Page 11 of Taming the Scot
Euan spun around to face his sister, who grinned at him gleefully. “She’s a termagant.” He turned back to the door, considering opening it up to tell the woman how he felt. “And rude. I’m no’ certain I’ll learn from her.”
“I think ye’ve learned quite a bit already.” Maggie had the nerve to laugh.
“And what’s that?”
“That ye’re no’ as important as ye think,” Maggie said through fits of giggling.
Euan shook his head, annoyed at his sister and the woman who’d stormed into his castle. Saints, but he felt as if he’d been invaded. All around him, females, and not one of them appeared to be on his side.
“Give her some time to settle in, then invite her down to the parlor for tea to meet the rest of ye,” Euan instructed with a frown.
With one last confused look at the door, Euan meandered back to his study, wondering what the hell had happened. Normally, he charmed everyone to his will, but this lass was apparently immune. He’d never met anyone who didn’t cave when he smiled, cajoled, winked.
Who exactly was Miss Bronwen Holmes?
As soon as the door was shut, Bronwen dropped the borrowed valise and stumbled to the closest chair, sinking into its depths. She lay her head back, knowing full well she was messing her hair, the gown, all of it, and not caring. With her eyes closed, she rubbed her aching temples.
The hound made an agreeable sound, and she looked over at him, surprised to see him there. “Well, hello to ye too, old boy.”
The dog rolled over onto his back, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, and then he proceeded to snore.
It had taken such an effort, and so much concentration, to play the part she was consigned to. Of course, she had very little experience with governesses, and she’d listened to Emilia’s advice the entire voyage here. Practiced everything over and over. The one thing she’d learned which she must fall back on was being the absolute authority. It seemed to have worked. But she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to keep it up.
How easy it had been to march her way into a castle bedroom for the night. And a very nice one at that. She’d not had time to admire it too much other than to see it was massive, with plenty of windows. Her entire flat in Tanner’s Close could fit inside this single bedchamber.
Come morning, Captain Irvine would probably figure out she wasn’t who she said she was, but until then, she was glad for the warm room and the safety of being so far from Edinburgh, Prince and the terrifying brutes from The Trojan gambling hell. That reassurance made some of the pain in her go away.
Bronwen opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Euan Irvine was handsome; she’d give him that. Blond hair, blue eyes, a devilish smile…When he’d winked at her, all of her insides winked back. Good lord, it was a miracle she’d been able to stand, and frown for that matter.
Why on earth did he need help to find a wife? Well, if he wanted to learn to be proper, it probably was because he needed to marry one of those uppity, snobby rich ladies, and they frowned at men like him, didn’t they? They all wanted prissy peacocks, not a real male specimen, which Captain Irvine certainly was.
Bronwen sighed, swiping at the sweat that had gathered on her upper lip.
She’d wanted to smile, to bat her lashes, and she was not a bat-her-lashes type of lass. She never flirted at all. She’d been too busy looking over her shoulder the last year, and even before that now that she thought about it. There hadn’t been a moment in her life she’d been able to let her guard down. Perhaps the first time she’d ever set foot in The Trojan she’d been barely six years old, and her father had been gripped around the neck by a man who seemed to tower higher than the building itself. She’d almost gotten used to seeing men who spoke mostly in threats coming around, and her father shoving coins or the rare artifact into their hands if only to stave off the beating they’d come to deliver. But at least in the past, she’d known her environment. Knew what to expect and who her enemies might be.
Here in this castle, she was at a decided disadvantage.
Onboard the ship, Emilia had told her all she knew of Captain Euan Irvine, which wasn’t much. But hopefully, it would help Bronwen get through a few days of this farce.
If she could figure out how to last a little while here, she could walk away with some coin and a reference letter. After all, she did know how to read and write and do maths. Was it too far a stretch outside the realm of possibility that she could get another position as a governess?
Bronwen let out a deep sigh and sat up, looking about the room that would be hers for at least one night. Beneath her newly booted feet was a lush blue carpet the color of the sky, with gold woven in a fleur-de-lis pattern. She reached down, pushing her fingers into its depths.
“So soft,” she murmured.
Rich people had no idea how good something like a plush carpet felt beneath work-worn feet. She took off her traveling boots, rolled down her new pair of hose, and pressed her toes into the carpet with an audible sigh.
Then she slipped from the chair and knelt on the floor, running her palms along the rug. If anyone saw her, they might think she was mad. But she didn’t care. She lay down on her back, rubbing her feet and hands back and forth. This carpet was more comfortable than the straw-stuffed cot she’d had back at the flat.
The hound had the right idea.
A knock had her bolting upright as the door opened, and six beautiful female heads peeped around the corner to find her on the floor, with her shoes off and her hair now a thorough mess.
“Oh, apologies, we did no’ realize ye were changing,” said a lass about her age. “Are ye all right? Did ye fall?”
“I’m no’ changing,” Bronwen said, grabbing hold of her hose and tugging them on. My God, had she really been found rolling about her chamber floor like an imbecile? No wonder they’d thought she’d fallen.
“May we come in?” the oldest of the horde asked.
