.
Читать онлайн книгу.
think the laird would want his bride appearing in bare feet.”
“Fine,” she answered once more as she bent down to pull her shoes on.
“Here, my lady. Let me help ye wi’ these.” Ailsa said.
It took the efficient servant but a few moments to secure her shoes on her feet and then she was ready. Well, she was dressed now, but she doubted she would ever truly be prepared to face what awaited her in the hall below. She had drawn Connor’s fury in questioning her brother’s safety. Honor required that a hostage be unharmed during their captivity, but there was unharmed and there was alive and she knew that many were mistreated, even beaten or starved while held. The thought of her younger brother being ill-treated while she had been bathed by servants and had slept the night undisturbed in a huge and comfortable bed brought tears to her eyes. And there was only her honoring her part of the agreement to keep him alive.
Duncan held out his arm and she placed her hand on top of it, allowing him to guide and support her as she walked down the stairs. Unable to keep from trembling, she focused her attention on the steps below her, counting each one silently as she passed it. A terrible thought entered her mind as she reached the lower landing—were these the same steps where Connor’s first wife met her death?
Her momentary pause drew Duncan to a halt. He must have sensed her curiosity for he shook his head even as he answered her unspoken question.
“Nay. ’Twas not there.”
“I…heard…” She did not really know what to say. Duncan had made his displeasure at her use of the name, the Beast, quite clear when she’d used it before. How would he react now that she had revealed her knowledge of the rest of the sordid tale?
“He would not put you in her chamber. No one has used that since her death.”
“Is it true then? Did she die at his hands?”
Duncan stared at her and the sight of his anger took her breath from her. Lifting her hand from his arm, she stepped back, in truth a bit fearful of his next action. Before another word could be spoken, a different voice broke in.
“I asked you to bring my wife to the hall, Duncan, not to conduct her on a tour of the stairway.”
Chapter Three
Connor stood watching them a few paces away. His arms crossed over his chest once more, Jocelyn was certain he was still angry over her words questioning his honor. He held out his arm to her and she walked silently to his side and accepted it. Turning with him and following his lead, she took her first good look at the great hall and the people in it.
’Twas much larger than her father’s hall, and in much better condition. The changing fortunes of the clan Mac-Callum could be seen in the deteriorating keep and the lack of decorations and comforts in their hall. That approach to poverty was what had made her father vulnerable to the MacLerie’s offer. They entered from the back and she could feel the gazes of those there to break their fast. No one smiled at her, no one called out to her, she recognized no one. Trying to read their expressions was impossible for they turned from her as soon as she came close.
Never had she felt so unwelcome in a place. Was it their fear of their laird that kept them silent? Did they hold her in the same lack of esteem that their laird did? She shivered and clutched at her shawl more tightly as they finally approached the high table. If her husband noticed her discomfort, he gave no sign. He ignored her even as he walked beside her, greeting various men among those present. Once at the table, he waited for her to take her place next to the large carved chair that was obviously his as laird and then dropped his arm to his side. The low murmurings throughout the room quieted as he waited.
“This is the lady Jocelyn MacCallum, now my wife,” he called out in a loud voice.
She waited for the rest of her introduction to his people, but there was no more. She turned to look at him and found he was already sitting in his chair. Jocelyn did not know what she had expected in his words, but she knew that this brief statement was disappointing at best. She glanced at those at the table, but none would meet her gaze. Realizing that she drew more attention by her actions, she sat down and pulled her own stool in closer to the edge of the table. At his nod, the servants brought forth trays of bread and cheese and pitchers of water and ale. Next, bowls filled with steaming porridge were delivered to each of them. The aromas wafted through the air and her stomach grumbled in anticipation of eating.
If her husband noticed, he gave no sign for he tore a loaf of bread apart and began eating. Jocelyn waited, her hands clenched on her lap until the others had followed Connor’s example. Aware of their indirect scrutiny, she took a small spoonful of the thick porridge and lifted it to her mouth, savoring the taste and consistency of it as she swallowed. Her stomach made even more noises and she held her hand there, trying to cover them.
“You did not eat enough last evening?” Connor asked without pausing from his own meal.
“Nay, my lord.”
“Ailsa was told to see to your needs. Did she not bring you food?”
“She followed your orders, my lord, but I fear I was too tired to do anything save bathe and sleep.”
He grunted at her words and asked no more questions. Her thoughts were suddenly filled with her brother and her appetite fled. Her spoon clattered on the table as images of him in some filthy cell, injured and hungry, raced through her mind. Her distress must have shown for she gained Connor’s attention.
“Are you ill? The blood has just drained from your face.” He leaned over and stared at her.
Jocelyn did not know how to respond. She had already challenged his honor about her brother once today and he would without a doubt see any more questions as another attack. Given his reputation for taking offense and defending his name, she feared what would happen to her if she asked the questions that burned within her.
She never knew what revealed the truth to him, but in the next moment, he stood with a speed belying his size and knocked over his chair. As it toppled behind him, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her from her stool. Without a word of explanation, he dragged her from the table, out of the hall and down a corridor toward the back of the keep. Her struggles lasted all of a minute since his advantage in size and strength and intentions overwhelmed her efforts to resist their motion. Yanking open a door in the wall with such force that the door banged against the stone and shook on its frame, Connor lifted a torch from a sconce and led her into a dark tunnel.
The air grew thicker and more humid as he dragged her farther and farther along the passageway. Jocelyn could not see past him and could not gauge how much longer they could travel along this corridor. Connor slowed momentarily and then he began to walk down some steps. Where did he take her? Had her defiance cost her her life? She struggled against his hold trying to slow his pace.
“I do not expect you to challenge my every word and action, lady wife. You are like a dog gnawing on a juicy bone. You will not give it up until you are forced to it.”
“My lord…” she began.
“Here now. This is the last time I will be so lenient with you.”
Grabbing her by her shoulders, he shoved her forward until she was looking into a small cell. The dungeon. Her brother. Pushing up onto her toes, she peered into the room until she saw her brother lying on a small pallet in the far corner. Even when she called out his name, he did not move.
“You may have five minutes with him, not one more. Duff,” he said to a guard she had not noticed before, “Bring the lady back to the hall when her time has passed. And she is to remain out here and not enter the cell.”
“Aye, Connor.” The tall man, rightly named for his dark hair and eyes, nodded at Connor.
Without another word to her, but with a glare that clearly expressed his aggravation, Connor turned and walked away leaving her where she stood. Jocelyn