Maggie MacKeever Read Online Free PDF Page A

be as much a devil as hisself. They was out ridin’ one day, he and the lad, and they came back by the tower. Happen the lady saw them, but she didn’t recognize the fine young man as her son. ‘Twas from a distance, after all. Reckon she thought it was her lover, hobnobbin’ with her lord while she wasted away from neglect. Whatever, she jumped right off and landed smack at their feet. Dead, o’ course, and as mangled as him who the lord set the dogs on. Well, the lord took a good look at his son, right then and there, and seen what he’d been a-hidin’ from hisself all those years: the boy was the spittin’ image of the other one. ‘Twas a broken man he was from that day, with his son hatin’ him—he’d told the lad his mother was dead—and him hatin’ the lad ‘cause he wasn’t his son after all. He died soon after his lady, and the lad had ‘em buried side by side.”
     Loveday thought she’d managed to follow all this. “And the lady walks.”
    “Aye, the lady walks. Searchin’ still, I reckon, poor soul. She never leaves the tower. ‘Tis as if she’s still locked in.”
    “Goodness,” said Loveday said, with appreciation of what she suspected was a creation of Mrs. Snugglebutt’s lurid imagination.
    “Dillian’s talked with her, even.  Won’t tell what the lady said, though. That’s a sly puss, that is. You watch your step with her.”
    “Dillian? The duchess mentioned her last night.”
    “That one’s neither fish nor fowl,” Mrs. Snugglebutt remarked darkly, “and she knows things that’re best left alone. You’ll see.”
    A pounding at the door interrupted them. “Dash it, Loveday!” Jem called. “The duchess has been waiting for you this past half-hour!”
    Mrs. Snugglebutt started, a guilty expression on her face. “I clean forgot what I came here to tell you!”
    “Never mind that now.” Loveday’s voice was muffled as she rummaged frantically in the tallboy where her clothes had been carefully hung.
    “I do thank you for condescendin’ to share your tea with me,” Mrs. Snugglebutt said stiffly. “The Duchess of Chesshire is awaitin’ you in the mornin’ room.” She stalked from the room.
    “Loveday!” Jem bellowed. “Do you have windmills in your head?”
    “Just a minute!” Loveday surveyed her clothes critically. She felt she had to atone for her drabness of the day before. Her final choice was a round gown of clear lawn, with sash and edging of a bright cherry hue.
    Loveday was accustomed to dressing herself, and even preferred to do so, so the absence of an abigail bothered her not at all. Pausing briefly in front of the mirror, she twisted her dusky curls into a coil on top of her head, allowing unruly ringlets to fall on either side of her face. Despite her careful efforts, the undisciplined curls refused to lie fashionably smooth. With a last grimace at her reflected image, Loveday opened her door.
    The slight young man who lounged casually in the hallway shared Loveday’s dusky curls and amber eyes, his beautifully sculpted face now lit by an amused grin.  Impeccable riding clothes revealed a deceptive leanness that cloaked his wiry strength.
    Jem bowed with a fine flourish, and offered Loveday his arm. “Do you come downstairs, ma’am,” he begged.
    “Bid you a good day, sir,” Loveday returned, as she made him a fine curtsy. “Oh, Jem, I am particularly glad to see you! I must speak with you alone.”
    “We’re private now, ain’t we?” As he spoke, he led her determinedly down the hall. “Don’t dawdle, puss! The duchess will take it amiss if you tarry much longer. She’s the highest of sticklers.”
    “Jem, this is important! I’m in such a horrid scrape!”
    “Already? I’d hoped everything would go off perfectly well. You’d better tell me about it, hadn’t you?”
    “Isolda wants me to marry her grandson! Jem, I told her I was betrothed to Jasper and you mustn’t give me away.”
    Jem whistled softly. “So that’s the