by Paula Quinn
“Who else knows, Mairi?”
Her gaze on him narrowed and she pulled her hand free of his. “Yer mother knows, so if ye mean to tell anyone, including my faither, remember that, I pray ye.”
He watched her storm away, wanting to call her back, wanting to tell her that she had meant more to him than any king or any damned patch of land he ruled over.
She still did.
He turned instead toward the sundial where his mother stood speaking with Lord Douglas of Paisley. There was much he didn’t know about Mairi since he had left Camlochlin. He was about to change that.
Chapter Seventeen
Mairi despised weeping. She hadn’t done so in almost seven years. After six months of crying over him after he left, she’d vowed never to shed another tear over him. But, and by God, she couldn’t believe her own weakness, there were tears streaming down her face. And all because Connor had asked her if she thought he was happy without her. Because in that moment he looked as wretched as she’d felt for a year after he left. She had never considered that he wasn’t happy here… without her. She swiped her cheeks. He’d chosen this life, duty or not. Aye, it was true that she had commanded him to stay away, but she’d never expected him to truly do it. Was he unhappy? Why didn’t he tell her if he was instead of going back to ordering answers from her she didn’t want to give him? What if he spoke his pretty words only to soften her into telling him about the militia? Och, God, he sympathized with Covenanters! Still, his reasons why were understandable. She’d heard about the field executions decreed by late King Charles. They were said to be so bloody that even James disapproved. Connor had taken part in those massacres. She shivered, admitting to herself that murdering entire shires of people, whether Covenanters, Cameronians, or Catholics, was wrong. Was Connor tired of fighting and killing? Was he finally ready to end his service to the Stuarts and come home? And God, what if he did return to Camlochlin? How would she live every day with him there, dressed in his plaid, his smile wide and resplendent while the wind streamed through his hair and carried his laughter across the braes? What if he took a Highland wife? What if he wanted her back?
Why hadn’t Tristan ever told her that Connor asked about her in his letters? Would it have made a difference? Och, how was it that she could face a dozen sword-wielding men but a few simple words from Connor, the thought that he could love her again, could still bring her to her knees?
Her head was beginning to pain her from all the questions swirling about within. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to lose herself to him again. Losing him had been too painful. It frightened her… and she hated being afraid. She hated weeping even more.
She heard the muffled sound of men’s voices coming from behind a tall, gilded statue of a winged angel. The Dutch inflection was hard to miss. Prince William. Here was what she should be contemplating. Thanks to visits to Camlochlin from Claire’s brother, High Admiral Connor Stuart, she and Colin had learned much about King James’s son by marriage. William, a sovereign prince by birth, governed as stadtholder over Holland and many provinces of the Dutch republic. While he had outwardly maintained goodwill with his uncles, Charles and James, there had been much dissention between them. Their battle was a religious one, with Anglican England and France the victors of most. A staunch Calvinist Protestant, William had not surrendered his faith but rebuilt his army and stood alone against two of the world’s greatest powers.
Mairi had overhead some at Whitehall whispering of his courage and determination. Aye, she had to admit, he deserved such accolades, but he was clever, as well. For he had put an end to the war by marrying his uncle’s daughter and establishing a pact between the Netherlands and England.
But William did not attend his father-in-law’s coronation to celebrate. Holland’s faithful had suffered harshly at the tips of Catholic’s blades, and now there was a Catholic king on the throne. William had much to fear, but it was French King Louis who at present remained the sharpest thorn in his side. William hoped to gain James’s support in an anti-French alliance. It was likely never going to happen, especially after the attack on the abbey.
She moved closer to the statue, pretending to examine it.
“… doesn’t know anything about the meeting with Parliament being called early.”
Was that Lord Oddington’s voice behind the angel’s foot? It didn’t matter. The queen’s defense of her husband’s disappearance was being investigated. This didn’t bode well for Colin and the king on their way to Camlochlin.
“The tracks disappeared just outside of London, so we don’t know which way they rode.”
It was Oddington, the treasonous bastard, Mairi decided while she smiled at Colin’s craftiness at covering his tracks. At least William didn’t know where they were heading.
Inclining her ear, she moved closer to the angel, and then stopped abruptly and looked up into Prince William’s dark eyes.
“Miss MacGregor, did you misplace something?”
She shook her head no and smiled at him. “I was—”
“How long have you been standing here?”
Mairi had faced many of her enemies over the last few years, but none of them was as dangerous, or as intelligent, as this one. His thin lips were taut beneath his enormous nose, the threat in his eyes unmistakable. She tried to slow her pulse, but this man had very well likely ordered nuns to be burned to death, and presently he looked like he wished she were among them.
“There ye are, Miss MacGregor. I hope I didn’t keep ye waiting too long.”
She turned, more relieved to see Connor than she would ever admit. “Nae, Captain, I just arrived.”
His dimples flashed when she offered him a pleasant smile, and made her pulse race all the more.
“Yer Grace,” Connor greeted, coming to stand in between them. “How are ye enjoying yer stay here at Whitehall?”
“In truth, Captain,” the prince said, taking a step back so that he wasn’t craning his neck to look up at the Highlander practically looming over him, “I would enjoy a bit more privacy.”
