Page 8 of Bound to a Scot
Before Maddox could say anything further, Macfie got to his feet and walked out of the hall, slamming the chamber door behind him. Maddox drained the last of his wine and sighed. It seemed that if he wanted the coin that could secure the future of his people, he was going to have to marry after all. Macfie was intractable.
“Sacrifice,” he muttered as Adair’s words echoed through his mind. “Bleedin’ sacrifice.”
Maddox got to his feet and picked up his cup of wine. He wasn’t ready yet to go to bed and was relishing the silence of the chamber. He sipped his wine as he walked around, studying the difference pieces of art Macfie had filled his hall with. There were a number of statues of people Maddox didn’t know. He assumed they were Macfie’s ancestors.
As he circled the room, he studied the various portraits that had been commissioned and hung on the walls. Likely more ofMacfie’s kin. Draining the last of his wine, he was just about to turn away and head for his bedchamber when a painting caught his attention. Stepping closer to the painting, Maddox felt a yawning chasm open in his belly. Macfie he recognized instantly. He was rendered a little more handsome than he was in reality, but it was clearly him. And the young girl was Cecilia—he recognized her from that night and from the sketches that had been sent when Macfie first proposed the alliance they were negotiating.
But his gaze stopped on the third figure in the portrait. As he focused on the woman, his eyes widened and that chasm in his gut opened wider, threatening to swallow him whole. She had fair skin and long, rich hair the color of warm chocolate. But it was the eyes that had Maddox’s heart fluttering in his breast. Even in the painting, he recognized them instantly. It was the woman from the inn. The woman he’d kissed. He’d neglected to get her name then, but he certainly knew it now. The Lady Macfie, Burchard’s wife.
“Bleedin’ hell,” he muttered.
CHAPTER FIVE
Fresh out of a hot bath, Emmeline put on a clean dress and sat down at her dressing table to relax for a minute. The road back to Castle Macfie had been long and uncomfortable, cold and wet. The storm had ended at some point in the night, but a frosty drizzle had continued to sprinkle down on them the whole way back. While she couldn’t say she was glad to be “home,” Emmeline was happy to finally be warm again.
The door to her bedchamber opened behind her and in the looking glass, she saw her handmaiden and closest friend Kenna walk in. At twenty-nine, Kenna was a bit older than she was. The woman had lustrous ash-blond hair, rich, brown eyes, a cool, marble-colored complexion and a curvy, womanly figure that Emmeline had always envied. She drew eyes in any room she walked into and had men pledging to fight to the death for her.
Kenna closed the door, then danced across the room and hugged Emmeline tightly from behind. She leaned into her friend’s embrace and smiled warmly.
“Welcome back,” Kenna said. “I’m so happy tae see ye.”
“I’m happy tae see ye tae,” she replied. “How have things been here?”
“Tense. Yer husband’s been a bleedin’ grump, he has.”
Emmeline grimaced at the mention of her husband. But then she cocked her head and turned around on the bench to face her friend. Kenna took Emmeline’s hands in hers and gave them a squeeze.
“What’s happenin’ then?” Emmeline asked. “What has him in such a mood?”
She shook her head. “I dinnae ken. But he’s had everybody jumpin’ like mad, gettin’ things cleaned and ready for the man who arrived today. Must be somebody important to have been makin’ such a fuss.”
“Which man? Who?”
Kenna shook her head. “I dinnae ken. I wasnae in the hall tae serve when he arrived. I did make up his chambers though.”
Emmeline frowned, curious about this strange man. Of course, her husband hadn’t mentioned having somebody of import visiting Castle Macfie like a proper laird should have. As the lady of the castle, she should have been included in greetingtheir visitor’s arrival. It was just one more glaring example of his disdain for her. As if she needed another one.
“Speakin’ of which though, yer husband sent me tae fetch ye,” Kenna said.
“Fer what then?”
“He wants ye tae join him in the family dinin’ hall for supper this evenin’.”
A cold chill stole through Emmeline. “Did he say what this is about?”
She shook her head. “Ye ken he daesnae tell me nothin’ other than when tae fetch ye.”
“Aye. But I also ken ye hear things all around the castle,” Emmeline said. “People tend tae have loose tongues around ye.”
She smiled. “Aye. That they dae.”
“So? What have ye heard?”
“To be true, I’ve nae heard much. ‘Tis a wagonload of secrets bein’ kept around the castle these days,” she replied somberly. “But I did hear from the women in the kitchens that the laird’s mystery guest is goin’ tae be there. They’re makin’ a special meal fer it.”
Emmeline pursed her lips, her mind spinning. Who was this mystery guest? Why were they having a special dinner in his honor? Ordinarily, her husband did not take meals with her. He did everything he could to avoid her, in fact. The only time she ever saw him was either by accidental meeting in the corridors or when he wanted to couple, which wasn’t very often—a fact that Emmeline thanked God above for.
“Maybe I’m bein’ paranoid, but I dinnae have a good feelin’ about this,” Emmeline said.
