Kara couldn't resist a smile. Isla's language was always so colorful.
Someone rapped on Harry's door, and Kara passed from her chamber into his. It had to be a kitchen maid with the food. "Come," she called.
The door swung open. It was Ian. She glanced up in surprise. In the last weeks he had purposely avoided the tower just to be certain he didn't encounter her alone.
"Harry here?" he asked gruffly.
She shook her head. Her stomach fluttered and she pressed her hand to it. Every time she laid eyes on him she felt light-headed. She had read of how love could be felt in a physical way, but she had never believed it until she herself fell in love.
She tried to speak casually, as if they were merely brother and sister-in-law and not lovers. Not beloved. "Harry has gone down to break the fast."
He lowered his voice, glancing through the doorway into her chamber. "Anyone else here?"
"Nae. Just Isla. She's dressing."
He broke into a broad-faced grin, reached out and grabbed her around the waist, nearly lifting her out of her slippers. "Good, because if I don't get you in my arms me thinks I will shrivel and die."
She laughed, pushing at him. "Oh, you will not. Where do you get this romantic nonsense?" she chastised him, but secretly she was pleased. She liked his poetic sweet talk.
"I will." He kissed her neck, the pulse of her throat. "As God is my witness."
She struggled, but not too hard.
"I missed you last night," he murmured in her ear. He nipped at her lobe.
"Harry wouldn't go to sleep. He was too excited about his birthday. We played cards for hours. I think I fell asleep first."
He kissed her lips and let her go."'Tis all right. You need your rest. You're beginning to get circles under your eyes from lack of sleep. Too much love, not enough sleep."
She walked to the floor-length looking glass framed in an oval of copper. "Ye think so?" She rubbed under both eyes, staring at her face. She was pale and did look tired. But she thought her face reflected her guilt more than lack of sleep. "Heavens, I do look like a hag."
He crossed his arms over his chest. "Ye look beautiful to me."
"Would you please leave?" Her tone was playful as she pointed to the door. "Leave before you get us both into trouble."
He glanced into her chamber again. He could see her bed from where he stood. "Ye said we were alone. Want to..." He indicated the bed with a nod of his head.
Her entire body went warm. "I would love to." She clasped his arm and dragged him toward the door. "But I must dress and find the monkeys."
He frowned. "Monkeys?"
"Don't ask. Just go. I'll see you downstairs later, at the festivities."
He stepped into the hall and she followed. "Why were you looking for Harry so early?"
He gave a wave of one broad hand. "Oh, 'twas nothing. A feud that's been going on between two families has escalated again. I wanted to warn him."
"You'll find him in the great hall."
He started for the staircase. "I know."
"You know?" She leaned against the door. "What do you mean, you know? You said you came up in search of him."
"Just an excuse to see you." He winked and then he was gone.
Kara smiled, returning to her bedchamber. "All right." She clapped her hands. "Come, Isla, let me dress. I've got to find those blessed monkeys."
Chapter 15
Kara laughed and clapped as she watched a black spider monkey toss a bright red ball into the air and catch it in his tiny paws. Harry laughed too, delighted by the monkey and Kara's good humor.
It was the most wonderful birthday Harry had ever had. Servants had carried tables and chairs from the great hall into the courtyard for the many guests at the festival. There were boards laden with food, tables for gambling, and stalls for entertainment, just like a village festival. One of his guests could try to toss balls into a jug, strike a bull's-eye with a tiny spear, or guess which nutshell would reveal the halfpence. Kara had even hired a fortune-teller from the village to read tarot cards and toss rune stones. There was music, horse racing, even wrestling. Tonight men and women would dress in their best gowns and kilts, dine and drink until they were satiated and then dance until dawn—all in honor of his fourteenth birthday.
Dungald came up behind Harry and leaned on the table. He smelled of scotch. "Fine fete you've thrown, my lord."
