The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  Releasing her apron without a thought for the grain in it, she put her arms around him and stood on tiptoe, ignoring the chickens clucking around their feet.

  “Ah, lassie,” he said after kissing her thoroughly, “I wish I could keep you with me at Stirling.”

  She wished it, too, but not, she was certain, the same way that he did. “You said your sister is here, did you not?”

  “Aye, but she stays with Molly. Moreover, it is not just female company I want, and you know it,” he added with mock sternness. “I’d rather dance with you tomorrow night than with her, I promise you.”

  “You mean to attend the King’s grand ball, then?”

  “Aye, I must.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder if there might be a way for you to slip in for at least one dance. Doubtless, anyone could get lost in such a crowd as there will be.”

  Knowing he was capable of taking any risk that suited him, she said hastily, “I cannot. You know I cannot. Only think what would happen if Lady Farnsworth found out! Or the King! Invoking your cardinal would not protect me then.”

  “I suppose not,” he said, giving her a squeeze. “But soon Kintail will be free again, and when he is, we’ll talk more. You can be sure of that.”

  He was gone a moment later, leaving her amidst the chickens. She could still taste him, and she savored that taste, but her mood was sorrowful.

  She had no doubt that he wanted her. She held a place in his heart, but not the place she wanted. He would have to marry a woman better suited to his estate, and she would not take second place in the life of the man she loved.

  She stood lost in thought, until the rooster recalled her to her sense—and to the fact that all the grain was gone—by sharply pecking her ankle.

  Not until she retired to her bedchamber that night after the ladies finally returned, bubbling with gossip from their day at court, did she have another moment to herself to think, and to curse her foolishness in following Patrick.

  “Art sorry then that ye came tae Stirling?”

  The voice startled her, but she was glad to hear it.

  “Maggie Malloch!”

  “Aye, ’tis m’self, and sorry I am tae hear ye weeping and wailing in your head over yon Patrick,” Maggie said, taking form at the head of the little cot. “Did ye no enjoy your time wi’ him?”

  “I did, but now I will have to return to Farnsworth, and they are all so angry and so certain that my virtue has been compromised, and he—”

  “Pish tush,” Maggie said. “We needna concern ourselves wi’ small-minded sorts. Were I such a despiteful giglet as that Drusilla, I’d throw m’self away.”

  Beth smiled, thinking that if she could disappear at will as Maggie did, she might discount Drusilla, too. With a sigh, she said, “I just hope my temper does not stir me to say something to her that I’ll be sorry for.”

  With a fluttering gesture, Maggie conjured up the little white pipe with a spiral of smoke already curling up from its bowl, then leaned against the wall and crossed her feet at the ankles. She wore clothing that any common woman of her age and appearance might wear, not the flowing, shimmering garments one might expect someone with her gifts to wear.

  “We must ha’ a think about this,” she said. “Clothing, now,” she added, as if she had been listening to Beth’s thoughts, which Beth suspected was as easy for her as it was for most folks to listen to spoken conversation. “What color suits ye best?”

  “Why?”

  “Because ye wouldna want tae wear summat that doesna become ye.”

  “But I do not choose my own clothing,” Beth said. “Lady Farnsworth gives me things for which she and her daughters have no more use.”

  “Aye, sure, but this time it matters,” Maggie said, puffing away.

  “Why?”

  “Because the man ha’ asked ye tae go tae the ball. D’ye no want tae go?”

  Excitement leaped, but Beth suppressed it. “Even if I did want to go, Lady Farnsworth would never permit it, and the King did not send me an invitation.”

  Maggie frowned. “I didna think o’ the invitation,” she admitted. “It will be better then for her ladyship tae take ye there.”

  “Oh, aye,” Beth said, unable to prevent a note of sarcasm from entering her voice. “That would be much better.”

  “Aye, then, we agree,” Maggie said. “I think a certain shade o’ pale blue silk would suit ye best, or do ye prefer summat else?”

  “See, Claud,” Lucy Fittletrot said cheerfully, “we needna worry about your Bessie anymore. Your mother’s taken her in hand, so we can ha’ fun.”

