Kill or Be Kilt
Page 13
He shrugged. “It worked.”
Fagan gestured to the dance floor. “Aye, it worked verra well. Elizabeth is dancing with Kinghorne.”
“The man is nay threat. He loves his mother too much to ever love another woman. More than likely ye’d have a better chance than Elizabeth of getting into his bed.”
“Nevertheless, ye daft fool, ye are supposed to be out there with her now. What did ye speak to her about at supper?”
“I was about to tell her that—”
“God’s teeth, Munro. Ye were going to tell her that ye remembered the kiss between ye in the middle of the great hall with hundreds of people around? Think, man. Choose a private moment and tell her, and listen to what I’m telling ye to do. I doubt the lass even knows ye’re trying to woo her.”
Ian wasn’t about to admit the truth to that matter. “Ye do realize that I’m taking the advice from the same man whose wife blackened his eye?”
“And ye do realize that Grace is now my wife, eh?” asked Fagan in a mocking tone. He gestured to Ian’s belt. “Get out your flask.” When Ian handed his friend the whisky, Fagan smiled. “Nae for me. Take a swig.” Ian wasn’t about to refuse Fagan’s orders because he needed all the help he could get. “Now get your arse out there, and ask the lass to dance.”
He imposed an iron control on himself. “I can do it.”
“Ye’re the Munro. Of course ye can.” Fagan took the flask out of Ian’s hand. “And ye can nae dance with that sword. Give it to me.” Ian handed his scabbard to Fagan as his friend slapped him heartily on the back. “Hold nay prisoners in your wake.”
Ian walked around a large circle of women, stepped between two men, and finally made it to the dance floor. When he reached for the hilt of his sword, the security he’d always depended on was gone. He felt vulnerable. He’d faced men on the battlefield and looked into the eyes of the devil himself, but at this moment, he was petrified.
With all the courage Ian could muster, he straightened his spine and willed himself to approach Elizabeth. He’d almost reached her when he froze mid-step.
Condell.
* * *
“Your mother is asking for you, my lord,” said Mister Condell.
“Yes, of course.” The earl gave Elizabeth a bow. “Excuse me, Lady Elizabeth.”
Mister Condell assumed the earl’s place and gave her a roguish grin. “My apologies, but I can’t stand to see any lady suffer. Did you have to hear all about Lady Glamis’s ailments, or did he spare you the details?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Lord Kinghorne does care for his mother.”
“That he does, my lady. That he does.” His gaze dropped from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts. “You look beautiful, Lady Elizabeth.”
Her heart danced with excitement. “Thank you, Mister Condell. When is your next performance, Your Majesty?”
“I’ll be playing King Henry again on the morrow, my lady. Perhaps you’d like to attend the theatre one afternoon you’re here at court.”
“I would like that very much.”
His eyes lit up, and he spoke in a conspiratorial voice. “I have to confess that the only reason I’m attending court is because the king favors my acting ability. And do you know why that pleases me the most?” As if on cue, the music ended. He grasped her hand and bowed, his eyes never leaving hers. “I would’ve never had the pleasure of meeting you, Lady Elizabeth.”
Without warning, the king’s guard clamored into the great hall with swords drawn. “No one is to move!”
Twelve
Ian dashed to Elizabeth’s side even though one of the king’s guards had given him a scolding look for disobeying his command. He never cowered before the English and wouldn’t start now. He lowered his hand, patting around his waist for his weapon.
“Damn.” Fagan still held Ian’s sword.
Elizabeth gazed at him, her face clouding with uneasiness. “What is happening?”
“I donna know, but there is nay need to fear.”
“Don’t worry, Lady Elizabeth. I’m sure all will be well,” said Condell. “Remember that I am King Henry.”
When the man changed his voice to an English accent and gave her a roguish grin, Ian scowled at the actor over Elizabeth’s head. A loud commotion at the door brought his attention back to the guards. Eight men stood at the entrance to the great hall as more were shouting out in the hall. Ian could only imagine what madness was upon them now.
