The King's Mistress

by Sandy Blair

  “And your parents never guessed?”

  “To Father, we were little more than pawns, and I couldn’t tell Mother. She’d nearly died from grief thinking she’d lost her gentle one. I couldn’t tell her that she’d lost her favorite.”

  Gen heaved a sigh, unable to image carrying such a burden for so long. “You’ve never told anyone?”

  “There’s been no need until now.” She dashed the tears from her cheeks and, squaring her shoulders, smiled. “I’m again keeping my pledge to my sister by telling you that after much thought, I believe the reason you are here and not Greer is that she is enceinte…thanks to Alexander.”

  The saints preserve me!

  Blood roaring in her ears, Genny shot to her feet and tried to pull her hand away, but Lady Campbell held firm. “Fear not. I tell you this only because I want to help you…as I could not help my sister.”

  She then released Gen’s hand, and Gen stumbled back. Dare she believe this woman? “What makes you so sure I am an imposter?”

  Lady Campbell pointed to Gen’s right hand. “Shortly after your sister’s arrival here, I admired the silver band she wore on her index finger. She told me she always wore it to mask a scar she garnered as a bairn. And then last night you, enraged, poked my breast, and I noted you wore no ring nor did you bear a scar.”

  Genny’s heart tripped in panic. She’d not given a thought to Greer’s broad band, no longer even registered its presence on Greer’s hand since Greer was never without it. The ring had become so much a part of her.

  Acknowledging defeat, Gen collapsed onto the stone wall, her gaze dropping to her shaking but perfect hands. “We were but seven summers when a spider bit her. It festered, and Mam, fearing Greer would lose the finger, packed the wound in bog mud for weeks. When it healed, Greer was left with that awful scar. She hated it.”

  Lady Campbell settled next to her. “I can understand why, having seen it.” She grinned. “You did rattle me yesterday—I was accustomed to a far more flighty but harmless Greer—so it took a wee bit for me to realize what I’d seen. I then had to wonder why. Kenning what I do of your twin, ’twas not difficult.”

  “So now what? Will you tell the queen?”

  “Good heavens, nay. The woman is a viper.”

  And this woman didn’t ken the half of it. “On that we can agree.”

  “Besides, I trust Ross’s judgment. He said MacKinnon is much taken with you, and after speaking with him, I do believe he’s right.”

  Gen nodded “And I with him.”

  “Hmm.” She watched the men pacing atop the curtain wall for a bit, then said, “May I ask what you planned to accomplish here?”

  “To protect Greer, I need to bleed my courses, prove to all that I—or rather Greer—is not with child. I then plan to take my leave.” Whereupon she would go to Greer, to be with her at the birthing, then join Britt, wherever that might be.

  “I see.” After a moment, she asked, “And when are your courses due?”

  “Any moment now.”

  “Good, for I fear the queen will not tolerate you being around much longer. She’s still incensed that you’ve remained after she dismissed you.”

  “She never dismissed me. She threw me into the dungeon, then lied about the dismissal. Britt, kenning why I would never have left of my own volition, hunted for me and somehow garnered my release.”

  “So Britt kens Greer is carrying an heir.”

  “Aye. He discovered he had the wrong woman on the way here. Then we were attacked and—”

  Lady Campbell, surprised, held up a hand. “By whom?”

  “The queen’s men.”

  “I see.” Lady Campbell gnawed on her lower lip for a moment. “So she does suspect you—or rather your sister—is with child. That would explain much.”

  Alarmed, Gen clutched Greer’s ponderous crucifix. “Explain what?”

  Lady Campbell waved a dismissing hand. “You have enough to fash over right now without worrying about her nibs. Leave that intrigue to others.” She then smiled. “Here we’ve been sharing our most intimate secrets, and I’ve yet to ken your name.”

  “’Tis Geneen.”

  “Hello, Geneen.”

  Gen managed a smile. “Hello, Iona.”

  “Have you heard yet that Yolande plans to retire to Kinghorn immediately following the funeral procession leaving?”

