Kill or Be Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

  “Would someone please tell me what is happening—in English?”

  “A member of the king’s Privy Council was found. He is nay longer of this world,” said Ruairi.

  “The poor man. That’s simply tragic. Do they know how he died?” When a strange look passed between the men, she lifted a brow. Having lived under the same roof as Ruairi and Fagan, she was getting pretty good at recognizing when they were trying to keep something from her sisters.

  “Nae yet,” said Fagan. “Dinna fash yourself.” He glanced at Ruairi. “Why donna we show Elizabeth the gardens?”

  Why were all the men in her life masters at diversion?

  * * *

  When Ian discovered a man of the king’s Privy Council had been killed, his senses were heightened. Mildmay had also been a member of the king’s inner circle, and Ian didn’t believe in coincidences. Granted, there were differences between their deaths. Elizabeth’s uncle was crushed under the wheel of a carriage when the horses were startled—an accident—whereas this latest man had his throat slashed. But Ian didn’t miss the spark in Ruairi and Fagan’s eyes. They thought the same. Perhaps Mildmay’s death was not by chance at all. Ian’s doubts certainly weren’t something he was going to express at this moment in front of Elizabeth.

  The lass wandered aimlessly through the gardens. Her reddish-brown hair lifted into the wind, and tiny curls escaped the heavy, silken mass. She stopped to study the roses, some kind of purple flowers, and other types of orange blossoms. He wondered if every woman paid attention to such frivolous detail. Thistles and stinging nettles were all the plants he’d ever concerned himself with in the Highlands, only because he tried to avoid them.

  A blond-haired man several years older than Elizabeth approached her on the stone path. He wore tan breeches and a linen shirt with deep cuffs, and a black capotain crowned his head. He closed the distance between them, removed his hat, and gave her a low bow.

  “My lady, I do not believe we’ve been formally introduced.” He lifted her hand. “I am the Earl of Kinghorne.” He brushed a brief kiss on the top of her knuckles, and his eyes never left Elizabeth’s.

  Ian didn’t like him at all.

  When she gave the man a brief curtsy, Ian glanced at Ruairi and then at Fagan. Instantly, his friends looked elsewhere and appeared interested in the blooms. What a picture the two made as fierce Scottish warriors smelling the dainty flowers. For an instant, he wasn’t sure if they were English fops or Scottish fools. What were they thinking? They had no idea who this man was or what he wanted from Elizabeth. He knew one thing for certain. If Ruairi and Fagan weren’t going to intervene, he would. He couldn’t stand there and do nothing.

  “My lord, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am—”

  “Lady Elizabeth, is everything all right?” Ian stood to his full height and gazed down at the earl as if he were a mere insect that Ian could crush under his heel. As the man took a step back, looking like a cornered animal with no means of escape, Ian smiled. This wasn’t the first time he used his mountainous size to his advantage. The earl looked terrified, and he was pleased at the thought.

  “Laird Munro, allow me to introduce you to Lord Kinghorne.”

  Ian placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t care if the man was an earl. In truth, he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of any man approaching Elizabeth. He’d have time to figure that out later because as of this moment, all he wanted was for Kinghorne to move along.

  “Ciamar a tha sibh? Mar sin leat.”

  The earl studied Ian from head to toe. “Pardon?”

  “Laird Munro!” Elizabeth chided him and then turned back to the earl. “Please accept my apologies. He asks how you are and seems to have forgotten that not everyone in this world understands Gaelic.” She cast Ian a look of disdain. “We are in England after all.”

  “No apologies are necessary, Lady Elizabeth. If you’ll excuse me, I gave my word to my mother that we’d take a leisurely walk in the garden, and I’m afraid that I’ve neglected her too long. She’s resting over there on a bench. Too much sitting isn’t good for mother’s circulation.” He gestured to his left, and Ian spotted the elderly woman through the branches of a tree.

  “Of course. I hope to see you again, my lord.”

  “We’ll meet again soon.”

