The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  They’d already spent three days at the palace. Mercy feared the time on what Graham considered enemy ground would surely be his end. The unknown outcome of their meeting with the king plagued him like a festering wound. With care not to spill anything, Mercy returned her tea to the table, located her spoon, then tapped her fingers along the rim of her bowl of chopped apples and berries.

  “I…understand.” She pointed her spoon at him before dipping into the fruit. “Just t-take care. Please?”

  Graham reached across the table and tickled his fingertips across the back of her hand. “Aye, love. And when I return, perhaps we can enjoy another bath?”

  Heat rushed through her at the memory of last night’s bath they’d shared in the opulent tub of steaming hot, rose-scented water. The scandalous tub had been fashioned for two, and she and Graham had made good use of it, staying in the water until it had grown cold and been sloshed to the floor with their sensual thrashing. “I am sure it can be arranged.” Choosing words had become easier. The delightful distraction of another bath would do them both good.

  “Did ye get a message sent to ye’re seamstress?”

  “Yes.” Resting her fingers around the rim of her bowl, Mercy spooned up some fruit and popped it into her mouth. She scooped up the cloth napkin from her lap, pressing it in front of her mouth as she chewed. Goodness. She had not meant to take such a large mouthful.

  “Let me slice those into smaller bites for ye.” Graham’s shadow leaned toward her, clinked in her bowl for a few seconds, then retreated back to his seat. “There now. I’ll speak to the servants and ask them to pass along to the cook that your meals should be better attended.”

  Mercy patted the napkin to the corners of her mouth and returned it to her lap. “Please don’t.” A sigh escaped her as she shook her head. “I must do as much as I can for myself. I should have taken more care with the fruit before I put it in my mouth.”

  “Ye didna hesitate to speak!” Graham rushed around the table, knelt at her side, and hugged her to him. “I’m so verra proud of ye.”

  Relief and joy filled her. He was right. She hadn’t failed at a single word. Wrapping her arms around Graham’s neck, she kissed him soundly.

  “Mmm,” Graham rumbled as he nuzzled her mouth. “Apples and cream.”

  A sharp rap on the door tossed the enticing possibilities of an after-breakfast pleasuring to the winds. Graham rose and pecked a quick kiss to her forehead. “Finish your breakfast, love.”

  Mercy folded her hands in her lap and angled an ear toward the opened doors leading into their suite from the balcony. The sunny, open-aired breakfast had been quite nice, but she needed to hear who was at the door and learn what they wanted.

  “I am Madame Zhou. These are my assistants. Your presence here is unnecessary while we tend to Lady Mercy. I suggest you leave.”

  Mercy rose from her seat, retrieved her staff from where she’d propped it against the stone banister of the balcony, and scooted her chair back under the table. The brightness of the day helped so much with her sight. She could almost make out all the shapes around her and their colors. “Madame Zhou. Thank you for responding so quickly.”

  Mercy made out the blurred forms of Madame Zhou and two of her assistants hovering close to the suite’s outer door. It was moments such as these that reminded her of just how much she’d lost by losing her sight. She couldn’t see their expressions.

  Graham hurried to her side and took her arm. “This is your seamstress?”

  The short shadow of Madame Zhou marched forward until she stood so close Mercy picked up the nose-tingling scent of the exotic herbal sachets the eccentric woman kept tucked in her clothing to ward off evil spirits. Angry wormwood. Mercy remembered her telling her the name of the pleasant-smelling plant. It was her herb of choice for protection, far surpassing the famed protective properties of dill or lavender.

  “Your presence is dismissed,” Madame Zhou announced to Graham. She stepped closer to Mercy and firmly pulled her a few paces away. “Your staff should be made of kingwood. More protection. And covered with the proper symbols to guide your steps. I know an artisan. I shall see to it.”

  “Mercy!” By the sound of Graham’s tone, a possible explosion was very close.

  Graham took hold of her arm and gathered her up. “If ye dinna mind, I shall kiss my wife good and proper before I’m dismissed.”

