by Paula Quinn
When they were alone again, Judith reached for a comb and commenced tugging on Mairi’s long tresses. “The queen is correct, m’lady,” the handmaiden said behind her.
“Mairi,” she corrected.
“The scarlet does suit you well… Mairi. You look lovely, but… may I speak freely?”
“Of course.”
“I fear the gloom in your expression is all anyone will see.”
God’s mercy, was she that transparent? She did not want to wed simply because she was getting on in years, and she was not about to be forced to do so. She wanted to go home, mayhap wed a Highlander… one who would never choose England over her. If there were none to be had, then she would continue to be content fighting for the preservation of her religion and the Highland customs.
“Sara, the Baron of Pembroke’s daughter, and I have been watching you,” Judith shyly admitted while she reached for the pearl hair clips on the table beside her to match Mairi’s borrowed earrings.
“Is that so?” Mairi turned and arched a curious brow at her.
Judith nodded, her large green eyes traipsing over Mairi’s hair, deciding where to begin pinning. Finally she threw up her hands. “There’s so much of it! It hangs to your waist! But as I was saying—you are not like the other ladies who are visiting.”
“Nor are ye.”
Judith exchanged a smile with her. “You do not powder your face or paint your lips. Your clothes are a bit drab and a tad threadbare. And we have yet to see you disheveled by a forbidden kiss from someone else’s husband.”
“Nor shall ye ever,” Mairi vowed, and marveled at the handmaiden’s transformation. She had gone from a dormouse to a chatterbox in the space of a breath. Mairi almost wished she had not tried to make her feel so comfortable. But at least the bolder Judith provided a distraction from her more troubling thoughts, like how Connor might prefer her hair. “ ’Twill take too many clips,” she said as Judith began fastening her hair to her head. “I am afraid there is no time fer that.” And, Lord, but they pinched.
“You are fortunate that the queen has chosen two possible husbands for you, and both of them young. Captain Sedley is quite handsome, if I might be so bold. But like his father, he has a bit of the devil in him, and he does reside in Holland. Were I you, I would choose Lord Oxford, despite his misshapen face.” Judith let out a dispirited sigh of her own before Mairi could reply. “I fear she will choose someone old and weathered for me.”
“Whom would ye choose then?” Mairi asked, feeling terribly sorry for her having to live with the prospect of wedding a half-dead noble. “My friend Lady Huntley seems to have the queen’s ear. Mayhap I could suggest someone to her and she could put it to the queen.”
“Oh, that would be most kind of you!” Judith looked like she might toss her arms around Mairi and kiss her. “Now let me see. I haven’t thought on it overmuch.” She tapped the comb to her chin for a moment or two and then smiled brightly. “Captain Grant would be lovely.”
Mairi swallowed. She tried to take a breath but her damned gown was suffocating. “Captain Grant? But surely ye are aware of his fickle heart. He will never love ye as much as he loves his duty. He is infinitely more handsome than Captain Sedley and has likely enjoyed many more women in his bed.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. He’s been away in Glencoe for some time. Before that though, I don’t recall him being all that lecherous with any of the handmaidens here. But you are correct about his devotion to his duty. He seems to care more about the king and his safety—at least when King Charles was alive—than who is in his bed. I cannot speak for anyone else, but he has never tried to seduce Sara or me. In truth, now that I think on it”—Judith set her eyes on Mairi—“you are the only lady I have seen him give so much of his attention to.”
Mairi did not blush, and she was not about to begin now. But her palms did grow moist and the room did feel warmer, a bit stifling. He did seem to be hovering around her often, following her when she thought she was alone, refusing to leave her room after he’d kissed her. Dear God, that kiss… “He is simply a rogue who wants what he canna’ have. Mark my words, Judith, fer I know him well. Captain Grant is a devil. He might not be as open about it as Sedley, but he is one nevertheless. He isna’ content to simply lure ye to his bed. He will steal yer heart and make ye feel more alive than ever before, and then he will leave ye as easily as a soldier leaves his dead enemy on the field. Ye would do well to stay as far away from him as ye can. Now let us stop speaking of him and tell me about this iced cream we are having with supper.”
