Page 21 of When the Laird Conquers
“Aye,” he replied, taking a sip of his wine, “the rules.”
8
Is this some sort of test? A punishment?
Agnes shifted awkwardly in her chair, her nerves rising the longer that Gordon remained silent.
Why wasn’t he speaking? Why wasn’t he telling her the rules?
She was about to ask him to continue, to put her out of her misery, when an unfamiliar, older woman bustled into the room. She wore a simple dress, her sleeves rolled up, a cloth cap on her head and a harried expression on her face.
“Eat it quick before it gets cold,” she said as she set a plate in front of Gordon and then rushed around to the other side to serve Agnes. “And let me ken what ye prefer, miss. Tell Iona, and she’ll tell me. See, I wasnae sure what ye’d like, so I didnae make anythin’ special.”
The woman, presumably the cook, had an air of Aunt Tabitha about her, simultaneously caring and stern. Agnes guessed she had probably upset the cook by arriving late to dinner, but before she could offer an apology, the older woman was gone, breezing out the door with the same force she had entered with.
Even then, Gordon didn’t speak.
He cut into a glossy chunk of meat coated in a rich, dark sauce and popped it into his mouth. He chewed as he stared at her, those grey eyes both beautiful and unnerving, until she couldn’t bear the silence anymore.
As her mouth opened to break that intolerable quiet, he finally spoke.
“Rule one,” he began, swallowing. “Ye daenae ask about me past. Ye daenae ask me or anyone else. Especially other people.”
She frowned. What could be so bad that he wanted to hide it from her?
“Because I am English?” she asked. “Are you afraid of secrets being spread? I assure you, I do not intend to say a word about anything that I might see or hear in this castle. After all, you are the one doing me a great favor. I wouldn’t betray your trust.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Nay, it’s nae because ye’re English. It’s because it’s none of yer concern.”
Fair enough. Agnes was a stranger here, and if she wanted to retain Gordon’s assistance, she should probably play nice.
But perhaps there were some gaps in her knowledge that he would not mind filling.
“Can I ask why people call you the Mad Laird?”
“Why?”
She shrugged, biting her lip. “Because you don’t look mad to me. Then again, nor do you seem particularly cruel, and yet they call you the Cruel One. The Last Wolf of the Highlands is at least marginally more accurate, considering your shaggy beard and… your eyes, but you do not seem to have fangs or sharp claws.”
A little tremor ran through her, certain she was teetering on a knife-edge of being too bold, but if he answered, it would be worth the risk.
“Ye have nay notion of me fangs and claws, lass,” he replied coolly. “I thank ye for what I assume was a compliment, but nay, ye cannae ask that. It’s still none of yer business.”
She took a sip of the wine that had been poured for her to wet her dry throat. “So, I have broken a rule already?”
“Aye, but I’ll let it pass this once.” He cut off another piece of meat. “Daenae do it again.”
If anything, he was just proving her point that he was not nearly as cruel or monstrous as she had read he was. The Mad Laird would not have allowed a transgression, however small.
She held her tongue, in case she was mistaken. Maybe the madness and cruelty only came out if pushed to it.
“Rule two,” he continued. “I’ve said it before, but it evidently warrants repetition: I daenae want to even ken that ye’re here. Ye keep to yer room, ye keep to the places that Iona tells ye that ye can explore, and ye keep out of me way. It’s dangerous otherwise, and if ye want danger, ye’re welcome to go back to England.”
His tone stung her more than she had expected.
Of course, she had not come to this place with the anticipation of receiving a warm welcome, but he didn’t need to make her feel like a wretched thing that needed to be tucked away, neither seen nor heard. It was like being a girl again, under the strict tutelage of an unpleasant governess.
“So, I am a pris—” she began.