  He kissed her with such fervor her knees weakened. Graham lifted his head, and Mercy actually felt the smug look on his face. “I look forward to our bath this evening, love. Enjoy your day of picking out your fine dresses.” Then he strode from the room and slammed the door behind him.

  “Strong, that one,” Madame Zhou observed. “But ill-informed. I am under His Majesty’s service to complete your entire wardrobe. It has already been paid for.” She snapped her fingers, and one of her attendants jumped to her side. “Master Lang shall fashion Lady Mercy’s proper staff, by tomorrow.”

  The blurred form of the attendant darted out the door, clicking it softly closed.

  “His Majesty?” Mercy repeated. Madame Zhou’s announcement set her stomach to churning worse than it had when she’d smelled Graham’s breakfast. Mercy swallowed hard, pulled in a deep breath, then blew it out. “My husband and I requested your services, Madame Zhou—not His Royal Highness. We are only guests for a short time here at the p-palace.”

  Madame Zhou stepped closer. “Acupuncture and herbs will help with your speech and sight.” She circled around Mercy. Her adept fingers patted and prodded Mercy’s shoulders, elbows, and the curve of her waist as she moved. “The needles and herbs will not endanger the child. We shall administer the treatments during your stay here at the palace.” She snapped her fingers, and her other attendant popped to her side. “Inform His Majesty’s servants of our additional needs, then fetch the red box and the black one.” The attendant disappeared.

  “I need to sit.” Mercy felt her way across the room to a pillowed bench beside the open doors leading out to the balcony. She sagged down into the cushions, concentrating on taking deep breaths and not losing her breakfast. His Majesty paying for an entire set of clothes? A complete wardrobe? She pressed a hand to her stomach. And a child? How could Madame Zhou say such a thing? “Please explain to me about His Majesty’s generosity, but more importantly, tell me why you believe I am with child.”

  Madame Zhou idly paced back and forth across the path of sunlight shining across the floor. “His Majesty’s servant included a missive from the king himself when he delivered your message. By His Royal Highness’s order, a complete wardrobe shall accompany you when you leave the palace. I know not why.” The clicking of her heels across the marble floor slowed. “However, he did mention you had been under great duress for several weeks. I have made your clothes for years, Lady Mercy, as I did your mother. I am no stranger to abuse.” Her voice grew quieter. “Your body already prepares for the child you carry. Softer in some places. Fuller in others.”

  Mercy covered her face with shaking hands, overwhelmed by the joyous yet terrifying news. A child. She nearly wept.

  “You do not want the child?”

  “Of course. More than anything.” Mercy dropped her hands to her lap, then hugged herself, shaking uncontrollably. “But there is so much danger right now. And I have no idea what His Majesty intends.”

  “There is always danger in this world,” the woman announced. “Teach your child to be strong. Like you. Like your husband.”

  The curt woman perched on the edge of the bench beside Mercy. “We shall always be at the mercy of the court. Enjoy when you find favor with the king.” She shifted, doing something Mercy couldn’t make out.

  She took Mercy’s right hand, opened it, and pressed a small cloth bundle into her palm. Closing Mercy’s fingers around the packet, she squeezed it tight. “Angry wormwood for the child. Wear it wherever you go. That along with your new staff will keep you safe.” She released Mercy’s hand, stood, and marched across th
e room. “I shall request hot water for steeping herbs. You shall drink it and feel better. When my assistants return, we shall make preparations for later. Perhaps I shall try my hand at a christening gown for the babe.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I feel like a trussed goose headed toward the oven.” Graham tugged at the snug waistcoat, then ran a finger around the inside of the overly tight neck cloth. “I think that man wouldha rather hanged me as dress me.”

  “Probably,” Duncan agreed, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck to resettle his own new garments. “Gretna said she felt the same when that rude woman measured her for a gown. All poking and prodding and such.”

