by Sondra Grey
"Here," she said, handing it to him. "A good luck token, since I won't know whom to give it to tomorrow."
But the clown's eyes were now trained on her waist, judging it, Edane thought. She smiled. Oh yes, Lord Clown, I'm not so thick-middled. He took the kerchief from her hands and tucked it into the pocket of his ridiculous yellow coat. Then he took her hand in his and drew her closer to him until only his ridiculous nose separated them. His green eyes were sparkling with mischief and Edane's stomach leapt into her throat. "Close your eyes lady," said the Lord in his clipped English. "I will offer my own token."
Edane did as she was bit, her heart hammering. Would he kiss her? She'd been kissed before - though only once had she wanted it. Many a drunken lord in her father's keep had thought the beautiful bastard easy prey. Would this lord kiss her now?
She wanted to open her eyes, for she knew he'd removed his mask, but she kept them closed, stomach seizing as his warm breath tickled her temple. Then his lips came down, soft as a sigh on her cheek, just below where her mask ended. It was chaste, gentle, and yet somehow dangerous. Somehow full of unspoken promise.
Edane stifled a moan. Perhaps it was the two glasses of wine, but the kiss all but undid her. She swayed against him and felt his hands go to her waist. He pinched.
Edane gasped and pulled back and the Lord was...he was... Laughing! He'd pinched a good inch of fabric. So he'd guessed. He'd guessed that she had stuffed her gown.
"Apologies my lady," he said, between peals of laughter. "But I had to know."
Edane felt a righteous fury sweep through her. So much for chivalry! Disappointment, too, flooded in with it and she felt close to crying.
So she inclined her head coldly. "Good night, Sir Clown," she said, her voice ice, and she swept off down the hall.
Alone in his room, Leith stripped off the ridiculous mask and dumped into the corner the yellow jacket, the ruffled collar, the codpiece, the idiotic hose. But he held onto the square of fabric. A token! How courtly. He wanted to sneer at the fabric, but he didn’t. The young lady who’d given it to him had seemed so honest. A shadow! A rat? Who dressed in grey for a masked ball?
Probably somebody’s wife, he thought to himself. He studied the square handkerchief. It was embroidered in the corner with the yellow initials EC. EC. Who was EC? He didn’t know enough of the courtiers to guess. Perhaps Richard or Adam might tell him.
He’d guessed while they were dancing that her gown might be padded. She danced much more lightly than he’d guessed she would. While her thick middle had not enticed him overmuch, the mask couldn’t conceal the prettiness of her features, and there was something about the lightness of her manner that he found incredibly attractive. She’d been innocent, friendly, and without guile.
And he’d ruined it.
He shook his head. He hadn’t been able to help himself. She was a mystery that he’d wanted more answers to. So, he’d drawn her close, kissed her cheek, and pinched at her waist. And he’d been right. She’d stuffed the gown.
EC. Who was EC?
Scottish, from her speech. And most likely married, if she attended a mask without a chaperone and did her best to remain unnoticed. Leith grimaced. How civilized, a married woman courting a lover.
But he wasn’t sure that was it either. She’d been flirtatious, but not practiced. Innocent.
Leith put the handkerchief on the bedside table. EC was a mystery he’d have to sort out later. At the present moment, he had to get some sleep. He’d be fighting in a tournament tomorrow.
CHAPTER 7
E dane didn’t get to sleep until the sky began to lighten. She was in a terrible mood. Her encounter with the clown last night had sent her back into her melancholy. There was no such thing as chivalry or courtly love - not the type that had existed in Arthur’s court. And this tournament would be a terrible farce.
It didn’t matter that she was only just now getting to sleep. Margaret would see the terribly stitched gown and forbid Edane from attending the tournament. And that was just fine with her.
