Текст книги "My wild Highlander"
Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair
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In the great hall, she approached high table but no one was seated.
"Where is the laird?" she asked Fingall.
The steward bowed. "Working in the library, m'lady. He didn't wish to be disturbed."
"What is he working on?" she muttered, striding down the corridor. "Wait here. I wish to speak to the laird alone," she told her guards. Opening the library door, she found Lachlan with his head laid on the desk, his face toward her. Softly, she shut the door and tiptoed closer.
Breathing deep and even, he didn't move. With his eyes closed and his expression relaxed, he looked like a precocious little boy... except for his manly square jaw, beard stubble and those sensual lips. At the moment, he was not trying to seduce her with his calculated, too-knowing eyes. Nor was he angry. She would not mind sitting and staring at him like this for a while. He was indeed pleasing to the eye.
A half empty bottle of sherry sat by his elbow, along with a glass containing a sip.
"Bien entendu," she muttered. Of course, that explained it.
Lachlan jerked awake and sat up. Blinking rapidly, he shook his head as if trying to clear it.
"You are, as they say, cupshoten," she said, enjoying his befuddled expression, a rare sight.
"Nay. 'Twould take more than a wee dram of sherry."
Black ink numbers dotted the side of his face. She snickered, then covered her mouth.
His expression turned most serious. "What?"
She withdrew a clean linen handkerchief from her pocket and dipped it into the sherry. "You have ink on your face."
He glanced down at the books. "Hell, I smeared it."
"Here, let me wipe the ink away." She pressed a palm against one side of his face, his beard stubble prickling her skin, his breath warming her wrist, and wiped at the smudged ink numbers. Her hands tingled from touching him; sensations raced up her arms.
Lachlan gazed at her with sleepy seductive eyes that held a hint of petulance. In that moment, she figured him out. He was naught but a spoiled, overgrown lad used to getting whatever he wanted from the ladies. But not from her, and he didn't know how to handle that. Biting her lip, she suppressed a grin.
"It is time for supper." She dabbed one last ink spot. "There now, all gone."
"I thank you." The unhappy look in his eyes clutched at her heart. He seemed... not himself at all. Not arrogant.
"C'est rien."
"Damnable books." He slammed the ledger closed, rose and paced toward the window.
"What is wrong?"
He stared out the window into the twilight a long moment. "Naught."
"Stubborn," she murmured.
"That's the pot calling the kettle black."
His bitter words made her want to scowl, but she didn't. She knew he was right. Her mother had called her stubborn on more than one occasion. And Lord knew she'd been stubborn with him. But she had no choice.
"So, where have you been these last two nights?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Here and there."
She had peeked into his room each night two or three times. Once, she found him asleep in the early morning hours. Other times she wondered if he had done as she expected and found a paramour. Camille had warned her countless times he would find someone else to slake his lusts, and urged her to go to him. Even though she knew Camille was right, she could not make herself crawl into his bed. Every time she considered it, she froze up, recalling the pain.
She pushed the fear away and focused on something she could control. "Is something wrong with the estate books?"
He released a long breath and turned to her. "I'm good with languages, not numbers."
"Languages?"
"Aye, I can speak and read six languages. Pick them up easily in a short time. But the estate accounts... I simply want to cast them into the fire."
"I am good with numbers," she said, proud of her education and abilities.
"You are?"
She nodded. "My cousin taught me in France."
"Then 'haps you can help me look these over. I'm not sure I trust Fingall, or the treasurer, and a few of the other servants. Anyone who's dealt with the funds."
"I will help you on the morrow. Supper is being served and they are waiting for us."
He exhaled as if tired. "Are you certain you wiped all the ink off my face? If Rebbie sees that, he'll have something else to needle me about."
She suppressed a grin, but feared he noticed it anyway when his gaze sharpened on her. "Oui, it is clean," she said. At times like this she could actually see herself enjoying being in Lachlan's company. Not because he was in a surly mood, but because he was showing her he could be real and humble... and a bit unsure of himself—the way she felt all the time. "What is Rebbie needling you about?"
"What do you think?" He gave her an accusatory look.
"Oh." Her face heated. "Well, that is none of his concern."
"Do you think he cares? He's the nosiest man on God's earth."
"He is not married so he cannot possibly understand."
Lachlan snorted. "I doubt every married couple is like us."