  “Aye, rudeness itself that woman is.” Graham shook away the chill rippling across his flesh. At first meeting, he’d wanted to wring Madame Zhou’s neck, especially since Mercy had been in such a state after the seamstress’s first visit. But the woman had promised a cure for Mercy’s ailments and perhaps even help with her blindness before their meeting with the king. He’d bargain with old Scratch himself if it meant helping Mercy.

  A blessing in some ways, a curse in others, their meeting with King William had been postponed a fortnight. Some sort of emergency gathering of the European coalition against France that His Majesty could not ignore. So, they had waited, biding their time.

  Two weeks in the palace had rubbed Graham’s nerves raw, but it was worth it all to see Mercy gifted with such fine clothes. He had yet to be told the cost, but it didn’t matter. He had gold set aside. Madame Zhou could have all of it.

  And he had to give the woman respect; she had done exactly what she had claimed. Mercy said her vision was much clearer. For that alone, Madame Zhou deserved the world.

  “I’ll fetch Gretna,” Duncan said, interrupting Graham’s thoughts. “Me thinks making the king wait would be ill-advised.”

  “Aye,” Graham agreed as they entered the marble hallway lined with elaborate paintings and statues. Duncan hurried onward toward a gilded door on the right as Graham stopped in front of the next door on the left. Another of Madame Zhou’s eccentricities. The woman had insisted she dress Mercy in a chamber, keeping them separated as though it was their wedding day.

  Graham rapped a knuckle on the door. “Mercy, love. ’Tis time.”

  The latch clicked, and the door slowly swung open.

  Graham caught his breath. Such loveliness. How could his beloved wife grow more beautiful with each passing day?

  “Say something. You know I can’t make out your expression.”

  Mercy stood framed in the sunlight flooding through the arched window behind her. Bathed in its golden rays, she looked like an angel. The ivory shade of her dress and the golden trim of satin and silk along the full, flowing skirts and paneled sleeves were beautiful. Her glorious hair had been swept up and piled high, tendrils allowed to trail down on either side of her face.

  “Your husband appears to have been struck mute by your beauty,” Madame Zhou observed from behind the door.

  “She’s right,” Graham said in a low, rasping whisper.

  Mercy laughed. Her cheeks bloomed with color.

  Graham hurried to her side and eased her hand into his. He was almost afraid to touch her. “I am humbled by your beauty. Ye’re a glorious woman, m’love.”

  “We should go,” she said as she slid her hand through his arm. Pausing she turned to Madame Zhou. “Will you be here when I return?”

  “No. My work is complete here.” She studied Mercy, then slid her piercing gaze over to Graham. Her scowl deepened, then she shoved a hand deep into the hidden pocket of her skirts. She withdrew a small, bundled bit of linen filled with something Graham couldn’t identify and tied with a purple ribbon.

  She jerked Graham’s arm out of the way, opened his coat, then stuffed it into the small pocket of his waistcoat. Jerking his clothing back in place, she glared up at him. “Protection. Keep it with you always.”

  Mercy squeezed his arm and bowed her head. “Thank you, Madame Zhou, for everything.”

  She gave a curt nod, clasped her hands in front of her, and marched down the hallway, her assistants scurrying to gather her things and follow.

  “What an odd woman,” Graham said under his breath.

  “She risked her reputation by taking on Mama and myself as clients,” Mercy said with a rueful smile. “She makes clothes for many royals.”

  Marsden came careening out of a side hallway, the sturdy heels of his perfectly polished boots striking hard against the floor. “Are you still here? We must take our places in the library now. His Royal Highness will arrive at any moment.”

  The knot in the center of Graham’s chest tightened. He patted Mercy’s arm.

  Mercy nodded, hurrying along with her husband. “Just remember,” she said. “His Majesty always speaks first.”

  Graham slowed his pace. “I promise to behave, love.” Or at least attempt to. He cleared his throat and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “We must think only good shall come of this meeting, and then we can get on with our lives.”

  Mercy gave him a sharp look he didn’t quite understand, but they’d reached the entrance to the library, so there was no time to ask.

