert shook his head and whispered, “No, you’re wrong. I am not going to give them to anyone. You are.”
Hugh shot upright. “Me? Why is it always me?”
“Because you’re the youngest.”
“Well, it isn’t my fault. I didn’t choose to be youngest. Why don’t you let me be the oldest once in a while?”
“Because I would have to act young and pampered, without a care in the world or a serious thought in my head.”
“You make me sound positively infantile.”
“You never miss an opportunity, do you?”
“I try not to.”
Hugh snatched the oatcakes and, mumbling to himself, said, “There are times when I think I understand you.”
“Really?”
“Aye, but this is not one of them.”