by Paula Quinn
“And I will be at yer side.”
A knock at the door saved Connor from a knife in his belly when he would have told her like hell she would. The only place he never wanted to see Mairi was on a battlefield.
He opened the door and found his father standing on the other side.
“Connor,” he said gravely, “the king wants to see ye right away.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Connor stood alone in the king’s Presence Chamber waiting for James to arrive. He suspected his being summoned had something to do with Oxford. He knew he shouldn’t have struck the bastard as hard as he did, but, hell, it’d felt good. Oxford was fortunate that Connor hadn’t killed him for speaking so crudely about mounting Mairi. He knew he hadn’t done any permanent damage, so whatever reprimand was about to come wouldn’t be too severe. He tapped his boot on the floor, eager to speak to the king, now that he’d made up his mind about returning home. James would likely be angry with him for leaving his service, but Connor was no longer duty bound. He only hoped his cousin would not demand that he stay.
The door opened and the queen entered looking solemn and worried. Connor bowed but she gave him no greeting as her husband entered next.
“Sit down, Captain,” the king offered, averting his gaze from Connor’s.
When they were all seated, Connor noted the silent look that passed between husband and wife. When neither said a word, he shifted uneasily in his chair. Their grave expressions didn’t bode well for him. Had Oxford died? Hell, Connor hadn’t hit him that hard. Had he fallen on someone’s sword? Connor hadn’t stayed around long enough to find out.
“What happened this morn with the Earl of Oxford’s son?” the king finally asked settling his gaze on him.
“He spoke improperly about Miss MacGregor.”
“So you struck him with the hilt of your sword?”
“I was holding the hilt when I struck him with my fist.” Hell, here was another reason he longed for home. He was tired of the false civility among men who ran to the king over something as minor as a broken bone, but who would ram a dagger into another’s back when no one was looking.
“What did he say?” The queen sat forward in her chair, a hopeful look passing over her eyes.
“Nothing that is fit fer yer ears, Yer Majesty.”
She turned to her husband but he held up his palm to silence her.
“And for speaking ill of Miss MacGregor,” the king addressed him again, “you broke his nose and tore two teeth from his mouth?”
What could he say but the truth? “Aye, Sire. I did.”
The queen fell back against her chair. Connor watched her with growing unease.
“I have spent the last hour with the earl,” the king went on. “He is furious that one of my men would attack his son so viciously. He demands recompense.”
“In what form?” Connor felt like the chair he was sitting in was closing in around him. Indeed, the enormous Presence Chamber seemed smaller, suffocating. If the king told him that Oxford had demanded Mairi’s hand, he would go find him and cut his throat and to hell with the damned consequences.
“Cousin,” the king implored, further stilling Connor’s heart by his gentle use of their familial relation, “you must understand my position. I have too many enemies at present to create new ones. Charles de Vere has an army of over…”
Connor reeled in his seat, and then rose from it, unable to listen to anymore. He would not let Oxford take her as he’d promised. “Sire,” he said, careful not to approach too quickly. “Surely Oxford had this all thought out in advance.” Of course he had, the bastard! Why else would he be foolish enough to lift his blade to Connor? Oxford had wanted Connor to strike him, to hurt him, so that he could demand compensation. “Ye cannot allow Miss MacGregor to wed him.” His eyes fell to the queen. Surely she would stand at his side in this. “He—”
“The earl does not seek a marriage between his son and a MacGregor.”
Connor expelled a great breath of relief. His muscles suddenly ached and felt as if they were not strong enough, along with his bones, to hold him up. Too much practicing, though he hadn’t suffered the effects of it until now.
“Captain…”
Connor looked at the king ready for anything as long as he didn’t lose Mairi. Throw him in prison for a month or two, demote his rank, or demand some monetary compensation. That, he could live with.
“… it is you the earl wants.”
“Me?”
The king nodded and sighed turning to his wife. Mary of Modena looked away, avoiding both their gazes.
