Page 7 of The Scot is Hers
Boddam Castle was not as impressive as Slains had appeared on the cliffs, but it was not exactly minuscule, either. The towers were imposing, and the stone edifice was commanding. Befitting the man who’d calmly nattered rude judgements about every person in his vicinity when he thought they weren’t listening.
Her mother turned to her and started to pinch her cheeks a little harder than was necessary. “Do look alive, darling. Ye’ll need to impress the baronet with your charms.”
Giselle forced a smile because to do otherwise was only to start an argument she didn’t have the energy for. She needed all the energy she could muster to deal with Sir Joshua. The way he’d practically salivated over her while her mother sat beside her in a drawing room, and while her father stood beside her in a ballroom, made her uneasy about being with him in his castle where he might happen upon her alone.
But once again, there was nothing she could do about that. Giselle, who normally cowered from nothing, and had no qualms about sneaking out from under her parents’ watchful gazes, suddenly felt very trapped.
How far was it to Slains? If she showed up on the Beast of Errol’s doorstep, would he let her inside to escape the Wolf of Boddam?
Before she had more time to think on it, they pulled up to the front of the grand castle, and the grooms alighted from the carriage, set down the steps and opened the door for them to exit. Giselle stepped out, feeling every bit of the long journey as she stretched the kinks as subtly as possible so that she wouldn’t earn another pinch from her mother. Rain splattered down on them, even with the grooms rushing to hold umbrellas over their heads. The tips of Giselle’s shoes were quickly soaked with water, and she wished her mother had listened when she’d tried to wear traveling boots rather than these flimsy slippers.
Giselle hurried toward the front door, which opened as she approached, with water soaking clear through her stockings now. The butler ushered them inside, where she shook the rain from her limbs as delicately as she could and attempted to suppress a shudder. The castle might have been a relief from the rain, but it was not a relief from the chill. A rush of air stirred around her ankles, making the wetness of her stockings all the more frigid.
“Welcome to Boddam Castle,” the butler said. “Please allow me to escort ye to your rooms. Sir Joshua will return shortly to greet ye in the drawing room for tea.”
The butler indicated a winding marble staircase with a deep maroon carpet running down the center. The handrail was polished wood, either from the number of people who’d run their hands on it or from a recent wax, she couldn’t be sure.
They followed the butler up the stairs to the guest chambers, a long, windowless corridor of closed doors. The sconces were lit and flickered with the breeze that seemed to come from nowhere. To be frank, the castle was depressing and most probably haunted.
Giselle was the first to be placed in her room. The door creaked as the butler pushed it open and stepped through, indicating she should follow. For a split second, she almost took a step backward, but her mother gave a small nudge in the center of her back, and Giselle pressed on.
The rose-colored carpet beneath her wet slippers was lush, and she looked forward to taking off her slippers and stockings and pressing her bare toes into it. The room was gorgeously appointed with silver silk wallpaper in a floral pattern and matching bedding on a colossal oak four-poster canopy bed. There were dozens of pillows on the surface, enough that she could sink into the mountain of them and get lost. Quite a bit different than the corridor, to be sure.
A great marble hearth housed a healthy fire. A massive floral arrangement sat on the mantle and set before the hearth was a yellow brocade settee, the back of which was almost in the shape of a heart.
This was a room fit for a princess, but it only made Giselle uncomfortable. As beautiful as it was, she couldn’t help but think it was some sort of bribe. A lure to keep her here. As if she would look at the beauty surrounding her, and it would erase the ugliness of the owner.
Giselle thanked the butler, who disappeared, shutting the door behind him to take her parents to their room. It was the first time she’d been alone for some time, and she wanted to cherish the moment. Closing her eyes, she drew in a long, cleansing breath and then blew it out slowly. Though it didn’t completely revive her, even after ten times, she did feel marginally better until she thought about having to leave the room, and then her heart started to pound all over again.
A chill swept through her, and she approached the generous flames in the hearth, removing her gloves to hold her hands nearer to the flames. Some of the chill dissipated, but there seemed to be a permanent shiver in her spine that made her anxious.
She went to the window to stare out at the gray landscape and wished she were anywhere but here, about to do anything but sign betrothal papers with Sir Joshua Keith, the most loathsome man she’d ever known.
A soft knock sounded at her door. Giselle whirled to face the white expanse of wood, staring at the intricately carved silver handle. When she didn’t answer, the knock came again. Well, her mother wouldn’t knock twice. Actually, the Countess of Bothwell wouldn’t even knock once. Believing it to be her luggage, Giselle called out, “Ye may enter.”
But it wasn’t her luggage. Giselle’s stomach soured, and she was glad it was hours since the last time she’d had anything to eat.
Sir Joshua Keith stood in the expanse of the doorway, his sandy-blond hair windswept but dry as if he’d been out riding in another world. There was a crooked, pleased grin on his lips that someone more naïve than herself might find attractive, daring even, for he was quite a handsome man. But to her, his smile only bespoke of all the ways in which he’d attempted to violate her before today.
“Lady Giselle,” he drawled, coming into the room in a long, lanky prowl. His murky brown eyes traveled possessively and intrusively over her body, lingering on the places that were impolite to mark.
She stared past him at the open door, taking note of the empty corridor and that the white expanse of the door was slowly inching closed.Och nay, that will no’ do. She couldn’t be alone with him, and especially not with the door shut.
“The door, sir.” She pointed, pursing her lips and trying not to sound as brittle as she felt. The closer he got, the less she could breathe.
He looked back at the door, then frowned at her, perhaps at the panic he’d perceived in her tone. “’Tis fine, my lady.”
But it most certainly wasnotfine. She didn’t want the door to close, as if that small movement would forever seal her fate, and she’d not yet signed papers agreeing to be sealed. She still hoped for a way out of this. That her parents would come to their senses and take her back to Edinburgh. They’d laugh as their carriage rolled away at the momentary lapse in sanity for coming here.
“Lady Giselle.” The snap in his voice drew her attention back from the fantasy of escape, and she stared at his sharp eyes that assessed her without mercy. “I wanted to welcome ye to Boddam Castle personally. Your future home.” He bowed low, and she took in his attire. Breeches, crisp linen shirt, jacket with shiny buttons, cravat. Everything about his clothes was neat and tidy. The epitome of a courtier rather than a Highlander. She decided he tousled his hair to make himself look a little more like a rugged Scotsman. To take away from the very precise and rigid way he dressed. What was the point? It only made him appear confused.
Joshua straightened, a wide, toothy grin on his face that made her think again of wolves. As he bent over her hand, she half expected him to bite her fingers off. It took every ounce of courage not to snatch her hand back as he pressed his lips to her bare knuckles. Oh, why had she taken off her gloves?
“Thank ye for the welcome,” she said, forcing her voice to remain as pleasant as possible. When in doubt, being polite was the only way to respond, even if she wanted to tell him being here was the last thing on her list of desires and to remove his filthy lips from her person at once.
“How was your journey?” he asked, straightening. He did not let her hand go, however, rubbing his thumb over where he’d planted his mouth.
Goodness, but she wanted to scream. Instead, she decided to be honest with him and let him know that their journey here had not been pleasant, just as she suspected the rest of her life would not be if she were forced to remain here.
