Глядя на лезвие, она спросила:
— Зачем ты это делаешь?
— Говорят, дамам нравятся гладко выбритые мужчины.
Она немного поразмыслила над этим:
— Выглядит действительно чище. — Она осторожно провела рукой по его щеке. — И на ощупь приятнее.
Он едва сдерживался, чтобы не схватить её за запястье и не поцеловать ладонь.
— Ах, значит, леди действительно предпочитают гладко выбритых мужчин.
— А я леди?
— Конечно.
— Из‑за того, что мы обручились по обычаю?
— Отчасти.
Её лоб прорезала морщина.
— Кем я буду, когда ты расторгнешь обручение?
Ах… когда он расторгнет обручение, да?
— Ты останешься леди, но не леди Макдугалл. Ты будешь госпожой Шейм.
— Нет! — Она соскочила с табурета и подошла к открытому окну. Голос её дрожал, когда она прошипела: — Я не буду носить позор моего… зачатия… как своё имя. Она мертва. И он тоже, насколько я знаю. Пусть призраки покоятся с миром.
Нахмурившись, он бросил полотенце, подошёл к ней, взял за плечи и развернул к себе.
— Бёрди, о чём ты говоришь? Разве твой клан не зовётся Шейм?
— У меня нет семьи, так откуда у меня может быть такое имя?
Тревога скручивала и без того измученные внутренности.
— Бёрди, когда я спросил, кто твой отец, ты сказала — Шейм.
— Да, так она говорила. — Слеза замерла на кончике её густых ресниц. Тихим, напряжённым голосом она прошептала: — «Шейм — твой отец, его позор, мой позор, а теперь и твой позор за то, что спросила». — Слеза сорвалась, как капля росы с изогнутого лепестка розы, и покатилась по щеке. Он поймал её кончиком пальца — она лежала там, словно жидкий алмаз.
Внезапно ему стало очень плохо.
— Бедная моя птичка.
— Да, так она меня называла.
Бёрди словно вонзила ему нож в живот и повернула. Милосердная Матерь Божья. Её мать даже не удосужилась дать ей имя по‑человечески. Будь она жива, он бы задушил эту женщину прямо на месте и получил бы от этого огромное удовольствие.
Он притянул Бёрди к себе и поцеловал в лоб.
— Сегодня ты должна выбрать себе новое, особенное имя. Такое же прекрасное, как ты сама. — Обняв её за талию, он повёл обратно к тазику с водой. — После того как приведёшь себя в порядок, мы поедим. Пока будем ехать, будем придумывать тебе новое имя. Попросим Иана помочь.
И с этого дня Бёрди будет носить фамилию Макдугалл, и он перережет горло любому, кто посмеет утверждать, что у неё нет на это права.
Бёрди шмыгнула носом.
— Мне это нравится.
— Очень хорошо. А теперь повернись, я сниму эту повязку.
---
В большом зале замка Блэкстоун Дункан Макдугалл, лэрд всех этих земель, улыбнулся.
— Чему ты ухмыляешься?
Он поднял взгляд и увидел, что его супруга, Кэтрин Элизабет Макдугалл (Пудинг Макдугалл — для тех, кто её любил; для всех остальных — Бет), склонилась над его плечом. Боже, какой же он счастливый человек. Он нашёл её в разбитой карете одной бурной ночью и, полагая, что она — та самая женщина, которую Олбани предназначал ему в невесты, тут же женился на ней. К тому времени, когда он узнал поразительную — и тогда ужасающую — правду о том, что она женщина из будущего, перенесённая назад во времени обручальным кольцом, которое теперь носила, он уже отдал ей своё сердце, и его жизнь навсегда изменилась. Трое ребятишек, которые возились у его ног, были лишь малой частью этих перемен.
Она наклонилась и поцеловала его в щёку.
— Ну?
— Я только что получил письмо от своей кузины Келси Линдси Фрейзер.
— Это хорошо. Что она пишет?