Harry glanced at his cousin. Kara was busy talking with his mother. The monkey was standing upright on its rear legs, playing a tin drum. "I've my wife to thank," Harry said, watching the performing animal. He always felt awkward around Dungald. His cousin said and did all the right things, but there was something in his tone that scared Harry sometimes.
"Aye, she's become quite the little wife." He sipped from a goblet. "A fine piece."
Harry forced a smile and reached for his watered wine. That was a compliment, wasn't it? When a man's wife was a fine piece?
"She as talented between the sheets?" Dungald questioned over the rim of his goblet.
Harry choked on the wine that slid down his throat. He coughed and his cousin struck him on the back.
"Easy there. We'll not have you drown on your birthday!"
Tears came to Harry's eyes as he tried to clear his throat. He set down the goblet and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"Why, my lord," Dungald whispered in his ear. "By the redness in your face, a man would almost think you had still not slipped her the rod."
Harry felt his cheeks grow hot. He squirmed in his seat. He didn't like Dungald speaking to him about Kara in such a crude manner, but he didn't know what to do to stop him. Did Dungald really know the truth or was he just guessing? How could he know? He had to be guessing. But Ian had warned that no one could know Harry was not sleeping with his wife in the intimate way. It was dangerous, his brother said. Dangerous for them all.
Harry cleared his throat. "I... I will not have you speak of my wife thusly," he whispered under his breath. "Mind your own sheets!"
Dungald cackled, sinking the bony fingers of his hand into Harry's shoulder. "Tell me you're not shy, cousin! 'Tis a simple enough act. One she should enjoy thoroughly." He lowered his mouth to Harry's ear. "I could show ye myself, if you wished."
Harry glanced over his shoulder at Dungald in shock.
"Only for the sake of Dunnane, of course," his cousin amended.
Harry waved a hand. "Get your drunken self from me before I have you tossed in the dungeon!"
He spoke loudly enough that several people heard him, including Kara. Heads craned to see what was passing between the earl and his cousin.
"Trouble with the peasants, my lord?" Ian appeared out of nowhere to stand behind Harry's chair.
Thank God for Ian. Harry didn't know what he would do without his dear half-brother.
"No trouble," Dungald said innocently. "We were just jesting, weren't we, my lord?"
There it was again, Harry thought. The way Dungald said "my lord." He was mocking him.
"My lord?" Ian questioned Harry directly.
"No trouble," Harry mumbled. "Just get him away from me."
Ian stared hard at Dungald and the man backed away, laughing as he went.
Just then the performing monkey leaped onto the table. Harry clapped his hands, pushing aside thoughts of Dungald and his unconsummated marriage. "Kara, I have to have a monkey," he exclaimed. "Sir, will you sell me this monkey?"
The monkey picked up a piece of bread from Harry's plate and nibbled on it.
"It looks so human, don't you think, Kara?" He peered into the creature's white-framed face.
Kara turned to Harry and smiled, pleased he was having such a good time. She was feeling lighthearted today. She had prepared so well for the festival that she was actually finally able to sit back and enjoy herself. Isla kept her abreast of any minor problems and solved them smoothly.
"Well, sir? Will ye sell me this fine monkey?" Harry asked the monkey man again.
<
br /> "Nae, my lord, not this monkey, for he is my finest friend, but another could be arranged."
Harry beamed at Kara. "Do you hear that? This fine man will sell me a monkey."
Kara rolled her eyes. "Aye, my lord. That was precisely what I was thinking this morning when I awoke. I thought, what Dunnane needs is a monkey!"
Ian, standing behind them, chuckled.
The monkey man put out his arm and the little creature ran up its length and onto its master's shoulder. The monkey man bowed.
"Come back and talk to me later," Harry told him as he pushed his chair back from the dais. Then he rose and offered Kara his hand. "Shall we stroll through the courtyard and see what's about?"
She slid from her chair and accepted his hand. Harry kissed the back of it with a graciousness she'd not seen before in him. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Ian's gaze. He was watching the exchange between them, stone-faced.
She could tell by the look on his face that their situation was as difficult for him as for her.
