Kill or Be Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

  Elizabeth tried to hide her inner misery but wasn’t sure she was successful. She didn’t think it possible, but Laird Munro had a way of slicing open her wound again. It was bad enough when the man vehemently denied the kiss they’d shared, but now she was forced to watch as he held the hand of some harlot right in front of her bloody eyes. Elizabeth was perfectly aware that she’d always had her heart open wide, but the shock of defeat held her immobile.

  “Thank you, Lady Elizabeth, for your company in the gardens, but I don’t want to keep Mother waiting. Pray excuse me, and we’ll hope to see you later again this evening. Be sure to save a dance for me.”

  She’d barely heard Lord Kinghorne’s words. “Thank you, my lord.” As he walked away, she hadn’t even noticed Fagan’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Lady Elizabeth, ye do remember Laird Fraser and Laird MacKay, eh?”

  “Yes. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  Fagan’s voice softened. “Is everything all right? Ye look distraught.”

  She made the mistake of glancing at Ian. He was speaking in hushed tones in the courtesan’s ear as the woman nodded in return. The courtesan pulled the other harlot by the arm down the hall, more than likely waiting for the time when Laird Munro agreed to meet her again. When Elizabeth lifted her eyes, Ian’s expression darkened.

  “If Kinghorne did nae behave and did something, ye need to tell me,” said Fagan. She hadn’t realized he was still speaking.

  “Lord Kinghorne was nothing but a gentleman. Why don’t you stay and finish your conversation with the men? I’ll wait for you on the first bench in the gardens.”

  “The conversation is nae that exciting, lass. I can accompany ye to the garden.”

  “I’d rather have a moment alone if that’s all right with you.”

  “Hmm… Grace always tells me those words have two meanings. Ye either want me to come along and talk with ye about something, or ye truly desire to be left alone. I have nae mastered the subject yet, lass, so ye’ll have to tell me. Which is it?”

  Elizabeth patted him on the arm. “You’re safe, Fagan. I can assure you that my words meant the latter, but thank you for your concern.”

  Trying not to think of anything, Elizabeth sat alone on a bench in the garden. Men and women passed her in their finery, but she didn’t know a single soul. She probably would’ve had better luck if Uncle Walter had accompanied her and made introductions. Sadness washed over her when she remembered that he was no longer here.

  She glanced down, fingering the material on her gown. Even choosing the daring dress to entice Ian hadn’t worked. When she spotted black boots, she lifted her eyes and was greeted by the handsome stranger from last night. He had warm, brown eyes and appeared just as she’d remembered him. His wavy, black hair hung down to his shoulders. He wore tan breeches, a loose-fitting tunic, and wisps of hair curled against the V of his open shirt. His exotic look was captivating.

  “Pardon the intrusion. I know that we haven’t been formally introduced, but I am King Henry VIII.” When he gave her a low bow, she laughed.

  “I must say, Your Majesty, you look very well and have certainly traveled far from Windsor where you’ve been interred for the last sixty-six years.”

  His smile widened. “I am Will Condell, an actor commissioned to play King Henry at the Globe Theatre in Southwark.” He gestured to the bench. “May I?” His accent changed, but he was easier to understand than most of the Highland lairds she knew.

  “Please, sit. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Condell. I am Lady Elizabeth Walsingham.”

  He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “The pleasure is mine, my lady.” His eyes never left hers, and she was flattered by his interest.

  “The palace must provide you with a lot of inspiration to play a role such as King Henry.”

  He casually leaned back on the bench. “That it does. The king was without a doubt a lover of sport. He loved to play tennis.” Mister Condell grinned mischievously. “He also had a way with the ladies and his many wives.”

  An amused expression crossed her face. “Oh, yes, but I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be one of the many women among his court.”

  “I agree, Lady Elizabeth. Your head is lovely where it is.”

  “Your accent was very believable. I never would’ve known you weren’t an English gentleman.”

  He reverted back to the English accent. “I’ve been an actor for many years. In order to play different roles, I have to speak many accents fluently.”