Which is why Edane was so shocked to be awoken a mere three hours later by a chamber maid, insisting that Edane had only minutes until Margaret expected her in her antechamber. Edane had never gotten ready so quickly in her life. The chambermaid, no doubt feeling badly for Edane, remained and helped the girl fix her hair and tie her gown tightly. Other than creases beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, Edane looked acceptable and she raced down the hall towards Margaret’s solar.
Blissfully, the queen was not yet ready when Edane arrived, though she was the last lady in waiting to appear. Per usual, the others ignored her and she took up position towards the back wall, wondering if it were possible to sleep with one’s eyes open?
Alas, it was not Margaret who swept into the room first, but King James, looking splendid in his velvet and silk, with his long, dark hair spilling about his shoulders.
He flashed a smile at the women surrounding, “Good morning ladies,” he said, sending several of the English women into fits of giggles. Idiots. “Is my beautiful wife ready to be escorted to the festivities?”
“She’ll be out shortly, highness,” murmured Catherine Gordon, dropping an attractively low curtsy. Edane saw James’ eyes land on her bosom.
“It is the queen’s prerogative to keep the king waiting,” said James. Edane noted that there were three of James’ counselors in the room too, but that they remained standing by the door. James chose a chair upholstered in red velvet and dropped himself into it, his eyes scanning the room and landing on Edane.
Edane met the king’s gaze for a moment, heart pounding, she stared at her shoes. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before the King would make his approach, or call her to him. She had hoped that James had forgotten about her, but she doubted that were true. She could feel his eyes on her, and knew the other women would tell Margaret.
“Lady Elseworth, how do you find our fair Scotland?” said James, taking his attention off of Edane and questioning Rose. Rose wasn’t sure how to address the king and all but giggled and stammered her way through something. King James asked Lady Gordon next. Then Nicole Thomas (whose mother was French). He made his way through the ladies in waiting, charming each of them. Edane was last.
“And Edane of Argyle,” he said. Was it her imagination or was his voice pitched just a bit lower. “How do you fair?”
Edane knew she had to look up at him and so she did, meeting his bold and hungry gaze. “Well, your highness,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”
The silence that followed was awkward. James was looking his fill and everyone present was noticing. Thank heavens that Margaret chose that moment to fling her door open and announce herself ready.
The King stood and, in a beautiful speech, made much of his wife’s appearance before taking her arm and leading her from the room. His counselors and the ladies followed, Edane trailing near the back.
The party strode down a corridor and then all but burst through a set of double doors to tremendous applause. Edane was so tired that her head ached, and the sun was directly before them, blinding her for a moment. When her vision cleared, she saw that they were in a box raised above the tournament grounds. Before the railing, there were two elaborate wooden thrones, and besides the thrones were chairs for the retinues. There must have been close to twenty people sitting in the box. The ladies in waiting were in attendance as well as some of the king’s favorites, like his counselors, and - to Edane’s dismay - her father. Argyle had a glass in one hand and was in deep conversation with Lord Alec Gordon.
Edane was in a terrible bind: She had to continue to remain unnoticed, lest Margaret turn her way and make a public fool of her. But if she did not stand out in some way, her father would no doubt berate her for not doing enough to capture the king’s attention. Edane wasn’t certain if she were more afraid of Margaret or her father. Margaret she decided. Her father had never raised a hand to her and certainly wouldn’t try and kill her. So, she
sat on the chair furthest from the king and queen, and stared out over the tournament ground.
Lord, there must have been close to fifty knights on the field! Most were waiting alongside the walls, talking with squires or taking swings with their swords. Nobody seemed to be wearing full suits of armor. The melee was more about skill than about strength and it was difficult to fight when fully armed. The knights would all fight with blunt swords - and while that didn’t mean that bones couldn’t be broken, limbs would remain attached.
Edane felt her stomach tighten, and she looked across the field for Leith. She almost didn’t spot him for she’d been looking for his kilt. In fact he was wearing trews again, and a breastplate over his white shirt. Rather than swing his sword, or touch his toes, or talk to his fellow competitors, he was watching the field, sizing up the different opponents. Every once and a while his gaze would turn to the stands. Edane could have sworn it passed over her at least twice.
