Rogue Highlander: The King's Command

by Sondra Grey

  “My shoes?” There was nothing good about being in her shoes. Not at the current moment.

  “No social expectations. Free to do as you wish. You’re in a powerful position, girl. You want the young Macleod? You are the only woman in this room who could have him without consequence.”

  “There are consequences to every action, Lady Maxwell,” said Edane, thinking more about the King than about the young Macleod.

  “If you’re foolish, perhaps, and don’t play your cards right,” mused the lady. “But if you’re worried about James, and about Margaret, best thing for you is to take a lover. Margaret will breathe a sigh of relief that it’s not her husband.”

  “And what would James do?”

  “Who knows with him?” Lady Maxwell shrugged. “He might send you back to your father. Or he might be even more interested. I hear his tastes in the bedroom are as exotic as his tastes in court life.”

  Edane shivered.

  “Although perhaps that is just a rumor.” The lady trailed off, staring across the room at the tall Macleod clansman. “But if I was forty years young and unmarriageable…” she sucked in a breath through her teeth, “I don’t think anything would stop me.”

  Unmarriageable. Edane wanted to hang her head but she kept it raised. Illegitimate daughter of an Earl, soon-to-be mistress of a king. She wasn’t just unmarriageable, she was untouchable.

  She drew her eyes away from the handsome highlander and tried to find some joy in the jugglers.

  CHAPTER 6

  “A tournament,” sneered Leith as he stormed back to his rooms. “What a waste of time and money.”

  “It’s to honor the King’s marriage,” Richard said, hot on the heels of his cousin.

  “What a farce,” said Leith. “A child could see through that besotted act. All those sweet smiles. When the queen wasn’t looking, he couldn’t take his eyes of the Argyle girl.”

  “I didn’t notice that,” Richard frowned.

  Leith returned his cousin’s frown. He had noticed, but then again, he’d been watching the Argyle girl most of the evening. It was hard not to. Her sadness pulled at him. And Leith might not have noticed King James at all, save that the Argyle girl kept glancing to him, almost nervously.

  “Are your sword skills up to a tournament?” Richard asked. “I hear that, in the next few weeks there will be knights from at least six kingdoms coming for it.”

  Leith entered his room and shrugged. “I’ve not been in a lowlander tournament. I expect there’ll be jousting too.”

  “Tell me you don’t plan to joust!” Richard gaped.

  “Don’t be an idiot. Of course I won’t joust.” One did not joust in battle and so there’d been no reason to learn the skill. Sword play on the other hand... Leith was a master swordsman. Broadsword, shortsword, knives - but Leith wasn’t trained to be flashy about it. Flashy got you killed in a skirmish. You had to be quick.

  “We’ll deal with issues of training in the morning,” muttered Leith. “I’ve a headache from all that fanfare…”

  “So it is true what your sister said,” murmured Richard, leaning against the door. “You turn into a bear in civilized company.”

  “Civilized!? Is that what you’d call this circus?” Leith gestured to the room, small, but decorated sumptuously. “Just look at that bed. It looks like a coffin. I’ve half a mind to ride into the hills to catch my rest.”

  Richard sighed. “Remember what we’re here for. Try to be patient and behave yourself.”

  The tournament grounds were flooded with men, practicing for the tournament’s opening melee tomorrow. Axe throwing, shooting, sword fighting, jousting – Although the jousters had ridden out into the hills to practice, as there was scant room in the tournament yards.

  Edane watched the celebration with barely contained interest. She’d learned it wouldn’t do to seem interested in the proceedings. Margaret would see her interest and send her off somewhere else for spite. As it was, Margaret had decided that she was bored and wanted to watch the practice so she might choose her champion. She’d called on her eight ladies, bidding them to dress in their finest day gowns, and she’d made a grand entrance into the shaded box to watch the grounds. Those practicing had been forced to stand at attention and salute her. Then, in her high and girlish voice, Margaret had made a flowery speech about manliness and chivalry and bade them all continue.