"Probably not."
"Likely, we are bizarre beyond measure."
She glared at him. Did he have to exaggerate everything?
"What?" he asked. "I tell you true."
A crash sounded in the far corner of the room... from the crack between the stones. Someone lurked in the hidden passage behind the room.
Chapter Eight
Angelique dashed toward the break between the stones, the same one where she'd eavesdropped on Lachlan and Rebbie several nights ago. "Who is there?" She peered into the crack. No candlelight escaped.
Silence. Sickening shivers covered her.
"What the hell is going on?" Lachlan stood at her elbow.
"Someone was listening to us."
"How?"
"See the crack between the stones? It is wide enough to see and hear through. There is a hidden passage behind this room."
"God's blood! Why did you not tell me?" He turned a dark scowl on her.
"I... I'd forgotten." She had wanted to keep the passage a secret so she could eavesdrop on Lachlan again, but if a traitor was using it, that would no longer be safe.
"How does one enter the passage?"
"I shall show you when we have more time." She headed toward the exit and he followed.
"Aye. You must show me all the hidden passages and entrances to them. 'Tis vital to the safety of the clan. And our home."
"Who do you think was listening?" she whispered.
"'Haps Fingall, the treasurer, or any of their cohorts. I hate to say it, but we cannot trust our own clan."
***
After supper when the fiddler struck up a lively jig and most of the clan was busy watching the lasses dance, Lachlan escorted Angelique to her sitting room. He had to find out more about this secret passage and who had been spying on them. Their four personal bodyguards followed but waited outside in the corridor.
"Is it safe to talk in this room without anyone eavesdropping?" he whispered in her ear.
"Oui." She drew back and appeared to stifle a shiver. Her eyes were darker green when they met his. "I'll show you the easiest way to enter the secret passageway."
Carrying a candle, he followed her to his bedchamber. "You jest. My room?"
"Indeed. 'Tis the laird's bedchamber, after all." She barred the door from inside. "My great-grandfather had the newer section of the castle designed this way so he could keep an eye on his guests." She moved a stone from the base of the hearth, then pressed a lever. Metal clanged behind the tapestry.
He had not even thought to lift the tapestry to see what was behind it.
"Have a care with the candle." She burrowed behind the heavy tapestry. After lighting another candle on his mantel, he followed, holding the material out like a tent.
He had his sword sheathed at his side, as well as a small dirk, in the event they ran into the clan traitors.
She pushed open the door.
"Allow me to lead since I have the candle." He ducked his head and took a step down onto the steep stone stairs, barely wide enough for a man his size to squeeze through. Debris crunched beneath his boots. He enjoyed the feel of Angelique's hand lying lightly on his shoulder for support as she crept behind him downward into the depths of darkness. But that was the only appealing thing about the situation. Hell, he did not like this eerie place. He carefully unsheathed his sword and held it at the ready.
"Could someone sneak up this way and murder me in my sleep?" he whispered, imagining a horrid scenario.
"No." Angelique said quietly, close to his ear. Her warm breath fanning his hair sent a curl of arousal through him. "No one can open the door from this side... at least not without making a lot of noise. Which would wake you, no? We left it open and that is the only reason we can go back through. Only one of the passage doors opens from this side and it is in the armory."
"Ah. 'Tis a good thing then." On the next tread, his foot landed on something. He sidestepped it and lowered the candle. "What the devil is this? A fire poker?" He pushed at it with his toe to see it better. "Is that mine? I noticed it was missing and had one of the servants bring me another."
"I do not... know." Angelique whispered, sounding a bit unnerved.
"Careful you don't step on it." They reached the bottom of the stairs and the passage stretched ahead, how far he couldn't tell. Pitch blackness surrounded them beyond the candle's glow.
"The castle's finest guest bedchamber is on the other side of this wall," she whispered. "And here is the fissure to look through."
"Your ancestors spied on their guests in bed?"
"I suppose so. Several Stuart kings and queens have slept in that room, even our own King James many years ago. Dukes, an assortment of earls and other nobility have also stayed here. Did your clan have nothing like this to spy on guests?"
"Nay." 'Haps his clan was too trusting.
"Go a few yards more and you will be behind the library."
Lachlan moved forward. "Aha. Look at that." He had intentionally left a candle burning on the library mantel, and indeed near the whole room was visible through the horizontal opening.