  “Aye, perhaps,” Claud said, “but Mam willna like it an I disappear even an she’s taken it into her head tae meddle. I’d best ask her first.”

  “Dinna be a daffy,” Lucy begged. “We ha’ scarce had a minute tae ourselves, and I want ye tae meet my father. Surely, your Bessie or whatever she calls herself now will be safe whilst your mam watches her.”

  “Ye want me tae meet your father?”

  “Aye, and ye’ll like him, Claud, I promise ye. Ye ha’ never heard music like he can play, and I’ll dance wi’ ye when he plays his pipes for us.”

  Flattered, Claud felt strong temptation to agree. Instantly, though, he was struck by a mental vision of his mother in a temper. “I canna go now, Lucy, but if the lass does go tae the ball, we can dance there whilst we watch over her.”

  Lucy grimaced, but she said, “Ye promise, Claud? Ye’ll dance wi’ me then?”

  “If she goes tae the ball, or else I canna leave her till me mam says I may.”

  “Then tomorrow we’ll dance, Brown Claud. Until then, mayhap we can amuse ourselves and still keep an eye on her.” She put her hand on his thigh.

  Claud groaned, but when he saw that Bessie had drifted off to sleep, he quickly submitted to Lucy’s encouragement.

  Nell missed Palm Sunday services at the Chapel Royal by sleeping until noon, but when she wakened, she gave orders to Seth and Jane to prepare to remove to the castle. James had objected to her living in town, saying it was unsafe for her and inconvenient for him.

  When they reached the castle, the Lord Chamberlain gave her a message from the King, asking her to meet him, as before, at two o’clock; and since it was nearing that hour, she went at once to his private chamber to wait for him. Then, willingly, she let him take her to his bed.

  It had been a long time since she had indulged herself in sins of the flesh, but Jamie was an able and enthusiastic partner. She was well aware that many—the Queen and Oliver Sinclair to name but two—would consider their interludes immoral, but it was hard for Nell to view the marriage bed as sacred. As a prize offered to men of power to advance her brother’s position, she had been a pawn in political games all her life. To her, the only difference now was that she was using her considerable experience to gain position for herself and those she loved.

  “Ah, Nell,” James murmured as he nuzzled her plump breasts, “I’ve missed you grievously. No one understands my needs as you do.”

  Nell chuckled, stroking his thick, red hair. “ ’Tis a kind lie, sire, but I ken fine that you’ve been too busy to miss me. Moreover, your queen is said to be a bonny woman, and canny besides.”

  “Aye, she is both,” James said. “Sometimes I think Marie is more politically astute than I am, but I have never been a man one woman could satisfy. I’m glad you came to Stirling. ’Twas a splendid birthday gift.”

  “Then you will permit me to stay in Scotland, sire?”

  He hesitated. “Do you wish to remain at court?”

  “Only if that is your grace’s will. I want to visit my daughter, Lady Kintail, and with her help and that of her husband, to find my younger daughter, Elizabeth.”

  Visibly surprised, he said, “I thought the second one died a bairn.”

  “So Angus told us, sire, but I believe she lives. Indeed, I met a woman last time I was here, with a maidservant she claimed was Angus’s natural child. The woman was encroaching
, and I paid her scant heed, but I wonder now if that maidservant might not be my Bessie. Perhaps you know the woman,” she added hopefully. “Her husband is a knight with maternal connections to Angus. They might even be here now, taking part in the celebration.”

  James shrugged. “Many are kin to Angus, but few now claim to be. You may question my Lord Chamberlain if you like.” His eyes twinkled. “Have you moved your things to the castle yet?”

  “I have,” she said, “but with your permission, sire, I shall remain only for the festivities tomorrow and then travel on to the Highlands.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you. I’m eager to see Molly.”

  “Oh, aye, I remember now,” James said, fixing his attention on her breasts. “We’ll see if I’ve had a surfeit of your company by then.”