  When the earl gave Ian a stern look, Ian lifted a brow, and a chuckle almost escaped him. The man minced away to his waiting mother when Elizabeth whirled around to face Ian. Glowering with rage, she poked him in the chest with her finger.

  “How dare you! Your behavior was rude, and you humiliated me in front of the earl. Not only did you ask the earl how he was in Gaelic, but you told him good-bye. You’re lucky Lord Kinghorne didn’t understand your words.”

  Fagan slapped Ian on the shoulder. “Ye’ve done it again, Munro. I think the lass is angry with ye.”

  Elizabeth’s response held a note of impatience. “And what gave me away?”

  Ian folded his arms over his chest. “Ye’re supposed to be her chaperone, Sutherland.”

  Ruairi laughed as if he was sincerely amused. “Fagan and I were watching. The man only made an introduction. I did nae think he needed to face the end of my sword for that.”

  “For goodness’ sake, we only arrived yesterday. We’re not able to stay at the palace because none of you will leave me alone for a single moment, one of us has already been in a heated brawl, a man has died, and now, Laird Munro frightens off the first person who begs an introduction. We’re off to a fine start, gentlemen. Need I remind you that Ruairi is my chaperone? The three of you had been no more than a stone’s throw away the entire time. What could have possibly happened to me in the garden in the light of day with three Highlanders hovering about?” When no one responded, she added, “That’s what I thought,” and bristled off without them.

  “Ye know the lass gets that tenacity from your wife,” said Ruairi.

  Fagan chuckled. “I was thinking the same of yours.”

  “How many names are on the king’s list before ours?” asked Ian.

  * * *

  Elizabeth had to step away from the men before she strangled them. If they—rather, Laird Munro—thought he would be hovering over her shoulder at every turn, he was in for a surprise.

  Even though she never really fathomed why Ravenna and Uncle Walter had always kept her sheltered from the London aristocracy, she was pleased that she’d already met Lord Kinghorne, a bloody earl. Perhaps her luck was changing. But if Laird Munro’s careless actions ruined any chance she’d had to make the acquaintance of an earl, she’d make certain the laird’s head joined the others at Traitors’ Gate on their return home.

  As she entered the palace, she disappeared quickly into the crowd with her Scottish guard dogs nipping at her heels. She turned down the hall, slowing her pace, and there was a room on the left that had pomegranates carved into the corners of the arch of the door. When she walked into the great hall by mistake, she paused.

  A carved hammer-beam roof hung overhead, and she stood in awe. The ornate architecture on the ceiling was a magnificent sight. At least fifteen colored glass windows were throughout the hall. There were many tables and benches on the floor, but her eyes were drawn to the dais. That’s where King James and the royalty before him dined.

  Ruairi flanked her. “What do ye think?”

  “I find myself at a loss for words.”

  “I’ve ne’er known any Walsingham sister to be at a loss for words, but they say there is a first time for everything.”

  Her eyes darted around the hall. “Have you ever seen anything so grand?”

  “Aye. Every time I look into Ravenna and Mary’s eyes.”

  Seeing how much love her brother-in-law held for her sister and her niece brought an instant smile to Elizabeth’s face. As Fagan and Laird Munro prowled around the grea
t hall, she approached the empty dais with Ruairi.

  “Can you imagine the number of kings and queens who have dined here with their loyal subjects? Do you think King Henry would have sat here at this very table with his many queens, even Anne Boleyn perhaps?”

  “I donna know about that, but we’ll be dining here this eve—well, nae on the dais. Mayhap King James will grace ye with his presence.”

  She didn’t realize her voice raised a notch, and she slapped her hands together. “I would be happy beyond measure. And to think Uncle Walter was part of the king’s Privy Council. I should have begged my uncle for an introduction a few years ago.”

  “I have nay doubt he wanted to keep ye from the madness of court, lass. After a time, the view and the people become stale.” Ruairi leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Even the king.”

  “You’re probably right, but until then, I’m going to enjoy every moment. Do you think we can find the chapel?”