Lord Kinghorne stepped from the crowd and spoke in a haughty tone. “I demand to know what this is all about.”
One of the guards approached the earl, speaking in low tones. Frankly, Ian couldn’t make out a single word with all the voices in the great hall talking at once. When Kinghorne finished his conversation with the guard, he made his way to Elizabeth.
“My lord, what has happened?”
A worried expression crossed Kinghorne’s brow. “The king’s guard wants everyone to remain here in the great hall until they search the castle.”
“For what purpose?” asked Elizabeth.
“A man has been found in the gardens.”
“They found the man responsible for—”
The earl’s mouth was tight and grim. “No, Lady Elizabeth. They discovered another man of the Privy Council was attacked on the grounds.”
She gasped. “Is he all right?”
Kinghorne’s eyes darted to Condell’s and then back to Elizabeth’s. “He lives but is not conscious. Pray excuse me while I see to my mother.”
A shadow of alarm touched Elizabeth’s face. “Another one? This is the second man who’s been assaulted since we’ve been here. Why would someone want to kill the members of the council?”
Ian hesitated, measuring Elizabeth for a moment. She was an intelligent woman. He knew it was only a matter of time before she recognized the connection. She looked up at him with an effort.
“Was my uncle—”
He grasped her arm and narrowed his gaze. “Now is nae the time or the place, lass. Come with me.”
Her voice broke. “Yes. Of course.” Elizabeth made her excuses to Condell, and the man wisely did not stand in her way.
They approached Fagan, and he handed Ian back his sword. He breathed easily when he was finally able to put his weapon back in its rightful place. But his relief altered instantly into worry because Elizabeth left his side and walked to Ruairi with hurried purpose.
“What did Kinghorne say?” asked Fagan.
“Someone tried to kill another member of the king’s council. I’m nae sure if the man lives or dies.” He lowered his voice. “We may have another problem, and ye know from past experience those donna always turn out in our best favor. Lady Elizabeth asked me if Mildmay was murdered.”
“What did ye say?”
“I did nae answer her. What the hell was I supposed to say?” He turned when a female voice caught him unawares.
“The truth, Laird Munro.”
* * *
Ruairi placed his hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Lass, I’m nae sure what is afoot with the king’s men, but there is nay reason to believe Mildmay’s death was nae an accident.”
Her brother-in-law’s appeasing words only irritated her more. “Surely you can’t help but wonder if my uncle’s death truly happened the way it did. Don’t you think these events are too similar not to question? Isn’t it possible that someone made it look like Uncle Walter died in a carriage accident so that no one would question his death? Mark my words. If there is someone out there murdering men of the Privy Council, we must find the man responsible…for Uncle Walter.”
Ruairi gave an imploring gaze to Fagan and Ian. “Cuidich mi.” Help me.
The men exchanged carefully guarded looks, and then Fagan spoke in an odd tone. “Elizabeth, your imagination is—”
“You are free to g
o about your business!” shouted one of the king’s guards.
“Fagan, if you’re going to say that all of this is my imagination, I strongly caution you not to open your mouth again.”
“Lass, ye’re becoming more like your sisters every day. I swear that ye sounded exactly like Grace.”
“It’s been a long day. I’m weary. Are you ready to take your leave?”
“Aye.” The men all answered.
Lord Kinghorne was escorting Lady Glamis out of the great hall when they met at the door. Although the earl drove her mad with every sentence about his mother, he was a good man in Elizabeth’s eyes. As she gazed down at the frail, hunched over woman, there was a spot of blood on Lady Glamis’s silk slipper.
“My lady, why don’t you come with me for a moment?” Elizabeth led the woman over to a solitary wall outside the hall and lowered her voice as Lord Kinghorne cast a puzzled gaze. “Lady Glamis, there is blood on your slipper.”
