Kade hesitated, a small frown plucking at his lips, then sighed and reluctantly admitted, "Aye."
Will knew him well enough that he narrowed his eyes, and said, "But?"
"She's almost too sweet," he admitted on a sigh. "There's no spark of passion in the lass. I'm no' a good patient. I get surly and cantankerous and more than once ha'e tried to prick her temper the last few days, but she doesna react at all except to grow sweeter still. 'Tis as if she has no temper at all."
Will raised his eyebrows. "And that's a bad thing?"
"'Tis unnatural," he said firmly.
Will shook his head. "Not in England. At least, my own mother was just as sweet all the days of her life. 'Tis a trait admired by most Englishmen."
Kade's lips turned down with disgust. "Then yer fools. A woman'd no survive long in Scotland like that." He scowled. "Were bandits to beset Averill, I fear she'd thank them for troubling themselves."
Will chuckled at the suggestion but didn't argue it either. Instead, he sighed. "Then I suppose I should not suggest that you marry her?"
Kade gave a start at the words. "What?"
"Well, you did mention while we were imprisoned that did we ever escape, you would have to find a bride to bear your bairns ere you ever did anything so foolish again as rushing off on Crusade," he pointed out solemnly.
"And yer thinking Averill and I...?" He didn't finish the question but sank back against the bed with a frown to consider the suggestion. But as much as he liked the girl, and while it would save him the trouble of hunting up a woman later, he could not imagine marrying and taking Averill home to Stewart.
Kade had a battle ahead of him when he reached his family's home. A few years before leaving on Crusade, he'd received a letter from his sister spelling out how matters went. Mother had died, and Merry had taken over the running of Stewart. Their father was still laird in name and threw his weight around when drunk, but mostly he was too sotted to run matters, or too hungover to do so. Little Merry was running Stewart and would do so until she wed as she'd promised their mother on her deathbed.
This news had immediately brought Kade home to Stewart, where he'd waited three days to find his father sober enough that he could broach the subject of taking over the task as laird himself rather than leaving it on Merry's shoulders. He had, obviously, broached the subject wrongly. His father had refused even to acknowledge that his wife had for years run Stewart and that Merry had now taken her place. He was the laird at Stewart. He made the decisions, he insisted. He ran the castle and all their people. He was the great Laird Stewart and had every intention of remaining so and Kade could go jump in a loch if he thought he would take the title from him ere he cocked up his toes.
His father had then, with Kade's two younger brothers backing him, suggested Kade get the hell off Stewart land.
Kade had left, and had someone asked him why at the time, his answer would have been the same as Will's for not interfering with his father's plans for his sister. Eachann Stewart was his father, his laird, and was of right mind. But while he'd believed that at the time, and while that might be true of Lord Mortagne, after thinking about it all these last years, Kade realized his father wasn't in his right mind at all. The drink had a hold of Eachann Stewart and was keeping him from being a proper laird, or even any kind of example for his two youngest sons.
That was what Kade was returning to, a possible battle to take over running Stewart, then no doubt a lot of hard work to set the place to rights if his sister's betrothed had claimed her and his drunken father and brothers had been running Stewart into the ground in a whiskey-induced haze these last years. As much as Kade liked Averill and had enjoyed his chats with her since waking, Stewart was no place for a sweet and gentle woman such as her. Dear God, she would not survive a month in such rough surroundings, he thought unhappily, and shook his head. Perhaps he would have risked it were there a little more fire under the sweetness, something to suggest she might thrive despite adversity, but...nay, he would not take her there just to see her grow weary and worn down by misery.
"Ah well," Will said on a sigh. "Then I suppose we shall have to hope Father's plan works."
When he grunted but didn't comment, Will turned the topic to other subjects. Kade listened, but his mind was on what might be happening below. Had the latest would-be husband arrived yet? How much whiskey had Lord Mortagne made Averill drink? Was it aiding her in not stammering? Would this would-be husband accept her to bride?
