Roland glared at his daughter as he paced the length of her bedchamber. It was such a simple task he’d set her. Sleep with the laird, conceive a male child. An heir.
The laird’s heir and Roland’s as well, leaving Roland himself in control should anything... untimely happen to the laird.
A simple plan. A lovely young woman and a lonely old man. But there she sat, his useless daughter, unable to accomplish even that which any filthy tavern wench could have done.
Worthless. Just like her mother had been. All beauty and no brains.
“Do you carry his bairn?” He turned to her, pleased to see her flinch when he approached.
“I... I canna say just yet.” The useless mare continued to fidget with her hair, scooting farther back into her chair as if she thought she could escape him. “I’m no even sure his lairdship succeeded in... in doing what he needed to do in order to get me with child.”
“You’ll keep those thoughts to yerself,” he snapped, stomping back to stare into the dying fire.
Roland curled his lip in disgust at the frustrating turn his well-laid plans had taken. When he had first sent Agneys to the old laird, MacGahan had refused to bed her, calling itunseemly behavior. The great laird saw himself as such a fine, honorable gentleman, they’d been forced to ply him with an inordinate amount of whisky to lure him into Agneys’s bed the first time. Now he refused to touch the spirit.
He also refused to touch Agneys.
Events of the past few days had spiraled completely out of control, much too fast for his original plan to succeed. That bastard MacDowylt had shown up out
of nowhere, insisting on the payment Roland had promised, demanding marriage to MacGahan’s idiot granddaughter, determined now to have these holdings in return for his debt.
“We’ll see about that,” Roland hissed through clenched teeth. He’d spent too many years kissing the old laird’s arse, waiting to be named heir, to let everything slip through his fingers now that he was so close to his goal.
He’d figure out a way to deal with MacDowylt. It would simply take a little time to come up with a proper course of action, but planning was, after all, his great strength.
As for Randulf, laird of the MacGahan?
There was no more time. If the old man wouldn’t cooperate of his own free will, Roland would simply have to force him into action. He’d realized the necessity of speed as soon as he’d heard of the MacDowylt’s approach. He was too smart to be outmaneuvered by the MacDowylt upstart or by the doddering old laird. Two days ago, he’d set the wheels of his plan in motion and now was the time for his next move.
Decision made, he whirled around and crossed to where Agneys cowered. Winding his hand into her hair, he used the heavy golden locks to jerk her to her feet. Her annoying whimpers ceased the moment he drew her face close to his.
“You will follow my lead, agreeing with whatever I say. Do I make myself clear?”
She nodded, her eyes watery with the tears she held back.
Her current visage would only add strength to support his claim.
“Come with me.” Releasing her hair, he grasped her upper arm, dragging her out the door, to the stairs and down, not slowing his stride until they reached the closed door of the laird’s solar.
“What... what are you going to—”
“Be still!” he hissed, stopping her question with a squeeze to her arm that brought yet another round of whimpers. “And dinna disappoint me by forgetting what I’ve told you.”
After a short pause to ready himself to play the outraged father, he threw open the door.
“Fifteen years of faithful service to my laird and this is my reward?”
He shoved Agneys to the floor, where she fell in a silently weeping heap. Very nicely done, he had to admit.
Randulf’s head had snapped up at their entrance, his eyes red rimmed with age and worry.
“What outrage is this?” the old man demanded.
“Outrage indeed,” Roland snarled. “The lass has all but taken to her bed, unable to hold down the food she eats. She is with child. Your child.”
To his credit, MacGahan wasted no time in denials, though his mouth tightened to a hard, straight line and a flush of color stained his face.
“You’ve no a call to fash yerself over this. Agneys will be well cared for.”