He opened his mouth to say something. Maybe explain to the snotty Englishman that he was in a shambles because he’d been kept in a dungeon for days by a man he’d once loved as a brother. Then he’d ridden like hell for London, and even so he had looked fairly decent…until his wife got her hands on him the night before and dragged him to her bed.
“Good day, sir,” the man said with a bow. “Would you care to take breakfast? It’s been set out.”
A servant. The man was dressed better than all the lairds he’d ever seen in Scotland. Cam’s brows creased, but the smell of meat made his feet move forward.
“Aye. That would be fine. Thank you.”
A brief shift of his eyes was the only sign the other man was surprised by Cam’s crude Scottish tongue.
Following the man’s gesture, Cam entered a room and gaped at the amount of food sitting ready on a large sideboard.
“How many people live in this house?” he asked before the servant could leave.
“Two—or rather three, now that you’ve arrived, sir.”
“I see.” Cam frowned at the feast before him that would rival a celebration at Dunardry. “In that case, I’d best not let it go to waste.” Grabbing up a plate, he helped himself.
He was finishing his second plate when the sound of small approaching feet called his attention to the door. With a smile in place, he waited expectantly for his wife to enter.
The gray-haired woman who stepped into the room was clearly not his wife. Even if Mari had aged forty years in one night, she would never look so shriveled and dour.
The old lady gasped and clapped a hand to her chest. “Parkes!” she called in a frantic voice. The man who had escorted Cam into the room stepped closer. “We’ve been set upon by barbarians!”
“I’m to understand this is your daughter-in-law’s new husband, Your Grace,” the man said formally, casting an unsure glance toward Cam.
Cam stood and took a step closer to introduce himself, but the small woman scurried behind the servant as if Cam planned to finish off his meal with her leathery flesh. Another step from him forced a squeak of worry.
Good God. He wasn’t that fearsome.
“Thank ye for your hospitality, Your Grace. I am Cameron MacKinlay, Mari’s husband. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He attempted a bow, since it seemed to be the way of things here. Damn if he knew whether he’d done it correctly.
“I assure you, the pleasure is all yours,” she said harshly, taking another step backward.
Cam smiled at the old biddy. Being orphaned at the age of eleven, of necessity he’d mastered the art of charming the older women of his clan into giving him treats. Occasionally, he’d gone so far as to lavish compliments on them to win a coin here and there. He’d always been able to bring them around to thinking him sweet.
He wasn’t certain the dowager duchess of Endsmere had ever been charmed in her life. If so, it was surely six hundred twenty years ago, judging by the creases of her permanent frown.
But he was a war chief, and not one to back down from a battle. Even when the enemy was a formidable old goat with a scowl so intense she put some of his warriors to shame.
He stifled a chuckle.
This was going to be great fun.
…
Mari woke to the sound of screaming. Not wishing to give in to the nightmares of her past, she snuggled deeper into her warm blankets and reached out for Cam.
He’d loved her well the night before, but she was far from done. Kenna had mentioned how the cravings of pregnancy weren’t limited to those for food. At the time Mari hadn’t understood, but she surely did now. Though an egg and a bannock wouldn’t go amiss as well.
When her hand found the end of the bed without encountering the warmth of Cam’s skin, she opened her eyes. She was in London, not Dunardry. And the yelling she’d heard wasn’t a dream from her former life, but real and now.
The harsh scrape of the dowager duchess’s voice was followed by the low rumble of Cam’s.
“Oh, dear.” Mari jumped out of the bed and searched for something to put on. After she knocked on the door to her maid’s chambers, Lucy rushed into the room.
“Oh, dear,” Lucy repeated Mari’s thoughts exactly.
“Hurry. I must get down there before she hurts him.”
Lucy laughed at the thought but swiftly laced Mari’s dress. “Did you sleep well, Your Grace?” Lucy asked with a sly smile.
A blush warmed Mari’s cheeks. “You shouldn’t call me that. I’m no longer a duchess, and the dowager won’t take kindly to hearing you refer to me as such.”
“The dowager can go suck an egg.”
Mari didn’t scold her, because she felt the same way.
“I’m so glad to see you happy,” Lucy said, quickly looping Mari’s hair up and pinning it.
“Yes. Being with Cam is worth whatever comes.”
Lucy’s lip quivered and Mari clasped her maid’s hand. “All will be well. You’ll see. And if not, I still wouldn’t have changed a thing.”
The maid nodded and bobbed a curtsy as Mari left the room, hoping to stop a domestic war.
Parkes stood by the door to the dining room looking uncomfortable as his mistress clung to his arm. When Mari got closer, she realized the dowager was pushing the poor man into the room.
“Get him out of here, Parkes, or by God, you’ll be out on your ear!”
“What’s amiss?” Mari interceded and placed a hand on Parkes’s shoulder to keep him from moving farther into the room. She didn’t think Cam would hurt Parkes, but it was clear the poor footman would faint if pressed into moving any closer to the looming Highlander…who was peacefully eating breakfast.
“What’s amiss?” The dowager laughed harshly. “It’s not enough I must share my home with you, but that you bring your brute of a husband here as well. I’ll not live under the same roof with that scoundrel.”
“And I told ye, a brute I may be, but I’m not a scoundrel,” Cam called from the table. He winked at Mari, looking incredibly rumpled and every bit the scoundrel. “Very well. We shall miss you when you leave.”
“How dare you?” the dowager sputtered, and Mari had to hide a smile.
“What? I will live where my wife lives.”
“Please, both of you,” Mari interjected. “I’m sure we can come up with a plan that works for all of us.”
“I want him out,” the dowager said obstinately. The poor woman obviously had not experienced the will of a stubborn Scot.