What a fantastically lovely room! So much larger than the chamber she’d occupied since she and her father had first come to this place all those years ago. At one time she’d hoped to move into Isabella’s quarters after that pathetic creature had slithered off into the woods to live alone, but the laird had refused her that boon, leaving her where she’d been for so long.
But now! This was so much better, from the beautiful tapestries on the walls to the rich, heavy curtains enclosing the bed. She loved it. She loved being the laird’s wife.
Too bad she couldn’t love the laird who’d put her here.
With another sigh, she crept back to the opening between their rooms, peeking through at the old man snoring loudly in his bed.
The racket he made was horrible, but the worst was when he seemed to hold his breath for long seconds at a time, finally gasping loudly before resuming his infernal snoring. In those moments she feared the potion might have been too strong this time or that she’d put too much in his ale.
Crossing the room, she dropped down into the big, hand-carved chair with its wonderfully soft cushions, facing the most beautiful fireplace she’d ever seen. The older servants told stories of the laird’s devotion for his wife and how he had brought masons all the way from France to carve intricate details into the stones above the fireplace simply to see her smile.
Agneys closed her eyes and tried to imagine a young Randulf MacGahan so smitten by a woman that he’d spend all that money. It would be her dream to find a man who felt that way about her.
Just not the one sleeping in the adjoining room. The very thought of allowing him into her bed made her physically ill.
And yet she truly didn’t dislike the old man. He’d always been kind enough to her. Kinder than her own father, in truth.
She certainly didn’t want him dead. Not yet. Only asleep so that he wouldn’t be pawing at her body.
Dead, and her lovely new existence would be complicated beyond reason. Dead, and her father would be in charge. Andthatwas not an acceptable outcome by any means. She’d been under her father’s thumb for too long as it was.
Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed the knock at her door.
Who in the world would bother her at this hour of the night?
Agneys opened the door a crack, only to have it shoved full open, her father striding into her chamber without even the pretense of respect for his laird’s new lady—as if it were his right to enter.
“Well? I’ve had no word as to yer... condition.”
“No word?” She all but snarled her response, forgetting to temper her words. “Are you fool enough to think I’d have a answer when it’s been only two days since the last—”
The shock of his knuckles slammed into her jaw, his backhand sending her to the floor. The pain radiating through her face kept her there as her mouth filled with the metallic taste of her own blood.
Roland’s eyes shone with the unholy madness of his anger when he leaned down over her. “Dinna you ever take that tone with me, Daughter. You may think yer something special because yer laird moved you into his wife’s quarters, but yer no. You’ll never be more than a worthless whore, no even capable of carrying an old man’s seed to fruit.”
Agneys threw her hands up in front of her face and he grabbed a handful of her hair, dragging her to her feet. Her muscles tightened involuntarily, preparing for the blow from his upraised fist.
“Christ’s blood, man, stop that! What do you think yer doing?”
Randulf leaned against the doorway in between his bedchamber and hers, his plaid hanging around his bony hips, partially unwrapped as it had been when he’d fallen asleep.
“Disciplining my daughter, my laird, as is my right as her father.”
Roland released his hold and Agneys stumbled backward, seeking to put distance between the two of them.
“It’s no yer right anymore, Lardiner.” Randulf took a step forward, his body unsteady. “You lost that right when you forced me to take the lass to wife.”
It was obvious to Agneys from the laird’s slurred speech and hesitant movements that the dwale still affected him.
Randulf licked his lips and reached out a hand to steady himself as he drew even with the big chair Agneys had sat in earlier. “I’ll no have you attacking yer laird’s wife. No you or anyone else. Yer banished, Roland. I want you out of my castle and off my lands this very night.”
For a moment, Agneys thought her father might have swallowed his tongue as fury turned his face a bright red.
“You canna mean that. Yer mind is clouded by the whisky, old man. You dinna ken the words you speak,” Roland at last managed to respond.
“My mind may be clouded, but my decision’s made. I want you gone, now, you wicked bastard. You’ve tormented poor Agneys for the last—”
Agneys screamed as her father launched his body at the laird, knocking the old man over backward, smashing his head into the corner of the hearth.