A quarter of an hour later, Mairi left the queen’s private chambers and strode down the hall alone. She did not look at the faces of the lords and ladies who passed her. She did not want to see them laughing at her, or hear their mocking whispers about how a Highlander was trying to fit in with the graceful swans around her. Hell, she felt more out of place in her silk gown than she did in her plaid. With only two of her daggers secured to her calves and thighs, she felt infinitely more vulnerable as well.
When she spotted Lord Oxford and his sister at the end of the hall, she girded up her loins and proceeded forward.
“Miss MacGregor.” Henry captured her hands and brought them to his lips while his sable eyes scored over her. “You look ravishing. Does she not, Lizzy?”
Lady Elizabeth tossed her a brief, inconsequential glance before finding more interest in her fingernails. “I was not aware that Highlanders owned anything as fine as silk, but if it keeps her from falling on top of me again, I will be the first to thank whoever loaned it to her.”
Mairi sized her up with a tight little smile. Och, what she wouldn’t give to get Lady Elizabeth in her father’s training field. “Ye may thank the queen when next ye see her then.”
Her reply garnered the desired effect on Henry’s sister. She stammered while Mairi turned to the viper’s brother. “Lord Oxford, have ye come to escort me to supper, or yer sister to the privy? She does look a wee bit ill.”
“Oh, Lizzy, are you?” Oxford tried to take her hand but she slapped it away.
“No, you fool! Go! Take her and leave me alone! I will find my own escort!”
Goodness, but the woman certainly knew how to seethe. Satisfied to have affected her so, Mairi looped her arm through Henry’s and smiled as he led her away.
“You mustn’t mind Lizzy,” Henry told her gently. “She can be a bit too tightly strung at times.”
Nothing a dagger would not fix. “I dinna’ mind her,” she said with a pleasant smile she did not feel. Satan’s arse, she had to speak to Claire. Henry was a nice enough fellow, but if the queen tried to force her to marry him, she very likely would end up killing his sister. And, hell, but she didn’t like the way he nearly shook in his high-heeled shoes when the shrew screeched at him.
Connor certainly would not have backed down, but she refused to let him haunt her thoughts again. Not even when she stepped into the Banqueting Hall and did not see him among the guests did she let herself wonder where he might be.
Henry was courteous to Connor’s father, who was less likely than her own to gut him down the middle for being so bold as to sit at their table yet again. He droned on for an hour about how the Roman emperor Nero had ice brought down from the mountains and combined it with fruit toppings, and, later, how the caliphs of Baghdad were the first to use milk and sugar as major ingredients.
Mairi wished he would shut up and eat it.
By the time supper was over and everyone rose to follow the queen to the theater, Mairi found herself missing Connor’s quick banter.
Damn him. Damn him to Hades.
Chapter Thirteen
The king’s theater or, as it was sometimes still called, the Cockpit, because of the cockfighting once done here, was smaller than Mairi imagined. There were tiers of balconies all around the structure to give all a favorable view of the stage and its players. The clamor of excitement among the guests was contagious and soon Mairi was able to put
Connor out of her mind.
The queen sat in a tier above on the opposite wall, in a private booth with the king’s daughters, Mary and Anne, and their husbands. Mairi looked around at the hundreds of faces and spotted someone who had piqued her interest in the last few days. “There is Lord Hollingsworth. His wife is striking, but she does not seem verra interested in her husband.”
“Most likely that is because Lord Hollingsworth favors food and men over her.”
Goodness, Mairi eyed the buxom trollop. It was no wonder why she had followed Tristan around for three days and then followed Connor after that.
“It was rumored that he and the exiled Duke of Monmouth were lovers.”
