by Paula Quinn
The battle started up again while he told the queen of the stepdaughter she had never met. His smile, as languid as a summer breeze, stirred her blood and quickened her heart. His profile against the firelight was as beguiling as the rest of him. With a straight nose and strong golden chin—carved from some likeness of an ancient Grecian god—he was masculinity personified. Just looking at him made her feel delicate and feminine. By the time Mary of Modena had exhausted all her questions, Mairi was ready to spring from her seat and sprint to her room.
“Miss MacGregor?”
“Aye?” she turned back to her escort. Why could she not fall in love with a sweet man like Henry?
“You asked me about the Earl of Essex and I don’t think you have heard a word I’ve said. You look a bit flushed. Are you unwell?”
“Mayhap we should go inside,” she suggested when the image of Connor standing over her, moistening his lips before he kissed her in the hall, declared war on her.
“I’m afraid”—Lord Oxford paused to bow at an older couple passing them on the lawns—“it will be even more stifling inside, dear lady.”
“But the sun—”
“Look there!” He pointed toward his father and the young lady escorted on his arm. “It is my sister, Elizabeth! Do you remember? I told you she was arriving today.” He did? Mairi did not recall as he tugged on her arm. “Come, I want her to meet you.”
He would have been charming if he were not pulling her to move faster in the bloody heat, and if he were not wearing a wig that had to feel like a damned sheep resting on his head.
“Isna’ all that hair hot on yer scalp?” she felt light-headed again looking at it while being toted forward.
“Lizzy!” Lord Oxford let her go so suddenly that she nearly spun in the opposite direction. “When did you arrive?”
Mairi righted herself, pulled her earasaid away from her neck, and swatted her fan down the front of it. She would have given anything to be standing in the rain like she had been with Connor after he’d forced her to dance…. She looked up, cursing Captain Grant for invading her only refreshing thought.
Henry, Elizabeth, and their father were staring at her—waiting for something. She blinked. Had Henry introduced her and she had not heard it? “My lord.” She gave the earl the courtesy of a bow for her rudeness. Her head spun as she straightened. “Lady Eliz—” Her legs gave out beneath her but she managed to stay conscious as she collapsed into Lady Elizabeth de Vere’s arms. In truth, Henry’s sister did not catch her but thrust out her palms to keep Mairi away.
“Do get off me!” Lady Elizabeth screeched in Mairi’s ear, and shoved her off. “Henry, is she drunk?”
“Of course not, Lizzy. She’s—”
“ ’Tis the heat.” Mairi wanted to glare at her but the sun was shining in her eyes, nearly blinding her.
“I don’t care what it is!” Lady Elizabeth’s perfect yellow ringlets bobbed around her ears when she swung to her father. “I won’t be pawed at by a heretic!”
Mairi’s eyes opened wide and she prayed to God not to let her pass out. A shadow moved over her, and, for a blessed instant, she forgot her retort and took delight in the shade it provided. Until she looked up and saw who provided it.
“And who, pray tell, is this?” Lady Elizabeth’s huge golden eyes softened on Connor and then followed his hand as it swept behind Mairi’s back.
“Captain Grant.” Connor told her with a slight bow.
“Ah, the Earl of Huntley’s son.”
Mairi wanted to slap the honeyed smile off Elizabeth’s face. If she knew who Connor’s father was, then she also knew that Connor was a Highlander. How convenient for her not to consider him a heretic. Then again, mayhap he wasn’t one anymore.
“A title gained by marriage,” Henry pointed out dryly.
Mairi felt Connor go stiff at her side, but when she tilted her head to look at him, she found his smile as bright as the sun. “A title gained after my father helped restore King Charles to the throne.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth gushed. “You are the king’s cousin! Perhaps you would care to show me around the grounds. I’ve only just arrived and I—”
“Perhaps another time, my lady,” Connor cut her off, much to Mairi’s delight. “After I get Miss MacGregor out of the sun.” Without sparing any of them another word, he leaned down and scooped Mairi up in his arms.
