Ruth Langan Highlanders Bundle

by Ruth Langan

“I do not understand.”

  “It is the sort of game we could have enjoyed in France,” Mary said, her face animated. “We will change clothes and see who discovers our little deception first.”

  When Meredith began to shake her head the queen said, “How many people really look at others? If they expect you to be in the clothes you have been wearing since your arrival, they will expect that the woman at the table wearing a white gown is you. And since I arrived in this hunting outfit, they will believe that the woman wearing it is the queen.”

  When Meredith continued to shake her head the queen motioned to the others. “Hurry. Brice promised us an hour. It will soon be time to sup with the others.”

  In a daze Meredith stood helplessly as the women, caught up in the queen’s plan, removed her gown and kid slippers and replaced them with the queen’s jeweled burgundy velvet hunting outfit and high kid boots. While Mary Seton laced the boots, Mary Livingstone brushed Meredith’s hair and dressed it in the identical fashion to the queen’s.

  Meanwhile the queen was dressed in Meredith’s white gown and kid slippers. Her plaited hair was brushed loose, falling in crimped waves to her waist.

  When both women were ready, they walked to a looking glass, where they stood side by side and examined their appearance.

  “Something is wrong,” Mary Fleming said softly.

  “It is the eyes. Anyone seeing Meredith’s green eyes would know that she was not the queen.”

  “A veil,” the queen muttered.

  “Of course.” Fleming removed her veiled hunting toque and placed it upon Meredith’s head.

  The dark weblike netting veiled her eyes and most of her upper face.

  “Perfect.” The queen studied the girl beside her, then stared at her own reflection. “Do you not feel regal in my garb, Meredith?”

  It took the young woman a moment to respond. “Aye. It is a strange feeling to know that my queen is wearing my clothes and that I am wearing hers.”

  At a knock on the door they turned. Cara entered and curtsied before Meredith. “My lord Campbell announces that a banquet has been prepared for Your Majesty.”

  Meredith was so stunned by the servant’s reaction that she gave a little gasp and stepped back in surprise. The women around her giggled. Beside her the queen, dressed in the wilted wedding gown, was nearly doubled over with spasms of laughter. The poor girl, confused by the unexpected response to her announcement, bowed her way from the room, keeping her gaze lowered.

  “You see,” cried the queen. “She never even looked up at you. She saw the gown, the auburn tresses, and believed that she was in the presence of the queen. Come,” she called to Meredith and the others. “We will enjoy Brice’s feast and see who discovers our little joke first. Seton,” she said suddenly. “I am betting a gold sovereign that our deception will not be discovered until after the first course of our banquet.”

  “Aye, Majesty,” Mary Seton said softly. “I will take your bet.”

  “Majesty,” Mary Fleming said discreetly. “If you are to be believable, you must stand back and allow Meredith to lead the way. And you must assume the mannerisms of a hostage and set aside your usual strong will.”

  “Dear Flem. How clever of you.” The queen stifled a laugh and stepped aside, allowing Meredith to take the lead.

  Brice frowned, deep in thought, as he changed into clothes more appropriate for entertaining the queen. He had planned on returning to the Borders this day to search for Gareth MacKenzie. Once he rid the land of that villain, he would be free to return Meredith to her people. The sooner that was accomplished the better. She was proving to be a stronger distraction than he had anticipated.

  It was odd how his plans were constantly being changed by the whims of others.

  At a summons from a servant he strode from the room.

  The women were already assembled in the great hall along with Brice’s men and the men from the queen’s hunting party.

  When Brice entered, Mary Fleming nudged Meredith. “Your Majesty will want to lead us to the banquet tables. Perhaps our host will be gracious enough to accompany you.”

  Brice offered his arm to his monarch and felt the small hand on his sleeve. As they led the merry group to the table he murmured, “Did you find Meredith’s tale entertaining?”

  “Very,” the voice beside him whispered.

