“Where is Lorenzo?” Malcolm Bain asked, looking about, as if he expected to see the black-clothed servant appear in a puff of smoke.
“Where, indeed.” Gregor moved towards the door. “And where is Barbara Campbell? Perhaps it is time we found them.”
“I wish to see the duke! My uncle is the Duke of Argyll and he has sent me to fetch home Barbara Campbell. Do you not understand plain Scots, you fool!” Airdy was growing frustrated. They had been waiting at the gate for some sign that they were to be allowed in, but as yet none had come. The single soldier on guard above them simply ignored them, after calling out that they would be allowed in when the Duke of Abercauldy said so.
Meg wondered what they could do if the gate was not opened to them. How could she find Gregor then? The thought that he was inside there, somewhere, was awfully frustrating. Would she and Airdy storm the walls? It seemed a mite unlikely, although since she had been in his company, she had come to believe that Airdy Campbell was capable of anything.
He was muttering insults now. Words Meg had never imagined could be strung together. What on earth was a yellow-livered bullyhuff?
“Ah!”
Airdy moved forward expectantly, as the gates began to open. Meg hurried to follow, determined not to let Airdy take charge. Gregor was in here somewhere, she knew it in her heart. He needed her, and she would not leave without finding him….
“Lady Meg.”
That familiar sneering voice! It was the black-clothed Lorenzo, resplendent in his frilly cuffs and lacy shirtfront, and his gleaming black boots. He was standing slim and straight on one side of the curling double staircase that led to the grand front doors.
“Lorenzo,” Meg said, trying to be calm. “I have come to discuss my wedding plans with the duke, just as you asked me to. Will you take me to him?”
But Lorenzo smiled and very gently shook his head. “The duke is indisposed,” he told her smoothly. “I am afraid he cannot see anyone.”
“How can he be indisposed?” Meg retorted, trying not to let her desperation show. “I have come all the way from Glen Dhui to see him! Take me to him now, Lorenzo. He will want to see me, and he will be angry with you if you send me away.”
Lorenzo’s smile did not waver—it was as if it were painted onto his face—but his eyes grew bleak. “The duke loves me, lady. He will not be angry with me for protecting him from a woman who is unworthy of him. He wanted to wed you, to raise you up higher than you could possibly imagine, but instead you turned to another. A soldier,” he spat. “No, he will not see you. Go home now. Go home to your soldier, you are nothing but a soldier’s whore.”
He had never been so openly insulting. This was not a good sign. And yet she could not give up, she would not. She would not leave without Gregor, and if she could not find him…What was the point in going home at all?
“There is nothing common about the Laird of Glen Dhui,” Meg replied with dangerous quiet, “and there is certainly nothing common about me. Take me to the duke, Lorenzo, or you will regret it. Believe me. I will not leave until I have seen him.”
Lorenzo laughed, opening his mouth for more insults.
“Shut up!”
Meg had forgotten about Airdy, and clearly Airdy had had enough of this conversation. For once she was glad of the interruption and watched with interest as Airdy pushed forward on his dun horse, his voice rising dangerously.
“I dinna give a bugger about your duke, you stupid man. I want my wife! Where is Barbara? Take me to her, you wee bastard. Now!”
Lorenzo looked surprised to be the target of such aggression, from a man he didn’t even know. His eyes narrowed. “Your Barbara is happy here. She and the duke have become very close. I don’t think she will be going home with you, whoever you are.”
“You ill-favored cur!” Airdy dug his heels in, and was suddenly riding at a hard gallop. Meg squealed as he sent his dun horse up the curling stairs, straight at Lorenzo.
The servant spun about and ran, with Airdy close after him. Meg turned a wide-eyed look on her men, where they had formed a protective half-circle about her, and found them similarly astounded. For a brief moment she considered following Airdy, on horseback, into the Duke’s house. But it would not do.
Hurriedly she dismounted and ran up the staircase, into the castle. Ahead she could hear Lorenzo screaming, a high-pitched sound that rang throughout the many rooms. There were other voices, too, calling out in confusion. Airdy was furiously cursing and, as Meg stopped and watched in amazed wonder, he sent his horse up the magnificent inner staircase and started firing his pistol.
Plaster fell from the ceiling. A glass jar shattered.
“Barbara!” Airdy bellowed. “Barbara, come to me!”
Above the sound of the horse and the screams and the pistol, there was a thudding, as if someone were battering down a door, and above it Meg could hear Barbara Campbell’s shrill squeals for help.
Airdy forgot all about Lorenzo. He turned the dun horse down a corridor, shouting Barbara’s name. Lorenzo, taking his chance, made his escape up a second, much less grand staircase, and reached another landing just as a man stepped out. Lorenzo ran straight into his arms.
The man was Gregor Grant.
With a low moan, Lorenzo promptly fainted, leaving Gregor holding a lifeless, dangling puppet.
Behind him, Malcolm Bain gave a snort of disgust. “He is yellow-livered after all,” he said, and removed the offending article from his laird’s arms.