  “Oh nay!” Her Highness’s leave-taking would do more than seriously hamper her plans. Her taking her leave would destroy them. She couldn’t follow the queen. She’d been banned from not only her court but from her sight.

  “To see your goal met, it might behoove us to push the actual course of events up a day or two.” She thought for a moment, then said, “I shall return to Her Highness’s apartment immediately and ask Evette if I may borrow a few of her special rags. All within court ken I’m well past childbearing, so she’ll be curious as to why I would need such. I shall tell her—in great confidence, of course—that I need them for you. The queen will hear of it before either of us can take our next breaths. Meanwhile, you’d best not take a step within view of others without your hand pressed to your middle as if you were in great discomfort. Should any of the ladies be bold enough to ask after your welfare, you know what to say.”

  Gen nodded. “How can I ever thank you?”

  They rose, and Lady Campbell wrapped an arm about Genny’s waist and kissed her cheek. “Name a daughter after my sister.”

  As they walked toward the kitchen door, Gen asked, “What did you mean when you told Britt we were sisters of the Gaul?”

  Lady Campbell laughed. “Is that what MacKinnon told you? Men. I said caul, not Gaul.”

  “Ah, the veil of birth.”

  “Aye.” She laughed. “Men can prove so ox-brained sometimes.”

  Just before they parted ways, Lady Campbell whispered, “I think you should ken”—she tapped the crucifix hanging at Gen’s breast—“that this was crafted from the plate silver Yolande brought into her marriage. Alexander had several pieces melted down in order to make it for your sister. I ken this only because my cousin was the silversmith and told me of the de Dreux crest.”

  “Gen!” Britt, excited that he’d finally gotten the information he needed out of the archbishop, took the inn stairs three at a time. The amount of coin required to make Gen truly his before God and man was exorbitant, and the task and time it would require was daunting, but he would see the task done.

  He would resign his post and return to droving. Ross would remind him the work was more than dangerous, then doubtless call him insane, tell him the work was now beneath him, but they both knew there was coin to be made if Britt proved canny and if the weather and seas remained on his side. Now, he just had to convince his ox-headed father that he, his heir—and not their MacDonald cousins—should take over the cattle of Skye and drive them to the southern markets.

  If he left within the month, he could be on Skye by the end of May, before the prime droving season—

  “Good morn’, MacKinnon.”

  Britt’s plans flew out of his head at the sound of Hildy’s voice. “You! I have a bone to gnaw with you, woman.” Chest expanding, he thumped back down the stair.

  Hildy, suddenly looking alarmed, backed toward the door. “Uhmm, later, MacKinnon. I need go.”

  “Oh, no you don’t!”

  The lass was quick but not quick enough. He caught her in the busy courtyard, taking tight hold of her wrist. When she tried to kick him, he grabbed her about the waist and hauled her over his arm like a sack of grain back inside. What he had to say to Hildy was not something he wanted bandied about by those standing about gaping at them.

  Once inside, he slammed the door closed and let her go, whereupon Hildy scrambled to maintain her footing.

  Arms out and palms up before her—as if that could hold him at bay, she said, “Now, MacKinnon, calm yourself. All went well last night. Lady Armstrong told me so herself.”

  “I am calm. What I
am not is happy with your interference, your coaching of Ge—” Good Lord, he’d almost told the wench Gen’s real name. “Of Lady Armstrong.

  She batted her lashes as if she hadn’t a clue what he was going on about. “What coaching?”

  Hands fisted on hips, he loomed over her. “You gave her special oil.”

  “Oh that.” She waved away his concern. “You can pay me later.”

  “Hildy! Are you daft, woman?” Gritting his teeth, he raked his fingers through his hair to keep them away from her throat. “She was a virgin and would have remained so had it not been for that damn oil.”

  Brow furrowing, Hildy now looked up at him as if he were the one who was daft. She poked a stiff finger in his chest. “I did not put you in that room, MacKinnon. You went in of your own accord.” She poked him again. “I did not put you in that bed. You did that on your own as well. You told her you love her.” When his eyebrows shot up in surprise, she nodded. “Aye, she told me. More importantly, she loves you fiercely, so I do not for the life of me understand what has you so frigging out of sorts.”