  Edane sat in the corner, doing her best to remain unnoticed. Margaret had taken her sewing from her maids and given it to Edane. Three times now, she’d given back the same gown with the stitches ripped out and told Edane, “These are clumsy! Do it again!”

  In truth, they probably were clumsy - but Edane was no seamstress. Rather than receive one of Margaret’s vicious slaps, Edane did as she was told. She’d worked long into the night last night in order to have the gown delivered to Margaret this morning. Her fingers were aching and she’d a lingering headache from staring so long at the fine details by candlelight.

  “What think you of the highlanders, Majesty?” Catherine Gordon asked the queen.

  “Uncivilized brutes,” the queen sniffed. “Instead, let us look at Lord Percival! Now there is a fine example of chivalrous nobility.” Edane glanced over to the lord the queen was referencing. Edmund Percival was adept on the tournament field. He fought with a flare that was both showy and effective. But Edane thought him rather overdone. His speeches were too flowery, his manner was too affected. He sought attention and favor, and Edane had heard from Lady Maxwell that he slept with a different servant girl every night.

  “But look at the Macleod,” murmured one of the girls. “My goodness, I think I might faint!” The box erupted into giggles, and Edane risked a glance towards where three highlanders had been practicing. Leith Macleod had removed his shirt and, in place of his kilt, was wearing a pair of trews that fastened at the knee. The fabric clung to the muscles in his legs, and his body was a spectacular thing: tanned, streaked with a few white scars, and muscles that had seemed impressive beneath his shirts were frightening when bared.

  He fought with the agility of a cat, and was by far the best swordsmen of the group. There was nothing showy about his style. It was brutal. And the bluntness of his fighting seemed to belie the almost elegant beauty of his features. Edane thought of the panthers from the Moor’s tales. Big black cats that could kill a man with the swipe of one paw. That was the highlander.

  “Are his muscles not impressive, highness?” asked one of the Scottish girls.

  “They seem a bit superfluous,” said Margaret, waving her hand and dismissing the highlanders. “What is the point?”

  Edane almost spoke up but the Lesley girl cleared her throat first. “The highland clans are constantly at war with one another, Majesty. Strength is not only a point of pride, but a necessity in battle. Has anyone yet told you of the highland tournaments?”

  “Are they much different than ours?” asked Margaret.

  “Oh yes,” said the Lesley girl. “The tournaments feature feats of strength, not feats of skill. For instance, there’s caber tossing, stone throwing…” The Lesley girl, who loved telling a good story, began listing highland customs, and with the queen’s attention directed towards the story, Edane risked looking out at the highlanders again.

  Leith and his cousin had been in residence for a week now. Edane had seen them only twice at the dinners, but they’d been present during the day, riding out into the forests with the king, heading into the city themselves, or practicing in the yard. She’d passed them in the halls a few times, too. There was something about the Macleod that drew her attention the way that no other man ever had.

  Perhaps it was because he didn’t seem to look at her as the others did. In fact, he seemed to look past her whenever their paths crossed. Edane had the express feeling that his presence in Edinburgh was as unwilling as hers. She wasn’t sure where the fancy had come from, but she suspected that he wasn’t as dour as he appeared. And she wanted to make him smile.


  It was a strange want, and one she refused to act on. Leith had gained the admiration of most of the castle women, though he’d spoken to only a few of them, and only briefly. Edane half wondered if he’d be at the ball tonight.

  As the Tournament would open tomorrow, there was a ball to mark the occasion - and there would be feasts each night for a week until the tournament concluded. Tonight's opening fete was a masked ball, where lords and ladies would mingle with their faces covered. Edane would not be attending for a variety of reasons. The first being that Margaret had forbidden it.

  Edane was quite sure that Margaret suspected the real reason for Edane's inclusion in her retinue. The queen was young, but she and her husband were a match for canniness. Perhaps she realized that a masked ball was a perfect time for James to act on his decision to include the beautiful Argyle bastard in the queen’s retinue. Or perhaps Margaret was merely spiteful and didn’t wish Edane to have any fun at all.