The swift ascent almost shattered her last store of resolve to remain conscious. But, damn her, she would not faint in front of Elizabeth de Vere. Though being carried away was no better.
“Connor, put me doun fer heaven’s sake.” She hoped he wouldn’t listen and it had nothing to do with how perfectly she fit in his arms, or how tenderly he was holding her. Aye, well that was part of the reason. The other was that she couldn’t breathe in her woolen earasaid and her bones felt a wee bit like thick honey. She was afraid if he did as she bid him, she would not be able to keep herself up and might crumple to the ground. Still, to be carted off like an invalid… and with that golden-haired witch watching. Och, it was enough to boil her blood. She fanned herself, cursing the sun and her weakness to it. “I am perfectly fine and can take care of myself.”
“Ye’re not fine.” He looked down at her, only inches away, and Mairi decided he was as detrimental to her health as the blazing sun. “Quit being such a stubborn wench and thank me fer rescuing ye from that unholy threesome.”
“Thank ye,” she said in a soft voice. When he smiled, she looked over his shoulder at Henry’s sister still watching them. Mairi didn’t like her. Did Connor?
“Lady Elizabeth seemed to take a liking to ye.”
He shrugged, a lazy ripple of muscle that Mairi felt all the way to her toes. “I hadn’t noticed.”
What kind of bloody answer was that? Was he blind? She wished he would put her down so she didn’t feel like a child when she called him a liar. “She is verra bonnie, Connor.” She narrowed her eyes on him waiting for his reaction.
He looked over his shoulder at the wench. “Do ye think so?”
Did she think so? Even when the woman was shrieking at her, Mairi could not deny her exquisite face and form. Why, she likely had to do little more than bat her luxurious lashes to make any man fall to his knees. And, hell, but what woman with a pair of working eyes in her head wouldn’t want Connor?
“Well, I dinna’ care what ye think of her.” She folded her arms across her chest and turned away from the amusement lighting his eyes. She wanted to bury her face in his chest a moment later, when she saw a goodly number of the king’s guests staring at her with both concern and contempt.
“Why are ye not guarding the queen?” she asked, squirming to get out of his arms.
“She already informed the people of the king’s departure fer Edinburgh. She has nae more need of me.”
“Nor do I, so quicken yer steps before I am tempted to hurl another dagger at yer head.”
Her heart flipped in her chest when his laughter settled over her and his arms pulled her in a bit closer.
“How did I ever survive ye, woman? Do ye remember that time when we were babes—ye were barely five summers old, I think. I had snatched the doll ye had been playing with and ye chased me and then began to cry when ye couldn’t catch me.”
Och, damn him to Hades, why was he bringing up their childhood? “If ye dinna’ mind, Connor, I would prefer not—”
“Feeling terrible fer what I had done, I walked back to ye and handed ye back yer treasured doll. Ye took it gently, kissed its head and then whirled it around yer shoulder and smashed it into my face.”
“I never struck ye with a doll,” she insisted, refusing to drift off into the past with him. “You are a liar and have always been one.”
“I lost two teeth.”
“So? Ye grew more, didna’ ye? I was sent to bed with no supper because of ye.”
“I didn’t know that,” he admitted softly, deeply. She thought he was going to apologize. “That makes me feel bett
er, at least. That doll was fashioned of wood and my mouth was so swollen I couldn’t eat and could barely speak fer two days.”
Against her will, Mairi smiled—very slightly. But Connor’s keen eyes caught it. “Ye do remember it then.”
“Nae. I was just wondering if I have anything fashioned of wood in my room that I could hit ye with now. To render ye speechless would make me ecstatic.”
His wide, open grin fell over her like a rush of northern air, exhilarating her senses, bedazzling her heart. Blast him.
“Come now, Mairi,” he said in a low, gruff whisper that made her muscles tremble. “If I stopped conversing with ye completely, who would ye have to help ye sharpen yer tongue?”
“ ’Twould be worth the sacrifice.”
“Ye don’t mean that.”