Mairi raised her brow while Hollingsworth and his wife gained their seats. “The Duke of Monmouth ye say?” Another bit of interesting information to bring home to her militia brothers. She was about to ask Henry more questions when her gaze fell to one of the lower balconies beneath the queen and she saw Connor taking his seat in a booth already occupied by a group of his soldiers. Where had he been all evening? A flash of yellow drew her eyes to the person sitting at his left. Her heart stopped beating. It had to have stopped, for she could not take in any air or let any out. She went deadly still taking in those golden ringlets, those lion-colored eyes with the fangs to match. Nae, not Lady Elizabeth. Not her.
“Miss MacGregor, are you falling ill again?”
She sucked in a gasp of air and expelled a sound so pitiful to her own ears it made her want to weep for herself. But she wouldn’t. She would never shed another tear that had anything to do with Connor Grant. “I am fine,” she remedied with perfect serenity in her voice.
“There’s Lizzy.” He waved and Mairi was tempted to toss him over the side. “She looks well recovered.”
Did he honestly care so very much about her “high-strung” nature that he would voice her improvement with such relief? Or was there another reason completely why he felt the need to point out the obvious? She turned to him, curling one corner of her mouth and pinning him with a stare that made most men wilt in their boots. Henry de Vere was no exception.
He was trying to point out his adversary’s faults by flaunting Connor’s latest conquest in her face, trying to test her feelings for the scoundrel. He probably did not deserve the force of her strike about to come but she didn’t care. Connor wasn’t beside her to take the blow, and Henry was.
“Mayhap ’tis just ye who does everything to displease her. Or”—she blinked, releasing him, and brightened her smile as she turned back to his beloved sister—“mayhap, like most of the other ladies at court, she requires half a company of soldiers to pleasure her.”
“Miss MacGregor…”
She ignored the quaver in Henry’s angry voice and gave his hand a gentle pat. “Either way, my lord, I am pleased that she is happy again.”
Her false smile faded when he pulled his hand away from hers. He did not begin speaking to her again until the second act. She didn’t hear him when he did—or the actors for that matter. She did watch the stage on a number of occasions when a colorful costume caught her eye, but her eyes always drifted back to the balcony below. She noted every smile the players brought to Connor’s face, every moment of concentration that dipped his brow. Her scathing glance did not miss Lady Elizabeth’s soft touch to his arm, or the way she smiled up at him like some besotted milkmaid.
Connor caught her watching him more than once, but she turned away, breaking eye contact. Had he been with Lady Elizabeth earlier? Had he missed supper and iced cream to be with her? Why had she not looked toward the de Veres’ table to see if Elizabeth was with her father? Och, God, she didn’t want to think of them together, naked, sweating… But she did, and it near drove her mad. But truly, why was she surprised that Connor had kissed her… twice… and then bedded Elizabeth de Vere the same night? He likely had a dozen women waiting for him at his door each night when he retired to his bed. She wanted to stand up and scream at him over the players, or sink into her seat and curse herself for caring. She could not stay here and watch whatever grew between him and his current lover. But where the hell could she go? She did not know how to get home from England, and even if she did, she could never travel alone. She cursed Colin for not bringing her home with him.
“… and so I have decided to forgive you. Miss MacGregor? Mairi?” Oxford’s use of her familiar name drew her attention back to him. Hell, she had not heard a word he had said.
“Fergive me, I was thinking of my home.”
“Mairi, I said you have become very dear to me and so I have decided to forgive you.”
“Thank ye, my lord.” She smiled and began to turn back to the stage when he took her hand and crushed it to his lips.
“Walk with me later in the garden. There is something I wish to ask you.”
Ask her? Saints, he was going to ask for her hand in marriage! Her gaze swept immediately to Connor. His eyes were already on her, dark and murderous on her knuckles pressed to Henry’s mouth, watching each kiss he placed there.
“My lord, I…”
“I have been patient and courtly, Mairi.” His scar burned red against his skin. “But if you refuse to walk with me alone, I will be forced to kiss you in front of everyone.”
Her eyes darted back to Connor. What would he do if Henry kissed her? Would he care? She should let Henry do it, mayhap even kiss him back and show Connor, rather than continue to tell him, once and for all that he no longer meant anything to her. But she couldn’t. She would worry about what that meant later.
