Page 16 of The Wrong Bride
“Supper will be sent up,” McCallum said.
She nodded.
“Looks like ’tis my turn to forget a towel,” he added.
She could have sworn she heard a smirk of laughter in his voice, but when she turned around, his expression was as impassive as always. She was tempted to throw the towel at him, but he’d done her too many favors this night for her to risk rousing his wrath. She took the last towel off the table and brought it to him, keeping her eyes averted as much as possible. But unless she was going to trip over the tub and land on him, she was forced to see something of his big body crowded into the little tub. His chest and arms boasted the muscles of an active man, and more than one scar to match the one on his chin. He didn’t keep his knees to his chest as she had, but thank goodness soap bubbles obscured what was beneath the surface. She might be ignorant, but something inside her seemed to respond pleasurably to his form—and she didn’t like feeling that she had no control over parts of herself that should be private.
He took the towel. “My thanks, lass. I might need ye to dry my back.”
She didn’t dignify that with a response, only went back to the fire to continue drying her hair amid his damp clothing. When there was a knock at the door, she cringed when he answered it wearing only the long, clean shirt. Dismissing the servant, he brought a tray of food to the table, and she watched the steaming mutton chops with appreciation.
Spinning her chair around, she found herself across a table from McCallum, as if they were two normal people. Was she supposed to serve him, as so many men of her acquaintance would expect from their women? But he gave them each a plateful of turnips and carrots with the mutton chop,and to her surprise, waited politely until she’d had her first taste.
When he continued watching her closely, she frowned and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“’Tis fine mutton. Do ye like it?”
“It’s tolerable.” Although to be honest, it tasted heavenly after five days eating cold food or something scorched over a fire.
“Ye’ll see the difference when you have what Mrs. Wallace prepares. She was the cook at Larig, but now I believe she might be the housekeeper.”
Riona said nothing—she didn’t plan to be at Larig for long. McCallumhadto believe the truth eventually. For several minutes, they ate in silence, and she simply absorbed the heat of the fire and of feeling clean. And then she thought of having him alone, where she could learn something that might help her sway him. But it was difficult to be civil, to be accommodating, after everything he’d done to her.
“You said,” she began slowly, “that you’ve known about the marriage contract for much of your life. You didn’t fight it?”
He swallowed another bite of his food and regarded her. “I had only reached the age of thirteen when Father told me what my future would be. I did not take it gracefully.”
“What did you do?”
“Everything I could to make my family miserable.” He turned and stared into the fire, where shadows made his eyes hooded beneath his brows. “I acted out, I was defiant, I did the opposite of what my father wanted me to do. And since half the time he was drunk as a tosspot, it didn’t affect him as much as it did the reputation of my mother and sister.”
“You have a sister?”
“Maggie.” Though he didn’t smile, his tone softened. “She’s suffered more than I ever did, but that is her story to tell.”
“Your mother didn’t suffer, being married to a drunkard?”
His cold gaze returned to her. “I didn’t say that. What happened behind closed doors she never said. But she was a coward where my father was concerned, and her children suffered for it.”
Riona stiffened. “I do not know your family, but from what you’ve said about your father, a powerful chief who could make life or death decisions for his clan, what was your mother supposed to do against him?”
“Do not mistake me. She finally did do one thing, and that was to take Maggie and me away from Larig when I had fifteen years, to live with her family in Edinburgh. Saved me from making a bigger fool of myself than I already had.”
“Sounds to me like she saved you from a drunken father.”
“She could have saved much more than my youth—but it no longer matters.”
“It sounds like it still does, to you. You hold a grudge.”
He said nothing, only continued to eat as if he was unaffected. But Riona saw a weakness about him now, a man affected by emotions toward his family, a man with some guilt about the behavior of his youth. Not that she had any idea how to use these things against him.
“How long did you remain with your mother’s family?”
“Three years. Until the Rising made me stand on my own feet as a man.”
She inhaled in dismay. “You were with the Jacobites during the rebellion?”
“Rebellion?” he scoffed. “Now ye truly sound like a Sassenach using that word.”