"Further along and up more steps are the spy holes to the great hall. Hear the faint music?"
"Aye. But where are the other entrances to this passage?" he asked.
"As I mentioned, one is in the armory—an exit doorway concealed behind a weapons display. Another entry is in the treasury room, hidden behind a tapestry. This passage also leads to tunnels that run beneath the estate."
"Where do they come out?"
"I do not know. When I was a child, they had locked iron gates across them, and beyond was dark. Perhaps the exit is concealed from the outside and would only be used in dire circumstances for the chief and his family's escape. Almost no one had access to this passage back then, or even knew about it."
"Well, someone does now. We need to find out which entrance this person uses and try to catch him entering or leaving. If he listened to our earlier conversation, he knows I suspect someone of tampering with the books."
"Oui."
"Let's go back now. I'll investigate more on my own or with a man I know I can trust. I don't wish to endanger you further."
"I am not endangered." She sounded insulted. "I explored these often as a child."
"You're a brave lass. But there's a traitor about now." The passage was too narrow for him to maneuver around her. "You must lead on the way back. Take the candle." She moved along quickly and climbed the stairs. He took two steps up and accidentally bumped into her derriere. She gasped and dropped the candle. The flame sputtered out and cast them in absolute blackness.
"Merde!"
He laid a hand on her shoulder and caressed her neck. "Shh. Don't fash yourself. Stay calm."
"It is dark as a dungeon," she said in French, her breathing escalating.
"I can see that. Now, slowly take one step up at a time and we shall make it out."
"Très bien." She did just that, as did he, his palm flat against the rough stone wall for support.
A sound of metal against stone clanged behind them. They froze. He turned sideways, staring back, but saw naught, not even a glimmer of light. Silence followed. If he'd been alone, he would've crept through the darkness to see who was there, but he wouldn't jeopardize Angelique.
"What was that?" she said in a near inaudible whisper.
He faced forward again, his mouth and nose bumping into what felt like her cheek. She released a breath but did not draw away. That soft, smooth skin and the sweet woman scent of her made him forget where he was. He brushed his lips over her again, inhaling.
Her lashes fluttered, tickling his nose. "Oh." The sound was no more than a breath from her.
His next contact was lips against lips; she'd turned to face him more. Arousal blasted through him like a trumpet. In an attempt to draw her closer, he almost dropped his sword but managed to hold onto it and slide his other hand around her lower back. And, saints, when her arms encircled his neck, he thought he would die with happiness and lust. She wanted him.
Without a protest from her, he ate at her mouth, nibbled her lips and slipped his tongue between. Her unique flavor drove him mad and he wanted to drown in her. She shyly touched her tongue to his, giving him a pleasurable rise beneath his plaid. Iosa is Muire Mhàthair! He could take her right here.
Footsteps registered in the back of his mind. A shock of alarm smothering his desire, he turned his head abruptly, breaking the kiss. "Listen," he whispered. Faint footsteps receded into the distance, then a door closed.
More silence.
Who the hell was that?
Angelique continued up the steps and he followed, one thing on his mind... nay, three. Another kiss. Undressing her. Dragging her into his bed.
Once they passed through the door, he closed it and pushed from beneath the tapestry. He squinted against the brightness of the candle remaining on his mantel. Angelique replaced the stone in the hearth, and he sheathed his sword.
Despite the danger, his first instinct was to seduce Angelique; she was in his bedchamber, after all. But on second thought, 'haps this was not the best course of action. Every time he'd tried that, she'd become angry and launched into an argument. A slower approach might lead to success. She would let down her guard. Aye, he had to convince her to like him first—and not fear him—then she would want him in her bed every night. He would teach her to love sensuality and sex, at her own pace. She had said she wanted honesty and seduction. He could give her that.
"How will we discover who was down there?" she asked.
"I don't know yet. Leave it to me." Damned if his need for her wasn't overriding his common sense. He could scarcely think at the moment. Celibacy did that to him.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Her gaze communicated warning. His lust must be showing. After a kiss like that, how could she blame him?
He inhaled deeply and tried to change his expression. "Like what?"
After a suspicious glance, she removed the bar from the door. "Bonsoir, monsieur."
"Lachlan," he corrected.
