AnchorandStorm (8 page)

His wife gave a dramatic sigh. “It was a figure of speech, you dolt. We have to find out for certain.”

“What, are you just going to come right out and ask her?” Raymond laughed.

“Not her, the staff. They would know. And I’ll start with that mousy little idiot maid, whatshername, Fannie, Finla…”

“Fenella,” Raymond offered, ignoring his wife’s questioning glance. He didn’t see her as mousy. She was rather pretty in a childish sort of way, probably still a virgin, he thought. And just stupid enough not to surmise his intentions until it was too late. This trip might prove to be entertaining after all.

But first, he and Emily had to get reacquainted.

Emily was just leaving the kitchen, after approving the evening’s dinner menu, when Raymond stepped out from the darkened doorway of the laundry. She jumped in surprise, then realized who it was.

Her relief didn’t last long, however, when she saw the look on his face.

“Hello, Emily.” He stood in front of her, so close that she had to back into the wall to put some distance between them. Then she could go no farther and she realized with alarm that he had literally backed her into a corner. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She wondered where Hamish or Weston might be at that moment. Was there anyone to help her if she needed it?

“What do you want, my—” She stopped herself before she addressed him as “my lord”. She outranked him now, as incredible as that might seem. “What do you want, Raymond?”

She noticed that his nostrils flared at the familiarity of the address.

“We started something last spring and I intend to finish it now.”

A chill suffused her body as she realized what he was talking about—another day that he had pinned her in a corner. A day that had ended in a very unexpected way and that had ultimately led to her present happiness. She refused to let this man taint that memory by repeating his rude and unwelcome overture.

“Let me pass, Raymond.”

“Oh I don’t think so. Not yet at least. You owe me and I will collect the debt now.”

“I owe you nothing.”

“Don’t you? What did you have in your purse when I found you at that hiring fair? How long would it have been before you had to sell that plump little body of yours just for the price of a meal? I saved you from all that, fed you, clothed you, gave you a roof over your head.” He leaned closer until his ugly face filled her vision. “You
do
owe me.”

“I owe you nothing,” Emily repeated, between gritted teeth. “I worked for every scrap of cloth, every morsel of food. Do you think it was easy trying to teach those brats of yours? Caroline has coddled and spoiled them so that they think they own the world.”

He reached out and grabbed her by the upper arm. “Take your hand off me
now
,” Emily said, “or I will scream this house down. How do you think your uncle will feel about that?”

“How will he feel when I tell him what a little whore you are?”

Emily smiled, knowing Edgar would never believe that since he was the one who took her virginity.

Her smile seemed to unnerve Raymond. He let her go and backed away a step. “How will
you
feel when Uncle dies and you are left with nothing? Think about that,
my lady
,” he sneered. He began to walk backward down the hallway, saying, “You won’t be so high and mighty when I turn you out into the street.”

Emily watched him go and suppressed a shudder, not only because of how loathsome Raymond was but because she knew he was right. Edgar had said she would be well cared for after he was gone, but there was no guarantee of that and they both knew it. As Earl of Callander, Raymond would be able to do whatever he wanted…even getting rid of her altogether. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Rubbing her arms for warmth, as much as to erase the feel of Raymond’s hands, she went into the library and huddled in front of the fireplace. She silently prayed that something would happen to change the course of her life, which she now feared was inevitable.

* * * * *

Angus watched the man as he came toward the stable. He knew the Viscount Stockdale, having met him once before, and had hoped never to see him again. Yet here he was and he appeared to be in quite a huff.

Angus gave a quick bow as Stockdale stormed past him, pacing up and down the floor of the stable and looking into all the stalls. “I wish to ride,” the viscount said, as if just realizing that Angus was standing there.

“Aye, milord,” Angus said, in the tone he would use with a child who was being a pest. Stockdale must have sensed it, for he turned and glared at him. Choosing to ignore it, Angus continued, “Buttercup here is a fine mount—”

“Ah, you’re the Highlander my uncle bought, aren’t you?”

Although it was the truth, Angus still bristled at the thought that he had been
bought
. He took a deep breath, resisting the urge to punch the man in the jaw. “I am of the Highlands, aye.”

“Hmm, yes,” Stockdale said. Then he pointed to Tar. “Saddle that one for me.”

“I’m afraid I cannae do that, milord.”

“Of course you can. It’s your job.”

“I know my job well enough,” Angus said, still trying to keep his patience. “Lord Callander wants no one to ride him.”

“But you ride him, don’t you?”

“Aye, I do, but I have his permission.”

“How do you know I don’t have his permission?”

“He would have told me himself or sent a message and as I’ve received none, I willna let Tar out of his stall.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Stockdale didn’t need to know that. Callander didn’t allow anyone else to ride Tar because he feared the beast would kill a less assertive rider. With Angus, the horse knew who was in command.

Angus straightened up to his full height, which was about six inches more than Stockdale’s. “If ye’ll choose another horse, I’ll be happy to saddle it for ye.”

“No. I will ride the stallion.”

The two of them faced each other in silence for a moment.

