Scoundrel Of Dunborough. Margaret Moore

was sorry she was so perceptive, or his features so revealing. “If there is justice in the next life, he will burn in hell forever.”

      “Did no one see any signs that she should fear him?”

      “He was a fierce-looking fellow, but nobody ever thought Duncan MacHeath would hurt her. Surely she didn’t, either, or she would have sent him away.”

      “Then there was no sign of his feelings for her? No hint that he might be jealous?”

      “The man gave no sign of any feelings at all. He was a silent, sullen fellow.”

      “Where did my sister meet him? How did she come to hire him?”

      “York, I believe. I don’t think she ever told anyone here in Dunborough how he came to be in her employ.”

      Gerrard braced himself for more questions that would be difficult or uncomfortable to answer, but fortunately, Celeste seemed satisfied. She began to move around the room, putting the remaining furniture back in place. With a sorrowful sigh that touched his heart, she ran her hand over the unfinished needlepoint on a stand beside the window. Audrey had been skilled at needlework, among other things.

      He wondered what Celeste planned to do now. The burial had been weeks ago. “I suppose you’ll be returning to Saint Agatha’s.”

      “Not for a few days,” she replied. She made a graceful sweeping gesture. “I shall have to deal with all of this first.”

      Of course. The land was held by the lord of Dunborough, but the house and its contents were hers, with a portion to go to the overlord. “Roland might waive the heriot, considering.”

      “What should be paid will be paid, and the rest I shall give to the church.”

      “You’re welcome to reside at the castle for as long as necessary.”

      She shook her head. “I thank you for the offer, but I don’t wish to impose.”

      “I assure you, you won’t be.” He gave her a smile. “I’m happy to offer the hospitality of Dunborough to an old friend.”

      “Again I thank you, but I would rather stay here until the house is sold.”

      “You brought servants with you?”

      “No, I need none.”

      “You came alone?”

      “Yes.”

      “What the devil was your mother superior thinking?” he demanded, appalled. The roads and byways were dangerous for a woman alone, especially a beautiful one, even if she was a nun. “Did she have no fears for your safety?”

      In spite of his shocked and angry tone, Celeste remained remarkably calm. “I was never in any danger, nor did I ever have to walk far. Many farmers and carters are happy to help a nun, and many a nobleman and innkeeper pleased to give one shelter while asking nothing in return, just as you have done.”

      Although it took considerable effort, Gerrard managed to subdue his temper. “Be that as it may, you can’t stay here alone, and none of Audrey’s servants will come back to the house. They think it’s haunted.”

      “As I told you, I need no servant, and even if Audrey’s spirit does still linger here, I am quite safe. Alive or dead, she would never hurt me.”

      Gerrard felt like a fool for mentioning any supernatural concern, especially when there were other, more worldly reasons she couldn’t spend the night alone in that house. “Rumors of your father’s hidden wealth might tempt outlaws and thieves.”

      She sighed, but otherwise remained the same. “I suppose that’s to be expected. Nevertheless, I’m not leaving. The locks are strong and God will protect me.”

      God? God had not been here to save Audrey. “Just in case He is otherwise occupied, I must insist you come to the castle as my guest.”

      Her expression turned wary and suspicious, a look he unfortunately recognized. Women who’d heard the worst of him looked at him like that. Then he remembered who else was at Saint Agatha’s.

      “You will be quite safe there. I give you my word.”

      He steeled himself for another refusal.

      That did not come. Instead, she spoke as if she’d been agreeable all along. “Very well, and thank you.”

      He tried not to show his relief as he held out his arm to escort her.

      She did not take it.

      Instead, with her expression as placid as if they were in a cathedral, she walked out of the chamber.

      At least she’d finally seen sense, he told himself as he followed her outside. He went to his men and ordered them to continue to the castle, and told the fair-haired Hedley to take Snow to the stable for him.

      By the time he’d done that, Celeste was at an outbuilding at the far end of the yard.

      As he hurried to join her, Gerrard still couldn’t quite believe she was there. When she hadn’t arrived in the days after Audrey’s death, he’d assumed she never would. Now here she was, and staying in the castle, too.

      He wasn’t the only one who’d changed. Celeste had been a lively little elf of a child who skipped and danced more than she walked, and laughed and sang. She’d had freckles and long brown hair that curled as if it had a life of its own.

      Maybe it was long under that cap, veil and wimple. Or maybe it had been shorn to the scalp.

      Not that it mattered what her hair was like, or how beautiful she was, even if she was more lovely than Audrey had been, something he hadn’t foreseen.

      She was a nun here to sell her family’s goods and house, and then she would return to the convent.

      When he reached her, she regarded him quizzically. “Where is Audrey’s horse? She liked to ride, so I’m sure she had one.”

      “She had two and they were taken to the castle stables for safekeeping until we learned what you wanted done with them. Roland was going to ask you.”

      “I’ll pay you for their keep.”

      He gave her another smile as he shook his head. “No need. Roland can afford it.” Gerrard held out his arm again. “It will be my pleasure to escort you to the castle.”

      She didn’t decline, but neither did she touch the arm he offered. Instead, she once again left him to fall into step beside her.

      No doubt she wasn’t used to walking with a man.

      * * *

      From his hiding place behind a tree at the side of the D’Orleau house, Lewis watched the smug, arrogant Gerrard and the nun walk toward the village. He’d seen the patrol stop and suspected they were looking for thieves.

      If outlaws were inside, they’d be sorry they tried to steal from that accursed place, the slender youth thought. Whatever other people believed, Sir Roland or his brother probably wouldn’t be any more merciful than their father.

      He’d nearly fallen over when Gerrard had come out of the house with a nun. Then he remembered that Audrey D’Orleau had a sister who’d been sent to a convent because she’d dared to attack Gerrard for cutting off her hair. That was probably who it was.

      Lewis left his hiding place and followed the couple to the village. He ducked into an alley and hurried past the buildings lining the green, including his father’s shop. That way he was able to get ahead of them and come out near the smithy, where he could see her face.

      She was beautiful! Even more beautiful than Audrey! Indeed, she was far too beautiful to be a nun.

      Maybe she wasn’t a nun and maybe she wasn’t Audrey’s sister. Maybe she was a thief in disguise, come to search for the treasure. Gerrard must not think so, though, or he would have had her