Kill or Be Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

  His felt the heat rise into his cheeks, knowing his face must’ve turned ten shades of red. When Mistress Betts closed the door, Ian let out a heavy sigh. “Do ye think this is going to work?”

  “Aye,” said Ruairi. He gestured to the looking glass. “Why donna ye take a look and see for yourself?”

  Ian stood and took a couple steps forward. He barely recognized himself. “What the hell have I done?”

  * * *

  Elizabeth hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until a little snort escaped her. After being in a damp dress, the warm bed felt heavenly. She didn’t want to remove herself from under the blankets, but she was excited to see Henry VIII.

  This was the day she’d been longing for, a chance to attend the theatre. Even though Ian was escorting her, she’d made up her mind this afternoon was hers to claim. She wasn’t going to think about Mister Condell’s wooing gesture, and she refused to be plagued by Ian’s words of love. Otherwise, she’d go mad. There would be no shadows across her heart. Her intention was to sit back and enjoy a play at the Globe Theatre in Southwark.

  She rose from the bed and approached her trunk. She decided to wear the golden gown adorned with the laced bodice, ribbon waistband, and a wheel farthingale. Wanting to look her best for the theatre, Elizabeth pulled out her matching gold silk slippers and set them on the bed.

  As she stole a glance in the looking glass, she said a silent prayer of thanks for Mistress Betts. Even though Elizabeth could pin her own hair on the top of her head, the woman always made the task look easier than it was. And she was grateful that Mistress Betts was willing to lend a hand.

  Lifting her nightrail, Elizabeth secured her dagger to her thigh. The burly Laird Munro might be her escort, but she’d heed her sisters’ advice. She needed to be able to defend herself, especially traveling the streets of London. She had just started to wonder if there was ever a time when her sisters had used their daggers in defense when there was a knock at the door.

  Once her blade was in place, Elizabeth dropped her nightrail. “Yes?”

  “It’s Mistress Betts, my lady. Are you ready to dress?”

  Elizabeth opened the door. “Yes, please come in.”

  Mistress Betts closed the door behind her and approached the bed. “This is a lovely gown to choose for the theatre. I’m certain you’ll be catching the eye of many men…or perhaps one man in particular.”

  “That was not my intention.”

  “I know he’ll love the dress just the same.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Who will love the dress?”

  “Laird Munro, of course.” As Mistress Betts gave her a knowing look, Elizabeth had trouble finding her words.

  “I must ask you. How did you know?”

  “I see love in your eyes every time you gaze upon the man, my lady. And I’ve seen the way he yearns for you when you’re not looking.” Mistress Betts picked up the dress. “Love does not lie.”

  Perhaps, but Elizabeth didn’t want to tell Mistress Betts that Laird Munro had lied to the woman he supposedly loved. “Yes, well, I don’t want to be late for the theatre.”

  Mistress Bates secured the last curl on the top of Elizabeth’s head, and Elizabeth stood. Smoothing her skirts, she gazed into the looking glass. “I do wonder why I’ve never had a lady’s maid before. I realize now how dreadful of a job I’ve been doing all these years. My hair looks beautiful.”

  “As do you, my lady. Have a fabulous time at the theatre. I’m certain you’ll be sure to see some welcome surprises.” When Mistress Betts’s eyes lit up, Elizabeth gave her a warm smile.

  “Thank you.”

  After Mistress Betts departed, Elizabeth waited in her room another moment, wanting to clear her mind of any unwelcome thoughts. Lifting her skirts, she descended the stairs, amazed that she had arrived before Laird Munro. This was a first because Fagan, Ruairi, and Ian had been always waiting for her. A few men and women passed her as she waited by the front door of the inn. Just when she thought Ian had decided not to escort her this evening, Fagan came down the stairs.

  “Are ye waiting for Munro?”

  “Yes, he’s coming, isn’t he? I don’t want to be late for the first act of the play.”

  Fagan gestured behind him, and she spotted the red, green, and blue kilt that Ian wore as he descended the stairs. This was the first time she’d ever seen him without his massive broadsword strapped to his waist. A plaid hung over his shoulder and was affixed with his clan badge. His unruly hair wasn’t hanging down to his elbows in complete disarray and was pulled away from his boldly handsome face.