  “I hope you and the others did not shock her overmuch.”

  “And why would you say that?”

  He placed a hand over hers and squeezed. “Do not play the queenly role with your old friend. I know you and the other Maries better than anyone else could possibly know you. You say and do the most shocking things just to see the reaction of others.”

  When the woman beside him remained silent he studied her bowed head and was puzzled. From their earliest days together he had never known the queen to be at a loss for words, especially when being taken to task for something.

  He brought his lips close to her ear and whispered, “Just what have you and the others done this time?”

  “Done?” With her head lowered she murmured, “I fear I do not understand.”

  The queen was behaving in a most strange manner. Brice knew her well enough to know that it meant she was up to one of her tricks.

  “Come,” he urged, pausing while the others caught up. “Tell me, for I shall surely discover your game soon enough.”

  “There is no game. I am merely overcome with hunger.”

  Brice, giving up for the moment, gave her a smile. “Then you shall enjoy a feast fit for royalty.”

  At the head of the table he held her chair, then seated himself at her right hand. As always the four Maries flocked around their monarch, interspersed with the men from their hunting party. At the far end of the table Brice noted that Meredith was seated between Angus Gordon and Jamie MacDonald, and though she kept her face averted, there was a smile on her lips. Odd. Until now, she had done nothing but scowl at him.

  Crystal goblets were filled and Brice lifted his, exclaiming, “To Mary, Queen of Scots.”

  “To Mary,” repeated the entire company before lifting the goblets to their lips.

  At the head of the table, the object of their toast nodded her head slightly and drank.

  In the silence that followed, the young woman at the far end of the table spoke. “When you leave, will you take me with you—Majesty?”

  Everyone gasped at the boldness of the hostage’s words. Angus placed a hand on her arm as if to warn her, but she shook it off as though no one had ever before dared to touch her in such a way.

  Beside him, Brice saw the queen’s head nod slightly. He felt a rush of seething anger at Meredith’s crude attempt to escape from Kinloch House with the queen’s blessing. When the others left he would deal with her harshly. For now, he would keep a tight rein on his temper and deal with her more diplomatically.

  “It is not proper to address the queen unless she first invites it.”

  “May I speak, Majesty?” came the bold reply from the far end of the table.

  Again Angus tried to stifle her outburst. Ignoring him, she opened her mouth to speak.

  “Nay. We will eat.” Brice held up a hand to silence her.

  At his signal, the servants began circulating among the guests, offering from trays of steaming deer, rabbit, goose, pheasant and partridge. There were breads still warm from the oven, as well as steamed puddings.

  From the far end of the table, the woman in the white gown called, “Such fine food, my lord.”

  Brice’s eyes narrowed. Was it Meredith’s intention to dominate the conversation? Perhaps she hoped to continue to call attention to herself in order to invite the queen’s protection.

  “There are those who say the Highlanders live like royalty while many in the Lowlands starve.” All eyes turned toward the woman in the white gown who sat beside Angus. With a wide, innocent smile she added, “Is that not true, Majesty?”

  Brice heard a slight choking sound
from the woman beside him. “Aye” came the voice. Then, with just a trace of French accent, she added, “’Tis said that many covet the holdings of the Highland lords. What say you—Meredith?”

  Brice turned to study the woman in the burgundy velvet gown. Though the gown and hair were that of the queen, the voice, though similar, was not hers. He and Mary had been friends for too long. He had heard her when angry, happy, ill and well. He would know her voice anywhere.

  He strained to study the face beneath the veil. Why would the queen wear a hat and veil to a banquet? A hint of a smile began at the corner of his lips. To hide behind? His smile grew.

  “Do you remember that time when you and I and the dauphin went riding in Paris?” he asked.

  Beside him the woman went very still.

  “Surely you have not forgotten, Majesty. We had a race. I believe the bet was one hundred gold sovereigns.”

  Still the woman beside him remained silent.