  “Oooo, they’re coming this way,” hissed an English girl, shoving her breasts over the railing to stare at the highlanders as they passed by. Edane’s eyes flicked up, and caught on Leith’s as he strode past. He was shining with sweat, dark hair damp and shoved out of his eyes, muscles tight from use.

  She felt a strange jolt of sensation as his eyes caught hers, her breath hitched in her throat. Immediately she turned her gaze to her hands.

  “Did he look at you, Rose?” one of the English girls asked the lady sitting by Edane’s side.

  “Did he?” Rose asked. Rose was English, one of Margaret’s close friends from London: beautiful, pale, and stupid. Catherine Gordon being the sole exception, Margaret seemed to prefer ridiculous women. The other three women she’d brought with her from London were some of the most foolish beings that Edane had ever encountered.

  “Maybe he’ll dance with you at the mask tonight!” said one of the girls, teasing.

  Rose huffed. “I certainly hope he does not! I’m terrified of him. I hear highlanders eat their own children if there’s no food in the winter…”

  Edane rolled her eyes as the other English women began recounting all the horrible things they’d heard about highlanders. The thought of Leith wasting his time on a girl like Rose set Edane’s teeth on edge. Suddenly, she wished fervently that she could go to the ball. Wearing a mask, she might be able to hide who she was, she might be able to shed the wallflower identity for a night, be anybody…

  And why not? If she could disguise herself, who would know that Edane Campbell had attended the ball? She’d powder her hair, cover most of her face… She’d need to come back early to finish the sewing that Margaret had assigned her, but maybe she might get in one dance. Would Leith be there? She fervently hoped so. If she could only dance once, she wanted it to be with him. She wanted to see if she could make him smile.

  CHAPTER 6

  T hat afternoon, when she’d time to herself, Edane visited Lady Maxwell and told the woman of her plan. The old woman convinced Edane to borrow one of her gowns. Lady Maxwell and Edane were of a height, though the lady was a bit wider through the middle. They spent the afternoon with Lady Maxwell’s maid, trying to tailor one of the smaller gowns to fit Edane. In the end, they devised a strategy for padding the gown. Lady Maxwell had her woman fetch a plain, satin mask that matched the grey satin of the dress.

  “Perfect,” the lady cackled. “Like a little mourning dove. You’d blend into any background and no one will know you. We’ll powder your hair and it won’t show against the color of the dress.”

  It was a delightful plan and that night, as Edane slipped through the hall and into the ballroom, for the first time in weeks she felt happy.

  It seemed as if everyone in Edinburgh was in attendance tonight. The ballroom was crowded with so many people that there was barely any room to dance. Nobody glanced her way as she wandered about - and she didn't expect them to. Some of the costumes here were over the top – people paraded about as peacocks, animals, fools, and historical characters. Edane hadn’t realized just how elaborate this would be. There were many people, like her, who’d simply chosen to cover their face, and still many more who didn’t dress up at all.

  Edane scanned the crowd for the highlanders and nearly lost her breath when she spotted them – but the tartans were wrong and she realized that it was not Leith and his friends, but rather Lord Percival and his, who’d dressed up as highlanders for the mask. They looked poor imitations and Edane was suddenly furious at them. Their dress was a mockery, not a celebration.

  In fact, the more Edane looked, the more it became obvious that the highlanders weren’t here.

  Get over it, girl, she admonished herself, This is your one night to have fun. So go and have it! You don’t have long here anyway!

  Edane grabbed a passing glass of wine, downing it for courage. She was forbidden wine in Margaret’s company. Margaret had told her, loudly, and in front of the other women, that wine would make her “loose” and that Margaret didn’t need “a slut” in her retinue.

  The thought made Edane grab another glass, though she drank this one more slowly, relishing the warmth the wine brought and the slight sense of giddiness. This was an adventure! She reminded herself. Be bold!

  What Edane needed was a conquest. So, she looked around the room, eyes landing on a particularly impressive looking man wearing a black mask with a prominent, ridiculous nose. Complementing the mask was a white wig, and an over-the-top, colorful outfit with tight hose, a bulging codpiece, a brilliant yellow jacket and obscenely ruffled collar. The man looked like a clown, the mockery of a court dandy. In fact, his very appearance made Edane chuckle, and before she realized what she was doing, she was heading towards him.