“I don’t understand, Sire.”
“He wants you to marry his daughter, Lady Elizabeth.”
“Nae,” Connor said softly, falling back into his chair. Nae, he was going to wed Mairi. This couldn’t be happening.
“I’m afraid you must, cousin. I know your heart belongs to another, but in time…”
In time? In time he would forget Mairi? In time he would come to love Elizabeth? He laughed, but the sound of it was so fraught with misery, it propelled the queen out of her chair and then out of the chamber. Connor was barely aware of her departure. In seven years he hadn’t forgotten his only love, hadn’t stopped dreaming of her, missing her. Seven years without giving his heart to any woman, knowing he would never love anyone but the lass from Camlochlin. In time? There weren’t enough years in his life.
“Ye would sentence me to a long, torturous death fer breaking a man’s nose?”
“The wrong man, Captain. I will need his father as an ally in the days to come.”
Connor shook his head. No! “Ye have yer Royal Army of over five thousand men. Oxford’s Horse Guards will not turn against ye. My uncle brings with him over five hundred more from France. Ye do not need—”
“In the event that William of Orange brings his forces against me,” the king cut him off, “I will need everyone. I know your service to your king has been served, but I ask you to do this one last thing. This very important thing. I cannot lose the Horse Guard… or the throne.”
His service. Connor scored his fingers through his hair and tried to maintain his even breathing. “I am…” He stopped, wondering how everything had just changed in an instant. “I am leaving my service.”
“You may leave it, cousin… after you wed Elizabeth de Vere.”
Could he throw away seven years of honorable duty by refusing the king? Would he be responsible if James lost England to William? Why him, he raged? Why did Elizabeth want him? He remembered Mairi’s warning to him about the earl’s daughter’s being overly confident that he would be hers—the same confidence Henry spoke with today. Satan’s balls, they had planned this together! He was a fool to fall straight into it. But why? Surely Elizabeth didn’t love him. He barely spared her a look when she was about. Why did she want him so desperately?
“You yourself believe that William was behind the attempted murder of my daughter,” the king continued. “Behind your attack, as well, because you asked questions about Admiral Gilles. You are likely correct in your accusations, but whether he is guilty or not—”
“He is guilty,” Connor broke in boldly, too stunned and angry to care about impudence.
James nodded. “As I was saying, I still have Argyll and Monmouth coming toward me from different directions, and who knows who else? I cannot risk losing Oxford’s allegiance. I already promised him a seat in the new Parliament. He is prominent enough among the nobles to turn them against me.”
And there it was. The reason behind the demand for marriage. Connor was a Stuart, the king’s cousin. What better way to secure a seat in Parliament than by having a Stuart in the family? He was a pawn. Nick Sedley’s words came back to him, haunting, prophetic, and so very true. We are… both of us… at the mercy of our masters.
“I am sorry, Connor. I know your heart, for my wife has made certain that I understand fully what I am asking of you. But I ask it anyway. No, I command it… for England, fo
r our line.”
Connor felt as if a cold sword had just been driven through his chest and then yanked out again, wrenching his heart out with it. He had spoken true when he’d told Mairi that he no longer cared about who ruled England, but he didn’t want to be responsible for the outcome. If he wed Elizabeth, he could use her father and Parliament to the king’s advantage, rather than having them use him. No, he couldn’t spend the rest of his life with anyone but Mairi. He couldn’t lose her forever. He wouldn’t. God in all His mercy, what was he to do?
“I wish there was something more to be done.”
Connor clenched his fists at his sides. There was. He was a warrior and he wasn’t about to surrender so easily.
Connor stepped out of the chamber and into his mother huddled by the door. His father, damp from his day in the lists, stood off to the side, his green gaze as grim as Connor’s.
When she saw him, tears spilled down Claire’s cheeks, an occurrence Connor had seen only one time before when the Fergussons killed his uncle Robert.
