by Paula Quinn
Still, she thought returning her gaze to Connor. He possessed no feigned airs about him meant to purposely lure women to his bed. He did not need any. He beguiled the senses with the natural ease of his resplendent grin, his unflappable self-confidence, and the supreme control he wielded over his heart. Connor Grant did not chase skirts. If one rejected him, there would likely always be another waiting in the wings.
“There will be dancing in the Banqueting Hall upon our return,” Captain Sedley reminded her. “I pray you will do me the honor of—”
Connor shoved him out of the way with little effort and, disengaging himself from Lady Elizabeth, moved into Sedley’s place before Mairi. “I want to speak to ye.”
“I dinna’ care to hear anything ye have to say.”
“I didn’t ask ye if ye cared, but ye will listen.”
She laughed, but it sounded hollow to her ears. Against her will, her eyes scanned the small crowd around them. Lady Elizabeth appeared to have reverted back to her fitful, pinched-lipped self. Connor’s friends, including Captain Sedley, all wore the same curious, somewhat surprised expression. She half expected his lieutenant to pound him on the back and shout huzzah! Henry’s face was as red as the deep scar marring it. He looked about to say something he might regret. Mairi would have to give him credit if he did, for Connor was bigger and more threatening at the moment than a hundred men readying for battle.
She spoke before Henry opened his mouth. “I wouldna’ want to drag ye away from yer…” She veered her own lethal gaze to Lady Elizabeth. “… other pursuits.”
Connor’s dangerous expression transformed into sheer amusement in the space of a breath. Mairi had the sinking feeling that he read her as easily as the books her uncle Robert used to read to them. She was jealous, and he knew it.
Desperate to escape before she was forced to admit to herself that he was correct, she pushed past him, forgetting Henry and everyone else. “Good night.”
She left the theater with Henry hot on her heels. But it was Connor’s eyes following her that almost pulled her back.
Almost.
Chapter Fourteen
The morning sun beat down on Connor’s shoulders as he strode into the tiltyard and called Edward to his side. “Where’s Drummond?”
Running beside him to keep up with his captain’s formidable gait, Edward looked around the list field, his dark eyes squinting against the sun and the dry dirt kicked up around them. “He was here a moment ago. He must have seen you coming.”
“Ye’ll practice with me then.”
Edward swallowed audibly, “Me?”
Connor looked down at him and gritted his teeth. Damnation, Edward hardly had any damn hair on his face. But Connor needed to fight, to train hard and work out some of the frustration that was eating him up inside. He’d spent the entire night tossing in his bed and fighting his damn pillow; plagued by the image of Henry de Vere taking his time kissing Mairi’s hand, as if he had all night to do it with no one to stop him. Without her stopping him. Plaguing him with the dreaded certainty that there was nothing he could do about it either, short of beating Oxford to a bloody, half-dead pulp. He’d be put in the Tower, or mayhap thrown into Newgate prison, where he’d have to live with the knowledge that he’d surrendered his control, his life, and everything he had trained to become, to jealousy. He knew himself well enough to admit that he was, indeed, jealous, but he wouldn’t act on it. He couldn’t, without shaming his kin, his king, and himself.
But he still needed to fight someone who could give him a decent go. All his men were well skilled with the sword, but this was a day when Connor wished for someone like Rob MacGregor to take up swords with. Hell, he missed fighting with Highland men.
He almost smiled for the first time that day when he spotted Drummond, a Scotsman, at least, entering the lists.
“Lieutenant!” he shouted across the dusty distance. His suddenly reluctant opponent waved at him. Connor motioned him to come forward, yanked off his military coat, and rolled up his ruffled sleeves. “Quicken yer pace, Drummond,” he ordered, dragging his claymore from its sheath. “And let’s begin the day.”
“I have not even broken fast yet.”
Connor cast the heavens a brief sigh, then swung his flashing blade at his lieutenant’s head. They fought for a quarter of an hour—with Connor landing the more devastating blows—before Drummond lifted his hand for a rest.