  Chapter 16

  Monday morning Patrick awoke to a cold, wet nose pressed against his cheek. Warily opening an eye, he found himself face-to-face with Thunder.

  “What the devil!” Sitting bolt upright, he saw that not only had the huge dog invaded his bedchamber but Jock had, too. “Who let you in here?” he demanded.

  “I let m’self in,” Jock said. “I dinna like them louts in the stables. They think I’m their slave or summat like, so I left me pony, and we came tae see should I do yer boots. Ye ha’ nae one else tae look after your trappings yet, do ye?”

  Patrick winced at the thought of the lad dealing with his clothes, but the fact was that although Molly and Bab had seen to collecting a semblance of a wardrobe for him, he had no one to help him dress or see to his everyday needs. “Just what do you know about looking after a gentleman and his trappings?” he demanded.

  “Two days since, I’d ha’ said as much as ye ken about being a gent,” Jock said, “but I’ve eyes in me head. I think ye was just pretending tae be a falconer.”

  “How the devil did you get that dog in here?”

  Jock’s eyes twinkled. “I just said his lordship wanted tae see the lad.”

  “His lordship?”

  “Aye, ’cause ye said he’d belong tae an earl, right?”

  “Did no one ask you which earl wanted to keep such an ill-kempt beast?”

  “Aye, but I looked down me nose the way ye do when ye’re miffed, and said it were none o’ his business,” Jock said. “Now, what will I do first here?”

  “Take that ewer and find some hot water,” Patrick said, resigned to the fact that he had apparently hired an eleven-year-old manservant. “After that, you can take this beast to the stable yard, give him a bath, and brush him thoroughly. And if we’re going to keep him, we’d best decide what to tell people about him.”

  “They say your master be a Highland chieftain,” Jock said suggestively.

  “He is,” Patrick admitted. “I suppose we can say the dog is his.”

  “That’s what we’ll do then,” Jock said. He grabbed the ewer and soon returned with Patrick’s hot water. “Shall I shave ye afore I tend tae Thunder?”

  “You will not,” Patrick said firmly, having learned through painful experience on the road that it was safer to shave himself. “Take him and go.”

  Although he had misgivings about Jock as a manservant, he had no doubt the boy would deal easily with Thunder. Thus, it was with surprise fifteen minutes later that he learned that the dog had objected strenuously to its bath.

  “Thunder run off,” Jock informed him, looking bereft. “When he saw the tub, he scarpered, and them fool men at the gate didna even try tae stop him.”

  Tears welled in the boy’s eyes, and Patrick put an arm around his shoulders. “He’ll come back,” he said, hoping he was right.

  “Aye, perhaps.” Jock gave a sniff, then said, “What’ll ye wear then? I hope I dinna ha’ tae iron anything or use one o’ them poking sticks I hear tell of.”

  Patrick was able to reassure him but decided it was not yet time to dispense entirely with Molly and Bab’s able assistance.

  An hour later, he entered the hall with his sister on his arm, and knowing he could no longer put off paying his respects to the King, he gave his name to the Lord Chamberlain. Fifteen minutes later, while Patrick was fending off the most persistent of Bab’s would-be suitors, the Lord Chamberlain approached them.

  “His grace will receive you if you will but follow me to the dais, sir.”

  As they turned to follow, Barbara said sotto voce, “I wish you would be kinder to Francis Dalcross, sir. He is handsome and charming, and has several times sought to have speech with you.”

  “I do not like his manner,” Patrick said. “Now, hush, lass. His grace should not see us muttering.”

  She had already turned her attention to the King, smiling brilliantly and making a deep curtsy as the Lord Chamberlain announced them.

  James Stewart appreciated beautiful women, so Patrick was not surprised to see him return Bab’s smile. As he made his bow, however, he was surprised to hear him greet her with casual familiarity.

  “I like that gown, lass,” James said. “ ’Tis a yellow that becomes you well. But can this be your hitherto mythical brother who escorts you? Arise, Sir Patrick. We are pleased to welcome you to our court. Was your journey a pleasant one, sir?”

