Eveline’s cheeks heated as realization struck her. The other women had well known that one of the men had the duty of carrying in the wood. Why then would they have wanted her to attempt it?
Her lips trembled, but she was determined that no one see her upset. She wouldn’t give the women the satisfaction of knowing they’d made her feel foolish even for a moment.
Now she wondered just what else Nora had fabricated when she’d instructed Eveline on her duties. For the last couple of days, Eveline had worked harder than she’d ever worked in her life. She’d performed tasks that surely had to belong to the lowliest member of the clan. And yet she hadn’t complained. She hadn’t balked.
How they must have laughed behind her back as they watched her struggle to perform every single job that had been assigned to her. All that talk of leading by example. Eveline felt like the simpleton she’d been accused of being for so long.
She glanced down at her sore and torn hands and slipped the cuffs of her sleeves even farther over her palms.
Graeme touched her arm, but she refused to look up at him. She didn’t want him to see the shame and humiliation in her eyes nor did she want to give in to the tears that threatened. Instead she stared down at the ill-formed oatcake in front of her and was tempted to hurl it across the room.
The table shook, and she glanced up in time to see Graeme stalk away from the table. Those hated tears she fought so hard shimmered in her vision. How she hated them all right now. Everything had been so perfect between her and Graeme and now he was angry and she was miserable and so humiliated, she wanted to die from it.
She’d been a trusting idiot, so eager to please, so determined to win a place in the hearts of her new clan when such a thing was never going to be possible.
Bowen reached over the table to lay his hand on hers, and she turned her gaze to him, battling tears with everything she had inside her. Damned if she’d let them know how much they’d hurt her. Damn them all.
“Eveline, he is not angry with you,” Bowen said, his expression gentle.
“They hate me,” she whispered. “They all hate me and there is naught to do about it. Graeme can’t make them accept me. I want to go home.”
Teague abruptly stood and also turned and stalked from the table. Eveline closed her eyes at the rapidly forming nightmare that was her life. Her future. It had never looked so bleak as it did now.
“I’m not hungry,” she announced. “I have a need for some fresh air.”
Before Bowen could say anything more, she turned away from him so he was effectively silenced to her. She, too, left the table, but she retreated to the back entrance, the one that led to the back of the keep.
There was a gateway that led to the back meadow where the children often played. No one would be about this early, and she could walk beyond the bend in the river where it meandered through Montgomery land and slashed through the sloping hillside behind the keep.
A long walk was what she needed. Away from the others. Away from their scorn and ridicule and their childish games they played to make her feel stupid. She was finished being the object of their amusement. They could all go rot for all she cared. For the first time she understood her clan’s hatred of the Montgomerys. A more horrid lot of people she’d never met.
CHAPTER 33
Graeme was so furious that he had to step into the courtyard to collect himself or he feared harming someone in his rage. Never had he been so angry with members of his own clan. Never had he been in the grip of such a helpless rage. He wanted to strangle the lot of them.
The devastation and shame in Eveline’s eyes had been his undoing. Seeing the damage wrought to her hands by the misdeeds of the women of his clan, not to mention the other abuses that had been heaped upon her, made him want to repay them in kind.
“Graeme, is ought amiss?”
He turned to see Father Drummond standing a few feet away, a concerned look on the young man’s face.
“Aye,” Graeme snapped, not volunteering more information.
“Is there something I can do?” the priest inquired softly. “I was on my way to the hall to break my fast and then to meet Rorie in the accounting room. The lass is determined to begin her lessons at once. I fear she’ll keep me prisoner until she’s mastered the art of reading and writing.”
Father Drummond’s attempt at levity fell flat as Graeme continued to seethe. He tempered his words, though, because Father Drummond was a good man. A man of God and he deserved none of Graeme’s ire.
“Go to Rorie,” Graeme said. “ ’Tis best she is not present for what is to come.”
Father Drummond cast him a worried look, but turned and went into the keep as Graeme had directed. Graeme then went in search of his most senior man. Douglas Montgomery had been a good and loyal man even before Graeme’s father’s death. He’d served faithfully under Robert Montgomery and had transferred that loyalty to Graeme when Graeme became laird.
He went to Douglas’s cottage, one of the many that lined the hillside adjacent to the keep.
He knocked sharply, impatient as he waited for Douglas to appear. A moment later, the older man opened the door, his eyes darkening in concern when he saw Graeme standing there.
Without giving the other man the opportunity to speak, Graeme issued a terse order.
“Summon every last clansman and have them assemble in the courtyard. I want every man, woman, and child, and I want them there in five minutes. Anyone not present will be in defiance of my word and will be dealt with accordingly.”
Douglas’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t question his laird’s directive.