Connor flicked his gaze around the statue, but Oddington was gone.
“Good day,” William bid them, letting his gaze linger on Mairi positioned slightly behind Connor’s back, before he turned and left.
When they were alone, Connor inhaled a deep breath before turning to her. Mairi looked up into his eyes, reading the fear and anger in them clearly enough to know he was summoning his control before he spoke to her. If he was in cahoots with the Dutch prince, he certainly didn’t look like it now.
“What the hell are ye trying to do?”
“I am not trying to do anything. I stumbled upon them.”
“Who?”
“The prince and Lord Oddington.”
He scowled, looking even more beguiling. “Ye were eavesdropping. I was watching ye—”
She stopped listening and considered him for a moment. He watched her often. No matter what she was doing, she could feel his eyes on her. At first it had angered her, especially after he’d followed her into Queensberry’s rooms. She didn’t need looking after, but was there another reason his gaze followed her wherever she went? Mayhap her snug-fitting English attire? Her heart flipped in her chest and she cursed the madness of her thoughts.
“I dinna’ like being spied upon,” she said, before she said something else like “Why did ye leave me? I nearly perished without ye!”
“Neither does the prince.”
She nodded, giving him the point. Hell, he was big, and so virile standing there with the sun gleaming off the golden strands of his hair. She would have been insulted if any other man had stepped in front of her as if to protect her, but Connor made her feel delicate—he always had—and she missed feeling that way. Damn her.
“He looked angry.”
Mairi blinked, gazing into his eyes. “Who?”
“The prince.” His lips curled just enough to aim his right dimple at her.
“So did ye.�
��
“I was smiling.”
But she knew each one of his smiles and the one he offered William was anything but amiable. What would he have done if the prince had laid hands on her? She shook her head to scatter her childish fancies. So mayhap he wasn’t secretly aligned with Protestants. That was no reason to smile at him now.
“They suspect the king didna’ go to Edinburgh.” She looked away from the need she told herself she saw in his eyes, or mayhap it was the need in her own eyes that she didn’t want him to see.
“What did ye hear?” His tone went serious instantly, drawing her gaze back to him.
“Oddington told him they searched fer tracks. They didna’ find any,” she added when his jaw tightened. “But at least we know fer certain that Lord Oddington stands with William.”
“In what?” Connor pointed out. “Suspecting that the queen was untruthful? It means nothing.”
“Then we can—”
“Nae,” he cut her off. “We can do nothing. Ye will quit whatever ye’re doing here and leave the king’s enemies to his men.”
She did not hear what he said after that. She stood there staring at him, feeling her blood boil in her veins. If there was one thing she despised even more than Cameronians, it was being told she could not or should not do something because she was a woman.
“Would ye have me sew ye a pair of hose fer the remainder of my stay then?”
If he heard the sting in her voice, he seemed not to care in the least. When he nodded, she looked around at the ground for something to fling at his head.
“Fighting a few Cameronians is bad enough, Mairi, but traipsing around the toes of a man who we both believe ordered the death of over a score of nuns is quite a different matter.”
“Because I am a lass.”
His gaze fell to her fingers clenched tight at her sides, then returned to her steady, challenging stare. He grinned, making light of her anger—which angered her all the more. “There is nothing wrong with being a lass, Mairi, especially when ye do it so well.”
“Mayhap I would mind being a lass less if I spent more time around a man who was at least aware of his knuckles when he tripped over them.”
His smile deepened into something more primitive and dangerous as he moved toward her. “Do ye wish me to apologize fer worrying over ye then?”
He moved toward her, a powerful force robbing her of breath, of reason. She would not step back. “Why would I want that when yer apology is laced with more insult. Honestly, Connor, being in England has turned ye into an antiquated—”
His hand closed around her upper arm and in one fluid movement he swung her around the back of the statue and into his arms. He kissed her, quieting her protests, angling his head to deepen the thrust of his tongue. In an instant she was lost. Och, she did not mind being a woman to a man who kissed like this. She was still angry with him though and bit his lip to remind him that she was not completely defeated.
He pulled back, dragging his hand across his bloody mouth. His eyes gleamed with an unholy fire that promised he was about to do much more than kiss her. This time, she stepped back and held out her palms when he came at her again.
“If ye kiss me again without leave, I swear I will—”
The remainder of her threat was vanquished by his mouth, his tongue, his strong arms closing around her. She couldn’t fight him. She didn’t want to. Mad, pitiful fool that she was.
Chapter Eighteen
The Troubadour was less crowded this afternoon than it had been the last time Connor was here. The stench of stale wine and ale so early in the day assaulted his senses and made his stomach tighten, but he needed an hour or two to figure out what he should do, what he could do, to stop the queen from wedding Mairi to Oxford. Hell, he had to do something. He wanted her back in his life, and this time he wasn’t letting her go without a fight.
She still hadn’t agreed not to wed the bastard, even after their passionate kiss yesterday in the garden. He smiled recalling how furious she’d been when he pulled her out of sight and kissed her. She hadn’t seemed so angry the second time. He might be a fool, but he didn’t believe that she hated him, at least her mouth didn’t give any indication, nor did her arms when they coiled around his neck and nearly buckled his knees.