  “Unfortunately for you, I won by several meters,” Brice said with a trace of triumph.

  From the end of the table came the thunderous response. “How dare you, Brice Campbell! I won that race. And the bet was five hundred gold sovereigns. By the time you caught up with me I had turned my mount over to a groom and had retired to my rooms. You threatened to have your horse drawn and quartered for stumbling and losing the race.

  Around the table there was stunned silence.

  Brice threw back his head and roared with laughter. “And how does my captive, Meredith MacAlpin, know of such things?”

  At the foot of the table the queen stood, shocking those guests who had not yet caught on to the joke.

  “You knew all along, did you?”

  “Nay, Majesty.” Brice wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Not until I heard the poor imitation of your French accent beside me.”

  “Ah. Then it was Meredith who gave it away.”

  “It was the boldness of the one who pretended to be my captive. You have a very—regal presence, Madame. A trait that does not allow you to blend in with a crowd. How much did you have riding on this little prank?”

  “A mere gold sovereign.” The queen gave him a wide smile. “It is worth losing this bet to Flem just to put you in your place, Brice Campbell.” She looked around at the others. “Let no one at this table think that any Highland lord can best his queen in a race. Shall I challenge you again, Brice?”

  “Perhaps another time, Majesty.”

  While the others chimed in the laughter at the queen’s prank, Brice turned toward Meredith. In a voice the others could not hear he whispered, “Well done. For a few moments you managed to fool me, little wildcat.”

  Beside him Meredith merely smiled. Why in the world should Brice’s words please her? He was, after all, still the same barbarian who had captured her and held her against her will in the Highlands.

  Or was he?

  Meredith thought about the loyalty of his people, so unexpected in one of his reputation. And the library of books and ledgers. Did that not indicate an educated man? And what of his friendship with royalty?

  So many questions. And yet, long after the queen left, she would be forced to remain here and perhaps learn the answers.

  She glanced at the far end of the table where the queen was accepting the congratulations of those who admired her latest trick. Had not the queen herself brought up the question of what would be done with her? Perhaps she could yet persuade the queen to take her with her. At least then she would be free of Brice Campbell. After all, was that not what she truly wanted?

  At the far end of the table, Jamie MacDonald remained rooted to his chair. He was sitting beside the queen. And he had just been privileged to witness one of her renowned pranks. Could life be any more wonderful than this?

  Chapter Six

  When the feasting was over, the queen insisted upon summoning her musicians who had traveled with her. When they took up their instruments, Brice brought Jamie before the queen.

  “The lad plays several instruments, Madame, including the lute. He would be honored to join the royal musicians.”

  “They would be honored to have him.”

  Jamie felt his cheeks redden as he picked up the lute and joined the musicians. At a nod from Brice he began to play. Within minutes he forgot his nervousness as the music flowed through his fingers.

  “I have not danced since I left France,” Mary said with a pretty little pout, “seeing that dancing has been forbidden here in Scotland, as has anything else that brings pleasure. But here in the Highlands,” she said, brightening suddenly, “that horrid John Knox cannot hear even a whisper of scandal about our adventures.”

  “Or misadventures, knowing you,” Brice added with a smile.

  “Hush. Now that I am once again gowned as your queen,” Mary said with a glance at the burgundy hunting outfit that had been restored to her, “I command you to show a little respect. Further, I command you to learn the latest dances from Paris.”

  “I am your obedient servant, Madame.” Brice bowed over her hand and escorted her to the center of the room.

  From her position between Angus and Holden, Meredith was forced to watch as the queen and her friends taught Brice and the others the latest dances.

  It was almost scandalous to see the way the women directed the men to hold them close while the music played. Their feet moved in perfect rhythm, their bodies swaying gently. One shocking new dance even ended with a kiss.

  Meredith watched in stunned silence as the queen lifted her face to Brice. Their lips brushed. The men and women around them clapped their hands and called out encouragement.

  Young Jamie MacDonald watched in stunned silence. Brice was actually kissing the queen.

