Page 44 of Scandalous Scot
Another door, and Màiri certainly wasn’t expecting what was on the other side.
“An undercroft,” she murmured.
Not a large one, like in Wentworth Abbey just north of here. But it was vaulted similarly, with fewer pillars but no altars. Instead, this underground chamber appeared to be used for storage. With the exception of one trestle table at its center, lit by candles all around.
And a meal at its center.
“Alastair showed it to me. Apparently it’s some sort of custom to bring honored guests down here for private meals. It was used last when Bruce and his son visited Hightower last winter. But with the kitchens just above, it stays relatively warm.”
She looked from Ian to the table and sighed at its beauty.
“I wanted to make it up to you somehow. Please, sit.”
He pulled the bench out for her on one side. Màiri sat as Ian handed her a goblet full of fine French wine.
“Just because we won’t be married for long doesn’t mean I want to hurt you. Just the opposite.”
Màiri took a sip of wine, grateful for the distraction.
“I feel like sh—I feel awful about how everything went down. If I could give you a dime for every time one of my brothers has said my impetuous nature would get me into trouble . . .”
Her confusion must have been evident, because Ian shook his head as he grabbed his drink. “Sorry. A dime is money. In my time. An expression.”
“I take some blame for our situation as well,” she admitted. “I find myself married to a man who lived in another time, who will return home to his life. But this is my life, and I’ve no other time or place to return to. Still, I find myself unsure of how to live it.”
“Join the club.”
She did not understand his meaning.
“Tell me what you want, Màiri. I’ll help you with anything you need.”
You.
The thought came unbidden, but the truth of it hit her hard. Her heart raced at the memory of him in that tub. She reached for a piece of bread to cover her embarrassment.
What Màiri had thought she wanted—a life with Ambrose—had been shattered by this man. By the way his presence affected her, by his insightful questions, and by the flutters in her stomach, and other places, every time he was near.
But she could not tell him that.
“Thank you for the offer,” she muttered finally, popping a piece of the warm bread into her mouth. Ian refilled her wine, which she’d finished much too quickly, and as they ate their meal, somehow, by the grace of God perhaps, she managed to forget about kisses and tubs and pretend Ian was just like Ambrose.
A friend. Someone she could talk to easily who did not look at her as if she were an oddity to be studied. True to his word, Ian did not seem to care about her mark. Indeed, his gaze never lingered on it, and Màiri even forgot to turn her face away from him.
As she asked him about life in the future, Màiri marveled at Ian’s ability to make everything around them, including their strange arrangement, fade away. He spoke to her as if she were the only person in this world, and all she knew was this moment.
“Do you think it will work?”
They’d been speaking of his family, of the brothers’ struggles to say the chant correctly.
“I do. Rhys stumbled onto the correct pronunciation first, given his knowledge of Gaelic. Greyson mimics Rhys in all things, so I’m not surprised he got it right too. Reikart is more pragmatic. He recorded it and studied the words as he would a new shipping container acquisition.”
“And you?”
“I was lucky enough to have three brothers go through before me. As usual, I just went along for the ride.”
Màiri sensed something behind his words, a certain bitterness perhaps. She remembered what he’d told her the night of their wedding, that his brothers treated him as the baby of the family.
Shifting on her bench, Màiri noticed the candles getting low. How long had they been down here?
