Page 14 of This Laird of Mine

“That we will,” Jules said. His gaze lost its softness and his smile faded. “’Tis a meal you will be preparing for us all.”

Claire tried to keep her smile. As his wife, she was the head of his household staff. She was not much of a cook herself, but she could certainly direct others in cooking the meal. “It will be my pleasure to assist the cook in the preparation of the meal.”

“We have no cook, Claire darling.” The endearment was spoken so sweetly, yet the look in his eyes was anything but sincere. “I have had no time since my return to hire a proper staff. You will have to do it yourself.”

Claire frowned darkly into the silvered light that surrounded her husband. She could not, absolutely would not, fold at the first challenge he threw out to her. She straightened. “Supper will be served at eight o’clock on the west terrace.”

She turned her gaze toward the sky, to the pink fingers of light streaking through the morning haze. “It looks to be a warm day ahead; let us relax and enjoy ourselves and our company out in the evening breeze.”

“The day has yet to begin and you are already forecasting its direction,” Jules replied with a hint of annoyance.

“Oh, I can forecast a great many things, Jules MacIntyre. The weather is an easy one. The unhappy response of your female guests to your morning shooting is another, and that you will delight in the supper I prepare is yet a third.”

“We will see about that,” he replied with a fierce challenge in his eyes.

With a bright, artificial smile, Claire replied, “Indeed, we will.” Not waiting for a response, she closed the shutters and returned to her bed. She collapsed onto the linens and pulled the pillow up over her head. Claire closed her eyes and prayed for a moment that she could actually cook something edible for Jules and his guests.

Wearily, she turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling once more. She could fret about the meal and her attempt to lure Jules to care for her, or she could get up and try to determine how to help herself.

The thought was all the encouragement Claire needed. Her heart suddenly leaping with renewed purpose, she got out of bed, dressed carefully in a lavender gown she knew made her hair look more gold than red, and left her chamber.

She also knew she should head downstairs, to the kitchen, and see to preparing some sort of meal for their guests to break their fast, but instead the silence of the house beckoned. Jules was outside with his male guests. Jane and Margaret were still abed. Now was the perfect time to explore the dark secrets of Kildare Manor. Not that she expected to find anything. Jules was far too clever for that.

But another question had burned through her thoughts in the silence of the night. Why was she here? Obviously someone was manipulating both her and Jules, but to what end?

Even in Edinburgh the stories of Jules MacIntyre poisoning his stepmother had spread through the gossip mills. The crime had supposedly happened in this very house. But if Jules had been exonerated of the crime, then who had murdered the woman?

That question filled her thoughts as Claire reached for the candlestick near the hearth and lit the wick with the last remaining coals from the fire. Perhaps she could learn more about her husband from his home. There had to be traces from his past life here that still remained, things she could use to understand him better.

Claire walked silently down the curling staircase, past the other bedchambers, to the staircase at the opposite end of the hall. The servants’ staircase would provide the access she needed with a modicum of stealth as the stairwell shifted behind the wall and into a passage where only the servants usually tread.

The candle cut a pale yellow-gold swath through the darkness as she ascended the stairs. The ancient wood creaked beneath her feet. Claire flinched at each sound, but continued steadily forward. Her progress up the stairs was like entering a foreign land, revealing only a hint at a time of what lay ahead.

At the top of the stairs she came to a passage that led back to the hallway with three doors on the right and one on the left. It was the door on the left that caught her attention. Barring the entrance were several pieces of wood in a crisscross pattern. Claire reached through the wood and found the latch. She tried the handle and was surprised when the door opened easily, despite the wooden deterrent.

Obviously, the wood had been placed there with the hope of keeping others out. Claire hesitated as she bit down on her lip. Even though she was fairly certain Jules would be upset if he discovered her there, Claire gripped one of the boards at waist height and pulled until first one side of the board then the other came free. Setting the wood on the floor near the door, she bent over and peeked through the opening she had made.

Her candle illuminated only a few feet in front of her. She could see a finely tiled floor and what appeared to be a large, open chamber. If she wanted to discover more, she would have to go inside. The secrets she needed to uncover about her husband might very well be contained in this room.

Without stopping to think about what she was doing, she set the candleholder on the floor just inside the door and set to work on removing two more of the boards. In no time, she had created a hole large enough for her body to slip through.

Claire straightened and looked about her at the large, empty room, and at the layers of dust covering the floor. No one had been in this chamber for years. She held her candle before her as she stepped farther inside. Only then did she realize the room was not entirely empty.

A small table sat off to the right with one chair tucked neatly beneath it. The other chair lay on the floor, overturned. On the table was a candleholder, containing only a wax stub. Regardless, Claire held her own candle to the wick and welcomed the second sputtering light that illuminated the eerie chamber. Near the candle on the table was a single overturned teacup laying mere inches from its matching saucer.

Claire frowned into the silver-gray light. How odd that the cup and the chair remained as though something had happened in the chamber mere moments ago, when the dust proved otherwise. Dust and a teacup. Claire repressed a shudder. The gossip had said Jules’s stepmother had died after ingesting poisoned tea Jules himself had served her.

Was this where his stepmother met her end?

“You are not allowed up here,” said a biting voice from the doorway behind her.

Claire swung around at the scathing tone of Jules’s voice. Her heart hammered in her chest. “I was exploring my new home.”

“This is not your home.” Even in the half-light she could see his face was as hard and forbidding as a granite sculpture. He did not bother to come forward but remained where he was, his shoulder propped negligently against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest, watching her.

By the cynical look in his blue eyes, she could see he was angry. “The boards across the door said, ‘please, do come in?’” he drawled sarcastically.

“They piqued my curiosity.”