He sat at one of the empty tables stained by wet cups and spilled drinks and gave the place one last looking over. He smiled at Vicky, then looked away from her to stop her advance. He didn’t see the woman who had offered him a night’s pleasure the last time he was there. He didn’t know her or how she knew his name, but he couldn’t keep his thoughts on her longer than an instant before Mairi pushed her way into his head again.
He still wanted to strangle her for taking up arms in one of England’s many religious wars, but at least, according to his mother when he questioned her, Mairi was well skilled with a blade and had always returned from her skirmishes unscathed.
Connor had nothing against women wielding a blade. Almost every woman at Camlochlin knew how to swing one, thanks to his mother and Mairi’s, both being skilled swordswomen before they knew how to sew. But the thought of Mairi in real combat stilled the blood in his veins.
How the hell could she hate Protestants so much and still consider marrying one?
“Here you are!” Nick Sedley swept into the chair beside him and called out for two ales. “I looked for you in the tiltyard. You used to train everyday. Peace is softening you.”
Connor laughed and pulled at the damp military jacket clinging to his chest. “I’ve been practicing since dawn, while you were still dreaming.”
“Ah, but I wasn’t dreaming at dawn,” Sedley countered, reaching out for and missing the serving wench laying down their drinks and then scurrying away. “I was actually engaging in what you were thinking about when you laid down your head alone in your bed last evening.”
Connor raised his cup, giving him the point. “Why were ye looking for me?”
“Ah yes, that.” Sedley took a hearty drink from his cup and then sat back in his chair. “I was curious about something and I thought you might aid.”
“Curious about what?”
“I thought since you are acquainted with Miss MacGregor you might know why the king took her brother to Edinburgh with him and not his own captain.”
Connor looked at him. Hell. Had William of Orange sent his captain to question him? Since when was Nick curious about anything other than the next lass in his bed? And why did he assume Colin had gone with the king? The queen hadn’t mentioned it, though William likely suspected it since Colin was gone. That would mean the prince was more aware of Whitehall’s guests than he let on.
No one can be trusted here. Mairi’s disturbing warning rang through Connor’s head again. As much as he didn’t want her to be correct, he knew that she was. She would have made a fine tactical soldier were she a man.
“ ’Tis peacetime,” Connor told him benignly. “The king travels with another captain and General Gilbert’s men. Should he have taken his entire army to meet with Parliament?”
Sedley chuckled. “It might be amusing to watch all those lords soil their breeches at the sight. It is odd though…”
“What’s that?” Connor asked, watching him more closely now and hoping he was wrong.
“There are some here who should be at that meeting with Parliament, but are not.”
“Aye, that is odd.” Damn it, Connor thought sourly, his old friend was indeed doing William’s bidding. “I cannot presume to know the answer to that. You will have to ask the king when he returns.”
This time, Sedley raised his cup to Connor, giving him the point. They both knew full well that soldiers didn’t question kings. “Oh, by the way,” he said behind the rim of his cup, “I thought you might like to know that your Miss MacGregor left Whitehall.”
“What?” Connor sat forward in his chair, about to leap from it. “Where did she go?”
“To St. James’s Park, I believe. With Lord Oxford
.”
The table screeched against the rushes as Connor pushed it out of his way and ran for the door.
Connor wanted to smash his fist through a few heads as he strode toward Whitehall’s stables to retrieve his horse. How could she do it? How could she go with him? He knew the last thing he should do was follow her. It would only prove to her what a jealous fool he was. Unless, of course, Oxford was kissing her. If he was, Connor didn’t care what Mairi thought of him. Oxford was going to lose his teeth.
He narrowly avoided Lady Hollingsworth on her way out of the stables and leaped upon the first horse he found saddled, drove his heels into the beast’s flanks, and flew past the East Gate.
It didn’t take him long to reach the fifty-eight-acre private park. Finding Mairi without her seeing him would be more difficult. He didn’t intend to spy on her. Not really. He simply wanted to discover if she’d truly given her heart to the English noble. Watching them alone would tell him. But did he want to know? He swore if she was giggling with Oxford on some cozy blanket he would walk away from her forever. Saints strengthen his pitiful heart but he hoped, he prayed he wouldn’t find her giggling.
Almost reluctantly, he searched for her along sunny paths and through thick columns of walnut and majestic oak trees, vaguely aware of the jays singing overhead or the laughter coming from any of the blankets laid out in the grass that did not belong to Mairi.
Just when he thought he might not find them, he did. They stood at the edge of a small bridge, just beyond the trees that gave him cover, looking over the side into the narrow canal below. Careful not to make a sound, he dismounted and moved a bit closer, keeping out of sight behind a tree.
Oxford was pointing at something in the water that made her smile. Damn it to hell.
What was he doing there? How could he allow her to turn him into some watered-down dolt? He led men into battle, for hell’s sake! Kings trusted him to face their enemies with a stout, courageous heart, a mind and body in complete control. The three had never failed him, until Mairi stepped back into his life.