The woman fumbled to adjust her hat and was stammering with confusion. Seeing the discomfort on his mother’s face, the earl spoke. “I was afraid this was too much for Mother. I’m taking her back to her chamber now. She needs to rest. Thank you for your concern, Lady Elizabeth. I don’t think many women would be as kind.”
“We only have one mother in this world, my lord, and I would hope everyone would be so kind.”
Lady Glamis patted Elizabeth’s arm. “Thank you, my dear. Come along, Patrick. I need to lie down.”
“I’ll see you on the morrow, Lady Elizabeth,” said Lord Kinghorne.
After a long day at court, Elizabeth sat back on the seat of the carriage and closed her tired eyes. As she rested to the rhythmic movement of the carriage, she wondered if her brothers-in-law thought her an idiot. Just because she wasn’t a man didn’t mean that she didn’t have a brain and couldn’t have opinions of her own. And if the men wouldn’t listen to her, perhaps her sisters would. She had thought about sending a missive to Apethorpe Hall, but her questionable words would be the last thing anyone there needed to hear.
Poor Aunt Mary was recovering from losing Uncle Walter, and Ravenna needed to spend more time worrying about the child she carried rather than seeing to the needs of everyone else around her. Sending a letter would only alarm those Elizabeth cared the most about. But she’d be sure to keep her eyes and ears open at court because if she saw anything that cast a single shadow of doubt about Uncle Walter’s sudden demise, she and her family would want to know. And she owed it to her uncle to find out the truth.
* * *
Other than Ian, Fagan, and Ruairi, only one man sat in the dining hall at the inn. Ian embraced the silence as his friends did the same. But that didn’t stop that nagging feeling in the back of his mind that refused to be stilled.
Ian took another drink from his tankard and then lowered his voice. “The king is verra well guarded.”
“If ye donna have access to the king, what better way to fracture the realm than by killing off his advisors,” said Ruairi.
“Och, well, I’m just glad this does nae have anything to do with fathers-in-law, the Stewart, mercenaries, or the Walsingham sisters,” added Fagan.
Ruairi sat forward. “I donna want Elizabeth questioning Mildmay’s death, especially at court. She would nae understand how perilous these questions could be if they fall upon the wrong ears. And the last I need is for the lass to be planting ideas in Ravenna’s head. My wife is supposed to be retired from service, and she carries my second child.”
“And let’s nae even think about the repercussions if Elizabeth opens her mouth to Grace. My wife has had more than enough adventures with Casterbrook,” said Fagan dryly.
Ruairi finished what was left of his drink and stood. “I seek my bed. I’ll see ye both on the morrow.”
As soon as Ruairi walked away from the table, Fagan spoke. “Ye’re a coward. I saw ye stop when that man asked Elizabeth to dance. Munro, I’ve seen ye slay men on the battlefield and nae think twice. Yet, ye let an Englishman frighten ye off. I’m verra disappointed in ye.”
“Aye, well, I’m sure the lass would’ve rather been seen on the arm of King Henry than with the likes of me.”
Fagan snatched Ian’s cup away. “Ye better seek your bed. Ye’re delusional.”
He reached over and grabbed his tankard back. “Condell,” he spat, “is an actor playing King Henry at the theatre. Ye know how much Elizabeth is fascinated with the topic. They share a common ground…something the lass does nae have with me.” As he took another drink, he scowled into his tankard.
Fagan sat back casually in the chair. “Oh, that’s what’s concerning ye. For a moment, I thought ye were foolish enough to believe ye were nae as…bonny in the lass’s eyes as the actor. Please tell me that I’m wrong because the Munro I know does nae give up without a fight, especially to the English.”
“I donna know what the hell I’m doing.” He threw up his hands in frustration. “I’m certain that I feel something for the lass, but I’m nae sure what. And when I see her with any other man, I want to behead him.”
“If that’s nae love, I donna know what is.”