  When he reached the last step, he moved his arm back as if he was searching for his sword and had forgotten it wasn’t there. He gave her an uneasy smile.

  “Lady Elizabeth, ye look verra bonny.” He gave her a slight bow and then extended his arm.

  She froze.

  Ian’s unruly locks were gone. His hair was shoulder length and neatly tied back at the nape of his neck. When she took too long to respond, his eyes met hers, and she placed her hand on his arm.

  “I know ye’ve been waiting to attend the theatre, lass,” said Ian. “I hope that ye find me suitable enough to be your escort this afternoon.”

  The man could’ve been dressed in rags, and Elizabeth wouldn’t have cared. She suddenly had a feeling many eyes were watching them and glanced around the room.

  Fagan had his finger pointed at Ian and then hastily lowered his arm. Very casually, he leaned against the wall. Ruairi was standing with his arms folded over his chest, and both men held ridiculous expressions as though they were caught doing something they shouldn’t have been doing.

  Ian cleared his throat. “Lady Elizabeth.” He reached behind him and handed her a single red rose. “A rose…for the bonniest lass who ever graced the Highlands.”

  She heard Fagan whisper. “I taught him that.”

  Fifteen

  Ian sat in the carriage across from Elizabeth. She’d been in the same position since they’d left the inn with her hands folded on her lap, gazing out the window. She had yet to even glance in his direction. It wasn’t his imagination. She couldn’t even look him in the eye. He never should’ve listened to Ruairi and Fagan.

  With his cut hair tied back and no sword at his side, Elizabeth probably thought he looked like a Scottish lout. And he more than likely didn’t win her favor by gifting her with a single rose either, especially since Condell had done the same. Fagan’s idea of a flower wasn’t original, and Ian made a mental note that perhaps from now on he should follow his own instincts for courting the lass. He couldn’t do any worse.

  “I wish ye’d speak to me.” Something out the window held Elizabeth’s attention because she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  “And what would you like me to say?” she asked in a dry tone.

  “I told ye in the garden that ye’re the love of my heart, and ye have nae said a word about it.”

  “Unlike you, I’d rather not say anything than look you in the eye and speak a lie.”

  He sat forward and grabbed her hand. At least now her gaze rested upon him. “Elizabeth, I was wrong to deny what happened between us.”

  “Could you please do me a favor?”

  He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “Anything.”

  “I only want to enjoy the play. I don’t want to think or speak about you or Mister Condell. Is that too much to ask for one afternoon?”

  Ian gave her a knowing smile. “Ye’re right. What else is there to talk about? I love ye, and ye love me. ’Tis all that matters.”

  Anger lit her eyes like wildfire. “After all this time, you come forth now. How very presumptuous of you to believe that your abrupt declaration in the garden would solve everything between us. Let’s not forget the fact that you’ve hurt me.” Her eyes clawed him like talons. “Only when Mister C
ondell made an attempt to woo me, did you dare speak words of love. How convenient. You must think me a fool, some play toy that you can keep on a string to pull or release anytime you wish.”

  He was about to explain that he didn’t feel that way when she spoke in a controlled voice. “I am the daughter of Lord Francis Walsingham, the niece of Lord Walter Mildmay, and the sister of Ravenna, Grace, and Kat. Walsingham blood flows through these veins, Laird Munro, and I am done being your game pawn.”

  The carriage stopped, and Elizabeth glanced out the window. She withdrew her hand from Ian’s grasp as if he were on fire. “Good. We’re here. Let’s try to have a pleasant time, shall we?”

  The door opened, and Elizabeth took the coachman’s hand. She stepped down, leaving Ian sitting in the coach with his mouth agape. Before he followed her out of the carriage, he paused, wondering what the hell he’d done now.

  * * *

  Elizabeth was aware her rebellious emotions had gotten out of hand, but once she stood in front of the Globe Theatre, all her anger quickly fled. The grounds surrounding the building were bustling with men and women. As merchants sold their wares, she felt as though she was at market day. There were breads, cheeses, pastries, and pies, and men were cooking meat on a spit. A pleasing smell wafted through the air, making her mouth water.