  “How many accents can you do, Mister Condell?”

  “Let me see. I can speak in French, a bit of German, some Italian, you’ve heard the English, and of course, I can speak my native Spanish tongue.” Elizabeth was amazed as the man kept changing his accent after speaking only a few words.

  “And what about my language? Are ye able to speak Scots?” Laird Munro’s expression held a note of mockery, and Mister Condell flew to his feet.

  “I have not had ample opportunity to study the Scot’s language, but I’m always willing to learn.” The man extended his hand to Ian. “I am Will Condell, an actor at the Globe Theatre.”

  “Laird Munro…” Ian glanced around the garden and then at Mister Condell. “And as of this moment, I am the chaperone for the lass.”

  * * *

  Ian knew what Elizabeth was doing. He’d hurt her by denying the kiss between them. And the English harlot had only made matters worse by adding salt to an already open wound. Last eve he realized Elizabeth was no longer a child. But if she thought to use her feminine wiles to make him jealous by consorting with a man who was fair of face, her actions wouldn’t work. Nor would he permit her to throw herself into the arms of the first man—well, the second man she’d met at court.

  He wasn’t worried over Kinghorne because the earl couldn’t separate himself long enough from his mother. But for some reason, this actor unsettled him. Condell stood tall, confident, and could almost look him in the eye. This was the first time Ian could remember a man standing before him who was not cowering in his boots.

  Ian didn’t like him at all.

  When the man smiled, Ian wanted nothing more than to ram Condell’s straight, white teeth down his throat.

  “I’m certain Lady Elizabeth is in good hands with you as her guardian, Laird Munro.” Condell’s gaze narrowed, and he lowered his voice. “But I’m no coward.” He turned around and brought Elizabeth’s fingers to his lips. “Lady Elizabeth, until we meet again.”

  “Of course, Mister Condell. It was a pleasure.” As soon as the man walked away, Elizabeth cast a look of death upon Ian. Her expression was thunderous, and she closed the distance between them. “How dare you! You have no right to interfere in my life. Lest you forget, Laird Munro, you wanted no part of mine.”

  Her angry gaze swung over him, and then she poked him in the chest with her finger. She continued to speak through clenched teeth. “You have no trouble consorting with a harlot before my very eyes, but you cause me grief for talking to a man on a bench in the garden in the light of day. I’ll never understand you.”

  Ian stopped her escape with a firm grip on her arm, and his eyes softened. “There are many harlots at court.” When her eyes blazed, he added, “I have nay desire to take any to my bed.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I would ne’er deliberately hurt ye, Elizabeth.”

  There was a heavy silence as tears fell down her cheeks.

  “You already have.”

  She walked away from him, and he called after her. He did not blame the lass when she did not look back. For being a Highland laird, he was certainly making all the wrong decisions. He sat on the bench and wondered at what point in his life everything went awry.

  “Did ye find Elizabeth?” asked Fagan. As soon as Ian glanced up, his friend’s expression changed to one of con
cern. “What the hell happened?”

  “Where is Ruairi?”

  “He’s still with the Fraser and the MacKay.” Fagan sat on the bench beside him. “Munro, is there something ye want to tell me?” When Ian didn’t respond and rolled his neck from side to side, Fagan added, “We’ve been friends for years. I know something has been troubling ye. What the hell is going on?”

  Ian thought hard about opening his mouth to his friend. Granted, they’d talked about everything—mercenaries, spies, crops, drinking, and wenching—but he gave pause. Although Ruairi and Fagan were his best friends, Elizabeth was their sister-in-law.

  “For God’s sake, tha thu gus mo liathadh. Sput a-mach e.” You’re driving me gray. Spit it out.

  “Lady Elizabeth told me that she loved me.” Ian spoke in a rush of words, and Fagan chuckled.

  “’Tis nay great secret. Everyone knows that.”

  “She’s almost sixteen years younger than me. How could she know the meaning of the word, and what in the hell could she possibly want with the likes of me?”