Even in his trews, he looked magnificent. He had a clear advantage over much of his competition, and he matched the tallest knight for height and had good deal of obvious muscle.
“Who do you favor to win, Argyle?” The king called over to Edane’s father.
The earl smiled at his king and looked at the field, considering. “Do we know how skilled the highlanders are with swords?”
“You think highland might could best lowland skill?” mused the king. “You are not betting on your son then?”
Edane blinked. Which of her brothers were competing? She stared out at the field and spotted Colin’s bright blond head over near the left wall, not far from where the highlanders were standing.
“I think my son will acquit himself adequately,” responded Edane’s father. “But I hear the Lord Percival is quite skilled, and Leith Macleod and Adam Maclean certainly have the experience to make it out of the rounds.”
“You are not willing to a lay a bet then?” teased the king.
Argyle shook his head. “Speak to me after the Melee highness and I’ll lay money. I’d like to see the field first.”
A trumpet sounded and the Herald leapt onto the posts. Judges took their position around the field to better see the fighting. Edane’s eyes were only for Leith.
The sun was nearly at ten o’clock and the day was already warming. Edane, who felt ill after so little sleep, was starting to sweat slightly in her gown and wishing there was shade in the box. The competitors were moving restlessly too. She watched as Leith reached into his breast plate and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. Her breath caught in her throat: burgundy.
It was her handkerchief. The favor she’d given the clown just last night before he’d behaved so rudely. No. No. Maybe it wasn’t hers. There must be other women who carried burgundy handkerchiefs. Then again, how many had given theirs as a favor to an unknown man to carry with him in the melee? And here was Leith - in the melee - with a burgundy handkerchief. But the man with whom she’d danced last night had been English! But he’d also Leith’s size - it was what had attracted her in the first place. Could Leith Macleod have been disguising his accent? Edane thought about the beautiful green eyes that had peered out from under that ridiculous mask. Her breath caught in her throat.
Without a doubt, that was her handkerchief. Without a doubt, she’d been dancing with Leith last night. Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Leith tucked the handkerchief away at the exact same moment that herald sounded the trumpet. The melee had begun.
Edane almost shrieked as the sound of swords rang out over the field. Twenty-five men crashed into twenty-five men, there were hollers and cursing, and oh it was almost too awful to watch!
And yet, as adrenaline surged through her veins until she nearly shook with it, she could not take her eyes off Leith. He was incredible. Large and strong, he fought with economy, swings heavy and fierce, at least two knights fell back from him within the first few minutes. Edane nearly gasped aloud when a knight from the continent clashed swords with him. Leith seemed to buckle beneath the onslaught for a moment before striking back. Upon seeing the highlander engaged, a few other men rushed over to take him out of play and Edane found herself gripping the railing as Leith was now fighting three men at once.
But then another highlander was there, taking out one of the competitors by crashing the pommel of his sword against the man’s temple. Leith then swung with a renewed energy, the two highlanders driving the two other knights back…
The horns sounded across the field, signaling that the combat had ended. Edane’s head spun and she realized that she’d been holding her breath. Sucking in air and sitting back before anyone could notice her, she stared over the field. There were at least six men on the ground, not moving. The rest were bleeding, or cradling limbs and limping near the wall. Edane didn’t need to count to realize that, within just a few minutes, half the field had been eliminated. Those standing would go into the lists, and would fight man on man until one was crowned victor.
That meant that Leith would fight again. He’d be carrying her handkerchief again. Edane wasn’t sure how she felt about the knowledge that it was Leith who carried her favor. It was Leith who’d behaved so rudely last night.
“Well now Argyle,” said the king loudly. “What think you of the field?”
Edane glanced over towards where her father was sitting back in his chair, running his fingers through his pointed beard. “I’m uncertain majesty, whether to rely on Percival Edmund’s skill, Maclean’s strength, or Macleod’s strategy.”
