Courting an Angel (20 page)

The tenth day of February dawned surprisingly springlike and teased the world of men. At midmorning, Gordon and Rob left Devereux House. The earl’s ostler had their horses waiting for them in the courtyard.

Rob flicked a sidelong glance at her husband as they walked toward their mounts. Dressed completely in black, Gordon appeared as Old Clootie would wish to look in order to seduce more souls than he already did. If the devil possessed her husband’s devastatingly good looks, parades of women would surely follow him through the gates of hell.

“’Tis a fair enough day, and I’ve a mind to see the queen’s menagerie before goin’ home,” Gordon said as he lifted her into her saddle. “Let’s ride to London.”

Rob nodded in agreement, but as they started down the private lane that led to the thoroughfare, disturbing thoughts leaped into her mind. Another six weeks would bring the first day of spring, and then she’d be forced to ride north and to begin living unhappily ever after.

“Is somethin’ troublin’ ye?” Gordon asked, drawing her attention.

Rob pasted a bright smile onto her face. “No, my lord. I’m merely pensive today.”

“Pensive, are ye?” he teased her. “’Tis comfortin’ to know I’ve married a woman with thoughts of her own.”

“Are ye ridiculin’ me?” she asked.

“Och, lass. Yer accusation wounds me.”

“I’m askin’, not accusin’.”

Gordon grinned at her. “In that case, angel, my answer is no.”

Rob nodded but remained unconvinced. She didn’t believe for a moment that her husband appreciated women who thought for themselves.

They passed Leicester and Durham houses and then veered to the right at Charing Cross. When they entered London proper, the crowds grew increasingly larger and forced them to pick their way carefully down the narrow, twisting streets.

Reaching St. Paul’s Cathedral, Gordon and Rob turned right onto the Old Change, and at the end of that street, they went left onto Thames Street. The palace of White Tower loomed before them at the end of Thames Street.

They rode through the Middle Tower, the castle’s main entrance, and halted their horses. When two scarlet-clad yeomen rushed forward to attend their mounts, Gordon tossed each man a coin for his trouble.

Suddenly, an unearthly growl rent the air behind them, and Rob reacted instinctively. She threw herself into her husband’s arms and cried, “’Tis frightenin’.”

“I’ll protect ye, hinny,” Gordon said, his arms encircling her. “’Tis perfectly safe. The lions live inside a pit.”

Setting her back a pace, Gordon took her by the hand and led her toward the Lion Tower where the menagerie was kept. “Yer uncle told me the menagerie began when the King of France gifted Henry III with an elephant,” he said conversationally.

“What’s that?” Rob asked.

Gordon had never actually seen an elephant, but he wasn’t about to admit his ignorance to his young wife. “Why, an elephant is the largest of God’s creatures and has a long nose called a trunk.”

The semicircular bastion just outside the Middle Tower was known as the Lion Tower. Cages, pits, and trapdoors filled the area.

Here the crowd of spectators swelled to a crush of humanity. Apprehensive about stepping into that throng of strangers, Rob clutched her husband’s hand and mouthed a silent prayer of thanks that she’d worn her gloves that day.

For his part, Gordon smiled down at her and mentally rubbed his hands together. As that tavern wench at the Royal Rooster had predicted, his wife would be ripe for a parcel of protection after this. Perhaps, crossing the border into Scotland before making her his wife in the truest sense would be unnecessary.

“Dinna be scared,” he whispered in her ear as they wended their way through the milling crowds.

Rob gaped in astonishment at the elephant and then the Norwegian bear, but the lions’ roars attracted her attention the most. Reaching the lions’ pit, Gordon paved a way for them through the crowd of commoners who parted for the nobleman and his lady, and then closed in behind them again.

“Great Bruce’s ghost,” Rob exclaimed softly, catching her first glimpse of the iron bars across the top of the pit and hearing the loud roars from its shadowy depth.

Closer and closer, Rob inched forward in an effort to see the ferocious beasts below. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she felt two hands on her back giving her a tremendous shove. At the same moment, a foot kicked her legs out from under her. Caught off balance, Rob slid legs-first toward the pit. One of her legs dangled through the pit’s iron bars.