  Sitting on the south bank of the River Thames, the circular three-story theatre was a magnificent sight. As she approached the main entrance, the words “Totus mundus agit histrionem” were inscribed. The whole world is a playhouse. A crest displayed Hercules holding a giant globe on his broad shoulders.

  “What do ye think?” asked Ian. “Will ye stand here, or do ye want to see the play?”

  “I want to see the play.” The man didn’t need to ask her twice. She took his arm and could barely wait to set foot inside the theatre. As they walked through the entrance, she briefly paused in awe.

  A thatched roof covered a small part of the structure, and the majority of standing room in the theatre was under the open sky. Thank heavens the rain had stopped. The main stage, which was about five feet high, was located in the center of the building and pushed up against one of the interior walls. Two other playhouse boxes flanked a balcony on each side of the stage, and columns supported a small house on the third level, where the theatre’s flag hung.

  Elizabeth was about to ask Ian if he was ready to take their seats when a trumpet sounded to signal the start of the play. As Mister Condell had promised, there were two empty chairs near the front of the stage.

  “I’m pleased to see ye so happy, lass.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

  The play opened with the Duke of Norfolk, Buckingham, and Lord Abergavenny. The conversation between them expressed their mutual resentment over the ruthless power of Cardinal Wolsey.

  King Henry VIII was introduced during the second scene, and that was the moment Elizabeth had been waiting for. She studied Mister Condell’s every move. He accurately portrayed how much the king relied on the cardinal, Wolsey clearly having the king’s favor. She wasn’t astonished that Mister Condell played an alluring King Henry. When Queen Katherine entered to protest about the cardinal’s abuse of the tax system for his own purpose, Elizabeth sat forward, hanging on their every word.

  After the final act, Ian stood and stretched his back. “Did ye enjoy yourself?”

  She couldn’t stay the laugh that escaped her. “Yes. And don’t think that I missed your bobbing head. I don’t know how you can possibly sleep in a library or during Henry VIII. There are so many interesting things to see.”

  “I donna know. Ye would think all the excitement to be had in a library or at a play would keep a man awake,” said Ian dryly.

  “Do I detect sarcasm, Laird Munro?”

  Ian shrugged. “Mayhap. Are ye ready to take your leave?”

  “I was hoping to speak to Mister Condell and congratulate him on a fine performance.” When Ian scowled, she added, “The man was kind enough to reserve seats for us. The least we can do is thank him properly.” When she spotted Mister Condell making his way toward them, she poked Ian in the chest with her finger. “Here he comes. Do not be rude.”

  “I make nay promises, lass.”

  * * *

  When Elizabeth’s eyes lit up, Ian tried to be the bigger man. He truly did. But as Condell approached them still wearing King Henry’s courtly attire, Ian didn’t even attempt to wipe away the disgusted look from his face—especially when the crowd bowed before the seedy bastard.

  Elizabeth curtsied. “Your Majesty, your performance was grand. You should be proud.”

  Condell lifted her hand and brushed a kiss on the top of it. “You’re far too kind, my lady.” When he spoke in an English accent, Ian shook his head. “Munro, thank you for escorting Lady Elizabeth to see the play.”

  “Ye can let go of the lass now.”

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Will you be at court on the morrow, Mister Condell?”

  “Yes. With you being in attendance, how could I not, my lady?”

  Ian rolled his eyes at the same time Elizabeth gave him a scolding look. Condell turned, and his eyes narrowed. “Would you mind if I had a private word with Lady Elizabeth?”

  “Aye, I would.” When Ian casually reached for the hilt of his sword and realized it wasn’t there, he silently cursed, especially when Condell realized what he was doing.

  “How does it feel not having your weapon, your giant broadsword, strapped to your waist, Laird Munro?”

  “’Tis nae the only weapon I carry,” Ian warned. “Besides, I have been known to kill a man with my bare hands.”

