Never Seduce a Scot

She was ready to depart.



CHAPTER 11



The journey from the Armstrong border to the Montgomery border was merely half a day in good weather, and the weather was spectacular. Spring, mostly warm with just a hint of chill when the wind blew this way or that. The sun shone high overhead and the land was awash with a splash of gold.



It was a day when a younger Eveline would have ridden for the sheer joy of sitting astride a horse. She would have turned up her face to the sun and closed her eyes as she thundered across the terrain.



But that was before a senseless accident. She didn’t blame the horse, but neither could she go beyond the overwhelming terror that struck her at the mere thought of climbing back on one.



Even the smell of horseflesh was enough to bring back the horror of that day and the memory of pain and fear and then waking to a silent world.



It was little wonder her clan had thought she’d gone mad. It was likely true. In those first months, Eveline had been mad. She hadn’t known how to cope with what had happened. She didn’t understand it and she feared what others would do with the knowledge that she was defective.



Years later, it seemed silly, but how could she possibly have gone to her parents now, after so long, and tried to make them understand what was truly wrong? How could she even explain it?



She cocked her head to the side as a soft echo drifted through her ears. She looked around rapidly, trying to discern the source. She wanted more.



What she saw was each warrior in turn, down the line, throw up a fist and it looked as they were bellowing something loudly. Her ears tingled with the vibration, and she imagined she was hearing their cries. It was an almost, like reaching for something unreachable. Like touching a fingertip when trying to grasp a hand.



And then it died as quickly as it had caught her attention.



She bit her lips in frustration, wanting it to happen again. She lived for those moments when she could almost reach out and grasp sound. She didn’t want to forget what it was like, and with each passing day, she feared it would slip away completely, never to return.



The cart bearing her picked up speed. The man astride the horse pulling her urged his mount onward. When they topped the rise, Eveline was able to see into the valley below and it took her breath away.



Armstrong Keep sat atop a rise and it overlooked sloping terrain on all sides. It was built into the side of a large hill, stone and earth put together seemingly and the keep jutting upward from the rise.



But the Montgomery stronghold was nestled between two mountains. A river ran alongside and looped around to meander through the back of their lands only to disappear in the distance, no doubt emptying into a loch.



The earth was green and lush, bursting with spring. Flowers dotted the hillsides. A herd of sheep grazed in the distance. Horses were also out to graze on the opposite side. Three rows of cottages were perched at the base of a steep incline outside the walls of the keep. They staggered upward, eight in each row.



As her gaze scanned the massive holding, she saw more cottages, a few alongside the river where it paralleled the keep. Beyond that and up the opposing hill were more cottages, more haphazardly arranged and not as ordered as the first ones she’d viewed.



The keep itself was well built. She could see no flaws, no sign of disrepair. A stone wall surrounded the keep with a gate in front that boasted two guard towers. The gate was made of immense logs, and Eveline imagined it took the efforts of several men for it to swing open and shut.



Beyond the gate, the keep shot upward, almost a perfect square, but tall. Eveline calculated it would take at least four flights of stairs to reach the top.



It was a holding built with defense in mind. It would take a massive army to infiltrate and beat down Montgomery forces to gain entry into the keep. The only force of such strength, aside from the king’s own, was her own clan.



And now they’d been forced to sign a truce neither wanted, and Eveline wondered, feeling guilty for her disloyalty, if either side would honor the agreement in the long term.



The cart rattled its way down the incline, and as they drew near to the keep, the great wooden gate slowly began to open.



Graeme rode ahead, followed closely by his brothers. The cart bearing her was next, and then the Montgomery warriors fell in behind her as they rode into the spacious courtyard.



The cart ground to a halt. Ahead of her, Graeme dismounted, and then he came to help her down. She stumbled slightly as she tried to gain her footing. After sitting in the cart for so long, her legs were as shaky as a newborn colt’s.



Gradually, she became aware of all the stares directed at her. Everywhere she turned, there was someone, lots of someones, avidly gazing at her.



Most weren’t friendly looks. Indeed, the majority of them were openly hostile. Lips curled. Eyes flashed. Grimaces. Expressions of distaste.



She paused on one person long enough to see the words “Armstrong bitch” on her lips. Eveline’s gaze narrowed and she quickly committed the woman’s face to memory. She would not forget such a slight.



Graeme was talking to the assembled group of Montgomery clansmen. He had his arm loosely over her shoulders. She’d realized too late that he was addressing his clan and turned too late to know what it was he said.



Whatever it was, it didn’t sit well with most, because the expressions grew even more disgruntled, and she caught several more disparaging remarks as they formed on the lips of the people gathered.



She’d never felt so alone and terrified in her life. This wasn’t just a hostile welcome. It was no welcome at all. Her skin prickled under such close scrutiny. She felt picked apart, judged and deemed unworthy.



Automatically her chin went up in silent rebellion. She wouldn’t allow these people to make her feel inferior nor would they frighten her. She was a laird’s daughter. One of the mightiest in the whole of Scotland. She would be cowed by no Montgomery. She wouldn’t shame the Armstrongs by appearing weak before this clan.



Graeme led her toward the entrance to the keep. They walked by several of the women of the clan, and not one of them offered so much as a smile in Eveline’s direction.



Eveline kept her gaze trained forward, not wanting to see what it was they had to say. She’d already seen quite enough to know her presence was reviled.



The hall was bigger than the Armstrong’s great hall. The room was sprawling, with two great stone fireplaces, one on either end. There was a raised dais with a table that could easily seat a dozen people. Scattered over the rest of the room were several other tables, signaling that many ate within the keep.