  Surprised to find himself on the defensive and unable to tell her the truth, he continued to glare and took a different track. “What of that muscle thing?”

  “Huh?”

  “You ken.” He made a vague motion toward her crotch.

  When the light finally dawned on Loch Lomond, she said, “Oh. That.” She then grinned. “I threw that in for free, her being inexperienced and all.” As his jaw dropped, she turned on her heel and said over her shoulder, “But you still owe me two pence for the oil.”

  God’s teeth! The woman was impossible. Before he could think of a rebuke, she was gone, leaving only a hint of perfume lingering in the hall. Roses and lavender. Genny.

  He raced up the stairs. Finding the room empty, he cursed. He’d totally forgotten she had an appointment with Lady Campbell and had doubtless headed for the castle alone, since he’d yet to leave and MacLean had yet to assign her an escort. Had he not told her not to leave without an escort for fear the queen might take her revenge out on her again?

  Praying he would find her safe within Edinburgh, Britt ran down the stairs and out the door, where he was again accosted by the sounds of villagers readying for the celebration of life and death. Dodging ox-drawn wagons and harried merchants shoving pushcarts into what they hoped would be prime viewing spots along the processional route, Britt wondered not for the first time why he’d allowed Genny to get under his skin and ease her way into his heart. This traipsing off was the very kind of erratic behavior that drove him insane. Women could never be trusted to do what you told them. High above him, the first blast of trumpets sounded, and he quickened his pace.

  He entered Edinburgh’s lower ward huffing and found dozens upon dozens of place-holding squires and grooms being lined up for the processional by the castle chamberlain. When the second blast of trumpets sounded, their head-aching liege lords would make their way out of the keep to take their places as dictated by position and protocol before the casket, which Britt and others would carry out of the chapel and through the gate of Edinburgh.

  He entered the great hall as the trumpeters let loose again. Seeing most of the lieges stirring, he looked around for Genny and spotted her in the far right corner. Thanking God that she’d come to no harm, noting she appeared calm after her interview with Lady Campbell, he made his way toward her only to stop midstride seeing Yolande de Dreux and her court enter the hall.

  His gaze immediately shot to Genny. He was greatly relieved to see she, also spying Yolande, had already started easing to her right toward the tapestry-draped staircase at the opposite end of the hall. When she ducked out of view, Britt released his breath and followed. Halfway across the hall, he heard Ross hail him, but Britt kept on walking. Ross could wait.

  He ducked into the cool darkness of the stairwell and spotted her sitting above, on the first landing. “Gen, a word if you please.”

  Rising, she smiled at him, flashing her dimples, which eased his mind considerably. He’d feared Lady Campbell might have inadvertently let slip something about his past.

  “I was hoping to see you before you left,” she whispered.

  How could he not take the time to say good-bye after last night?

  Britt raced up the stairs, where he pulled her close, then placed a palm on the right side of her face. “A ghraidh, you cannot be running about without an escort. ’Tis far too dangerous.”

  “I hadn’t intended to, but I was late for my appointment with Lady Campbell. She’s the most extraordinary—”

  He placed a finger on her lips, not caring why she’d done it. “Promise me you’ll not go about town like that again, that you’ll always wait for one of my guards or ask Angus MacLean to escort you.” He’d be gone days, and God only knew what trouble might befall her.

  “But…” When he glared, she huffed, then muttered, “I promise.”

  “Thank you. Now you can tell me about your meeting.”

  Light danced in her eyes, the corners crinkling in the way he loved as she smiled. “You will not believe this. Lady Campbell is a twin herself, and she kens I’m not Greer.”

  Interesting and unsettling. He’d not expected them to become bosom friends, but out of caution had extracted a promise from Lady Campbell that she would not discuss him—beyond his work and saying he was of good character—as a condition of his helping her. “Did she question why you’re pretending to be your sister?”