But she did. She did not want to think about those long summer days filled with his laughter. When he was hers. Whether he was practicing in the field or bringing in the sheep with her brothers, his eyes had always found hers, silently, tenderly telling her that he would rather be with her than with anyone else.
But it wasn’t true. She didn’t want to remember. They were children. Foolish, innocent children. What was she doing in his arms, her ear pressed to his heart? She should be in Scotland, leagues away from him. Forgetting him. But even as her mind resisted him, being crushed up against him felt so perfectly right.
“Satan’s bloody arse, Connor! What’s happened?”
Claire’s voice saved Mairi from emitting the delirious little sigh about to fall from her traitorous lips. Her relief quickly turned to mortification though when she peeked over his shoulder to see her dearest friend and the queen with her, the latter looking quite amused at Lady Huntley’s oath.
“ ’Tis nothing to fear.” Connor assured as they hurried to catch up with him. “She is suffering from the heat.”
Mairi caught the way the queen looked from her to Connor, a small smile tinged with speculation curling her lips.
Damnation, she liked the king’s young wife. She was clever and passionate, and remarkably poised at both. Mairi detested looking like a weak, wilted woman in her eyes. “Thank ye, Captain Grant.” She squirmed in his arms. “I am feeling much better. Ye can put me doun now.”
He did not so much as slow his pace, but instead tossed their companions a frustrated sigh. “She’s stubborn.”
Dear God, she was going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully.
“You do look a bit pale, sweeting.” Claire reached out to touch her clammy cheek.
“She needs to come out of that heavy woolen blanket she’s wearing,” the queen noted. “Bring her to my chambers. I will have my seamstress fit her for some new gowns.”
“Nae,” Mairi refused. “Truly, Yer Majesty, that is not necessary.” There was no way in hell she was going to don an English gown. From the corner of her eye she saw the twinkle of Connor’s dimple. The bastard. He was enjoying her humiliation.
“Mayhap,” he said with a challenging grin she wanted to slap off his face, “Miss MacGregor would prefer it if I carried her inside each day.”
“I would rather be dipped in boiling oil,” she murmured, not really caring anymore who heard her.
When he laughed, she elbowed him in the guts and said a silent prayer for God to grant her the patience not to murder Claire and Graham’s eldest son, the wisdom to remember that he was no good for her, and the strength to resist his familiar, maddening charm.
Chapter Twelve
Mairi stood perfectly still while one of the queen’s personal handmaidens hooked the endless buttons trailing down the back of her borrowed three-piece gown. She would have preferred dressing herself, the way she did at home, but her royal hostess had insisted on sending her aid, and rightly so, since English gowns were nearly impossible to get into without at least one extra pair of hands.
She took no joy in being primped and prodded like some self-important English snob, but she had to admit the fabric was divine, even softer than her wool, and so much thinner.
She ran her hands down the fine folds of her skirts and clenched her teeth. What was she doing allowing herself to be dressed like one of them? Liking the queen was one thing, letting England change her was another. Connor had succumbed to her grand halls and elegant lifestyle. She would not. But then, why was she here instead of in her own chamber, clipping her brooch to her plaid? She could not let herself begin to suspect that she was here for Connor, and the hope that he might find her bonnie in her English garb. Nae, it was the heat. Her Highland earasaid was too heavy to wear beneath the southern sun. That was all. Dressing like the women Connor preferred had nothing to do with it.
She spread her palms across her belly and struggled to inhale. “Mayhap,” she gasped, turning to the handmaiden, “ye could leave a few buttons open. ’Tis a bit snug.”
“But, m’lady, there is plenty of room. It is not tight at all.”
Mairi narrowed her gaze on the face looking back at her. Of course it was too tight. She could barely breathe and she could not allow Connor to be the reason.
When the handmaiden lowered her eyes to her feet, Mairi studied her more closely. She looked to be younger than Mairi by a few years. Her saffron gown was finely crafted but simply cut. Caught up beneath a plain matching caul, her amber hair lacked both adornment and the fashionable curls of the time. She was not like the other witches roaming the halls. “What is yer name?”
