clear censure at him. "As there are times such pampering is wholly misplaced."
James stared at her, tight-lipped. He didn't so much as glance at Marmaduke, not that he cared. The skin on the back of his neck still prickled too coldly for him to pay heed to the charged undercurrents bouncing back and forth between his lady's friend and Dunlaidir's blazing-eyed heir.
More disturbing by far was the queer glimpse he'd had of long-ago days best forgotten.
Swallowing the bitterness rising in his throat, he studied Rhona, seeking to decipher what beyond Arabella's favorite love sonnet had summoned such painful echoes of another time.
A queersome instance, for naught on his lady's friend resembled his late wife save the same dark coloring.
"'Tis good you've come, my lord," she addressed him, her high color and James Keith's scowling countenance hinting they'd been engaging in more than lute playing and songs before he'd disturbed them.
"My lady has long had need of a champion," she added, casting a quick glance at James. "I knew her sister's husband would send a daring man in mail and sword-belt. A warrior unafraid—"
"By all the rogue saints!" James leapt to his feet. "Would you try a man to the limits of his patience? Bold, strapping man of steel!" he railed, snatching up the lute as if he meant to break it in two. "Must a man be hung with metal to win your favor?"
He shook the lute at her. "Fool that I am, I thought you meant to bethrall me with your singing, your kis—" Tossing the instrument onto the windowseat, he broke off his tirade to whirl away from her.
The lady Rhona stood, too, one hand clutching the lute, the other extended to James, but he stormed off before she could touch him, his stride purposeful and strong.
Beautifully smooth.
And wholly without a limp.
Marmaduke glanced sharply at Rhona and the joyous smile spreading across her face warmed his heart.
His lady's friend was astute indeed.
If her machinations to summon him hadn't proved it, her ploy just now had. Her boldness also proved where her heart lay, and Marmaduke's own sentimental heart smiled at the revelation.
James Keith would need a wench with backbone at his side when Marmaduke and his men returned to Balkenzie.
With a breathy little sigh, Rhona sank back onto the windowseat. She looked out at the sea, but she hadn't turned away swiftly enough for him to miss the glimmer of moisture swimming in her eyes.
He watched her for a long moment, some of the darkness inside him ebbing. For the first time since his arrival at Dun-laidir, a true shimmer of hope burgeoned in his heart.
If he could convince Caterine her stepson, and Dunlaidir, would be in sound hands after their departure, his chances of persuading her to accompany him should vastly improve.
"Lady, you possess greater insight than many men I know," he said, meaning every word. "Were you not a woman, I would knight you here and now in admiration for your wisdom. James is fortunate to have your devotion."
"He is not lame," she said, glancing at him. "His right leg was sorely hurt when a horse kicked him, but I suspect he scarce remembers which leg took the blow. The injury is long healed."
She paused to smooth the furred skins across her knees. "Regrettably, he is convinced otherwise. Perhaps you can persuade him to believe differently?"
"Such is my intent," he promised, a plan already forming in his mind.
"You will succeed, my lord," Rhona predicted, glad-eyed. "Both with James and my lady."
Marmaduke raised her hand and kissed it. "Fair lady, I shall hold you to your word."
"Then go and see you to it." She smiled at him, then turned back to the window, giving him leave to do just that.
Moving away, Marmaduke scanned the dimly lit hall. He spotted James bearing down on the great iron-studded door to the outer stairs.
And, once again, he walked with an exaggerated limp.
Marmaduke caught up to him just as he reached to open the door. "Have you a smithy?" he asked, closing
James stared at her, tight-lipped. He didn't so much as glance at Marmaduke, not that he cared. The skin on the back of his neck still prickled too coldly for him to pay heed to the charged undercurrents bouncing back and forth between his lady's friend and Dunlaidir's blazing-eyed heir.
More disturbing by far was the queer glimpse he'd had of long-ago days best forgotten.
Swallowing the bitterness rising in his throat, he studied Rhona, seeking to decipher what beyond Arabella's favorite love sonnet had summoned such painful echoes of another time.
A queersome instance, for naught on his lady's friend resembled his late wife save the same dark coloring.
"'Tis good you've come, my lord," she addressed him, her high color and James Keith's scowling countenance hinting they'd been engaging in more than lute playing and songs before he'd disturbed them.
"My lady has long had need of a champion," she added, casting a quick glance at James. "I knew her sister's husband would send a daring man in mail and sword-belt. A warrior unafraid—"
"By all the rogue saints!" James leapt to his feet. "Would you try a man to the limits of his patience? Bold, strapping man of steel!" he railed, snatching up the lute as if he meant to break it in two. "Must a man be hung with metal to win your favor?"
He shook the lute at her. "Fool that I am, I thought you meant to bethrall me with your singing, your kis—" Tossing the instrument onto the windowseat, he broke off his tirade to whirl away from her.
The lady Rhona stood, too, one hand clutching the lute, the other extended to James, but he stormed off before she could touch him, his stride purposeful and strong.
Beautifully smooth.
And wholly without a limp.
Marmaduke glanced sharply at Rhona and the joyous smile spreading across her face warmed his heart.
His lady's friend was astute indeed.
If her machinations to summon him hadn't proved it, her ploy just now had. Her boldness also proved where her heart lay, and Marmaduke's own sentimental heart smiled at the revelation.
James Keith would need a wench with backbone at his side when Marmaduke and his men returned to Balkenzie.
With a breathy little sigh, Rhona sank back onto the windowseat. She looked out at the sea, but she hadn't turned away swiftly enough for him to miss the glimmer of moisture swimming in her eyes.
He watched her for a long moment, some of the darkness inside him ebbing. For the first time since his arrival at Dun-laidir, a true shimmer of hope burgeoned in his heart.
If he could convince Caterine her stepson, and Dunlaidir, would be in sound hands after their departure, his chances of persuading her to accompany him should vastly improve.
"Lady, you possess greater insight than many men I know," he said, meaning every word. "Were you not a woman, I would knight you here and now in admiration for your wisdom. James is fortunate to have your devotion."
"He is not lame," she said, glancing at him. "His right leg was sorely hurt when a horse kicked him, but I suspect he scarce remembers which leg took the blow. The injury is long healed."
She paused to smooth the furred skins across her knees. "Regrettably, he is convinced otherwise. Perhaps you can persuade him to believe differently?"
"Such is my intent," he promised, a plan already forming in his mind.
"You will succeed, my lord," Rhona predicted, glad-eyed. "Both with James and my lady."
Marmaduke raised her hand and kissed it. "Fair lady, I shall hold you to your word."
"Then go and see you to it." She smiled at him, then turned back to the window, giving him leave to do just that.
Moving away, Marmaduke scanned the dimly lit hall. He spotted James bearing down on the great iron-studded door to the outer stairs.
And, once again, he walked with an exaggerated limp.
Marmaduke caught up to him just as he reached to open the door. "Have you a smithy?" he asked, closing
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