“If ’tis Sedley or that Oxford fellow who angers ye”—his lieutenant leaned against the short wall that separated the tiltyard from the courtyard and rubbed his shoulder—“then why the hell did ye choose my arse to pummel to the ground this sunny morn?”
Connor laughed, pushing off the wall, ready for the next set. “Ye’re here. Sedley is not.” He pointed his sword at his soldier and friend, and gestured with it for him to get back on his feet. “As fer that Oxford fellow”—he blocked a strike to his left and countered with a chopping blow that would have gutted Drummond’s middle if he hadn’t leaped back—“I’ve no idea why ye bring him up.”
“Tell me if this sounds right to ye then.” His lieutenant swung low, missing Connor’s legs. “Oxford has attached himself at the hip to the woman ye love.” He arched his blade upward and caught Connor on the upper arm, slicing his shirt and the skin beneath.
The burn of his wound and the blood it produced were nothing new to Connor. He’d been cut a hundred times while training with his father and Callum MacGregor. But it didn’t bode well for him to get cut by Richard Drummond.
Damn Mairi.
With one more crushing blow, meant to end the fight, Connor tore Drummond’s sword from his hand and stepped back, victorious.
“I don’t love her. I haven’t seen her fer more than a few days at a time in seven years.”
“And before that?” Richard asked, bending his palms to his knees to aid his breathing. “What was she to ye before that?”
Connor pushed his blade back into its sheath and stared at the man who’d worked and fought beside him for the last seven years. Ah, hell, he was tired of denying it. “She was everything.”
Straightening, Richard nodded then cracked his back. “Ye never told us of her.”
“I needed to forget her.”
Drummond beckoned him back to the wall and rested his backside against it. “Is she the reason then that ye havena’ taken a wife? Most would have ye, ye know.”
Hell, he didn’t want to be having this conversation with Drummond, or with anyone else. He didn’t want to admit to himself that she was indeed the reason he chose to go to battle while other men stood before priests, pledging their lives to a lady who came first in their hearts. He hadn’t been given that gift. For his heart, he could no longer deny, belonged to one who had rejected him. How could he admit such a thing to his friend? He looked away, toward the tiltyard instead.
“Come now, Captain, we’ve known each other long enough.” Richard smiled and patted his back. “ ’Tis not as bad as all that.”
Aye, it was worse.
“We all fall like wounded men on the battlefield over a lass at some point in our lives.”
“I haven’t fallen, Drummond.” When his lieutenant offered him an encouraging smile, Connor was tempted to fling him over the wall. “I could beat yer arse all over this yard to show ye.”
Drummond shrugged his shoulders. “ ’Twill not change anything. Ye still love the gel. Hell, ’tis plain to see on yer face every time ye see her, Captain. Now what are ye going to do about it?”
“I don’t—”
“There’s the esteemed Captain Grant!”
Connor looked up to see Sedley entering the lists with Lady Elizabeth de Vere on his arm. When she saw Connor, she waved and broke away. Damn it, the last thing he needed was her constant chattering in his ear, especially when most of what she said revolved around her. And what in bloody hell was Sedley doing bringing her inside the wall? There were other men practicing in here, some on horse, all with a weapon.<
br />
“Get her out of here, Sedley!”
“Oh, but, Captain,” she cried, rushing toward him. “I have been looking for you all morning!” She reached him breathlessly and pressed her palms against his damp shirt. “I was hoping you and I could take a ride to St. James’s Park. I would love—”
“Lady Elizabeth.” He took her hands and gently removed them from his chest. “Ye cannot be inside the lists. Ye could be injured.” He glared at Sedley over her shoulder. “Fer the last time, Captain, take her somewhere else.” It was the second time Nick brought her to Connor and left her with him. He wouldn’t get stuck with her again as he had last evening.
“After tea then?” She blinked her huge topaz eyes at him and quirked her full lips as someone’s sword sailed over her head.
