Tamed by the Barbarian. June Francis

been acting on his own account, but we don’t know for sure.’

      Her concern deepened. ‘How did this kinsman know where to find Father?’

      Mackillin shrugged. ‘If he wanted to find Nat and knew enough about his business, then it would be easy enough for him to make enquiries.’

      ‘Of course. But why?’ she asked of him, realising she trusted him enough to believe that he would give her an honest and sensible answer.

      ‘Money, power? Perhaps your northern kinsman thought he should have inherited this manor instead of your father.’

      She bit her lower lip, thinking about what he said. ‘That would make sense despite my great-uncle and grandfather having quarrelled with their brother up north. It was my great-uncle’s wish that Father inherit this manor and he made it legal by stating so in his will.’

      ‘Even so, speak to your brothers when Matt comes home about this matter. It could be that it is not finished.’

      She nodded. ‘I will do so.’

      His frown deepened and he thought again of his half-brothers and how they would have hated his inheriting in their place. There could be that there would be others on the Borders who would not approve of his doing so. He rose from his chair and began to pace the floor, thinking of the times he had had to ride for his life, not only from his half-brothers but his Scottish cousins, as well. So much hatred in a family, which he had to admit had sometimes been fuelled by his mother’s disdain of their simple way of life. Another reason perhaps why he had turned down Nat’s offer of his daughter. She was accustomed to the luxuries that money could buy and might prove to be another like his mother. Perhaps that was the reason why he, himself, had been determined to make his fortune.

      Cicely wondered what was on Mackillin’s mind—the way he could not keep still suggested his control over his emotions was uncertain. He was obviously desperate to be up in his wild country dealing with what needed to be done for his future in that land. Well, the sooner he could leave the better it would be. She would be able to get on with all that needed doing in the wake of her father’s death.

      The door opened and Martha appeared. Her jaw dropped as she stared at Mackillin. Amused by the serving woman’s expression, Cicely said, ‘You may well look surprised—Mackillin looks like a nobleman now, doesn’t he?’

      Martha nodded and bobbed a curtsy in his direction. He raised an eyebrow and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘I’m glad you approve, Mistress Cicely.’

      She blushed and turned to Martha. ‘Is supper ready to be served?’

      ‘Aye, mistress.’

      ‘Then I’ll fetch my brother.’ She folded her sewing and hurried upstairs, needing to escape Mackillin’s charismatic presence for a while.

      

      Over the meal, Cicely spoke little but she was intensely aware of Mackillin sitting across from her. Their earlier conversation had been fascinating and frightening in equal measure. She appreciated that he had not talked to her in that condescending manner some men adopted when speaking to a woman. He had given her a problem, though—did she wait until Matt returned home as he had suggested, or tell Jack before then what Mackillin had said about their northern kin?

      She pondered the matter on and off for the rest of the evening, as they unpacked some of the items Nat had bought in Europe. Amongst the goods he had purchased on behalf of his regular customers, she discovered a great gift from her father. Tears filled her eyes as she turned the pages of The Book of Hours, a layperson’s book of devotion that Jack told her was Nat’s belated extra birthday present for her. She was tempted to wander over to the fire and delve further into it, but at that moment Mackillin produced a lute from wrappings of thickly woven cloth.

      ‘Who’s that for?’ she asked, clutching her precious book to her breast.

      Jack paused in the act of opening a box containing jars of pepper that had also been purchased in Venice, the city controlling a large part in the market of that commodity. ‘Owain asked Father to have one specially made for Anna in Venice. Gareth accidentally dropped hers down the stairs—unfortunately it was smashed beyond repair.’

      ‘Who are Anna and Gareth?’ asked Mackillin absently, inspecting the inlaid mother-of-pearl patterning on the musical instrument.

      ‘Anna is Owain’s much younger half-sister and Gareth is his son,’ answered Cicely.

      ‘It’s a wonderful gift,’ said Mackillin, carefully plucking a couple of the strings.

      ‘You play?’ asked Cicely, her eyes suddenly alight. ‘Matt plays the guitar and Jack makes a noise on the drums. Sometimes they create sounds that cause me to cover my ears and yet at others—’

      ‘At others,’ interrupted Jack with a grin, ‘you were wont to sing and dance. I remember Father—’ He stopped abruptly and his lips quivered.

      Mackillin placed the lute on a table. ‘I am certain Nat would not want the music in this house to end with his death,’ he said firmly. ‘I remember meeting him in Marseilles a while ago and he would insist on singing after we’d downed enough wine and brandy to float a ship.’

      Cicely and Jack groaned in unison. ‘Father loved music, but he always sang off key,’ said the latter.

      ‘Yet right now I’d give anything to hear him sing,’ said Cicely, a catch in her voice.

      Jack nodded and Mackillin noticed that his eyes were shiny with tears. The youth left the box he’d been unpacking and walked over to the fireplace. Cicely followed him, putting an arm around him as her brother gazed into the fire. Mackillin cursed himself for telling that tale and racked his brains for something to do to take the youth’s mind off his sorrow. Then he remembered the chessboard he had seen set up on a side table and suggested to Jack that they could make a match of it.

      ‘I’ve never played,’ he admitted, looking slightly shamefaced. ‘It was Father and Cissie who enjoyed testing the other’s wits.’

      ‘I could teach you,’ suggested Mackillin.

      Jack hesitated and then nodded.

      Cicely left them to it and sat down and opened The Book of Hours.

      Now the only sounds to be heard were the occasional murmur of voices, the turning of pages, the crackling of the fire and the roar of the wind in the chimney. Even so Cicely found it difficult to keep her mind on the pages of her book. Her attention kept wandering to the table where their guest was instructing her brother. He had surprised her again in more ways than one. He was extremely patient with Jack and she wondered where such a man as he had developed such a gift. Several times she caught him glancing her way and she lowered her eyes instantly. Suppressing her attraction to this man was essential if she was to maintain a distance between them until he left.

      

      Two days later when Cicely threw back the shutters, the sun poured in. The air might be bitterly cold, but the brightness of the day lifted her spirits. She wanted to be outside, and after washing and dressing, hurried downstairs. On entering the hall, she found Tabitha shovelling ashes from the fire into a pail.

      ‘We’ll be needing those ashes,’ said Mackillin, appearing in the main entrance. ‘I’ve been outside, and the steps and yard where the snow has been cleared are slippery.’

      Cicely’s pulses leapt. ‘Have you measured the deepness of the snow?’ she asked.

      His hazel eyes creased at the corners as his gaze rested on her heart-shaped face. ‘I have been no further than the stables. You have it in mind to go somewhere?’

      Had she? ‘I would like to go to the village. It is but half a mile away. I need to speak to the priest.’ She paused and felt a lump in her throat. ‘I deem he needs to know what has happened to Father as soon as possible so prayers can be said for his soul in church.’

      He looked thoughtful. ‘I am