Глава 18 3/5
переведи Since the missive was written in French and his dear wife couldn’t get her mind around the language, Duncan read aloud, “My most revered cousin, I write on behalf of a most astonishing woman named Birdi, who believes this missive is addressed to a person of her acquaintance named Tinker. If you are reading this I must assume your captain-at-arms Angus MacDougall has not seen the light and is behaving the fool.” Beth laughed. Trying not to laugh himself, Duncan continued, “He obviously loves Birdi, and she, I assure you, is much in love with him. Their circumstances are, however, most different and difficult. Birdi is, in a word, extraordinary, both in visage and heart, but she is not one of us, not of the gently bred. I beg you to look kindly upon her should she arrive on your threshold. She has done me a great service, one I will never be able to repay in this lifetime. She is truly pure goodness and more than a match for your Angus. If you please, your humble servant, Kelsea Lindsey Frasier.” Beth curled in the chair across from him. “My, my, it seems your scheme worked. Our Angus has finally found himself a woman.” “Aye, but all apparently isna going well, else we’d not have received this.” “Could it be because ye charged him with—Duncan Thomas MacDougall! Stop pulling your sister’s hair or you’ll find yourself sitting in a corner.” “Humph!” Why could she not just clout the wee beastie on the side of his head as he did and be done with it? But nay. His ladywife had to torture their poor son for an hour, making the wee laddie sit in a corner where he fretted and grumbled for all to hear. If he lived to be one hundred years, he’d never ken his ladywife’s odd, twenty-first-century ways. Beth turned her attention back to him. “What was I saying? Ah…Angus. Could it be that you charged him with finding an educated chatelaine but instead he found himself in your cousin’s words, one that’s not one of us?” “Mayhap. He does take pride in keeping his word.” He sighed. “When I tricked him into the wager, I just wanted him to find a worthy wife. I was weary of seeing envy in his eyes every time he watched the Silversteins or you and me. He was lonely and too proud—” “And stubborn.” “And too stubborn,” he conceded, “to admit it. And I only insisted on a chatelaine, because I didna trust him not to grab the first unsuspecting lass he came upon. He does, after all, crave a lairdship with a passion most men dinna expend even on their wives.” Beth grinned and patted her swollen belly. “Unlike one handsome laird I could mention.” “Humph!” ‘Twas not his fault Beth was a delicious handful in bed. Beth rose and put her hands on the small of her back and arched. “I’d best start getting a room ready. I don’t move a fast as I used to.” Duncan came to his feet and wrapped his arms about her. “Have I ever told ye how lovely ye are?” How she could think herself plain was beyond kenning. Beth blushed to a rosy hue as she always did whenever he mentioned her appearance. “Go on with you.” She kissed him and waddled off carrying his seed, his legacy, snug within her hips. God, he loved her. He cleared his throat. Now to make sure Angus experienced the same mind-befuddling existence. Riding ahead of them down the slippery shale slope, Ian called over his shoulder, “How about Belinda?” Angus, leaning back as far as the saddle would allow, asked, “What say ye, Birdi? ‘Tis fair.” Birdi, leaning back as well, shook her head. “Nay.” The men had suggested hundreds of names, mayhap as many names as there were stars below heaven, and still none felt right to her. And here they were only a mile or so from Angus’s Drasmoor. She could already smell change in the air. Something tangy, not unlike the breeze off Inveraray, yet different, stronger, foreign, not unlike the man who held her. And she needed a name before she met his people. She now kenned, to her shame—augh, she loathed that word—that she’d never been given a true one. She’d only assumed she had. She huffed. “More, tell me more.” Angus yawned. “Meg, Peg, Margaret.” “Ye’ve said those before.” Ian called, “Florence, Paris, Roma.” Angus laughed. “Dinna listen to him. He’s desperate.” Somehow, finding a name for her had turned into a challenge between the men. Why, she didn’t ken, but suspected they did it only to keep awake. They’d not stopped but to relieve themselves or eat in more than a day. “Mckensie,” Ian called. Angus huffed, “Nay. Mckensie MacDougall sounds too harsh. Every time she says it people will think she’s clearing the back of her throat.” She liked the name but Angus did have a point. And she couldn’t get over Angus’s offering her his sire-name. She would be a MacDougall for life no matter what awaited her in Drasmoor. So grand a gift she had no way of repaying. Drasmoor. She didn’t want to reach it. All would change. She’d lose the ease of being herself. The last three days—though hard