Chapter Five
"My lady, you have a bit of soot just here."
Had Averill not been concentrating so hard on not swaying in her seat as well as keeping down the meal now boiling around in the whiskey her father had made her drink, she would surely have tried to avoid the horrid little Lord Cyril Seawell as he reached out to brush at her cheek. She might even have turned to speak to his equally horrid mother, who sat on her other side. However, she was distracted with these other matters, was caught by surprise when he touched her, and instinctively scowled and knocked his hand away with irritation instead.
Really, the man kept touching her. Her hands, her face, her arm, even her leg. It was bad enough that he was sitting so close his thigh kept brushing against hers, but he also kept finding excuses to actually touch it with his fingers. A bit of fluff was on her gown, then a crumb of bread had needed brushing away...That one had been the excuse for running his hand up and down her outer thigh several times in a rather discomfiting manner.
Averill was having difficulty restraining a desire to punch the odious little man in the nose. And he was indeed both odious and little. He was actually about her own height of just over five feet, but that put him a head and shoulders shorter than both Kade and her brother.
Noting the way Lord Seawell's eyes narrowed at her rebuff, Averill forced a smile and murmured, "Is--It is all right, my lord. My maid shall tend it later."
She had to speak slowly to guard against slurring her words, but thought she'd made a good showing of it, so was surprised by the dreaded frown that returned to beetle between his eyebrows. The expression had been tugging at the man's face repeatedly since they'd sat down to the midday feast her father had arranged for Lord Seawell and his mother. It was really quite unattractive, she decided. But then the man himself was rather unattractive as well. Mousey brown hair fell in nasty, lank waves around a face sadly lacking in the fine features that made up Kade's handsome face.
However, Lord Seawell did have at least three times the mass Kade had. Unfortunately, most of it was in his belly. He definitely did not spend time in the lists as Will and her father did. Averill could only imagine that he depended on his soldiers' skills in swordplay, for she doubted he was any stronger than she, and she could not have wielded a broadsword with any competence.
Of course, Averill was not holding any of this against the man. She was sensible enough, even in her present inebriated state, to know that looks were not, and should not, be important. After all, she was ugly as sin with her red hair and marked face, and yet wished to be valued by someone, so was willing to overlook his form and consider the man beneath. Unfortunately, Lord Seawell was falling far short in that area as well. He wasn't nearly as intelligent or entertaining as Kade was. She had spent hours a day for a week talking to Kade about all and sundry, discussing their childhoods, his experiences while imprisoned and afterward in the monastery in Tunis. They had also discussed classic tales such as Beowulf, and even politics and religion. However, Lord Seawell appeared to be singularly lacking in opinion or knowledge on most of these subjects, and her efforts to talk to the man had fallen flat after only a few moments.
On the bright side, Averill reminded herself, her father's plan had worked. She hadn't stammered once...although she was showing a distressing tendency to want to slur instead.
"Most distressing," she decided.
"What was that?" Lord Seawell asked, leaning closer.
Averill was aware that it was just an excuse for him to try to
look down the top of her gown again. He had done so repeatedly since arriving. While the other suitors had barely looked at her after their first glance, it seemed Lord Seawell intended to examine her thoroughly before making up his mind. She wondered suddenly if she shouldn't open her mouth so he could inspect her teeth as her father did with horses.
As if thinking of him stirred him to speech, her father suddenly cleared his throat, and said bluffly, "Well, perhaps once we finish our meal, you would join me by the fire for a chat, eh, Lord Seawell?"
"Of course, my lord," Cyril said easily. He then leaned close to Averill, his eyes dipping down her gown again as he murmured, "He wishes to know if I shall accept you to bride."
Averill raised a hand to cover her decolletage and murmured in what she hoped was an adequately interested fashion.
Apparently, it was satisfactory because Cyril straightened and smiled at her, then said, "I believe I shall say yes."
Averill's heart sank.