“Judith, m’lady.” She performed a well-practiced curtsey. “I am the second daughter of Viscount and Lady Astor.”
“Judith,” Mairi said, unimpressed with her title. “I am Mairi MacGregor. Ye are not my servant, so please stop calling me m’lady. It makes me feel old and wrinkled.”
The door to her chamber sprang open, saving Mairi from the pearl hair clips Judith was reaching for.
“Whatever is taking…” Claire’s voice halted along with her steps when she looked into the room. “Mairi, you look lovely.”
“I knew the scarlet silk would suit her well.” Queen Mary smiled, entering the room next. “Look how well it fits.”
Mairi was not surprised to find the two of them together since this afternoon when they had accosted her and Connor on the way in from the garden. Like the queen, Claire was a strong woman, in control of her life, of her heart, and her happiness. It was natural that they would get along so well, especially since the queen likely did not have a friend in the entire palace—though Mairi had not noticed the bond between them before this afternoon.
She smiled when the queen went to her and gave the soft silk on her hip a tug. Really, they were all wrong. The gown was too damn tight.
“I’m still astonished that she agreed to wear it.” Claire came to stand on the other side of her, licked her index and middle finger, and smoothed back a stray curl that had fallen over Mairi’s forehead.
“Perhaps it is the handsome Lord Oxford who compels her to abandon her cumbersome, less flattering clothes.” The queen tossed Claire a teasing wink and stepped behind Mairi to close the remaining buttons.
Mairi clamped down on her teeth and avoided Claire’s tender smile. Connor’s mother had so wanted him to marry Mairi, mayhap as much as Mairi had. She had tried to defend her son over the years, but it became too hard to speak of him, so they both stopped.
“Lord Oxford has already asked to escort you to the theater tonight,” the queen pressed on. “He certainly does fancy you.”
“The theater?” Mairi asked woodenly. Another of England’s lures she fought to resist. “I have never been to a performance before.”
“Well, you will be attending many from here on out. Miss MacGregor.” The queen took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face her. “If you hadn’t told me where my husband had gone, I would have spent each day in terror that his enemies had taken him, perhaps killed him. You trusted me, and for that I owe you something. If you fancy Lord Oxford, I have but to speak a word to my husband when he returns.”
“
Gratitude, Yer Majesty.” Mairi shook her head and looked away. “But I do not want a husband.”
“Nonsense.” The queen smiled and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “You are not getting any younger, dear girl. What is your age?”
“A score and two.”
The queen’s large eyes opened wider. “We must find you a husband soon! Perhaps the Baronet of Aylesford’s son. His name escapes me at the moment.” She looked around Mairi’s arm at Claire. “Lady Huntley, do you recall what it is?”
“Captain Nicholas Sedley. He’s quite handsome.”
Mairi turned slowly to look at her. Was she out of her mind? Captain Sedley was a naval officer in Prince William’s royal fleet. He couldn’t possibly be a worse match for her.
“That’s correct! Sedley!” The queen stepped away to take in the full sight of the girl before her before deciding what else needed to be changed about her. “He comes from very fine stock I am told,” she said more to Claire than to Mairi. “Of course, once the engagement to either him or Lord Oxford is announced, she will have to cease contact with your son, Lady Huntley. His ease with her is unseemly.” Her eyes settled on Mairi’s again. “Even more so since you have made it quite clear that you don’t like him. You agree, no?”
Mairi blinked. Cease all contact with Connor by order of the throne? It was what she needed. She should be rejoicing. “Nae… I mean… I dinna’ want to marry either of those men.” But hell, she was getting older. She hadn’t thought about marriage until she saw Connor again. She had been perfectly happy living as she was: a warrior—at least, a warrior in secret. She didn’t want her mother’s life anymore. She wanted Claire’s. But even Claire had wed the man she loved… and who loved her in return.
“We should let you finish dressing.” Claire moved in to kiss her cheek, then motioned for Judith to resume her work. “Don’t take too long, sweeting,” she called out as she made her way toward the door with the queen. “We are having iced cream with supper tonight and it will melt if you are late.”