Strategy? Edane hadn’t seen any strategy. In fact, she’d seen Leith almost taken out of the melee by other knights in the first five minutes. How strategic would that have been?
“Your money, Argyle?”
Her father glanced over then, his eyes meeting Edane’s and startling the breath from her. His lips thinned a moment, eyes narrowing. “Macleod,” he said, quietly.
CHAPTER 8
E dane Campbell. Or Elinor Chisholm. Or Elizabeth Cameron. But Leith was willing to bet every last penny that last night’s mystery woman had been Edane Campbell. Or do you just hope it was the beautiful Edane you were holding in your arms?
If he were honest with himself, he was hoping it were anyone but the Campbell girl. Since arriving at the castle he’d been unable to keep the Campbell girl far from his thoughts, but at least he’d managed to keep away from her physically. It was clearer and clearer to anyone with eyes, that if Edane wasn’t yet the king’s mistress, she soon would be. And part of playing nice at court meant staying away from the king’s playthings. And yet…
And yet, while the king looked his fill, he hadn’t stepped four feet towards Edane since Leith had arrived. If, indeed, it had been Edane whom he’d danced with last evening, then she certainly wasn’t trying to catch the king’s attention. Lady Shadow indeed.
“Eat something,” Richard said, coming upon Leith where he sat beneath the stable’s overhang. A bunch of the competitors were in the stables, where it was cool and where the sun would not steal their energy.
“Later.” Leith was waiting to see where in the lists he would fall. If he were one of the first competitors, he wasn’t going to eat. If he were later in the day, he might put something in his stomach.
He pulled out the burgundy handkerchief and wiped at the sweat beading on his jaw. Leave it to fate to run into her while masked and spend the evening dancing with her.
“What’s that, cousin? A favor?” asked Richard, smiling at Leith’s hand, where the burgundy handkerchief was now grasped in his fist. “I saw a fair few thrown your way after the melee.”
“Your eye sight must be going,” said Leith. “I was standing next to that English ass Percival. I’m pretty sure they were all for him.”
Richard beamed. “Of course,” his cousin grinned wickedly. “But you still managed to choose a future conquest, did you?” Richard eyed the handkerchief.
Leith looked down at it and wondered if he should confide in his cousin. In the end he deci
ded against it. Would he make a conquest of Edane? “We’ll see,” he said. “Lord knows I’ll need a good tumble tonight…” Fighting always filled a man with sap.
Leith pursed his lips in thought. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that the handkerchief belonged to Edane. If she were already the king’s mistress, no doubt she’d do her utmost to avoid him and he wouldn’t have to worry further. But if she wasn’t… That she was illegitimate meant that he might carry on with her without having to worry about marriage.
The thought of that lean waist, those soft curves filling his hands… Leith grimaced. Edane Campbell but beautiful, but the woman who’d flirted with him last night had been an innocent, Leith had been certain. And while having an innocent wife was ideal - have an innocent mistress was not. Defeated the whole purpose.
Leith turned his fist over ready to rid himself of the handkerchief and all thoughts of Edane Campbell, but he stopped, mind travelling back towards the eyes behind that grey mask. Those honey-brown eyes had practically glimmered with delight - so different from the sad, stoic girl he saw in the halls. She’d been smiling at him last night - and while she’d looked awkward and blocky in that padded dress, he’d been right about her smile. It had been dazzling. Leith sighed and tucked the handkerchief into the pocket of his trews. It would seem that he was not ready to be done with the Campbell girl.
There was an outdoor banquet alongside the tournament grounds where light luncheon would be served. The king and queen had retired together, Argyle had left the field, and so Edane and some of the other ladies had gone wandering to see the lists. The other seven made a hard point of not speaking to Edane, which was just fine with her. So, when they went to go bother Sir Edmund and his cohort, Edane went to see if she could find out what time Leith Macleod was fighting next. There were plenty of other nobility swarming the grounds and it was easy for Edane to lose herself in the anonymity of the crowd.