“Love? I ne’er said that I loved Elizabeth. Sometimes ’tis difficult to recognize the difference between the young girl who hung on my every word, and now the woman she has become.”
“Open your eyes, ye damn fool, before ’tis too late, and she finds another to her liking—King Henry mayhap.”
“Did anyone ever tell ye that ye’re a pain in the arse?”
“Ruairi, now and then Ravenna, but mostly Grace.”
Ian sighed. “Since I did nae get the chance to tell Elizabeth the truth, when do ye think I should tell her?”
“Now. Ye need to be alone. She’s probably nae sleeping because of the events this eve. Take your leave, Munro. Tell her the truth, and shame the devil.”
Ian slapped the table and stood.
“Munro, dean do dhìcheall.” Do your best.
“Chi mi rithist thu.” I’ll see you later. “Wish me luck.”
Fagan held up his tankard in mock salute.
* * *
When there was a knock at the door, Elizabeth rose from the chair that she’d been sitting on for the last hour. She couldn’t sleep because never had death been so close to her door. She always felt safe within the castle walls, at Ruairi’s, in Scotland. And in the past two days, one man was killed and another—well, she wasn’t sure if he lived or had died.
She wrapped her robe tighter around her body and then opened the door a crack. A young boy with unruly brown hair shifted from foot to foot.
“M’lady, I bring a message.”
“At this time of night?” She opened the door and glanced down the empty hall.
The boy shoved a note into her hand. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He reached around his back and handed her a single red rose. “Here.”
She was so shocked that when she looked at the boy, he was already descending the stairs. Elizabeth closed the door and sat on the bed. Placing the rose beside her, she opened the note.
My Dear Lady Walsingham,
We all are men, in our own natures frail; few are angels.
—King Henry
Please accept my deepest apologies that your first days at court have been overshadowed by this unfortunate chain of events. When the rose you hold is faded and the sweet smell is gone, the memory of your beauty and our dance will still dwell on.
With warmest regards,
Will Condell
Mister Condell’s actions were kind, thoughtful, and Elizabeth couldn’t stay the smile that crossed her lips. She lifted the rose to her nose, and the fragrant scent invaded her senses. When there was another knock, she thought perhaps King Henry had another gift in store. She couldn’t wait to find out. As she opened the door with the flower in hand, her smile slowly faded.
In a nervous gesture, Elizabeth approached the bed and picked up the note. “It was a gift from Mister Condell.”
“He was here? At this time of night?”
She laid the bloom and note on the table. “No. He sent a messenger. He apologized for this evening.”
“What the hell…er, what was he apologizing for?”
“The man who was killed yesterday and the man who was injured—or worse—this evening.”
“I’ve come to talk with ye. I need to tell ye something, and ye need to listen.”
A warning voice whispered in her head as Ian hesitated, measuring her for a moment. Her misgivings increased even more with the silence that loomed between them. When he didn’t speak and tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword in a nervous gesture, she decided to put him out of his misery.
“I’ll make this easy. I know what you’ve come to say.”
His eyes lit up. “Ye do?”
“Yes. Uncle Walter did not die in a carriage accident.”
Ian stood motionless in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back. “Why does naught ever happen in my favor?”
“Pardon?”
He reached out and caught her hand in his. “As Ruairi told ye, we have nay reason to think Mildmay’s death was nae an accident.”
“Laird Munro, two men in two days, both from the king’s council, and you see no reason to question my uncle’s death? Need I remind you that Uncle Walter was part of the Privy Council?”
A muscle ticked at Ian’s jaw. “Now ye listen to me verra carefully, lass. I donna want to hear more questions from ye about the cause of Mildmay’s death, especially at court. Do ye understand? These are dangerous times. I donna want to see ye hurt.”
“Why, Laird Munro? Are you telling me there was something more to my uncle’s accident?”
His eyes darkened. “I am telling ye to stop this madness before ye say something ye should nae.”