“Connor”—she threw her arms around him—“I am so sorry.”
He kissed the top of her head, then stepped out of her embrace. “Where is Mairi?”
“In her room, dressing fer supper.”
“Say nothing to her,” he told them both. “I will find a way out of this.”
“The way is simple,” his father said quietly, seeming to read his thoughts when Connor reached him. “We can go home and never look back.”
“Nae, I cannot run. Remember that James knows where Camlochlin is.”
From behind him, he heard his mother utter a strangled oath not fit for English court.
“I must find Colin. Is he still in the lists?”
“I think so, aye,” his father said, following him to the stairs. “The king favors him, but I don’t think he will have any influence—”
“I need him to woo Lady Elizabeth fer me.”
Graham stopped in his tracks and looked at him like he’d just sprouted another head. “Colin? Woo?”
“Whatever for?” His mother tugged on Connor’s sleeve.
He turned to look at her, then at his father. “To discover if there is anything about the de Veres the king should know. James is afraid of losing the Earl of Oxford’s support. But they are Protestants, and he likely never had it. If there is anything, anything at all they have done that the king would find unfavorable… Hell, there must be something. I cannot marry her.”
“What can we do to help?” his father asked.
“Find out everything ye can about them. Any of them, including Henry and Elizabeth.”
“What are you going to tell Mairi?” his mother asked, wiping her eyes.
“I don’t know what to tell her yet. I don’t want her sneaking off into the earl’s lodgings looking for information to help us.”
“Aye, she’ll surely want to do that.” Claire agreed.
“I’ll figure something out.”
He commissioned them to use caution. He would ask the same of Colin. He needed proof against the de Veres.
He needed a miracle.
Chapter Thirty-six
Mairi checked the pins in her hair one last time before heading out the door. She strolled along the balcony, swirling her skirts and closing her eyes, preparing herself for the night to come. She still did not like England, but she no longer minded being here. She hurried to cross the long trek that would lead her to the Banqueting Hall. To him. Ah, but how does one prepare to be swept off her feet by a dashing smile, a set of flashing dimples, and melodies in her beloved’s words? Connor. She hoped he hadn’t gotten into too much of a bind with the king for what he’d done to Henry. She hadn’t had the chance to ask Connor why he had struck him. She shrugged. She would find out later.
Right now, she couldn’t help but think of how wonderful her life would be with Connor when they returned home. Och, he wanted to go home. It had been too much to hope for. Would he build her another lovely manor house in Camlochlin? Mayhap they would live at Ravenglade in Perth. The castle had been his uncle Connor Stuart’s but with no sons of his own, Claire’s twin brother had given Ravenglade to his nephew. She understood it to be quite large and in need of repair, but Connor could make it the perfect home for them. They would marry and she would give him many bairns. She wanted four boys with hair like his and three wee girls, to whom she would teach sewing and swordplay. She would watch her husband work under the sun, his skin gleaming, his muscles sleek with sweat. She would cook his meals and take him to bed each night. She sighed with the glee of it and walked straight into someone.
“Judith!” she said, opening her eyes and recognizing the queen’s handmaiden. “Fergive me. I didna’ see ye.”
“Nae, it is my fault, m’lady.”
Mairi liked Judith. Of course, tonight she also liked Lady Hollingsworth. “Where are ye heading?”
“To the Banqueting Hall.”
“So am I. Let us walk together.” It occurred to Mairi that she missed talking with her mother, her aunt Maggie, and even Claire. They talked all the time at home. Surrounded on all sides by men, a lass needed other lasses to share her secrets with. She would need their advice and training in the art of cooking and other womanly duties. Now, though, all she had was Judith and she was bursting at the seams.
“Judith—”
“M’lady, I was hoping to run into you for the last few days. I wish to speak to you about something… someone.”
“Of course,” Mairi said. “Who is it ye wish to speak about?”
“Your brother, m’lady. Colin, I believe he is called.”