Connor watched the blade fall harmlessly to the dirt a few feet away from her, then, a tad pale, he bent to haul her over his shoulder and carried her out of the lists. He set her down with a bit more force than he’d intended and was about to send her on her way, when he saw Mairi watching him with his mother and the queen on either side of her. None of them looked happy.
“Captain,” the queen spoke first, and moved forward. His mother followed, but Mairi remained in her spot a few feet away. “You seem to enjoy toting ladies around with you.”
He looked at Lady Elizabeth, who smiled up at him in return. “Yer Majesty, I was just escorting the earl’s daughter out of the lists.”
Mary of Modena raised a sharp brow at both of them. “A dangerous place for a lady to be, indeed.”
“Foolish twit,” his mother, who never failed to speak her mind, muttered loud enough for all to hear.
Elizabeth took immediate offense, though she managed to keep her voice an octave below a screech. “Lady Huntley, I—”
“Lady Elizabeth,” the queen cut her off. “You will retire to your rooms immediately. Lady Huntley and I will escort you there so that on the way we may speak to you with more privacy about the hazards of your actions.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Elizabeth bowed her head and followed the two women without another word. Before she left, she turned her most scathing look on Mairi.
“Miss MacGregor,” the queen added when Mairi picked up her steps to go with them, “ye will wait here with Captain Grant until we return.”
“But I—” Mairi called out as the queen left the tiltyard, unconcerned with her protest. Mairi finished voicing it anyway, albeit, in a fading, defeated tone. “—dinna’ want to wait here.”
Connor didn’t know whether to smile or fix her with the scowl she deserved. Satan’s balls, how did she manage to look even more bonnie than she had last evening? Than she had in her cherished Highland earasaid? “Mairi, ye look…” He paused, as if the words were stuck somewhere between his heart and his lips. They were, for he hadn’t spoken them to her in so long. “… beautiful.” Hell, when would the sight of her quit stalling his breath?
She wore a simple chemise beneath a low-waisted coral-colored nightgown, casually unfastened at the breast, as was the latest fashion of undress among English ladies. His eyes lingered there for a moment before moving on slowly up the column of her sweet neck, exposed and ripe for the kissing thanks to her thick, dark waves being swept off her shoulders and pinned atop her head. Hell, he needed a bucket of cold water to pour on himself before he hauled her in his arms and promised her the world.
He’d already done that, and she had refused him.
“Ye’re making me verra uncomfortable looking at me like that.”
He laughed softly. “Like what?”
“Like I might be as hideously dimwitted as the last trollop who offered herself up to ye.” She set her cool blue gaze on Lady Elizabeth in the distance.
His heart nearly soared right out of his chest at her obvious scalding jealousy. He’d seen it last night in the theater, but he’d been too preoccupied by his own anger at Oxford’s mouth all over her hands.
Hell, but he was pitiful.
He looked over his shoulder at his lieutenant, who caught his eye and tried to look busy wiping the dirt off his blade.
“Ye are looking… damp,” Mairi said, pulling his attention back to her.
He looked down at his sweaty shirt clinging to his torso. “I was practicing.”
“He was trying to kill me, is more like it!” Drummond contended, then hurried on his way when Connor glared at him.
“Ye must have put on quite a display.” Mairi’s eyes glittered beneath her lashes, but her smile remained as cool as a Highland winter night. “Yer new interest couldna’ keep her hands off ye.”
Ah, there it was again. That delightful spark she had unwittingly revealed yet again. She did her best to hide it from him, but he no longer doubted what he’d suspected the night he danced with her. But did it mean that she still cared for him? Or was she simply being possessive of what was once hers?
“I’ll admit, she’s fairer than I first found her.” He watched, doing his damnedest not to grin at her clenching fingers. “She wants me to take her riding in St. James’s Park after tea.”
Unlike himself, Mairi was a master at disguising on her face that which was on her mind or in her heart. But he had always been able to read her better than most and presently she was livid.
“And are ye taking her?”