  “Laird Munro, is that really necessary?” asked Elizabeth.

  The actor turned his back on Ian. “I was hoping to ask you when we were alone, but I see your chaperone is not going to allow us a private moment together. As I told you before, the king favors my acting ability. He’s granted me special access to unique places at court…for inspiration, you might say. Would you like to see Anne Boleyn’s apartments above the gate?”

  She gasped. “Truly?”

  “Yes. I know you’re fascinated with King Henry’s realm. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

  Before Elizabeth could answer, a beautiful woman approached them with long, blond hair and more curves than Ian could count. “Condell, you’re needed in the back.”

  “Of course. Lady Elizabeth, Laird Munro, allow me to introduce to you Mistress Alexander. She has done wonders in the ways of theatrical applications. She’s in charge of costume design, hair, and transformations you saw in the production. Her work with clay and plaster masks is remarkable—lifelike. She can make anyone appear as someone else.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Alexander. I never would’ve guessed Queen Katherine a man if I hadn’t already known. Perhaps there’ll be a time when a woman will be permitted to play the role.”

  “I should hope not, my lady. I wouldn’t want to be out of work.” Her expression grew serious. “Condell…”

  “I’ll be right there.” The actor smiled at Elizabeth. “How about I meet you at noon at the gatehouse? I can have one of the king’s guards let us in.”

  Elizabeth gave Condell a warm smile. “I’d be delighted. It was a pleasure to have met you, Mistress Alexander. And Mister Condell, thank you for holding seats for us. We enjoyed the play immensely.”

  “Munro…” Condell turned away without waiting for a reply.

  “The man is verra bold.”

  “I do appreciate you not taking him to task in front of the entire theatre.” When Elizabeth gazed at him, Ian’s heart lurched madly. “I’ve tortured you enough for one afternoon. It’s getting late. Are you ready to take your leave?” When he gave her a grin as though the answer to her question was obvious, she took his arm. “A little bit of culture never hurt an
ybody, Laird Munro. Remember that.”

  As they waited for the carriage, Elizabeth kept her hand on his arm, and nothing had ever felt so right. At that moment, it wasn’t hard to imagine the lass beside him as his wife. He made a vow that he would never again push her away. Even though he didn’t understand her attraction to him, she was a grown lass and capable of making her own decisions. Who was Ian to question her judgment, especially when it was in his favor?

  “Lord Kinghorne, I didn’t know you were attending the theatre this afternoon,” said Elizabeth.

  When Ian turned and gave the earl a brief tip of his head, the man couldn’t stop fingering the buttons on his doublet in a nervous or restless gesture—perhaps both. Even without his sword strapped to his waist, Ian frightened men. The thought pleased him.

  “Lady Elizabeth and Laird Munro, what a pleasant surprise to see you here. I should have suspected you’d favor the theatre.”

  “Yes. Laird Munro was kind enough to escort me.” Elizabeth glanced around the crowd. “Where is Lady Glamis?”

  “She remains at court.” He gazed around uneasily. “She wasn’t feeling well so I thought it best she stay in her chamber and rest.”

  “I do hope she’s well soon. I’m certain she’d love to accompany you to see the play. Mister Condell was simply wonderful as King Henry, don’t you agree?”

  The earl gave her an appeasing look. “Yes, indeed. If you’ll pray excuse me, that’s my carriage waiting. I’m sure that I’ll see you both on the morrow.”

  Elizabeth studied the earl as he approached the waiting coach. “Was his behavior rather…odd?”

  “He’s English. Ye’re asking me if he’s odd?” When she placed her elbow into Ian’s gut, he added, “He was more than likely worried about his mother. Mayhap he was trying to make haste to return to court.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Elizabeth stepped into the carriage. As soon as the door closed, she nestled back into the seat. “I had a lovely time. Thank you.”

  “’Twas my pleasure.”

  The lass was silent almost the entire way back to the inn, and he felt a certain sadness their time together was coming to an end. He decided to honor her request and keep his mouth shut about what was happening between them. She deserved to enjoy herself, and that certainly wasn’t too much to ask. That’s why he was taken aback when she spoke.