  Crestshire stepped forward to greet them. “Thank goodness. I feared the king would arrive first.” He leaned to one side to look behind them. “Well done, Marsden.”

  Marsden patted the perspiration away from his brow as he bobbed his head and waved away Crestshire’s praise.

  Duncan and Gretna stood near the front of the room, close to the dais holding the king’s chair.

  Straightening his clothes, Graham looked to Mercy. “Ready, love?”

  Graham sent up a silent prayer as they joined Duncan and Gretna at the head of the room and just in time. The door known as His Majesty’s private entrance opened, revealing the king.

  He entered the room, and the door closed behind him as though tended by a spirit. His long face was set in a dark scowl, and he marched to his chair.

  Graham’s instincts made him wish he’d tucked his faithful dagger into its hidden sheath at his back. But the king was alone. No servants. No lordlings. A private meeting was a bad sign.

  Releasing his arm, Mercy lowered herself into a deep curtsy.

  Giving Duncan and Gretna a sharp nod to do the same, Graham bowed, glancing to the side to ensure they had understood.

  “Rise,” King William snapped, his glare fixed on Graham. His Majesty stared at him overly long. His scowl shifted to Mercy, and everything about the king changed. There was sadness in his expression, genuine concern. “Are you able to come to us, child? Can you see anything at all?”

  Mercy lifted her chin and smiled. With the aid of her staff, she moved with the grace of a sure-footed deer walking through the heather. “I shall always see my way to you, Your Highness.” She paused when she reached him, frowned for a moment as she stared back and forth at the space in front of her, then held out her hand as she lowered herself into another curtsy. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I am unable to find your hand.”

  King William moved forward and took hold of Mercy’s hand, tears in his eyes. “Rise, child. Sit with us as you once did so long ago, when your troubles were farther away.”

  Graham widened his stance and clasped his hands at his back, unsure what to do or say. Best stay silent. He stole a glance at Duncan who rewarded him with a wide-eyed look.

  Holding tight to Mercy’s hand, King William slouched back in his chair, closed his eyes, and pressed shaking fingers to his temple. He pulled in several deep breaths and released them with loud sighs.

  Graham wished the man would get on with it and spare them the drawn-out dramatics. He understood the king had always been fond of Mercy, but apparently, he’d underestimated the depth of the king’s feelings for his only goddaughter.

  As though he’d heard Graham’s thoughts, King William opened his eyes, sat straighter in the chair, and glared at him. “We bade you to guide and protect our goddaug
hter through the Highlands. Did we not?”

  “Aye, Your Majesty, but—”

  King William held up a hand. “We are aware of the duke’s abominable actions. While we condoned testing your loyalty and that of Clan MacCoinnich’s, we did not approve of anything else. Is that clearly understood?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Graham tried to relax. He had to say more. He couldn’t resist. “Have ye truly been apprised of all Lady Mercy endured?”

  King William’s look hardened as he settled Mercy’s hand upon his knee and covered it with his own. “We are aware our goddaughter has endured unimaginable abuse. We are also aware she married you.”

  “Aye.” Graham took a step forward. “She is my wife.”

  King William shook his head. He turned to Mercy. “Did this man force himself upon you? Did you marry him to protect your honor?”

  Mercy rested her other hand on top of the king’s. “I love him, Your Majesty. He has cared for me in more ways than I can ever describe. He is a good man …” she paused, stole a glance in Graham’s direction, then turned an even brighter smile back on the king. “…even though he is a Scot.”

  King William nodded down at her. For the first time since he’d entered the room, he looked more at ease. Turning back to Graham, he pulled in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. Coldness settled across him. “You realize she has nothing.”

  “Beg ye’re pardon?” Confusion filled Graham. What did the man mean?

  “You murdered her father.” King William shrugged. “The man deserved it, but there are no assets. No inheritance. Lady Mercy is penniless thanks to her father’s debts. You can also forget whatever gold was promised as payment for her tour through the Highlands. We consider that a failed task, and we are not in the habit of compensating failure.”