  Fagan rubbed his chin. “Mmm… I’ve been pondering that thought for many years. In fact, we’ve all wondered at what point the lass had lost all sense of reason, but she’s always loved ye. She cares for ye, and ye know damn well that she’s nay longer a child. What did ye say to her? I hope ye denied her in kind.”

  “I think I’ve managed to make matters worse.”

  There was a gleam in Fagan’s eyes. “We always do.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  “We’re men. It’s in our verra nature to speak the wrong words to women.” Fagan pulled out his flask and handed it to Ian. “I’ve noticed ye’ve been troubled over Elizabeth a lot lately. I have to ask ye. Have your feelings toward her changed? What do ye think of the lass?”

  Ian took a swig, which was not nearly enough. “I donna think of her. She is your sister-by-marriage.”

  “Och, aye. That almost sounded believable. I remember telling Ruairi the same about Grace, and now she is my wife. Tell me the truth. There have ne’er been secrets between us.”

  “The lass pities me.”

  “Is that what ye think? Hell, Munro. She looks upon ye the same way Grace gazes upon me and the way Ravenna looks at Ruairi. That’s nae pity ye see in her eyes, ye daft fool.”

  “Nay lass has ever paid me so much attention. In truth, I donna know what she sees.”

  “Elizabeth is a kind soul. Whatever she sees, she knows there’s kindness within ye too. Now tell me what ye did to make matters worse. I’ve had to dig myself out of a few troubles with Grace. Mayhap I can help and offer ye words of wisdom.”

  “I donna even think ye can help me with this.” Ian rubbed his hand over his brow. “I was a fool and kissed the lass when I was in my cups. The next morn, I denied it ever happened.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth made her way around the entire garden before she decided to turn around and return to where her brothers-in-law waited for her. Fagan was sitting with Laird Munro on the bench when she approached them, and both men stood.

  “Is Ruairi still talking with Laird—”

  “My apologies for the delay. I hope Fagan and Munro kept ye entertained in my absence,” said Ruairi as he walked up behind her.

  “Yes. I cannot say that I’ve lacked for entertainment,” she said dryly.

  “’Tis about time for the noon meal. Let’s make our way to the great hall.”

  Elizabeth sat between Fagan and Ruairi at the table and said a silent prayer of thanks no sharp weapons were within her grasp. And God decided to grant her a boon because Laird Munro was sitting on the other side of Fagan so she didn’t have to look at him. Although, removing the dagger that was strapped to her thigh was an option. She tapped the hidden blade through her skirts, the thought of impaling the man through his heart making her smile.

  Searching the faces of the men in the hall, none were Mister Condell or Lord Kinghorne. Just as well. She needed a break from men, Scottish men in particular. Granted, she had found great pleasure talking with Mister Condell, especially since he was as interested in the history of Henry VIII’s reign as she was. How exciting it must be for the actor to play an English king at the Globe Theatre. Perhaps if she’d ask Ruairi nicely, he would accompany her to see Mister Condell playing the part of King Henry.

  There was only so much swordplay Elizabeth could stand to watch in the Scottish Highlands. She yearned to attend the theater, and most of the music she’d heard in the Highlands was only that of Scottish bagpipes. A little culture wouldn’t hurt her brother-in-law either. Ravenna would probably thank her for exposing Ruairi to the arts of the stage. Maybe then his tastes in tapestries would change from death and battles to life and celebrations. One could only hope.

  When they finished their meal, Fagan stood. “We have to see the Fraser. Munro will escort ye wherever ye’d like to go.”

  “No!” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “What I meant to say was Laird Munro doesn’t have to escort me. Why don’t I come along with you?”

  “Nay, lass. We have important matters to discuss. Ye stay with Munro,” said Ruairi.

  She didn’t miss the odd look Ruairi gave Fagan before her brothers-in-law walked out of the hall, and she wasn’t ready to have another conversation with Ian so soon. Her goblet suddenly held much interest, especially when the man slid closer to her on the bench.

  “Lady Elizabeth, have you finished your meal? Mother and I were just going to dine. Perhaps you could join us.”

  Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder as Lord Kinghorne greeted her with a smile. His elderly mother stood by his side wearing a blue dress that blanketed her from neck to toe. Her gray hair was tucked up under a large hat that partially covered her face. The woman poked the earl with her elbow.

  “Patrick, was this the young lady you were telling me about? I’m asking because you haven’t introduced us. Where are your manners, my dear boy?”

  “My apologies, Mother. Lady Elizabeth, pray allow me to introduce you to Lady Glamis.”

  Elizabeth stood, and the woman patted the top of Elizabeth’s hand.

  “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

  Lady Glamis glanced to Elizabeth’s right and stared with astonishment. “And who do we have here?”

  Elizabeth grasped Ian’s arm, and he stood. “Lady Glamis, please allow me to introduce to you Laird Munro.”

  “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, my lady.” Ian gave Lady Glamis a slight bow. Elizabeth almost chuckled when he once again stood to his full height, and the woman tilted her head back—as if she was breaking her neck—to look up at him.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, you are quite a large man.”

  “Mother…”

  “’Tis nae the first time those words have fallen upon my ears, my lady. I’m Lady Elizabeth’s chaperone.”

  “Then I dare say Lady Elizabeth is very well protected, Laird Munro.” Lady Glamis gestured to the table. “Would you care to join us?”

  When an uneasy expression crossed Ian’s face, Elizabeth was tempted to make him suffer. But truth be told, she wasn’t in the mood to converse with anyone either. “My apologies, my lady, but Laird Munro was escorting me to the gardens.” When she gazed at him and gave him a knowing look, he placed his hand at the small of her back.

  “Aye, mayhap we’ll see ye again soon. ’Twas a pleasure to meet ye.” He tipped his head to the earl. “Kinghorne.”

  As they walked away from the table, Lady Glamis spoke. “Patrick, I don’t know what you’re talking about. The laird was very kind.”

  “I know ye’re verra cross with me, but I thank ye for that,” said Ian.

  “Cross does not even begin to describe what I feel.” When Elizabeth was about to step out into the gardens, Ian escorted her the other way. “Where are we going?”

  “
There is something I want to show ye.”

  They passed the chapel some time ago, and she wondered where he was taking her. As they entered one of the halls she hadn’t come across before, it wasn’t as crowded as the others. They’d only passed one man before they came to a set of marble stairs.

  “Are we allowed to be here?” she whispered.

  “Ye donna see any guards, do ye?”

  Elizabeth followed Ian up the stairs, and they stood before a large, wooden door. He moved to the side and gestured to the latch. “Open it.” When she hesitated, he folded his arms across his chest. “Are ye going to open the door, or are ye going to stand here and be stubborn?”

  She shrugged with indifference. “I haven’t decided.”

  Ian sighed and opened the door. As soon as she set foot inside, she brought her hand to her chest.

  “It’s magnificent.”

  “Aye, I thought ye’d enjoy it.”

  The library was something she never could have imagined. The walls were lined with more books than she could count. Two men were reading silently in the corner, but she’d barely given them a second glance. Winding stairs led down to the first floor, but she would explore that one later. A single wall displayed artwork—and not scenes of death and battle. As she studied the paintings of English landscapes, flowers, and a man holding his dog, she smiled.

  “I see it in your eyes. Donna get any ideas, lass. Ruairi will nae take down his tapestries.”

  She walked to the next painting. “You’ve read my mind.” When she glanced over Laird Munro’s shoulder, she studied the intricate wood carvings on the ceiling. “Have you ever seen anything so grand?”

  “I have.” He closed the distance between them and lifted his hand to her cheek. “Elizabeth, there is something I need to tell ye.”

  Intense astonishment touched her pale face. She bowed her head, and then she curtsied. “Your Majesty.”

  Eleven

  Ian turned, giving his liege a low bow. King James’s brown hair was combed back and his beard hung nearly the length of his chest. He wore a white doublet and hose, accented with black and silver breeches. A large chain hung around his shoulders, set with gold and other fine jewels. His black shoes were adorned with silver and pearls, and Ian only knew that because he studied them.