Never Seduce a Scot (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #1)(25)

Graeme had to clear his throat to keep from outright laughing. The lass had audacity and yet he’d never been able to bring himself to chasten her. She’d been allowed to run wild, no doubt about it.

Raised without a mother figure, Rorie likely spent most of her childhood believing she was a lad.

“What do you want, you little chit,” Graeme said in amusement.

“I want a tutor. A real one, Graeme. I want to learn to read and write.”

Her chin came up a notch, and she boldly stared him down.

“And where do you propose for me to find this tutor?”

“Father Drummond.”

“Rorie, he’s a man of God, and he has duties to more than one clan. I can’t appropriate him for your own personal gain.”

“It seems to me that as you aren’t entirely certain of the faculties of your new wife, it would behoove you to have a man of God bless your union and furthermore convince your clan that your bride isn’t marked by the devil. In his free time, of course, he could instruct me.”

Graeme had to laugh then. The little schemer. What galled him was that she had a very solid point and having the father’s blessing on the marriage as well as calming his clan’s fears and superstitions could go a long way in ensuring Eveline’s well-being and happiness.

“All right, Rorie. I’ll send word to the father. You, however, I want to show Eveline every kindness. She’s a sweet lass and I think you’ll like her. She’s just … different.”

“I’ve never known you to be so diplomatic,” she said dryly.

He pointed out the door. “Just go, you little imp. Before I put my boot to your arse.”

She grinned and hurried past him, her hand covering her behind as she fled.

Rorie hesitated outside of Eveline’s closed door. As much as she was loath to admit it, she was nervous about the impending meeting with her sister by marriage.

On the one hand, having a sister was an interesting thought. Having a crazed sister was not, however, appealing.

She rested her palm against the wood for a long moment, then sucked in her breath and knocked. She waited, growing more nervous by the moment. When she received no response, she knocked again. Only to wait several long seconds.

She stuck her ear to the door, frowning. There were odd sounds emanating from within. Scraping? As if something was being dragged across the floor. And the sound was growing louder until suddenly the door flew open and Rorie found herself face-to-face with a blond-haired woman barely larger than herself.

Eveline jumped, obviously startled by Rorie’s presence. Her face was red with exertion and her hair was in disarray. As Rorie glanced down, she saw that Eveline had dragged one of her trunks toward the door and indeed, it appeared as though she was planning to shove it out of the room all together.

“I’m Rorie,” she said, unsure of what she was supposed to do. “I’m Graeme’s sister.”

Eveline stared at Rorie, studying her intently until Rorie squirmed. There was something intelligent and discerning about her gaze, almost as if she were judging Rorie, and it made her distinctly uncomfortable.

Eveline was the intruder here, not Rorie. Rorie belonged and Eveline was the outsider. The enemy.

Then, to her further bewilderment, Eveline reached out and grabbed Rorie’s hand and pulled her downward, motioning toward the trunk.

“Uhhh, Eveline? What do you intend to do with the trunk?” Rorie asked.

Eveline paused and frowned. Then she stood to her full height—not that it was much—and peered out of the chamber and down the hall.

Her expression grew more perplexed, and then she abruptly left Rorie and walked across the hall and opened Bowen’s door.

“Hey! You can’t just barge into my brother’s room like that,” Rorie protested.

Eveline stuck her head in, then withdrew and turned to Rorie, her brows drawn together in a deep furrow. She licked her lips almost as if she wanted to speak, but Rorie knew that was impossible. Graeme had said she was mute and had been ever since her accident.

Then she pointed to the open chamber door and raised her palms in question.

Rorie shook her head, confused.

Eveline pointed to Rorie and then back at the chamber and then once again raised her palms.

Understanding finally, Rorie shook her head. “Nay, it’s not my chamber. ’Tis Bowen’s.”

Once more, Eveline grabbed Rorie’s hand and fairly dragged her down the hallway to the next chamber. She slapped her palm against the door and then turned to Rorie, that same question in her eyes.

By now, Rorie understood what it was she wanted.

“ ’Tis my chamber,” Rorie said.

Eveline frowned in displeasure and once more, Rorie found herself dragged to the next chamber. By now she had figured out the point of all this and she was tired of being hauled around by a woman only slightly larger than herself, so she extricated her hand from Eveline’s hold and then took Eveline’s hand herself so she could direct the movement.

She took Eveline down the hall, pointing at each of the chambers and saying whose it was or what purpose it served. Eveline seemed to grow more frustrated with each one.

Understanding smacked Rorie in the face. “You’re looking for Graeme’s chamber, aren’t you?”

Eveline smiled and nodded vigorously. For a moment, Rorie was spellbound by the change the smile brought to the young woman’s face. She was quite beautiful and not all daft looking. No crazed look in her eyes, even if her behavior bordered on unusual. Or maybe a lot unusual …