"Lachlan." Her accent caressed his name in a most arousing way. He considered changing his mind about delaying the seduction, but then she was gone, flitting out the door and closing it behind her.
He cursed.
Though frustrated, he thought his new plan might be ingenious. For once he was using his head instead of his... He stared down at his erection, straining to tent the plaid behind his sporran. "Just be patient, lad. Not much longer."
Besides, he should be focused on discovering the identity of the traitor in the passage.
***
The next day, Lachlan again trained with the men all morning but he could think of naught but meeting Angelique in the remodeled solar to go over the books. He had gone daft in truth, calf-eyed, like his brother had been over an Englishwoman the last time he'd seen him. Even the arrival of the Clan Buchanan chief, his family, and entourage could not sway Lachlan's thoughts. He caught himself staring at his beautiful... nay, irritating wife during midday meal, and missed part of the conversation going on around him.
Once the Buchanans were settled into guest quarters for a bit of rest after their travels, Lachlan headed to the solar.
Angelique stood at the edge of the large window, staring out and waiting for him. He wanted to smile but didn't for fear she would become annoyed again. For some reason, she seemed to smile more when he was in a dark mood. Clearly she didn't wish him happy.
"Here you are, Angelique."
She turned. "The sky is lovely today. So blue, and the clouds look like great piles of clean, white wool."
"Aye." He carried two straight chairs and placed them before the desk at the window. Afternoon light flowed in. "But you are lovelier."
Pink colored her cheeks and her gaze skipped away. "Merci." She took her seat and he sat down close beside her.
"You're certain no one can spy on us here?" He drew in a breath of her subtle rose scent, wishing he could bury his nose in her hair.
"No. Before the wing containing our suites was constructed, this was the chief's bedchamber. He had no reason to spy on himself."
"Ah. That makes perfect sense." Of course, he knew what early solars were used for because Kintalon, his clan's castle deep in the Highlands, had a similar structure.
"But my father did have this large window added so he could look down on the grounds and enjoy this view."
"'Tis very nice." Within the bailey walls, several of the servants went about their daily chores below them. Above the green trees, brownish, heather-covered mountains rose in the distance, to the north. That way lay MacGrath holdings and his home, which he had not seen in several months. But… nay, now his home was here, with Angelique. Each day he was growing to love this place more. The landscape here was lusher and the weather warmer than in the more northerly Highlands. The Drummagans had accepted him as their chief, and Angelique was slowly warming to him. Very slowly. Still, he was making progress.
His bare leg below his kilt nudged hers through the material of her skirts. Sparks of sexual awareness ignited within him. He yearned to feel her smooth bare leg sliding against his. Nay, wrapped around his waist… while he stood, pinning her against the wall. Saints! What an image. He had only to be in the same room with her to get hard, but with fantasies like that, his frustration mounted. His tarse thought he had lost all seduction ability.
Angelique drew her leg away. Hmm, maybe she'd felt that spark, too. He opened the account books and turned to the appropriate page.
"Oh, what a beautiful horse!"
Lachlan followed Angelique's gaze out the window to the far left, over a wall. One of the groomsmen led a saddled white horse across the courtyard to the stables.
"You have a fondness for white horses?"
"Oui, I had one in France—Blanche—but had to leave her behind. She was very affectionate and fleet of foot."
As she focused on the horse, Angelique's tender, longing expression arrested Lachlan, for he had never seen that look in her eyes before. In that moment, he knew he would strive to give her anything she wanted.
"I have never ridden a white horse. Too visible at night," he murmured so she wouldn't suspect his intentions. He would find the owner and see if he could buy the horse, or one like it, for Angelique. Though she'd laughed at his expense last night, when he'd had ink on his face, seeing her smile and giggle had been worth it. Her face alight with amusement and happiness did bizarre things to him inside... things he did not understand or want to examine. A horse would be the perfect wedding gift for her; it would make her happy.
"As to the books," he said. "I tried to repair this where I smudged it. You see?"
The horse now disappeared from sight within the stables, she lowered her gaze to the ledger. "It is clear enough."
He explained what each row represented in the way of estate income and expenses.
"That is a lot of expensive Italian Vernage." She pointed to the figure.
"Aye, bought only three months ago and I have yet to see drop of it."
"Perhaps that wine has not yet arrived."
