Sir Alistair stood with a dog so tall its head was above his waist. The animal’s fur was a shaggy gray. Mouse stood in front of it and barked frantically. The big dog didn’t move. It simply looked down its long nose at Mouse as if wondering what manner of dog this little yapping thing was.
Sir Alistair frowned at the terrier a moment. This morning, his hair was brushed and clubbed back, and he’d covered his damaged eye with a black eye patch.
“Whisht, laddie,” he drawled in a broad Scots brogue, “dinna fasht yourself.”
He hunkered down and held out his fist to Mouse, who trotted over and sniffed. Melisande saw with a little tremor of horror that Sir Alistair’s right hand was missing the forefinger and little finger.
“He’s a brave wee lad,” Sir Alistair said. “What do you call him?”
“Mouse.”
He nodded and stood, looking away, down the sloping lawn. His big dog sighed and lay down by his feet. “I didn’t mean to frighten you last night, ma’am.”
She looked at him. From this side, with his scars nearly concealed, he could’ve been handsome. His nose was straight and arrogant, his chin firm and not a little stubborn. “You didn’t. I was merely startled at your sudden appearance.”
He turned his face fully toward her as if daring her to flinch. “I’m sure you were.”
She tilted her chin up, refusing to give ground. “Jasper thinks you blame him for those scars. Do you?”
She held her breath at her own bluntness. She’d never have been able to confront him if it had been only for herself. But she needed to know if this man was going to hurt Jasper more.
He held her gaze, perhaps startled himself at her candor. She’d wager that not many dared mention his scars to him.
Finally he looked away again, to the broken, ruined gardens. “If you wish, I’ll talk to your husband about my scars, my lady.”
JASPER AWOKE ALONE, his arms empty. After only a few nights, it was already a strange feeling. A wrong feeling. He should have his sweet wife by his side, her soft curves next to his harder body, the scent of her hair and her skin surrounding him. Sleeping with her was ‹g w shlike a reviving elixir—he no longer tossed and turned the night away. Dammit! Where had she got to?
He got up and dressed hurriedly, swearing over the buttons on his shirt. He left off a neck cloth altogether and threw on a coat before leaving the room.
“Melisande!” he called like a lack-wit in the hall. The castle was so big, she wouldn’t hear him unless she was nearby. He called anyway. “Melisande!”
Downstairs, he made his way to the kitchen. Pynch was there, stirring the fire. Behind him, Melisande’s little maid slept on a pallet. Jasper raised his brows. There were two pallets, but still. Pynch merely nodded silently at the back door.
Jasper went outside and had to squint against the sunshine. Then he saw Melisande. She was standing talking to Munroe, and just the sight gave him a twinge of jealousy. Munroe might be a scarred recluse, but he used to have a way with women. And Melisande was standing too close to the man.
Jasper strode toward them. Mouse caught sight of him and announced his presence by barking once and running toward him.
Munroe turned. “Up at last, Renshaw?”
“It’s Vale now,” Jasper growled. He put his arm around Melisande’s waist.
Munroe followed the movement, and his brow arched over his eye patch. “Of course.”
“Have you broken your fast, my lady wife?” Jasper bent toward Melisande.
“Not yet, my lord. Shall I see what there is in the kitchens?”
“I sent Wiggins to a nearby farm for some bread and eggs this morning,” Munroe muttered. His cheeks were a little red, as if his lack of hospitality might finally be embarrassing him. He said gruffly, “After breakfast, I can show you both the top of the tower. The view is marvelous from there.”
Jasper felt a shudder run through his wife’s frame and remembered how she clutched the side of his tall phaeton. “Perhaps another time.”
Melisande cleared her throat and pulled gently away from Jasper. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’d like to see if there are any scraps for Mouse in the kitchen.”
Jasper had no choice but to bow as his lady wife nodded and walked toward the castle.
Munroe stared after her thoughtfully. “Your wife is a charming lady. Intelligent too.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Jasper concurred. “She does not like heights.”