March 20, 2013

With the doorway empty, Morag looked sideways at Lord Pendleton and took a nervous, half step away, tugging nervously at the edges of the gown, feeling more naked than she had before she'd even put the damned thing on.

“She won't be long.” His Lordship bent and picked up the bench righting it. “Sit.” He walked to the other side of the room, took the spindly legged chair that sat in front of some table for a woman to primp at, and carried it back. He pointed at the bench again, frowning. “I said, 'Sit.'”

Morag perched on the edge of the bench, as from as the chair as she could manage. “Where're my clothes, you took 'em.”

“Your clothes?” One eyebrow slid up, accompanied by half a sneer. He paused, half seated, his arse in the air and bending towards her.

“My coat, my stick, my shirt, my breeches, you've left me nobbut my boots.“

“A woman does not wear – “

“They're mine.” she stepped on his words, leaning forward a bit, for all it made the gown gape worse. “My things, and you took them, or had them took.”

“If you are going to live under my roof, you will dress according to your nature – “ he finished seating himself, his jaw starting to jut out the same way Charlie's did, strange to see her son's habits in a grown man. “And if that means burning those disgraceful rags, that moth eaten coat, and that vile stick. ”

“They're not rags.” Morag rose to her feet, glaring at him. “My gran'ther cut that blackthorn staff and brought it south after Culloden. He wore that coat until he was dying and made me promise to take it and remember him, wearing it. I've put in every patch and stitched every tear in that wool. Would you tear the tapestries from your entry and burn them disgraceful rags, or put a torch to your home?”

“They will be returned to you when you've held up your end of our bargain, and Charles looks to me as his father.” Lord Pendleton waved one hand in dismissal. “Mrs. Hatchett doubted she'd be able to find shoes or slippers that would fit.” He glanced at her, shook his head. “It seems she misjudged you.”

Morag bit down on the words she wanted to fling at him. “You hold up your end, and I'm gone by spring. Bethy's a place here's Charlie's sister.”

“Elizabeth will have a place here. I doubt you'd agree to return her to the Talboys, for all they're likely her closest kin.” He nodded.

“I'd not give the Talboys a mad dog, never mind Jane Archer's daughter.” Morag scowled. Even using their name left a bad taste in her mouth. “And her mother called her Bethany.”