"It has been checked off on the inventory." He flipped through his stack of papers for the correct one. "Here." He showed her the document.
"Maybe the servants, clansmen or even Kormad's men drank it before we arrived."
"Aye. Or 'haps no one drank it because it never existed."
They analyzed the books for more than an hour and she took notes of problems they ran into. Not only were things listed as paid for which he had not found on the estate, but many of the additions were wrong.
"Surely Fingall cannot be worse at numbers and calculations than I am," Lachlan said. "Should be his specialty."
"Indeed."
He sighed. "I hate to release him from his duties. 'Tis a hereditary position. He told me the males of his line have held Am Fear Sporain for over two hundred years within the Drummagan clan."
"But he is robbing us blind," she said. "And I do not think it is simply that he is unskilled at calculations."
Lachlan nodded. "We shall question him."
"Both of us?"
"Aye."
Angelique's gaze warmed and softened upon him, as if she might actually like him for this one moment in time. The look he'd so yearned to see on her face. Arousal flowed through him like warm honey. But any move he made might drive her away or make her revert back to her old animosity. Though she hadn't last night on the dark stair.
Watching him, she lifted a hand and tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. The simple gesture riveted him and became more sensual than it should've been. He caught her hand and briefly kissed her wrist as her hand slipped through his.
Her eyes grew round for a few seconds before she averted her gaze. He made no other movements. God, he loved her touch. His skin still tingled from the stroke of her silken fingertips. And the fragrance from her wrist—roses and woman—remained in his senses, intoxicating him.
He imagined her crawling onto his lap, kissing him deeply and yanking their clothing aside. Near attacking him. Aye, right here in the solar, he wanted to take her, gently pushing into her, inch by torturous inch. She would be small and tight. Drenched, whimpering and moaning for him. But he would go slow and make her wait. Make her beg for more, faster, deeper.
She faced him again. He did not know what she saw in his eyes, but her breath hitched and her eyes darkened. Do not look away, he wanted to tell her.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. It was almost a chaste kiss, so simple and innocent. So different from the desire rampaging through him. She closed her eyes. Hesitantly, her lips moved beneath his. He cradled her face in his hand, stroked her brow.
The tip of her tongue briefly touched his upper lip. A renewed surge of arousal shot through him. Wanting to devour her, he quelled his instinctive response which might have frightened her away. He was rewarded with another brush of her tongue. Damn, did this Frenchie know how to kiss. Her tentative movements were the most arousing he had ever experienced.
He responded in kind, but more briefly than she had. She seemed to hold her breath. Again he flicked his tongue at the underside of her upper lip, then away.
She gasped and buried her fingers in his plaid and his hair, drawing him closer. Aye, lass, take what you need. With more subtle movements, he teased her with his tongue. She accepted each kiss, and came back for more, provoking him.
A distant yell reached his ears but he didn't care. Someone whistled.
Jerking away from him, she faced the window. "Merde." She jumped up and hurried from the room. Several clansmen and servants stood outside, staring up at him with huge grins.
"Do you not ken how to give anyone privacy?" he yelled at them through the glass.
They scurried away.
"Aye, run now, you bastards." Now that they'd frightened Angelique away and ruined any chance he had of getting what he wanted most. His body was on fire with wanting her, his shaft standing stiff as a pike. "Saints!" He smashed a fist onto the desk and rose.
"Patience," he muttered, inhaling deeply. At least Angelique was starting to like and trust him a bit more. He must nurture that. Not much longer until their wedding.
So as to avoid the men in the great hall, he exited down the back stairs and strode to the stables.
"I saw you leading a white horse earlier. Whose is it?" Lachlan asked the young groomsman.
"The Lady Robertson arrived on it, m'laird."
"Aha. I thank you."
After looking the mare over and finding her strong and healthy, Lachlan found Chief Robertson standing before the fireplace in the great hall and asked him about the animal.
The tall, stout man was dressed in the Lowland style, and sported a full beard. "My wife would have my head if I sold her favorite mare." He grinned. "But we have two more white mares if you'd like to look at them sometime."
"Indeed, I would." A horse would be a wonderful wedding gift for Angelique, even if it was a few days late.
He would make her like him or die trying.