“Help!” she cried, desperately reaching for her husband.

Gordon yanked her to safety just as one of the lions leaped for her dangling leg. Both landed on the ground as the shocked spectators surrounded them.

“Are ye injured?” Gordon asked.

Too frightened to speak, Rob shook her head and trembled like a woman afflicted with palsy. She pressed one hand to her breast in an effort to calm her pounding heart and bent her head to catch her breath.

And that was when she saw it. The star ruby had darkened redder than pigeon’s blood.

“I think we’ve seen enough,” Gordon said, standing. He helped her rise, put his arm around her shoulder, and drew her close against his body. “God’s balls, lass. What happened back there?” he asked, leading her toward the Middle Tower. “Did yer foot slip?”

“Someone pushed me,” Rob answered in a quavering voice.

Gordon stopped short and looked at her. “I canna credit that, hinny.”

“I tell you, I felt two hands pushing me,” she insisted, her voice rising in direct proportion to her extreme agitation. His disbelief was adding insult to near-fatal injury.

“Ye must be mistaken,” Gordon said. “The crowd merely jostled ye.”

“I know what I felt,” Rob cried, becoming irritated. She’d nearly been devoured by a lion, and her husband was brushing her explanations aside as nonsense. “Someone tried to kill me. Yer my husband; find out who it is.”

“Men dinna kill without motivation.” Gordon tried to reason with her as they mounted their horses. “Who, in God’s great universe, would gain by yer untimely death?”

“If ye are na up to the task of protectin’ me, then ye are na up to bein’ my husband,” Rob said tartly. “Henry would find and punish the culprit.”

“Henry — Henry — Henry!” Gordon roared as ferociously as the lions. “I am sick unto death of Henry. I’m surprised Ludlow canna walk across water.”

“Well, he’d be more apt to do that than ye,” Rob shot back.

Gordon snapped his head around and stared coldly at her. “Keep yer lips buttoned,” he warned, “or I’ll take ye across my knee and give ye the spankin’ ye deserve.”

Instinctively, Rob reacted as her own mother did whenever her father behaved outrageously pigheadedly. She gave him a frosty glare and then lifted her upturned nose into the air in a defiant gesture of dismissal.

Gordon ignored her silent tantrum.

During the long ride through London to the Strand, Rob seethed in silence. She knew what she’d felt; someone had purposefully pushed her toward the lions’ pit. But, who could possibly want her dead? Did the culprit harbor a grudge against her family? Rob couldn’t credit that; no one in England knew them. That left her uncle’s enemies. But, why would this assassin choose to murder her? She was merely the earl’s niece.

Rob flicked a glance at her lucky beggar beads. The farther they rode from the White Tower, the lighter the star ruby faded into its original color. At one point Rob peeked at Gordon, who was watching her. “And I amna checkin’ my titties,” she told him.

Gordon’s expression was a mask of irritation. He turned his attention to the road again and said, “If ye truly think someone tried to kill ye, then I believe ye. We’ll be leavin’ for Argyll this afternoon.”

“I willna be accompanyin’ ye anywhere, my lord,” Rob told him. “I willna debate this further.”

“Aye, ye’ll be safe with my father at Inverary Castle,” Gordon went on, as if she hadn’t spoken.

Rob ignored him, but fumed in aggravated silence. The Marquess of Inverary was an insufferable, pigheaded lout, and those were his good qualities. If he thought to force her to ride north before the first day of spring, then he’d better reconsider his position.

“Pack yer bags, angel,” Gordon ordered as they rode down the private lane that led to Devereux House’s front courtyard. “We’re leavin’ for Scotland within the hour.”

“Are ye deaf? I just told ye —” Rob broke off when she spied the two men exiting Devereux House. Spurring her horse forward, she shouted, “Dubh!”

Rob reined her horse to an abrupt halt when she reached her brother and his companion. Before anyone could help her dismount, she leaped from her saddle and threw herself into her brother’s arms. “Oh, Dubh. I’m so happy to see ye,” she cried, hugging him as if she’d never let him go.

