Page 10 of The Highlander's Inconvenient Wife
They walked out of the cold corridor and up a flight of stone stairs that led to the main castle.
Joan was pleasantly surprised by the lavish décor and polished wood that met her gaze. The interior of the castle was warm and welcoming with portraits of Jasper and his mother along with landscapes and clay vases. She wondered if Martha had a hand in the decorating or if the stone-hearted laird did interior decorating in his spare time.
The thought of Jasper Ainsley arranging flowers in a vase brought an amused smile to her lips as they made their way toward the gallery.
“Ye should nae speak to the laird the way that ye do,” Gregg reprimanded as he glanced at her over his shoulder.
“I beg your pardon?” She drew her gaze away from the portraits hanging on the wall and looked at his mop of curls as they climbed the stairs.
“The laird is a dangerous man; none of the other lairds in Scotland dare challenge him on any grounds. We keep to ourselves; that’s how it has been for many years, an’ it has served us well. Ye’d do better to remember how powerful he is.”
It suddenly made sense to Joan why the laird didn’t know about Darragh or his clan. If it was true that the MacShaw clan kept to themselves, they wouldn’t care to know about anyone else.
“He once killed a man for trying to make a joke with him,” Gregg said proudly with his chest thrust in the air as they reached the top of the landing. The way he told the story made it seem as if a more honorable act could not have been committed even if a man were to try.
“That… seems very irrational,” Joan responded honestly as she shook her head. She wondered if the story wasn’t but a rumor that had developed because of his behavior. He’d seemed dangerous to her at first, but there was something about him that made her believe he was more than just “the Beastly Laird.” She was sure he would kill a man if the people he loved were threatened, but she wasn’t sure he would kill a man for telling a joke. That, even for someone as threatening as the laird, seemed a little far-fetched.
“Here we are,” Gregg said as they stopped in front of a door at the end of the landing. “This is the guest chambers.” He placed his hand on the silver knob and pushed the door open, allowing her to walk past. “Just remember,” he said as he fetched a chair from the room across the hall, “I will be right out here the entire time. Daenae get any funny ideas.”
He placed the chair with the back against the opposite wall and took a seat, making himself comfortable with his arms over his chest and his head leaning on the back support.
Joan realized why the man’s hair had been mussed from earlier; he was a serial napper. It wouldn’t be hard to get past him if she wanted to escape. Yet where would she go even if she wanted to escape? From what she had seen on her carriage ride over, the castle was surrounded by very steep cliffs.
Gregg shut his eyes and nestled himself in the chair, lifting a chubby leg and placing it over the other to form a square on his lap. His kilt suddenly slipped up, revealing a very hairy thigh that was speckled with fat.
Joan panicked as she quickly stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. There were many frightening things she was willing to see in her life, but the contents of Gregg’s kilt were not one of them.
* * *
“Ye wanted to see me, maither?” Jasper grumbled after stepping into the kitchen. The steam from cooking filled the air as his mother chopped a pile of herbs on a wooden board with expert precision.
“Ye may leave us, Maudie,” she said the maid who handed her a copper pot.
“Aye, me lady,” the mousy-haired girl bowed politely before taking her leave.
Jasper leaned against the jam of the door with his shoulder as he looked around the spacious kitchen, waiting for his mother to give him the lecture he knew was coming.
Various dried herbs hung from the ceiling rafters in thick bunches giving the room a distinctly appetizing aroma that made his stomach growl. The castle employed a very good cook, an elderly woman who had been serving them for many years. Yet Martha frequently sent her to rest. Whenever she became restless, she needed to prepare a meal or two, which was more often than not.
“I ken that ye dinnae agree with me about the lass,” she said as she continued to chop the herbs. “I thought it best to intervene; ye cannae treat a young woman like ye have done with the other spies,” she insisted as she glanced up at him through the strands of hair that hung in her face.
“I was nae planning on killing her, maither,” he replied grumpily, bored by the line of scolding even after his mother had gotten her way. Plus, he wasn’t sure he could, even if he wanted to. He was more likely to kill anyone else for trying to hurt her. He wouldn’t say that to his mother, of course. Not when he didn’t even know what it meant.
“Nae,” she said sarcastically as she used the knife against the palm of her hand to scoop the herbs into the pot that had been left by the maid, “ye were just about to starve the poor lass until she told ye who sent her.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Which, by the way, I dinnae think anyone has. The poor girl’s story seems true to me.”
“An’ how would ye ken that her story is true?” he asked with his eyebrows raised. “Did ye suddenly gain a wealth of knowledge on spies that I am nae aware of?”
Martha cocked her head to the side and gave him a look as if to say he was not in his right mind. “The lass with the beautiful braid, perfumed hair, fine dress, and expensive scent. Ye are asking me why I dinnae think she is a spy?”
“There isnae need to be sarcastic, maither,” he said irritably as he pushed himself off the door and stood up straight. He had to admit to himself that his mother had a point; the chances of anyone sending a beautiful young woman into enemy territory was very unlikely — especially given the reputation he had. Although it may have been a ploy to play on his sympathies, but it was still very unlikely that they’d risk her life.
“I’ve prepared a bath for her,” Martha continued, ignoring his obvious displeasure in the way Joan was being treated as a guest. “I’ll take her up a tray with soup and bread once she’s settled in.” Using all of her might, she hoisted the copper pot off the table and walked it over to the hearth where an empty hook was waiting for her over the crackling fire.
“Very well,” he gave himself over to the situation at hand. Jasper knew very well that there was no arguing with his mother once she had set her mind to something. “Ye can give her a bath an’ fill her stomach, give her some clothes if ye must,” he agreed as he recalled the damp dress that had clung to her very alluring figure, “but I dinnae want the lass wandering about the castle; she should stay in the guest chambers until her friends have come to fetch her.”
“An’ why is that?” his mother gave him a tired look as she wiped her hands on her already dirtied apron.
‘Just because she isnae a spy, disnae mean that she isnae trouble,” he said gruffly. It certainly troubled him how she looked him in the eye and challenged every word he said. His reputation of being fearsome or — what did people call him?Beastly— hadn’t reached England yet, it seemed.