  “Aye, your grace,” Patrick said, wondering how much James knew about his adventures. “May I congratulate you on your birthday, sire?”

  The King’s eyes narrowed, and Patrick knew the moment was at hand.

  “Here now,” James said, frowning. “You look devilish familiar, sir. I am certain we have met before.”

  “Aye, your grace, on Saturday,” Patrick said, hoping James possessed a sense of humor. He waited a beat, but when James continued to frown, he said ruefully, “I had the honor to be present when you received the goshawk, sire.”

  “Ah, yes, my fine Zeus!” James peered more narrowly at Patrick. “God’s feet,” he exclaimed, “the falconer!”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Barbara looked from one to the other but had the good sense to keep still.

  James clapped Patrick on the shoulder. “You did an excellent job, sir. We must discuss falconry at length one day, for I would know more of your ways.”

  “Gladly, your grace.”

  Another courtier claimed James’s attention, and as Patrick and Barbara stepped away, she said, “You did not tell me about the hawk.”

  “No,” Patrick said, adding quietly, “I hope his grace does not number himself amongst the many you have tempted, lass.”

  “No, sir,” she said. “Fin warned me to behave like a witless virgin in his presence. He said Jamie—that is, his grace—prefers more experienced women.”

  He nearly rebuked her for speaking so familiarly of the King but realized from her blushes that she quoted Fin, so he said only, “Take care nonetheless, lass. Jamie is not always so choosy. His illegitimate offspring could populate a village.”

  “I’ll be careful. But, Patrick, could you please just speak to Francis Dalcross? He knows Oliver Sinclair and says he can persuade him to let Fin go home.”

  “I doubt the truth of that. Dalcross merely boasts to impress you.”

  “But—”

  “No, Bab. I’ll not dismiss him out of hand if you care for him, but neither will I encourage his suit. And you are not to wear your feelings on your sleeve.”

  “I would never do that,” she said, raising her chin.

  “Good lass,” he said, believing her.

  She linked her arm with his and looked up into his eyes. “You will not forbid me to dance with him tonight, will you?”

  He grinned at her. “Saucy wench. Torment him all you like.”

  She chuckled, clearly satisfied.

  Beth spent the morning helping Drusilla and Jelyan prepare to spend the day and much of the night at court. They would dine at two, and then the court would retire for a few hours to prepare for the grand ball. The previous year, when they had spent an entire day at court, Beth had packed any other gowns they needed, and Sir Hector had h
ired porters to carry them to the castle. Beth assumed, however, that today the family would return to St. Mary’s Wynd to dress for the ball, and she had laid out the young ladies’ clothing accordingly.

  She was brushing Drusilla’s hair when Lady Farnsworth bustled in and exclaimed, “Mercy, are you not ready to depart yet? Why are those things still lying about? Martha has had my boxes packed for an hour or more.”

  Drusilla said snidely, “I cannot imagine why our gowns are not ready.”

  Looking from one to the other, Beth said, “No one told me that I was to pack them, and since you did say that I am not to accompany you—”

  “We do not need you when we have Martha and my aunt’s woman to attend us,” Drusilla snapped. “You should have known we would not be traipsing up and down the hill merely to avail ourselves of your services.”

  “You should indeed have known that,” Lady Farnsworth said, “but Mistress Farnsworth’s woman is ailing, and Martha will not have time to attend properly to all four of us before the ball, so you will have to come, because we want to look our best. You are not to leave our rooms for any reason, however. Now, stir yourself about. Sir Hector wants to leave within the hour.”

  A rap at the door announced the arrival of the kitchen maid.

  “What do you want?” Lady Farnsworth demanded.

  “Beg pardon, my lady, but that big dog be back.”

  “Dog? What dog?”

  “The large one what came wi’ Mistress Douglas and the falconer.”

  Beth, hoping Thunder’s presence meant Patrick was nearby, said, “I’ll deal with him, madam.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Farnsworth said sharply. To the kitchen maid, she said, “Shoo the creature away, girl. I do not know why you have bothered me with this.”

  “He willna go, your ladyship. We ha’ been shooing forever.”