  “Ah,” Mary said, smiling. “You have not lost your touch, Brice. You are still able to make my heart leap to my throat with a single touch.”

  “And you, Madame,” he said with a smile, “are still the most outrageous flirt, as well as the finest dancer in all of France or Scotland.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “Nay, Mary,” he said, offering his arm and leading her across the room. “Your love of the dance is obvious. You move like a leaf in the wind.”

  “The heart of a poet beats in the breast of this warrior,” the queen said to the others with a laugh.

  “I believe it is my dance, Majesty.”

  The queen turned into the arms of one of the men from her hunting party and together they twirled away. Over her partner’s shoulder Mary called, “Dance with your hostage, Brice. I think it only fair that you teach her the dances of Paris.”

  Brice’s smile remained in place until he turned away. At that moment Meredith saw the little frown of frustration that was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He held out his hand and Meredith was forced to accept it.

  “I do not dance, my lord.”

  “Your queen has commanded it.”

  He saw her bite her lip as she moved into his embrace.

  As his arms encircled her the feeling was swift, immediate. It was not at all a pleasant sensation.

  Against her temple he growled, “You might try smiling. Learning the dance is not quite as painful as a public flogging.”

  “Are you so certain? I did not see you smiling a moment ago.” She tried to ignore the feeling that curled deep inside.

  “I was thinking that I should first search your person to determine if you carried a knife.”

  She gave him an exaggerated, beguiling smile. “If I did, my lord, it would not be in my hand. It would be in your back.”

  She felt his hand tighten at her waist as he led her through the intricate movements of the dance. Their bodies moved together, stiffly at first. But as the music of the harp and lute washed over them, they began to relax in each other’s arms.

  There was warmth along her flesh where his hand rested. Meredith could feel each of his fingers at her back, and was alarmed at the prickly sensation his touch aroused. His breath was warm
against her temple. In the crush of dancers he drew her closer, until she could feel his lips pressed to a tangle of her hair. The hand holding hers was strong and firm as he led her with ease. She felt a trembling inside that had nothing to do with the fact that she was disobeying the law of the kirk by dancing. Nay, it was not the dance that was her undoing; it was the man holding her.

  As Brice turned her, he was acutely aware of her breasts crushed against his chest. Her thigh brushed his and he felt the heat. Her hand, so small and soft in his, showed the bruises from his show of force the previous night. He felt a trace of remorse at the way he’d been forced to treat her.

  “I had hoped to return to the Borders this day and finish this business between myself and Gareth MacKenzie. Then you could be restored to your people.”

  “Instead you dance to the queen’s musicians.”

  “It cannot be helped.”

  “Aye. So many things, it seems, cannot be helped.” Her eyes grew stormy. “You could not help killing Desmond. You could not help taking me prisoner.”

  There was heat now of a different kind as Brice held her in his arms. He was not proud of having mistakenly killed an innocent. Nor was he happy about having taken her hostage. She had hit a nerve. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to throttle her.

  Meredith fought back the feelings that simmered inside her. She had hoped that by insulting him, by reminding herself who this man was, she could sweep aside this insidious reaction to his mere touch. But nothing, it seemed, could save her from her weakness.

  “The dance is ending,” the queen called. “We must all kiss.”

  Meredith pulled away but she was no match for Brice’s strength.

  Brice bent, determined to casually touch his lips to hers. This was, after all, not really a kiss. It was nothing more than the latest silly fashion from Paris.

  It was the merest touch of lips to lips. It lasted only the briefest moment in time. And yet, in that single second, she felt the fire and reacted as if she’d been burned. The moment his lips brushed hers, she flinched.

  Brice felt it as well. He forced himself to absorb the shock with absolutely no expression on his face. The hands at her waist remained still as he commanded them not to draw her closer. But he could not control his pulsebeat. It throbbed at his temples, causing his blood to heat until it was a raging fire.