As a servant, Angus knew he had to back down first. “All right,” he said. He was sure that Lord Callander would understand the predicament he was in and not punish him for it. Besides, Callander would probably enjoy the show that was about to start as much as Angus planned to.

He saddled Tar and led him out of the stable. As Stockdale mounted the big stallion, Angus could see the horse’s nostrils flare and noted the look in his eyes. Only his firm grip on the reins kept the horse from bolting immediately. He let go to shorten the stirrups, a fact that he knew was not lost on Stockdale, as the man wouldn’t even look at him, and Tar began to prance skittishly. “Easy, my lad,” Angus said, patting the horse’s neck. Tar calmed slightly at the sound of his voice.

As Stockdale slipped his foot back into the stirrup, he—intentionally, Angus was sure—caught Angus’s finger between his boot and the metal. Angus pulled his finger away before the man could injure him further and stepped back, letting Stockdale have full control of the horse.

Before he had ridden a hundred yards, Stockdale was on the ground…and Tar stood about ten feet past him, snorting and shaking his head, as if laughing at what he had done.

Angus took his time walking up to the man, then he spoke to the horse first. “Tar, that’ll do,” he said, using the command he used to give his sheepdogs. The horse came back to him as docilely as his dogs had.

“Are ye all right, milord?” Angus asked, leaning down to help him to his feet.

Stockdale ignored his proffered hand, got up slowly and limped back to the house.

* * * * *

“What have you found out?” Raymond asked Caroline as he changed his clothes.

“Nothing. The stupid maid was too afraid of me to say anything.”

“Well, you can be rather intimidating.”

“I assure you I was sweet as honey to the little imbecile.” She turned from straightening the wig she had just donned. “What happened to you?”

Raymond could see she was trying not to smile at his bedraggled appearance. “That barbarian Uncle Edgar calls a groom put a burr under Tar’s saddle. The beast threw me to the ground.”

“Hmmm,” she muttered. The doubt in her voice was clear. “He told you not to ride him and we must not do anything to antagonize him. Our future depends on it.”

She crossed to the wardrobe on unsteady feet but her new heels were so high, she tottered like a child just learning to walk. Raymond wondered how much they cost. He had a sudden urge to wrench them from her feet and beat her with them.

“So what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, Raymond. Why are you always turning to me for answers? Why don’t you come up with some ideas of your own?”

“Well, I can’t ask him for any more money. You heard what he said at dinner last evening.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But we must think of something soon. Despite what you say, I am sure he is poking her and he may plant the next heir any day now.”

“Don’t be crude, Caroline.” Raymond held out his arm. “Shall we go down to tea?”

She placed her hand on his proffered arm and they both pasted smiles on their faces. They had to present the picture of a model married couple, in hopes of impressing Uncle Edgar.

As he held the door open for her to leave the room, Caroline muttered to her husband, “Uncle is quite unsteady on his feet. With any luck, he’ll fall down and crack his head open while we’re here to see it.”

Raymond’s forced smile turned sincere and he began to formulate a plan.

“Of course I miss them dreadfully,” Caroline droned on and on as usual.

Emily was only half paying attention, but the woman’s next comment certainly changed that. “You’ll understand one day when you have children of your own. That is, if you can…or if Uncle can, rather.”

Emily felt a pain shoot through her body. She tried to catch Edgar’s eye, but he was looking at Caroline with a stunned expression. Was it so painfully obvious that something they wanted so badly was proving to be so difficult for them?

She knew Caroline was fishing for information, but she never thought she would be so bold as to ask outright. “I assume you are trying, aren’t you, my dear?”

With that, Emily’s anger overcame her embarrassment. She’d be damned if she would give her any satisfaction and she would not let Edgar come to her defense this time, as he had done the previous evening. In a soft, but firm voice, she said, “Lord Callander and I prefer to keep our personal life private, Caroline. I trust you will respect that.”

As Caroline began to stammer an apology or a defense, Edgar spoke up. “It’s such a lovely day. Why don’t we all go for a walk in the garden?” he suggested.

“Are you sure you’re up to it, Uncle?” Raymond asked. His voice was full of concern, but Emily knew it was insincere and she was sure her husband knew it too.

Edgar had been doing so well these past few weeks. He only needed to use one cane and his gait was as steady as she had ever seen it. Even his ability to make love had improved, not that she had ever been dissatisfied. She dared to hope that his disease would not worsen again for a long time.

“You must stop asking me that, Raymond,” Edgar said with finality. “If I didn’t feel up to it, I would not have suggested it.” He rose and offered his right arm to Emily, grasping his cane in his left hand.

They made their way slowly out onto the terrace. Emily was somewhat surprised that Raymond and Caroline stayed behind them. She wondered why, for she was sure it was not out of respect for rank.

When they reached the top of the steps down into the garden, Edgar paused and looked around, taking in a deep breath. It wrenched at her heart to see him take such joy in each day, as if he feared that one might be his last. She held his arm more firmly and said, “Come, I’ll help you down.”

But before they could start, Edgar pointed to the small vegetable patch Emily had planted near the house. “Oh no, Emily, look. The rabbits are at your turnips again.”