Och, hell, not Colin.
“I cannot seem to get him out of my head. He is the most striking man I have ever laid eyes on. When I watch him in the tiltyard, he makes my stomach feel…” She paused to come up with the right words. “… all warm and out of sorts. It took me a few days, but I finally spoke to him today. He barely even looked at me.”
“Judith.” Mairi touched her shoulder to comfort her when the handmaiden looked down at her hands and sniffed. “Colin is determined to be the next general of King James’s army. I am afraid the only way he would notice ye is if ye were a sword. What about Edward Willingham? He is verra handsome and about yer age.”
Judith looked at her, her pretty green eyes round and teary. “I don’t want Edward Willingham.”
Lord, Colin would kill her for doing this but tonight Mairi could not ignore love. “All right then, when next ye see my brother, compliment him on his skill. That might work. Keep yer conversation along the lines of war and battle. Be forthright. Colin can sense a falsehood the way a deer senses the coming storm. He doesna’ like people who speak them and willna’ give ye a second chance if he catches ye at one.”
The handmaiden nodded and her smile widened into a bright grin. Mairi had done everything she could to help her win Colin. The rest was up to Judith.
“Judith,” she said, unable to contain herself a moment longer, “do ye recall that speech ye and I had about Captain Grant?”
“Yes, m’lady. You said he was a devil.”
“I was mistaken”—she gleamed, still lost in her fancies—“I am going to be his wife.”
Judith smiled at her for a moment, then frowned as if she didn’t understand. “Captain Grant, m’lady?”
“Mairi, please, and aye. Captain Grant. Tall, golden hair, dimples?”
“Yes, I know him, Mairi. But I heard that he was to wed Lady Elizabeth.”
Mairi’s smile remained intact. For a moment. “Pardon? Ye must have misheard.”
Judith shook her head. “No, she said those two names.”
“She? Ah,” Mairi scoffed. “So ’twas Lady Elizabeth who told ye?”
And then it all fell to pieces.
“No, m’lady. It was the queen.”
Mairi did not know if Judith said anything after that. As they neared the hall, she saw Connor standing outside, alone in the twilight, wringing his hands while
he waited for her approach. No, it was not true. It was another one of the queen’s schemes to see them together. Connor was hers. He’d told her he was. He swore it to her. They were going home to begin dreaming again.
His skin looked a little pale and his eyes appeared more startlingly blue as the slight breeze stirred his golden hair around his face. It wasn’t true. He would never give her up again.
“Judith,” she said, breaking off from her as the handmaiden turned for the doors. “Go inside without me.” She never took her eyes off Connor as she moved toward him, her heart racing hard in her breast. Why was he not smiling? He always smiled when he saw her, like it had not been only an hour or two since they were last together, but years.
“What are ye doing out here?” It took effort to speak, but more not to.
“I wanted to take a walk with ye.” He bent his head and dropped his gaze to his boots.
She could not. He had something to tell her and she did not want to hear it. It could not be what Judith had just told her. God, please, it could not be that.
When she stood frozen in her spot, he looked up from under his brow and passed her something she guessed could be a smile. It looked more like pain on a dying man’s face. “Walk with me, Mairi.”
She took a step forward and fit her hand into the one he offered then let him lead her toward the Privy Garden. They walked in silence, watching the lamplighter move from one lantern to the next, lighting their path. She wanted to coil her arm through Connor’s and snuggle close against him while the sun made its descent. She did not want to know why his hand was so cold, or why he kept clenching his jaw, as if trying to keep himself silent. But she had to know.
“How bad was the trouble, Connor?” She managed to keep her voice soft and serene. Until he answered her.
“ ’Twas bad.”
She closed her eyes, willing herself not to throw her hands to her ears and run. “Tell me, please.”
He remained quiet for so long that she opened her eyes again and looked up at him. She stopped beside a row of dogwood trees and waited while he looked at everything but her. “Connor, tell me.”
