Page 30 of The Wrong Bride
As usual, her very expressive face revealed her emotions: dismay, frustration, stubbornness. When at last she seemed calm, he thought that now it would be time to worry.
She swallowed a bit of egg and eyed him with curiosity. “My conversation with Dermot was interesting.”
He eyed her right back, boldly. “Dermot’s memories aren’t always to be trusted.”
“So you’re saying his mental acuity can’t be trusted? Amazing that your clan elected him your tanist.”
“Oh, he’s a canny man, as ye can well see.”
“But you don’t trust him.”
She was too eager for all his secrets. “He’s mycousin. A bond like that goes deeper than trust. He’ll do what’s right for the clan.”
“Ah, but will that be whatyouthink is right for the clan?”
He leaned toward her. “What I think is right is all that matters, lass.”
She scowled at him and he resisted a chuckle. It wouldn’t do for her to know how amusing he found her. She might think she was more special to him than just part of an arranged marriage.
“Who was Agnes?” she asked.
To his surprise, he had to swallow heavily at the onslaught of memories, but he met her gaze. “A village maid who died long ago.”
“So I understood from you last night. But who was she?”
“She’s in the past, and cannot be hurt anymore, can she.”
Riona blinked at him, then opened her mouth as if to say more, but he interrupted first.
“I’ll be out and about all day, and will plan to see ye at supper tonight.”
“Perhaps I don’t wish that,” she said stubbornly.
“How else will ye get to know your bridegroom? We’ll not have a good marriage otherwise. And I’m determined that we’ll have a good marriage.”
He left her stuttering and fuming. He needed a solid marriage and heirs, so he would have to come up with a better plan to woo her.
RIONAwas still fuming after she dressed and sent Mary to find Mrs. Wallace. But there was nothing she could do about McCallum or his infuriating arrogance. All she could do was focus on her own plan to avoid this marriage. She might not be able to leave the castle, but it was important for her to know every inch of it, just in case.
Mrs. Wallace was thrilled and proud to show her Larig Castle. Everywhere they went, people broke off their Gaelic conversations and either bowed or curtsied to her. She wasn’t used to being so noticed, so catered to. She could see the curiosity, and even the occasional skepticism—because she was a Duff, no doubt.
But as for the castle itself, away from the main public rooms, there was more of an air of neglect, sparse furnishings, shutters instead of glass casement windows that could swing open for fresh air. The landscapes that graced the chief’s rooms were absent on plain stone walls. Even the wainscoting in other rooms held only the occasional dour portrait.
“Not much of a living to be made as a painter in Scotland,” Mrs. Wallace said lightly.
When they came to a withdrawing room meant for the chief’s family, Riona was surprised to find a spinet beneath the windows.
Mrs. Wallace chuckled at her look of surprise. “The chief’s mother had it brought here. She neededsomething to do when Himself . . . well, I’ll not be spreadin’ stories.”
“The McCallum has told me his father wasn’t a good-tempered man.”
“Nay, he was not, and poor wee Hugh and Maggie suffered for it.”
“When did their mother die?”
Mrs. Wallace’s eyes widened. “She’s not dead, lass, but living in Edinburgh near her family. Did Himself not tell ye this?”
Riona flushed. “We’ve only . . . just met. We haven’t had time to discuss much of anything, really.”