In front of the other fireplace was more of a sitting area. There were several chairs and a few rests for propping up one’s feet. It was clearly a place of leisure.



This was where Graeme led her. He plunked her down into one of the softer chairs that was to the side of the burning fire. She studied him closely, fearful of losing any directive he may give her.



“Would you like food and drink?”



She was hungry, but the idea of putting anything into her stomach was enough to make her insides twist in protest. She was too nervous to eat.



“If you’ll wait here but a moment, I’ll return and show you to your chambers. I’ll arrange to have all your belongings brought up and unpacked for you.”



She didn’t even have time to nod her understanding before he turned away and disappeared from the hall.



She sat, unmoving, afraid to breathe lest she call more attention to herself. Montgomerys filtered in and out of the hall, obviously with the intent of seeing the new addition to the clan.



Not one friendly face did she find. Nothing to reassure her or offer her comfort. The sorrow of leaving her home and clan was never more keenly felt than in this moment.



She was truly alone and locked in a silent world where people thought her nothing more than the mad daughter of their most hated foe.



A moment later, Graeme returned, and he came to where she sat and offered his hand down to her. Puzzled, she slid her fingers into his and allowed him to assist her to her feet.



He was saying something, but he turned away and started guiding her across the room. It frustrated her to not be able to see what it was he said.



She tried to quicken her step so she could move ahead of him just enough that she could glance back, but she wasn’t able to keep pace with him.



He held out his arm when they reached the stairs, gesturing for her to go ahead of him. Reluctantly, she climbed the steps, and when they reached the landing of the next level, he guided her out instead of having her continue up the stairs.



There were several chambers down the hallway. Toward the end, he stopped, opened a door, and gestured her in.



It was a small chamber, but not tiny. There were two windows, which told her that it was a corner room because there was one on either side. Heavy furs were pulled away from one while they covered the other, secured by leather ties to prevent the wind from flapping the ends.



Sunlight poured into the room, illuminating it without need for the candles that lit the hallway. There was a bed against the far wall, a washbasin, and a chair by the small fireplace. Other than that, the room wasn’t furnished at all. It was apparent no one stayed here, except perhaps in the capacity of a guest.



She turned to Graeme, confused as to why he would show her into this chamber. He gestured around and then said, “I’ll have your trunks brought up and provide someone to help you unpack and settle in. Perhaps it’s best if you rest before this evening’s meal.”



She stared back in surprise, then glanced once more at the room where they stood. This was to be her room? She frowned, not knowing what to make of this. Graeme was her husband. He should share his chamber with her. It was the way of things. Her father and mother had shared a chamber as far back as Eveline could remember. Indeed, her father would object most strongly to his wife sleeping anywhere else.



Was she to be relegated to a position of guest? An unwanted guest, from the appearance of things.



Graeme backed from the room, leaving her alone to frown as she pondered the situation. Nay, this would not do. It would not do at all.



A wife’s place was with her husband. Not shoved into a guest room along with all her belongings. There must be a way to remedy this situation at once.



CHAPTER 12



Graeme went in search of Rorie. He hadn’t seen her in the courtyard, and it wasn’t like her not to greet him and their brothers after an absence.



He found her, predictably, in the antechamber he used as his accounting room. Where he kept correspondences, returned them, kept ledgers and records of clan business as well as the births and deaths of all Montgomerys under his care.



His da had been meticulous about such things and had insisted that Graeme learn to read and write at a young age. At a time when most boys were being fostered and were learning the art of war, Graeme had been putting in long hours by candlelight memorizing the alphabet and reading accounts kept by his father.



Robert Montgomery had insisted that the mind first had to be shaped and molded in order to be a good warrior and adept physically and that an intelligent warrior would win out over an ignorant one every time.



Graeme wasn’t certain he agreed, but then he hadn’t any choice in the matter.



Rorie, on the other hand, was determined to learn to read and write and pored over every piece of writing she could lay hands to in an effort to teach herself.



She’d always been an odd little thing, but she was pure Montgomery, and Graeme loved her dearly.



“Still determined to take over as laird one day?” Graeme drawled from the door.



Rorie jerked her head up guiltily and hastily covered the scroll she’d been staring at with such concentration.



“Why weren’t you out to greet us?” he asked in a quieter voice.



She sighed. “There seemed little point. You brought home the wee daft Armstrong girl. It’s hardly a reason to celebrate, is it?”



Graeme frowned. “When did you become so uncharitable, Rorie? It isn’t like you to cast judgment before you’ve even met someone.”



Rorie gave him a look that suggested he was an idiot. “She’s an Armstrong, Graeme. What else is there to know? And before you lecture me on being judgmental, do I need to remind you that since birth we’ve been taught to hate the Armstrong name and anyone who bears it?”



He gave a long-suffering sigh. “She isn’t just any Armstrong, Rorie. She’s my wife and she’s now a Montgomery. I expect you to accord her respect. I’d like … I’d like you to seek her out and be nice to her. She’s up in her chamber now, likely frightened and alone. Her reception was not kindly. I don’t know how much she understood, but even a complete simpleton would realize how hostile the clan was toward her. I need you for this.”



Rorie’s expression became thoughtful. “How daft is she, Graeme? Really. Were the rumors exaggerated?”



He ran a hand through his hair and blew out his breath. “I don’t know. I have much to learn of her. At times she seems … distant. Unaware. But I was able to communicate with her. She has a fascination with me talking to her. Which is apparently uncommon, because her mother was flabbergasted over Eveline’s response to me. I have to think that all is not as it seems, but as of yet, I’ve not had time to determine the whole of it.”