  Gen shook her head. “She’d already guessed why but promised to keep our secret.”

  Humph! He had the highest regard for Lady Campbell, but should something untoward happen to the queen, the lady might feel compelled to tell others about Greer’s infant. “Do you truly believe she’ll hold to that promise?”

  “I do, but I can’t explain why. She swore me to secrecy, and I shall abide by my promise, but I do trust her. She’s already helping me. Now, your turn.” She caught her lower lip betwixt her teeth and slipped her arms about his waist. “You’d started to tell me something important last night before we were so rudely interrupted by your squire.”

  “I fear this is not the time or this stairwell the place.” Definitely not, considering she’d either be shouting like a fishwife or keening like a banshee once she heard what he had to say. “However, before I left I wanted to reiterate that I do love you.”

  Her hands slid up his chest and slipped about his neck. “I’m most happy that you do, since your feelings are reciprocated.”

  “MacKinnon!”

  Britt sighed, looked over his shoulder and found Ross, hands on his hips, glaring up at them from the foot of the stairs. “Yes?”

  “Didn’t you hear me call? We need you in the chapel.”

  “In a moment.”

  “Now. The other pallbearers are already in position.”

  “All right.” To Gen he said, “I’m so sorry. We’ll talk when I return in four or five days’ time. Remember, go nowhere without a guard at your side.”

  “I shan’t. Return soonest. I’ll miss you.”

  “I will, and I’ll miss you as well.” He kissed her thoroughly as if it might be their last, hoping to impart all he felt for her. Reluctant to leave her, he pulled away and whispered, “I love you.”

  Soon, God willing, she would know just how much.

  Spying Evette and Lady Campbell with their heads together before the chest in which the ladies of her court stored the strips of muslin used during their monthly courses, fearing they might have noticed the level dropping, Yolande said, “Evette, if you please.”

  Evette looked over her shoulder, and Yolande crooked her finger.

  When Evette came to her side, Yolande nodded toward Lady Campbell. “What are you two doing?”

  Her cousin blushed. “Lady Campbell had need of some rags.”

  Yolande blinked in surprise. “At her age?”

  Evette caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Not for her, Your Highness, but for�
�Lady Armstrong.”

  Not believing her ears, Yolande staggered backward.

  Evette grasped her arm. “Have you taken ill?” Without waiting for an answer, she started to raise a hand to summon Helene.

  “Non. I’m fine.” Or she hoped to be once her heart steadied and the blood roaring in her ears ceased. “You must be mistaken. Please bring the Scot to me.”

  Too much rode on the whore being with child.

  When Lady Campbell stood before her, Yolande managed a smile. “Is it your time of the moon, Lady Campbell?”

  Her lady-in-waiting grinned. “Thankfully, I am well past that, Your Highness.”

  “So who are those for?” She pointed to the wad of strips in Lady Campbell’s hand.

  Her lady-in-waiting gnawed on her lip, then huffed. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I couldn’t just let Lady Armstrong bleed all over the hall. Bad enough she stained the back of her gown.”

  “You saw this?”

  “Aye. I took her to the scullery and cleaned the spot as best I could.”

  Yolande managed a nod. “That will be all.”

  Greer Armstrong was not with child. How could this be? Had the slut lost it by bedding MacKinnon? Or had Helene and the scullery maids been mistaken from the start?

  At this point, it mattered not. There would be no babe for Scotland. All would soon know she, their queen, was barren, and the heartless heathens would toss her out.

  What was she to do now? God help her, she had to get to Kinghorn and Anton. He would know.

  Unfortunately, she had to remain here—at least for one more day. She had a faithless husband to bury.

  With her thoughts on Britt and his profession of love, Gen made her way to the keep’s uppermost opening onto the curtain wall and peeked out. Finding only guards and the trumpeters, she made her way to the first crenel and peered down in wonder at the crowded bailey and town of Edinburgh. Never in her life had she seen so many people in one place. Hundreds ringed the courtyard and thousands lined the roadway as far as the eye could see.