Page 9 of Siren of the Highlands

“Actually, you did, Brother.”

Castor cast an imperious and icy glare at her, ending the conversation. They rode on in silence for a while, and Ivy could feel her brother sulking. He had a very strong presence when he was pouting. Ivy had always enjoyed pouring cold water on her brother’s plans. But she did not do it to be cruel; she did it for a practical purpose. Her brother often dreamed up grandiose - yet ultimately unachievable - plans.

He so desperately sought the approval and favor of those higher on the social ladder that it often made him behave recklessly and irrationally. So long ago, Ivy had taken upon herself to hit him with a dose of reality. She hoped that one day, he would learn to love Elix just as it was and focus on building it up from within rather than trying so hard to curry favor with others. She hoped he would stop trying to mold himself into a prominent lord — something Ivy did not believe was ever likely to happen.

“We are here,” Castor said as they approached the gates of York. “Please refrain from airing your grievances in front of the Duke’s household.”

“I have been playing this game for a long time now, Castor,” she said. “I know the rules inside and out. You need not remind me.”

The small procession passed through the gates and into the bailey of Castle York. A flock of attendants was there in a heartbeat. She stepped down onto the stand they placed beside her horse to allow her to dismount as Castor walked away, speaking with one of the Duke’s housemen.

And when she stepped down from that, she found herself standing before a tall man with light brown hair that fell just below his shoulders, dark brown eyes, and a full, thick beard. There was a wild, untamed look about him. The man was broad through the chest and shoulders, had thick arms and larger hands than she’d ever seen before. He was fearsome looking and had an intimidating presence that sent a cold finger of ice sliding down her spine.

Ivy cleared her throat and stood up a little straighter, trying to regain her composure. She did not want to seem startled in the presence of the servants. Though she quickly realized he was not wearing the livery of House Hamilton but a dark green cloak over a tunic that bore the crest of House Lennox. He didn’t even need to speak for her to know he was a Scotsman. Apparently, Col and Gillian had already arrived.

“You may take my bags to my chambers,” she said as she tried to casually brush the road dust off of her. “And please have the chambermaids draw me a warm bath. I would like to get clean after my journey here.”

The man stood there looking at her with a crooked grin on his face. And yet, he did not move. Ivy was used to having servants jump at her command, and she felt a sudden flash of irritation.

“Did you hear me?” she snapped.

“Aye,” he replied. “I ‘eard ye.”

“Well?”

“Well, what then?” he asked.

He looked at her with an expression of amusement on his face that made her blood boil. His sheer insolence enraged her.

“Well then take my bags--”

He laughed. It was a deep, rumbling sound that started in the pit of his stomach and reverberated through the air between them. It was a sound that made her eyes flash dangerously, and her hands ball into fists at her sides.

“Nay, I willnae be takin’ yer bags anywhere,” he said. “Mebbe ye should learn tae carry yer own bags.”

Ivy’s back was rigid, and she felt her cheeks flushing. “Your master should do a better job of teaching you some manners,” she hissed. “You should learn your place and learn how to speak to your betters.”

“Ye ain’t me better,” he said, his voice suddenly low and intimidating. “And I am nae yer servant. Nor dae I ‘ave a master.”

And with that, he turned and walked away. Flustered and irritated, Ivy stood there for a long moment, watching him as he walked across the bailey and toward the keep. She intended to have a strong word with - well - whoever was in charge of running things at York. That sort of insolence and defiance — though common among the Scots — should not be tolerated here at a keep as prestigious as this.

“Insufferable beast,” she muttered. “Bloody insufferable beast.

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