“Ye would be risking too much, Lord Oxford, I assure ye. My faither’s closest friend would be one of those watching. If Lord Huntley does not call ye to the yard, my brother will upon his return. I could not let ye take such a risk. If ye wish to court me, ye must ask my faither.”
She knew Henry would never agree to such a thing. The last time her father had cast him an askew glance, he nearly tripped on his own feet in his rush to be away from him. Not that he would ever find Camlochlin, and even if he did, her father would never agree to her marrying a Protestant.
“Mairi, I—”
Good Lord, it was not going to work. She had to employ a different tactic, one that disgusted her to her very marrow, but necessary, nonetheless. She only hoped he possessed the decency to react appropriately. “Please, my lord. Ye are frightening me.”
When she pulled her hand away from his face, he let her go without a fight and looked suitably remorseful. “It was not my intention to cause you alarm. Forgive me.”
Hell, why did he have to be so kind? She nodded and flashed him a brief smile before turning her attention to the stage. She breathed a sigh of relief after narrowly avoiding his proposal and found her gaze returning to Connor once again. He had looked angry before, but now he smiled at her while he slipped his arm around Lady Elizabeth’s shoulder and bent to speak against her trembling curl.
Mairi’s hands fisted in her lap and she looked away from him for the last time.
Mayhap, she could convert Henry and grow to love him after all.
The play was a blur of dramatics and bright colors and when it ended, Mairi cursed Connor for spoiling it for her with his attendance. She was happy to be leaving the cramped theater, eager to get to her chamber, away from Connor and Henry, and out of this blasted, tight gown.
She made it to the exit with her arm curled through Henry’s when she came face-to-face with Connor and his men. Lady Elizabeth was with him, of course, with one arm looped through his and her other hand placed possessively on his forearm. Mairi fought the urge to claw out her eyes… and Connor’s next.
Not surprisingly, Henry broke away from her and rushed to Elizabeth’s side. Mairi barely heard their brief conversation, so fixated was she on thinking of a scathing comment to fling at Connor. Nothing came to her, and it was just as well, for he looked like he wanted to toss a few choice words at her, as well. She tightened her jaw and stared at him while the others around her discuss
ed the play.
Here was the only man who did not wither or shrink away at her piercing, penetrating gaze. Instead, he smiled slightly, ready for the battle to commence, confident that he would come out the victor.
Bastard. She ached to strike him hard and fast for making her sit through two hours of watching him enjoy himself with Elizabeth de Vere, of all people. But God and all His saints help her; he made every other man in the theater insignificant. He stood his position, long, lean, so elegantly garbed. A beautiful facade. For what lay beneath was purely savage. Raised to manhood in the cold, hard mountain ranges of the Highlands, his body pulsed with the power of it. He had been everything her heart desired. How long could she keep up this fight before she surrendered?
He held her there, still, breathless, while, with a slight flare of his nostrils, he took her in from foot to crown. He did not need to say a word. His eyes ravished her in her borrowed gown, sapping her of her will to defy and resist him. He was a force she could never defeat and she stepped back, not because she did not want to throw herself into his arms, but because she did. His dimples faded. His eyes smoldered with determination and desire, his muscles resisting both in the subtle shift of his shoulders, the slight change in his breath. He wanted to follow her, but he stopped himself.
Captain Nicholas Sedley, on the other hand, did not. “I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of a formal introduction.” He swept around Connor with the grace of a cat on the prowl and reached for her hand.
Connor watched him silently, his eyes hooded and deadly, while Captain Sedley planted a soft kiss on the top of her hand and introduced himself.
Mairi sized him up cautiously. So, this was the queen’s second choice on her list of husbands well suited for Mairi. He was quite handsome, with hair as black as coal and eyes the color of a twilight sky, but the queen was mad if she thought Mairi would marry him. Not only had he sworn his fealty to England’s enemy, but his seductive charisma instantly reminded her of Connor. This man’s heart was loyal to no woman.