  “Aye, I think we can find it well enough.”

  They walked through the halls of the palace and through the seas of people. Elizabeth was perfectly aware she must look like a small child on market day. Her head whipped from left to right, her gaze scanning from the ceiling to the floor, not wanting to miss anything of importance. She smiled in greeting to everyone she passed, loving the spark of excitement.

  “The chapel is this way,” said Ruairi.

  They entered through the carved wooden doors. Not only was the timber and plaster ceiling of the chapel breathtaking, but the altar was framed by a massive oak reredos. Opposite the altar on the first floor was the royal pew where King James and his family attended services. When she realized this was probably the place where Queen Catherine Howard had pleaded for King Henry to spare her life, a shiver ran down Elizabeth’s spine. She was so deep in thought that she jumped when a warm, male voice spoke from behind her.

  “Are ye cold?” asked Laird Munro.

  “No. I was thinking about ghosts. I assume you don’t believe in them.”

  He glanced up at the colored glass windows. “I worry more about the living, but I would ne’er tempt fate.” His gaze met hers. “Ruairi and Fagan are waiting for ye at the entrance when ye’re ready.”

  Laird Munro stopped in his tracks, and her attention was drawn to the chapel doors where Lord Kinghorne was escorting his elderly mother inside. Laird Munro hesitated as if he was deciding to stay, but then he walked out the chapel door. She was thankful he remembered the verbal thrashing that she’d given him for his earlier unnecessary intervention.

  Lord Kinghorne assisted his mother into a pew and then approached Elizabeth. He gave her a bow, and she curtsied. “Lady Elizabeth, how wonderful it is to see you again so soon.”

  “I was thinking the same of you, my lord.”

  He gestured to the pew. “Mother enjoys coming to the chapel a few times a day. She claims prayer soothes her soul.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Your mother speaks the truth.”

  “Be that as it may, after she is done here, I’ll be taking her back to her room to rest. She needs to lie down or her ankles swell.”

  “You’re staying at the palace, my lord?”

  For a moment, he stared at her. “You’re not?”

  “No.” She had many words that came to mind about her chaperones but thought it in her best interest to keep her mouth closed.

  Lord Kinghorne glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, well, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you accompanied by those three men?”

  “They’re my chaperones.” When he gave her a puzzled gaze, she added, “My sisters are wed to two of them.”

  “I see.” His eyes rested on his mother. “If you’ll please excuse me, I don’t like to keep mother waiting.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Will you be dining here this eve, Lady Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He smiled with an air of pleasure. “Good. Mother prefers to dine early, but perhaps I’ll see you in the hall.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Lord Kinghorne sat beside his mother in the pew, and the sight warmed Elizabeth’s heart. The man cared for the woman, and Elizabeth took his actions as a positive sign of character.

  The men were still lingering out in the hall, and she didn’t want to torture them too much on their first day at court, but she couldn’t resist one last look around the chapel. Furthermore, they deserved to wait for not permitting her to stay in a grand bedchamber at the palace.

  Heavy footsteps approached her from behind.

  “We’ll be attending court for some time, lass,” Ruairi said. “I can always escort ye here anytime ye wish.”

  “Thank you.”

  When she realized her brother-in-law came to fetch her, she stole a quick glance out in the hall. She could’ve sworn Laird Munro was actually scowling at her. Whether the laird was irritated with her, Lord Kinghorne, or court, she couldn’t discern. And frankly, she didn’t care. She made up her mind to stay the course.

  The man did not return her interest; therefore, he did not deserve her love. Grace said the words herself.

  * * *

  Ian gritted his teeth, knowing his vexation was evident. He was resentful of the entire situation—court, Elizabeth, and this English lord that Ruairi and Fagan didn’t seem worried about. Ian wasn’t an idiot. The lass would one day wed. He knew that, but was it too much to ask that he did not have to bear witness to men who sought Elizabeth’s attention?

  Something clicked in his mind, and an unaccustomed pain formed in his chest. When he thought about another man sharing the lass’s company, companionship that she’d freely shared with him, his mouth felt dry and dusty.