“I haven’t yet decided,” he replied vaguely, enjoying her discomposure and the reason for it too much to stop. He watched her gather herself up and couldn’t help but smile at her. His Mare never stayed tamed for long.
“I agree that decisions involving our suitors should be made with care,” she said. “Fer I have one to make, as well.”
“Do ye?” He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss the fire from her lips.
She nodded. “The queen has chosen two possible husbands fer me, and I must decide which one I would prefer. Lord Oxford or yer friend Captain Sedley.”
Connor wanted to laugh and give her the point, but something in her expression stilled his heart. She was speaking the truth. No! No way in hell!
“Sedley!” he roared, startling two horses being led away by their grooms. Mairi, too, took a step back, but he reached out and snatched her back. When Sedley appeared at his side, he ordered him to follow while he pulled Mairi toward the palace doors.
“Where are we going, Grant?”
“To the queen.”
Chapter Fifteen
Connor didn’t slow his pace until he found his father in the Shield Gallery and deposited Mairi into his hands. At least, his father would keep Oxford away from her until he returned. When he reached the queen’s Privy Chamber with Sedley, he commanded to the two lesser-ranked guardsmen at her door to announce him—and be quick about it.
After a moment, he was admitted an audience and strode inside, pulling Sedley with him. Both bowed before the queen’s table, where she sat penning a letter.
“You look agitated, Captain Grant,” she said after sparing him a glance and blowing on her parchment. “What troubles you?”
There was no polite way around this—or, at least, he hadn’t thought of one on his way up here. He folded his hands behind his back and harnessed the storm roiling within him. She was the queen and he would conduct himself with courtesy. “Yer Majesty, I would speak to ye about Miss MacGregor and her future.”
“Continue.”
“I understand that ye are considering giving her hand away in marriage to either Lord Oxford or Captain Sedley.”
Sedley looked stunned and mildly ill when he looked up at him.
“That is correct.”
Connor felt like a cannonball had blown a hole through his middle. “Captain Sedley respectively refuses.”
Mary of Modena didn’t even try to suppress the smile creeping over her lips. “Why would he refuse? She is a lovely woman with—”
“Because he is already betrothed.”
When Sedley looked about to laugh at the ridiculous falsehood, Connor’s hard gaze warned him no
t to.
“I was not aware.” The queen offered Nick an apologetic smile. He was about to open his mouth, but Connor spoke for him.
“Aye, to a kindhearted lass in Holland. She eagerly awaits his return.”
Sedley shrugged, and then nodded his agreement.
“Well, that makes things a bit more difficult, does it not?” The queen reclined in her seat and picked a mote from her puffed, elbow-length sleeves. “The matter is settled then. Miss MacGregor will wed Lord Oxford.”
“She cannot wed him either.”
Mary of Modena stopped grooming herself and cast him an impatient look. “Captain, is the Earl of Oxford’s son betrothed, as well?”
“He’s a Protestant. Mairi hates Protestants. She will not find happiness with him.”
“She appears happy enough to me when she is with him.”
“She does not love him.”
Now the queen laughed and shook her head at him. “What does love have to do with marriage?” Before he answered, she narrowed her eyes on him. “Did she ask you to come to me and plead on her behalf?”
“She did not.”
“Then why, Captain Grant, are you here in my chambers, out of uniform…”
He realized only then that he had left his military coat in the tiltyard.
“… arguing with the queen about something that does not concern you? You are dismissed.”
“Yer Majesty—”
“Good day, Captain.” She picked up her quill and went back to her letter.
“Come, Connor,” Sedley said softly, placing his hand on Connor’s forearm. “Come now.”
Nick closed the door behind him and tossed his arm around Connor’s shoulder. “Betrothed, eh? What a terrifying thought. You couldn’t have simply told her the truth then? That I’m a rakehell who will only break your Miss MacGregor’s heart?”
Connor shook his head while they walked the long corridor. “Not a sound enough reason. And just so ye know, she is not my—hell, there’s Lady Elizabeth.” He ducked behind the stairs to avoid her seeing him.
