Free Sweet Bondage by Dorothy Vernon Page A

to herself for a short time. He viewed her with a certain wariness, but because he was not as closely involved he didn’t have the same bitter antagonism toward her that Maxwell had. There was such a lot she wanted to know. If she worded her questions carefully Angus might give her the answers that Maxwell was withholding on the grounds that she was supposed to know them already.
    It was a puzzle to know why Maxwell was keeping her here, what Ian’s condition was and how he came to be in it, and how close Glenda was—or had been—to Ian. Pretty close, judging by Maxwell’s anger when she had mentioned Barry’s name. He had gone berserk at the thought that she that is, Glenda—had been two-timing Ian. His insistence on knowing whether or not she’d slept with Barry had been frightening. It might have been understandable if it had been Ian who flew into a rage at the possibility of her being on intimate terms with another man, but for a mere brother to get uptight about it made no sense at all. What had he said about it? ‘That’s one complication I can do without.’ What on earth had he meant?
    While waiting for the kettle to boil Gemma unpacked the dairy products, transferring the brown, new-laid eggs to the egg rack, and then she exclaimed in delight over the crusty loaves, a rich Dundee cake, and a batch of scones.
    Angus beamed, bright pride in his eyes at Gemma’s words of praise. ‘My Morag thought the cake tins might need replenishing. She’s a grand wee cook.’
    So it was Morag’s baking they had been sampling.
    â€˜Your Morag?’ she queried.
    â€˜Aye. It’s a handy arrangement to have husband and wife working for ye. Morag housekeeps for the laird and I’m his factor on the estate.’
    â€˜The laird?’
    â€˜The laird of Glenross.’ As Gemma’s eyebrows retained their puzzled lift he added, his weathered face showing surprise at the necessity, ‘Mr. Maxwell Ross, his father being dead these ten years past.’
    She was not surprised to find out that Maxwell was the laird of Glenross. He carried the authority of his title in his autocratic manner. ‘And Mr. Ross’s mother?’
    â€˜She predeceased the old Laird by some five years. I suppose that you and Mr. Ian had other things to talk about,’ he said, as though answering his own perplexity, ‘but I’d a thought with the wedding date set and everything, ye’d ken about that.’
    â€˜You’d be surprised how little I do know, Angus.’ So Glenda was engaged to be married to Ian Ross, and the wedding already arranged.
    â€˜Perhaps that’s to be expected,’ Angus said, springing to the defense of those who hadn’t told her the things he thought she ought to know. ‘The haste of it all fair took my breath away. You’ll pardon me for not moving with the times, like.’
    His loyalty was commendable. She made a mental note not to speak out against any member of the Ross clan, knowing it would earn this same touchy response. Running parallel was the thought that Angus was censuring her for something and that she had just been politely told off.
    Her mind buzzing with speculation, she said, ‘The wedding will have to be postponed now that Ian is in hospital.’
    Angus replied tersely, the disapproval even more deeply ingrained in his voice, as if he suspected her of flippancy, ‘The poor laddie can no get to the kirk in the wretched state he’s in. Him on his back and his mind addled with all the drugs that are being pumped into him. Not knowing, and them not daring to tell him for fear he canna take the shock, that he’ll spend the rest of his life on his back, never to walk again. I’m glad to hear that Mr. Ross has talked ye round.’
    â€˜In what way?’
    â€˜What you said just now about postponing the wedding. In the letter, the one you sent to the hospital, you wrote that