Kara hated living this lie that her life had become. She hated pretending it was Harry she cared for when it was Ian. She hated taking Harry's hand when it was Ian's she wanted. And where would this end? How could it end but badly? If she were smart, she would end her love affair with Ian now, before her heart was broken. But she knew it was too late. She could not stop herself from loving him, or even from going to his bed. She felt like a sword already thrust, hurtling forward. Now she could only wait to see where it would fall.
"The fortune-teller," Harry chattered. "I think we should try our luck with the fortune-teller." He waved Ian toward him and they waited for him to catch up. "Brother, come with us; we're bound for the fortune-teller's stall."
Ian came reluctantly toward them and Kara watched as the crowd of men and women separated to allow him a wide berth. She found it interesting that a man's reputation could make such an impression on people. After all, few, if any, had ever witnessed Ian Munroe's fury or fighting ability, and yet they all feared him on some level. Most of these people didn't even know for certain if the rumors were true about the number of men he had slain in battle. It was his sheer size and the stern look on his face that convinced them, rather than facts.
"I've no need to have my fortune told," Ian said, walking beside Harry. "I don't wish to know my fate, and if ye had a lick of sense, you wouldn't either."
"Surely you don't think it real?" Kara teased. "No one knows the future but God." She squeezed Harry's hand."'Tis only for fun, for our own amusement."
Ian waggled a finger. "The Bible warns us of false prophets, of evil spirits occupying the bodies of soothsayers."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Could we expect anything else from my droll brother?"
As they arrived at the fortune-teller's booth, the old woman looked up expectantly. She seemed pleased that the earl of the manor had come to see her.
"Cast your fortune, my lord?" she asked, her voice low-pitched and gravelly.
She did not look the way Kara had imagined a fortuneteller would look. She was neither shriveled nor sharp-boned, and her gaze had no penetrating light to it. Instead she was round and roly-poly, with pursed red lips and graying hair tied up in a scarf. She looked like someone's grandmother.
"Nae, first my dear wife." Harry pulled a stool out across from the rickety table the old woman sat behind.
"It's your birthday," Kara said. "You should go first."
"You first, then Ian, then me."
Ian made the sign of the cross with two fingers as if to ward off evil spirits. "Nae, I told you. I'll have no part in witchcraft."
Kara laughed and pushed past him to take the seat Harry offered her. "Come, Ian, it's just for fun." She looked at the old woman. "Should I show you my palm?"
Harry slid a coin across the table to the fortune-teller and she tucked it quickly into the bodice of her sack-like gown.
"Aye, give me your pretty hand, dearie, and let Mother Ella tell you what is already cast in the stars for you."
Kara extended her palm.
The woman smoothed it between her own hands and then studied it carefully. She made clicking sounds between her teeth and sighed an occasional "Aha."
"Well?" Kara asked. "Will I live to be a grandmother?"
Mother Ella rubbed Kara's palm, causing heat from the friction. "I see much happiness in love," she croaked with a toothy grin. "Great happiness." She knitted her fuzzy brows. "But also great sorrow." She stared at the lines on Kara's palm. "But aye, ye will grow old amidst these walls. A great-grandmother you will be, with many red-haired sons, grandsons and great-grandsons to keep your belly full and your heart happy."
Kara popped out of the chair, satisfied. "Next."
"You certain you won't try your luck?" Harry asked Ian.
Ian scowled.
Harry took his seat across from the old woman and offered his palm. She took it between her own plump palms and rubbed it as she had rubbed Kara's. This time she did not smile.
She studied his hand for only a moment and then released it. Harry looked up at her in disappointment. "What of me? Will I be a great-grandfather?"
"The runes," she mumbled. "I must consult the runes, my lord."
Kara suddenly felt uncomfortable, though she didn't know why. "Come, Harry," she said. "Let's see the puppet show. It's about to begin."
"Nae. I want to see what the runes say."
The old woman tossed the rune stones from a bent tin goblet and lowered her face until her eyes were only inches from the tabletop.