  As the men escorted Elizabeth back through the halls, far too many English crowded court for Ian’s tastes, but then a smile crossed his face. Laird Ross, Laird Fraser, and Laird MacKay stood huddled against a far wall. Ruairi and Fagan saw them too. All the lairds stood over six feet, and each wore their clan tartan plaids and badges proudly.

  “Munro, Sutherland, I see ye’ve come to share in the misery of the English court,” said the Fraser.

  “Aye. There’s naught like a Highland gathering to be held in the middle of the English,” said Ian.

  “’Tis good to see ye. Ye remember the captain of my guard,” said Ruairi.

  Laird Ross extended his hand to Fagan. “Murray, ciamar a tha thu?” How are you?

  Fagan shrugged. “Tha gu math.” I am fine.

  The MacKay cast a puzzled gaze at Elizabeth. “And dè an t-ainm a th’oirbh?” What is your name?

  “This lovely lass is Lady Elizabeth. She is my sister-by-marriage,” said Ruairi. “Lady Elizabeth, these are Lairds Ross, Fraser, and MacKay.”

  She placed a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. “My pleasure, gentlemen. Have you just arrived at court?”

  “We came three days ago and tried to get our names on the list before the others to nay avail,” said Laird Fraser.

  A glazed expression crossed Elizabeth’s face. She was growing weary of hearing men complain about court.

  “Are ye staying in the palace?” asked Ian.

  “Nay, thank God,” said Laird MacKay. “There was nay room for us, even three days ago. We’re staying in the city. I think most of the lairds came to pay their yearly homage to the king. I saw the Grant, the MacLeod, and the MacKenzie wandering around. None were verra pleased.”

  A scowl crossed Ian’s face. “Mmm… If ye arrived three days before us, it could be some time before we are called before the king.”

  Elizabeth let out a heavy sigh.

  “Were ye here when the guards were running awry over the death of another member of the king’s Privy Council?” asked Laird Ross.

  “Och, aye. We were at the tennis court,” said Ruairi.

  “Th
ey’re saying the man’s neck was sliced from ear to ear. Now we can look forward to having a cutthroat among us at the palace,” said Laird Fraser.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Pray excuse me, Laird Fraser, but did you say the man was killed?”

  “Come to think of it, I believe this is the second member of the king’s circle who died within the month.” Laird Fraser didn’t notice the color drain from Elizabeth’s face. Otherwise, he would have known to keep his mouth shut.

  “Fraser,” Ian warned.

  Ruairi placed his hand on her shoulder. “Now, lass, there is nay cause for ye—”

  “I can nae remember. What was that man’s name?” asked Laird Fraser.

  Elizabeth spoke through gritted teeth. “Mildmay. His name was Lord Mildmay. He was my uncle.”

  Eight

  Elizabeth sat in the crowded great hall drinking her third goblet of wine and was almost foolish enough to ask Ian—Laird Munro—if she could have a sip of his whisky. It had been a long day. She was mentally exhausted. And just as luck would have it, King James did not sup in the great hall this eve.

  With so many warm bodies packed in the hall, the heat was unbearable. Sweat dripped from her brow and in other places no lady should ever mention. To add to her enjoyment was the fact that she could barely hear herself think with the incessant chatter all around her. As she gazed at the tables, she wondered if the other women in attendance felt as miserable. A male voice spoke from beside her.

  “So tell me, Lady Elizabeth. Is court everything ye thought it would be?” asked Laird Munro with a knowing grin.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, even more than I’d hoped for.” She took another sip from her goblet, not about to admit to the man she’d been ready to take her leave well over an hour ago. The thought of removing her gown, donning her nightrail, and climbing into a soft bed was delightful.

  A devilish look came into his eyes. “Och, aye. I can see how much ye’re enjoying yourself at this verra moment.”

  “Is my discomfort that apparent?”

  Laird Munro leaned in close. Too bloody close. She silently cursed her heart that turned over in response.