Page 41 of When the Laird Conquers

“Oh, that is not why I am asking,” she said sweetly. Too sweetly.

He frowned. “If it’s nae about the weasel, then what is it ye want?”

A dangerous question. One he wished he could rephrase.

“It is more of a need,” she replied, a disarming glint of mischief in her eyes.

Daenae provoke me, he wanted to say, but figured that would be a provocation in and of itself. This Englishwoman seemed to relish a challenge and had no respect for authority or rules, apparently determined to do the opposite of whatever he said.

So, he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

After what felt like an eternity, for she clearly wanted him to take the bait, she huffed out a breath and said, “I need to make new clothes for Lizzy. I didn’t bring much, considering we left in a hurry, and she grows so fast that what I have brought will not last her much longer. So, we will join you on your excursion. Point me in the direction of a haberdasher or a clothier, and I shall do the rest. I did, fortunately, remember to bring a fair sum of money.”

He sat back in his chair, staring at her in grim disbelief. “If it’s fabric ye need, ask Iona. She can fetch some for ye.”

Agnes was not just mad; she was reckless. Couldn’t she see the gaping flaw in her suggestion? Yes, he could protect her out there in his territory, but what was the need when she could be safe and sound inside the castle?

“We will join you,” she repeated, with a tighter smile. “After all, we need to be seen together if this ‘betrothal’ is to be believed, remember?”

“And ye think it’s wise to make the lassie part of the charade?” he said, gesturing to Lizzy. “Sounds foolish to me.”

“She needs fresh air, and she needs a change of scenery,” Agnes insisted, though Gordon suspected she was not talking about her niece. “Besides, I need to see which fabric suits her best, and I cannot do that without her there. Unless, of course, you are saying that you cannot protect us?”

Gordon’s eye twitched. “I have things to attend to. I cannae be watchin’ the two of ye all the time.” He shrugged. “But fine, join me if that’s yer will. But if she’s snatched, daenae come wailin’ to me.”

“I will not need to,” she replied, getting up with a triumphant grin on her face. “I already know that when I call out, you come running.”

She hurried out before he could retort, leaving him to simmer in his chair and snap a second quill clean in half.

A dark cloud hung over Gordon as he prepared the carriage for Agnes’s unnecessary journey. He couldn’t even recall the last time the carriage had been used. Probably years ago. And it showed, for he had already had to go to the trouble of changing two wheels and taking some of his men away from training to wax the harnesses, scrub the carriage itself, and repair anything that looked like it might fall off or break during the journey.

Keith, who had joined him in the rigmarole of it all, chuckled as they finished strapping the horses in.

“She’s a stubborn lass, that one,” he remarked. “Ye should have made her ride next to ye on a donkey, to match her temperament.”

Gordon snorted. “Aye, she’s stubborn.” He flashed his friend a warning look. “But what she is or isnae is none of yer concern.”

Keith groaned and dropped to the ground, clasping his hands in prayer. “Will ye nae just forgive me, me Laird? I swear to ye, I didnae see anythin’. Ye were standin’ in the way. And I didnae want to see anythin’. I like me lasses Scottish.”

Gordon grunted. “Get up off the ground, ye bampot.”

Keith did, his grin returning. “But there’s nothin’ wrong with likin’ yer lasses English,” he added, leaning against the freshly cleaned carriage door. “No one would blame ye if ye let yerself care for a beautiful lass and a sweet bairn. And ye must’ve liked what ye saw, since ye didnae want anyone else stealin’ a glimpse.”

Annoyance flared in Gordon’s chest, his eyes hardening as he leveled a cold look at his man-at-arms. “I was defendin’ her honor. I wasnae gawpin’ at her like a laddie who hasnae seen a woman naked before.” He lowered his voice to a snarl. “And I willnae care for either of them. Ye ken what happens when I care.”

“I ken what happened before ye killed yer—” Keith caught Gordon’s glower and grimaced. “—demons.”

“They’re here until that duke is dealt with, nae a moment longer,” Gordon grumbled.

He walked to the front of the horses. They lowered their heads, sniffing him for apples, and he stroked their long noses in a bid to calm himself.

Keith didn’t understand. No one understood. His people thought they did, but they didn’t. Iona and Marcus thought they did, but they were just as clueless.

No one can comprehend what it means, what it does to a person, when yer faither kills yer bairn and the maither of yer bairn.

There were countless myths about curses that sprang up when blood killed blood, but Gordon had never seen anyone mention how the most cursed was the one who hadn’t raised the dagger. The one who was left behind with nothing, not even graves to pray beside or leave offerings to or beg forgiveness from.

No one understood that if his father had not done what he did, Gordon would have a family. His son would be five years old. Instead, his son didn’t even have a name; it had died with him. As for the mother of his child, he would have been married to her now, and they would have been happy.