"Well?" Harry asked impatiently.
The old woman glanced up past Harry to Kara, then quickly down at the runes again.
Kara didn't like the way the old woman looked at her. She didn't believe in fortune-telling. And she wasn't superstitious, but there was something about the woman's eyes that made her uneasy. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all. "Harry." She touched his arm.
"I want to wait," he declared.
"I see... I see much happiness, many children," Mother Ella said, not totally convincingly.
"And a monkey? Do you see a monkey in my future?"
Kara grabbed his hand. "Harry, Ian and I are going to see the puppets. You coming?"
Harry tossed the old woman another coin and rose from the stool. "Lead the way, wife," he said, swaggering gallantly. "I am yours the rest of my days."
* * *
The strum of stringed instruments rose in the tower stairwell as Kara descended from her private chambers.
"Mind your skirts," Isla warned, catching the hem of the emerald, watered silk as Kara hurried. The gown had been a belated wedding gift from Mother Anne, brought from Edinburgh, and Kara adored it. It was the kind of fashionable garment she imagined a mother would give her newlywed daughter, and she would treasure it always.
"The ale and wine casks have been brought from below to refill our guests' cups?" Kara asked.
"Aye."
"The cake and the doves in place?"
"Yes, mistress. All fourteen. His lordship will be thrilled."
At the very bottom of the winding stairs Kara halted and smoothed the laces of her tight-fitting bodice. "What have I forgotten?"
Isla handed her mistress a lace kerchief. "To smile, my lady."
Kara blotted her lips with the handkerchief. "It's almost over and it's been a great success, hasn't it?"
Isla licked her finger and smoothed one of Kara's stray strands of hair. "His lordship has had a grand time; he told me so himself."
"Did he?" She studied fresh-checked Isla, who was also sporting a new gown in honor of the earl's birthday. "And when did he tell ye this?"
"Late in the day. When you were in the kitchen. We talk sometimes, the master and I. Ye don't mind, do ye, because if you do—"
"Of course I don't mind. You are here to serve us both."
"Aye, but my loyalty must be to you, my lady, always." She ran a clean hand over her swollen abdomen. "It was you who saved
my hide and my baby's."
Kara took Isla's hand in hers. "You have already paid your debt twofold. I could not have gotten through this without you. Any of it," she said meaningfully.
"I am only glad I can be of service. Now go, my lady. I'm certain the birthday boy awaits you."
In the great hall the celebration had already commenced. The tables and chairs had been returned to the hall, and the room was lit with hundreds of blazing candles. Music played and men and women laughed and danced merrily.
Kara spotted her husband standing before one of the stone fireplaces, drinking with his men. She approached the group, curtsied and greeted them.
Each man spoke respectfully and bowed. Harry brushed his lips against her cheek. He smelled of scotch and sounded a little tipsy.
"I thought I would have to come for you myself, wife," he exclaimed, curling one arm around her waist.
The spirits had made him bold. He did not usually handle her with such familiarity. She flashed a smile, wondering if he would make it through the entire evening without passing out, or if he would have to be carried to their private chambers by his clansmen.
"We were just remarking how well his lordship has recovered from his wound," one of the men said.
"Not even a limp," commented another.
Harry grinned and tipped his silver drinking cup adorned with rams' horns for handles. It had been his father's cup before him, presented by Dungald earlier in the day.
"Better yet, I've learned my lesson," Harry said cheerfully. "When my opponent feigns right—" he demonstrated—"I must be certain not to move left."
The men laughed, probably harder than they should have, but they were all indulging Harry today, in honor of the special occasion.
"I wondered myself," Kara said pleasantly, "if—"
The sound of a crashing table cut her off in midsentence. She spun to face the room in time to see a chair fly through the air, hit the northern stone wall and shatter.
"Ye gods," one of the group groaned good-naturedly. "It's George Gordon and Matty MacFae at it again."
"Will they never settle this dispute?" someone asked.
Highland Bride Page 15