***
Angelique stood impatiently in her chamber as the maids assisted in putting the many pieces of her wedding gown on her. Camille directed. The gown was scratchy, and a bit too large besides, requiring that portions of it be altered. After the maids had styled her hair with elaborate, coiled braids, Camille placed a wreath of wild white roses and dried white heather upon her head.
Unfortunately, Angelique was not enjoying this as much as she'd dreamed she would at fifteen. She had slept little last night as she'd overseen the final preparations for both the wedding and the feast. Even when she had gone to bed, nerves had kept her awake. Today the celebration had started early with breakfast for all the guests, then the dancing had commenced.
She was relieved in some ways that she and Lachlan had already married, otherwise she'd be far more nervous. But of course, she dreaded tonight when she'd have to deliver on her promise to sleep with him. Her breathing seized and she grew a bit lightheaded. Put it from your mind and get through the day first.
Minutes later, Heckie escorted her down the front steps and across the cobbled bailey. She was glad for his sturdy arm supporting her for her knees wobbled. I must be strong. She thought of the diamond pendant hidden beneath the dress, dangling between her breasts. This gift from her mother would give her strength. She imagined Maman, in her angelic form, gazing down and smiling. A slight calmness enveloped her.
They followed the Drummagan piper. The shrill notes of the bagpipes stabbed at her ears. Smiling clansmen and women, along with people from the nearby village, lined both sides of the pathway, bowing, curtsying, shouting out well-wishes. She plastered a smile on her face and nodded to them. Before she was ready, she and her escort entered the small stone kirk within Draughon's exterior curtain walls.
Her stomach knotted when she saw that every pew of the chapel was packed full. All rose when she stopped at the threshold. The huge stained glass window, which she'd always loved, glowed with brilliant colors in the sunlight. Lachlan stood before it in his Highland finery. But his belted plaid did not draw her attention; his smile did.
She knew what he was happy about... the marriage bed that she'd promised him this night. She lowered her gaze, her hands shaking at the very thought of lying naked with him. She had seen what he had to offer and she feared he would hurt her terribly when he forced his way inside her. She cringed, remembering the helplessness she'd felt when Girard had invaded her and taken away her right to choose.
Camille, standing up beside her as maid of honor, gave her a reassuring smile when she reached the front.
Lachlan took her right hand in his. "You're lovely," he whispered.
You are, too, she wanted to say, but could do naught but offer him a brief, wobbly smile. Her mouth was so dry she feared she would not be able to utter a word. Her white gloves prevented her from feeling the warmth of his roughened skin as she had during their first ceremony. She missed that small comfort.
As the minister recited the ceremony, Angelique grew more aware of the many Drummagan clan members and other clan chiefs behind them, witnessing their lives being bound together.
This time when Lachlan kissed her, she was ashamed to realize she welcomed his lips on hers and his tongue flitting into places it shouldn't with dozens of people looking on. If only the marriage bed involved kissing and not...coupling, she would be happy.
Smiling, Lachlan tucked her hand around his elbow and they rushed down the aisle toward the exit. Outside, pistols fired toward the sky in a salute and the kirk bells rang out. A cheer went up from the guests and grain showered down upon them as they raced across the stone courtyard. Angelique could not help but join in the happiness. Before she realized it, she was laughing.
Lachlan abruptly picked her up and kissed her again. Heavens! A brief but potent kiss. The crowd grew louder at this spectacle, with more shouts, whistles and laughter. She could not take her gaze from his smiling face as he carried her up the castle steps. At the threshold, one of the clanswomen gifted Angelique with a basket filled with bread and cheese. Lachlan then carried her into the great hall and set her in her garland decorated chair at high table, then sat beside her. Yes, he was having a grand old time, blast him. But so was she.
***
"M'laird, Kormad is at the gates, demanding entrance," Bryson whispered in Lachlan's ear where he sat at high table during the wedding feast.
The bastard had a lot of nerve. "You jest," Lachlan murmured low so no one else would overhear.
Bryson shook his head, his dark eyes most serious.
With the noisy celebration, music, and dancing going on, no one seemed to notice the interruption. "I'll be right back," Lachlan told Angelique, seated beside him, then followed Bryson to a more private area. "How many men with him?"
"About a dozen."
"Are they dressed for fighting?"
"Nay."
"Have Rebbie and Dirk meet me outside. Don't tell them why. And don't let any of the other guests nor my wife ken of this."