  “Sir, you are striking,” said Edane, as she came abreast of the clown.

  The man started and looked down, clearly, he hadn’t seen her approach. Through the mask his eyes were a brilliant green surrounded by thick, black lashes. Beautiful eyes, Edane thought.

  “And you,” said the man, his tones clipped and English. “Are decidedly not. Are you a ghost tonight?” He stared at her grey ensemble, rudely.

  “Ooo how clever,” said Edane, game to spar. “But why a ghost? Perhaps I'm a rat, or a dirty river, or a cinder. Oh! I could be smoke!”

  A smile played at the edges of the clown’s mouth. “Ah. So, what is it then you were striving to achieve with such color or lack thereof?”

  “A shadow?” suggested Edane. “The perfect complement to such a riot of color,” she gestured at his yellow jacket. His lips broke into a smile. Though she couldn’t see the rest of his face, that smile took her breath away.

  “The seen and the unseen?” the clown mused. “Do you wish to remain unseen lady?”

  “Clearly not,” said Edane, “I’m speaking to you, aren’t I?”

  “You are, indeed,” said the clown. “Can I be of service to you?” Edane wondered who he was. None of the English Lords she observed had such an impressive physique, save Lord Percival. But then again, many people had arrived today for tomorrow’s tournament start and she'd not met them all. Edane would have fun tomorrow trying to guess which lord she’d spoken to.

  “I want to have fun,” said Edane, suddenly. Why bother pretending otherwise? “Will you dance with me?”

  “A lady who asks a gentleman?” mused the clown. “How forward. It would be my honor Lady Shadow,” he gave her a ridiculous bow, an extravagant version of the bows the king usually received. Edane’s breath caught in her throat. She extended her hand and the clown took it, enclosing her small fingers in his large grasp. His palm was deliciously calloused, and Edane felt a thrum of excitement streak through her as she let him lead her out onto the floor.

  It was clear that this Lord liked to dance. His feet were swift, his eyes sparkled with enjoyment, and while Edane could sense that he wasn't all that interested in her, he was still unfailingly polite.

  Oh! If only every night could be like this, she thought, as her fingers played,
teasingly, on the clown's impressive bicep. For all this Lord knew, she was a lady, and so his hands never wandered, his gaze never dropped. He was funny, and kind, and seemed content to stay with her for the evening, but the hours grew late, and it didn't matter how much Edane was enjoying herself, she had to get back to her sewing - or face Margaret's wrath and accusations in the morning.

  So, when the next dance ended, Edane led her clown (for he was now hers!) from the floor and towards the back of the ballroom. "My Lord," she said. "I fear I must retire. I thank you for your company! It was superior."

  "Was it?" murmured the clown, head bent so his voice reached her ears only. The nose of his mask tickled her cheek. "I admit, Lady Shadow, you were a pleasant diversion. Might I see you from the hall?"

  To what purpose? Edane thought - a stolen kiss? Her heart hammered, and her mind filled with Arthurian verses, songs of chaste courtly love.

  They parted the crowd and entered the hall, where cool air from the windows washed through, delightful after the stifling press of the hall.

  "Will you be attending the tournament tomorrow?" asked Edane, for she was nervous and needed to fill the silence.

  "But of course," replied the clown. "I am entered in the melee."

  "How frightening," said Edane. "I hope you will not be harmed."

  "Ah, lady," said the clown, who'd wandered over to a window and was leaning against it. "How will you know if I am or I am not?"

  Edane's heart fluttered. "I suppose I won't."

  "Similarly," said the clown, "I will not know if you watch." His smile suggested that he was not serious, that he was playing a game, as she was.

  Edane grinned, suddenly, and dug into the neck of her gown. The clown's gaze sharpened and he leaned forward. Edane fished out one of her embroidered handkerchiefs, a burgundy square of cloth with her initials embroidered in yellow. She and Lady Maxwell had used it and other pieces of fabric to help pad the gown.