on her back and bottom—had been a warm poultice on her heart and mind. Angus and Ian had even teased her about her power. Well, ‘twas not really her power but Goddess’s streaming through her, but they didn’t care. They teased her anyway. And she still couldn’t fathom why or how they believed in a god from some faraway place where they had sand mountains—which she wouldn’t mind seeing before they fell—controlled the moon, the sun, and all that grew. So verra strange. They came over the crest of a high ridge, and Angus pointed over her shoulder. “Look, Birdi, your new home. Drasmoor and Castle Blackstone.” She shoved aside the hair whipping about her face in a stiff wind, again assault by the scent of peat, fish, and sea. A great mass of shiny blue and green loomed before her. It appeared to her weak eyes to go on forever. Throat tightening, she realized that here she truly could get lost. They rode downhill, uphill and down again and finally broke out of the forest. Angus slowed Rampage just as she heard dogs barking, cattle lowing, bairn laughter, and shouts—all she’d come to associate with a busy village. “This is Drasmoor,” Angus whispered. As they followed Ian, boisterous people ran up to greet them using words Birdi struggled but failed to understand. She did her best to smile, despite the frantic thundering of blood in her ears. Here in Angus’s village the brown blobs—shapes she kenned to be crofts—were spaced too far apart, the smell of horse and fish was too strong. And then she saw a tall dark shape looming at a distance before her, nearly black against the brilliant green she now kenned to be the sea. Fearing the answer, she pointed. “What is that?” Angus pushed the hair from her cheek and whispered, “Tis Castle Blackstone.” Ack! ‘Twas surrounded by sea, water that didn’t lie flat like her pool but moved as if alive. Oh, Goddess… Before she could garner her courage she was lifted from Angus’s charger and put into a boat. When it rocked beneath her, she squealed and grabbed hold of the side for dear life. Angus steadied her. “Easy, Birdi. All’s well.” “Nay! ‘Tis far from well.” He chuckled as he took a seat beside her and pulled her onto his lap. “There’s nothing to fear, Birdi. The sea’s calm.” Oh, Goddess! ‘Tis calm? Oooh… The boat shifted again as men joined them. She looked about. “Where’s Ian?” “He’s tending the horses. Not to worry, he’ll catch the next boat.” Too soon they were moving, rocking up and down to the rhythm of oars beating water and men grunting. Unable to do anything else, she squeezed her eyes shut and huddled into Angus’s warm chest. She didn’t like this, not at all. Mother of All, ‘tis I, Birdi. I ken ye’re busy but ye need to listen. I’m in great danger. I’m in a boat… Angus lifted Birdi’s chin. “Ye can open yer eyes now. We’re here.” “Oh.” She straightened and looked up. “Yer castle is bigger than I feared.” Angus stood and took her hand. “‘Tis a good-sized fortress, but there’s naught to fear.” He guided her to the side of the boat. “I’ll lift ye up and onto the quay, but stay where I put ye. I dinna want to be fishing ye out of the sea.” She nodded like a sandpiper. “Aye.” When her feet hit solid ground, she froze in place, apparently not daring to bat an eyelash. Ah, his poor Birdi. Angus bounded onto the quay and took her arm. “Are ye ready to go inside?” She looked none too sure, but took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Aye.” “Good lass.” Angus then took his own deep breath. He’d yet to figure out a way to tell his liege about the mess he’d gotten himself into without sounding the idiot. But ‘twas good to be home for the first time in months. He’d missed the camaraderie of his friends, and God kenned how much he’d missed Lady Beth’s kitchen. As they crossed the interior bailey, Birdi’s head cocked right, then left, as she tried to identify the sounds, her lips moving soundlessly. She was, he kenned, counting her steps. He opened the lower bailey door for her. “Take hold of the rope near yer left hand. Good, now pay close heed. The steps are curved and bend to the right as ye climb. I’m right behind ye.” Birdi made slow but steady progress, her skirts in her right hand. “Why do they curve so?” “They curve in this manner so that should we come under siege the attackers cannot wield their swords within the stairwell.” “Oh.” At the top of the stairs he pushed on the heavy oak door, took Birdi’s elbow, and guided her into Blackstone’s thirty-foot-long great hall. Seeing his liege and lady standing before the left-hand fireplace, he turned Birdi in their direction. “Something smells wondrous,” Birdi whispered. He smiled down at her. Wee Mistress Oatcakes didn’t ken the half. His smile vanished when he looked up and realized he already stood before Duncan. He bowed. “My lord and lady.” Duncan’s gaze roamed Birdi from tip to toe. “Welcome home, Angus. I see ye found what ye were looking for.” Not