“How are ye, sister?” Dubh asked.

“Fine, now that yer here to protect me,” Rob answered, gazing into his dark eyes. She’d always felt safer with her oldest brother around because he resembled their father.

“Protect ye from what?” Dubh asked with an amused smile. “Yer husband?”

“Yer sister swears that someone tried to push her into the lions’ pit at the White Tower,” Gordon told him. “Did ye ever hear of anythin’ so ridiculous?”

“There’s nothin’ ridiculous aboot bein’ a lion’s dinner,” Rob replied, turning within the circle of her brother’s arms to look at him. She flicked a glance at the slight, blond man and asked, “Who’s yer friend, Dubh? Ye havena introduced us.”

“Meet Mungo MacKinnon, the Earl of Skye’s grandson,” her brother said. “Mungo is yer husband’s friend and also related to Cousin Glenda.”

“Mungo, meet Rob MacArthur,” Gordon finished the introduction. “My wife, the Marchioness of Inverary.”

“I’m verra pleased to make yer acquaintance,” Mungo said with a smile, bowing low over her hand.

Out of politeness, Rob returned the blond man’s smile, but decided in that very instant that she didn’t like him. She recognized only too well the poorly masked hatred gleaming at her from his pale blue eyes. Neither her brother nor her husband seemed aware of the man’s sinister attitude toward her, but Rob had seen enough hatred cast in her direction to recognize it when she saw it.

Why did this stranger whom she’d never met harbor a hatred for her? Rob wondered. Her riding gloves covered Old Clootie’s mark, so that could not be his reason.

“Well, now, we’re all together,” Mungo said, turning to her brother. “Perhaps we can make plans for returnin’ to Scotland.”

Watching his eyes, Rob sucked in her breath at the intense hatred leaping at her brother from the blond man. That Dubh failed to recognize it was understandable. As the earl’s heir and mirror image, her brother had always been the clan’s beloved prince. No man in clan MacArthur had ever looked at him with evil intent.

“I wouldna want to be caught ridin’ north if this weather changes,” Dubh was saying. “Waiting another week or two would give me peace of mind, especially since my sister will be travelin’ with us. What do ye think, Gordy?”

Rob watched Mungo turn to Gordon and saw the intense hatred fade from the blond man’s gaze. Why did MacKinnon harbor such a dislike for the MacArthurs whom he had never met? she wondered. Why, they even shared a cousin with him.

“I carry missives for the king and shouldna delay deliverin’ them,” Mungo said.

“Safety lies across the border,” Gordon said, flicking a glance at her. “Since my wife fears for her life, we’ll be ridin’ north this afternoon.”

“I amna steppin’ a foot outside Devereux House until the first day of spring,” Rob insisted, then turned her back and started walking toward the house.

“Get back here,” Gordon called.

Rob quickened her pace and then broke into a run when she heard her brother’s deep rumble of laughter and her husband’s muttered curse. Slamming the door shut behind her, she leaned back against it and sighed in defeat. Rob knew she had no way to escape the inevitable if her husband insisted they leave England.

And then an idea came to her, bringing the hint of a smile to her lips. She’d sit in her favorite hiding place inside her uncle’s study until the day aged into evening. No sane person began such a long journey at night. She’d be safe until the morning, at least.

Praying her uncle’s study was empty, Rob hurried across the foyer and closed its door behind her. She crossed the study to her chair, but paused to peek out the window first. Gordon, Dubh, and Mungo were walking toward the Dowager House. Could her husband have changed his mind?

Unwilling to risk being forced north, Rob plopped down in the chair and curled her legs up under herself. If her husband came searching for her now, he would believe the study was deserted.

Rob leaned her head back against the chair and pondered her untenable predicament. Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized she was beginning to care for her arrogant husband.

Her feelings defied logic. She could never live happily with him in the Highlands. Old Clootie’s mark prevented that. If she rode north with him, she’d be doomed forever to play the outcast.

And then her aunt’s probing questions slammed into her consciousness. Did she want to remain in England because she loved Henry? Or did she love Henry because she wanted to remain in England?