Page 24 of The Highlander's Princess Bride
Victoria felt her cheeks flush. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“The laird has seen a lot of trouble and heartache over the years,” Mrs. Taffy said in a somber tone. “It takes a toll on a man. Turns him grim. Hard, even.”
Although Victoria nodded sympathetically, the observation wasn’t exactly an incentive to accept a position in the earl’s household. “I’m sure that most men who’ve been to war have seen terrible things. I have no doubt it’s a burden.”
Mrs. Taffy flashed a humorless smile. “Aye, war takes its toll on a man, but I wasn’t referring to that.”
“Then what, may I ask?”
The housekeeper seemed to consider for a few moments, then simply shrugged. Victoria got the sense that Mrs. Taffy had been about to reveal something personal about Lord Arnprior, but had changed her mind.
That seemed for the best, she told herself, squashing an unseemly curiosity. The earl was a compelling man, but after tomorrow she would probably never see him again.
“What I meant to say was that the laird could use an intelligent, genteel woman about the house,” Mrs. Taffy said. “His stepmother was one such a lady. She was the kindest woman one could hope to meet, and there wasn’t a thing her sons and stepsons wouldn’t do for her. Her ladyship was a wonderful influence.”
“But she was their mother,” Victoria said. “Surely that accounted for a good measure of their respect.”
“I’m sure yer right, miss,” Mrs. Taffy said briskly, carrying the bed warmer back to the hearth. “Now, just listen to me babbling when ye must be anxious to crawl into that nice bed. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
Victoria smiled politely. By tomorrow afternoon she would be back on her way to Glasgow and then on to London a few days later. Meeting Lord Arnprior and his colorful family would be no more than an odd, brief detour in her life. No good could come from her remaining at Castle Kinglas, no matter what Dominic, Alec, or anyone else believed.
But as exhaustion pulled Victoria into sleep, a stern, handsome face drifted through her dreams—one whose piercing blue gaze chastised her for running away from those who needed her most.
Chapter Six
Victoria bolted upright. She’d been dreaming of climbing a staircase that stretched endlessly upward inside a tower. Below, in the shadowy depths, something had pursued her. As she struggled on leaden legs to climb, the stairs had dissolved into a craggy, steep hillside. Lost in the mists below, her pursuer had screamed out a horrible, high-pitched sound.
The sound she heard right now.
Bagpipes.
She’d heard them for the first time in Glasgow, when a pipe and drum band had marched past the church where she and Alec attended Sunday services. Victoria had enjoyed the spirited rendition of “Amazing Grace,” so soulful and moving that she’d had to choke back a few tears.
But there was nothing moving or beautiful about what was happening in the courtyard below her window now. In fact, it was quite possibly the most hideous noise she’d ever heard, and she had little doubt the display of musical desecration was intended for her benefit. If she weren’t so exhausted, she’d storm over to the window and shout that the Kendrick men needn’t bother trying to drive her away. There wasn’t enough money in the world to convince her to remain at Castle Bedlam.
But since she was exhausted, and because ladies didn’t generally make a habit of screaming out windows at near strangers, she flopped down and stuffed one of the pillows over her head. It deadened the sound a bit, but certainly not enough to allow her to go back to sleep. Hopefully, someone would get sick of the racket and put an end to it—if not the earl then Mrs. Taffy. The redoubtable housekeeper was clearly dismayed by the antics and bad behavior of “the lads.”
Within minutes, the horrific wail cut off with a final screech. Through the muffling of the pillow, Victoria heard raised voices arguing. Not long after, though, a blessed silence once more fell over the castle.
She eased the pillow away from her head and snuggled under the wool blanket and velvet coverlet, taking comfort in the fact that by this time tomorrow she would be sleeping in one of the lovely bedrooms in Alec’s Glasgow manor house. Closing her eyes, she began to drift once more toward sleep.
Another blast of sound—one distressingly similar to an unmentionable bodily function—split the night. Victoria yelped and almost pitched out of bed. She sucked in several deep breaths to still the wild beating of her heart.
Muttering imprecations about deranged Highlanders, she rolled out of bed and grabbed her wrapper and felt around for her slippers. Despite the banked fire in the hearth, the room was freezing and wreathed in thick shadows.
Her foot connected smartly with one of the thick wooden bedposts.
“Confound it!” She hopped around for a few seconds before getting down on her hands and knees to search for her slippers. She mentally cursed every last Kendrick man, the earl included.
She found her blasted footwear and marched to the door, determined to put an end to the madness down in the courtyard.
As she came out to the hall, another door flew open and Alec stormed out of the room next to hers. Clad only in breeches and a shirt and holding a candle, he looked as murderous as she felt.
“Obviously, that hideous racket woke you, too,” she said.
“There was no sleeping through that charming rendition of ‘Queen Mary’s Escape from Loch Leven.’”
“Good God, how can you even tell the song? More importantly, which madman is abusing those pipes?”
