Heart of Gold (24 page)

Though the orange sun broke through the clouds low in the western sky, the seas remained high as the galley made its way westward toward Marseilles. The sailors unfurled what canvas the vessel’s masts could handle in the still gusting wind.

On the stern deck, Elizabeth continued to sit beside her sister, while Gavin Kerr hovered over them by the railing. Mary, still lying motionless, seemed to drift in and out of a haze, oblivious to everything around her. Elizabeth tucked the blankets around her sister, talking continuously, her voice soft but insistent as she tried to keep her sister’s body warm and her mind in the realm of the present. But Mary seemed unable to respond. Gavin just watched from where he stood, not knowing what to do or how to help.

During the short periods when Mary would fall into a kind of restless half sleep, they could see her face contorting in expressions Elizabeth had never before seen, even during Mary’s worst bouts with the illness. It seemed as if she were dreaming. Dreams of intense fear alternating with dreams of intense sadness. Even when Mary was indeed sleeping, there were tears. Elizabeth watched the crystalline drops roll down her sister’s face and disappear into the black folds of her hair. Elizabeth wiped the shimmering tracks away tenderly.

“Do you want your sister to get a chill?” Ambrose looked back as Elizabeth and Gavin turned their scowling faces on him. They were concerned, but neither was seasoned in sea traveling. “It’s bad enough that the movement of the boat has made her sick to her stomach. Look at her. She is green.”

Seeing the startled face of Elizabeth, the Highlander knew he needed to take some responsibility. “Gavin, take Mary down to the cabin. Phillipe, you’d better arrange for someone to get her out of those wet clothes. Sitting around and letting the dampness settle around her bones will not help her.”

“How about the waves?” Elizabeth asked. “Is it safe to go back below?”

Ambrose’s look spoke volumes.

“I suppose it depends on who’s going,” he said in a low voice.

Elizabeth couldn’t help the blush that spread quickly across her face. She glanced around quickly at the others, but no one even dared to question the baron’s words.

“It should be safe enough now,” Gavin said as he gently scooped Mary up and stood. She remained limp and immobile in his arms.

“Take her into the first cabin,” Ambrose ordered. “Phillipe and I need to finish an earlier discussion in the other.”

“You did say we are going to survive this storm, m’lord,” the painter growled. “Perhaps another time.”

Elizabeth glared at him before taking the sleeping Jaime out of Erne’s arms and helping the older woman to her feet.

“Another time, then,” Ambrose returned softly.

Feminine wiles, she thought scoffingly. What good are they to me? It is difficult to bewitch a man, while you’re among men, when everyone thinks you are a man.

And Ambrose Macpherson was an obstinate man. But she already knew that. Over Elizabeth’s objections, the baron had refused to allow them to stay in Marseilles, insisting that they travel the two hours to a nearby monastery that served as a hostelry for travelers. In spite of her heated disapproval, Ambrose had hired a closed oxcart and herded Ernesta and Jaime into the conveyance. Laying the weak but conscious Mary carefully among the baggage, Gavin Kerr shared a look of concern with the painter while explaining the baron’s plan for the younger woman. Mary was obviously still quite weak, and Ambrose had no intention of worsening her condition by forcing her to travel at their pace. The Highlander knew the monk in charge of the infirmary where they were headed, and based on past experience he knew that there was no better physician anywhere. The monks would look after the young woman and care for her until the time came when she would be strong enough to travel again. At such time she would be welcome to come and join the painter in Scotland.

Though Elizabeth could not believe what she was hearing, Gavin clearly agreed with everything Ambrose had proposed. She had begun to think, because of the attentions Gavin Kerr had shown Mary, that perhaps he was growing fond of her younger sister. But obviously she was mistaken. The black-haired warrior might be concerned about Mary’s health, but his allegiance to Ambrose remained unchallenged.

Riding out of Marseilles, Elizabeth had wracked her brain for a way to convince Ambrose that leaving Mary behind was simply out of the question. Neither of the men knew the source of Mary’s illness, but Elizabeth had lived with it for the past four years. Nearly every time, as quickly as the symptoms would manifest themselves, they would disappear. And Elizabeth knew the only lasting remedy lay in love and care and in being surrounded by those the afflicted one trusted. In Mary’s case, that will always be me, Elizabeth vowed.

Mary’s sickness was changing, and Elizabeth knew that better than anyone. No longer just the cause of hideous physical disfigurement and intense bodily discomfort, the pox was now affecting her sister’s mind. In her moments of mad anguish, Mary now expressed a desire to die...to end it all. These were not the childish and dramatic displays of her adolescence, but the momentarily insane desires of one whose mind had become unhinged.

But Elizabeth had learned how to deal with these trying moments. And at a time when Mary was vulnerable to these attacks, Elizabeth would never leave her sister alone.

Elizabeth knew she had a formidable challenge on her hands. She had to convince Ambrose Macpherson, Baron of Roxburgh, that taking the younger sister with them on the rest of the journey was the best course of action. But she also knew that trying to bully him would not work.

Feminine wiles. That had to be the answer. Elizabeth was not blind to the heated attention the man directed at her. He wanted her. If she could only use that to her advantage, perhaps he would agree to her conditions.

Conditions, she thought with a smile.

Elizabeth nodded to the old monk who would watch over Mary through the night. Her sister was resting quietly in the monastery’s infirmary. Gently, she pulled the door partially closed and stepped into the darkened hallway.

Since their arrival the day before, Elizabeth had not been able to leave Mary’s side. Mary had been extremely nervous about Elizabeth leaving her alone, even for a moment, but her fears were beginning to subside.

Elizabeth headed down the stairs. She had to change his mind. The baron’s message had said they were leaving tomorrow. With Mary, Elizabeth thought. That was the only way she would be leaving tomorrow.

The noise of the people crowding the refectory reached her ears before she even stepped into the room. She looked about her. The travelers crowded the long tables laden with an evening meal.

Elizabeth looked down at the little hands that clutched at her legs. Jaime. She picked up the little girl and hugged her tightly.

Ambrose watched the simple show of affection from where he sat.

Jaime jumped out of Elizabeth’s arms and scampered off to play with a half dozen kittens that were rolling in the rushes in the corner of the room.

Looking back at the long tables, Elizabeth saw Ambrose motioning her to a seat beside him, and in spite of her dilemma she found herself blushing at the prospect of sitting beside the golden-haired warrior.

Moving toward the seat, Elizabeth paused briefly and gave Joseph and Erne the latest news of Mary’s condition. Even they were under the impression that they would all be leaving the next day without the younger sister. Elizabeth assured them that such a rumor was false.

Turning toward the baron, Elizabeth realized Ambrose was watching her carefully.

“So at last she has given you permission to leave.”

Elizabeth looked down at him and remained standing where she was behind the bench. He patted the seat next to him. She kept staring.

“You are angry,” Ambrose said, amused.

“Nay, Ambrose. He is just tired. That’s all.” The hard slap on the back from Gavin forced Elizabeth to take her seat at the table. She had not realized that the Lowlander had been standing right behind her.

“I have to admit, Phillipe. After Ambrose, you are the most loyal man I’ve ever met in my life. The way you care for your sister. It is a wondrous thing.” Gavin seated himself on the other side of the painter. “Even though you and the baron here have very different styles, I’d have to say that you both have compassionate natures and great hearts.”

Elizabeth snorted at his comment.

“You disagree?” Ambrose asked, grabbing her by the back of the neck and turning her face toward him.

“Am I to be allowed to answer the question, or perhaps you’d care to do that, as well?”

“By all means. I’m all ears.”

She watched the young kitchen boy as he placed another platter of food in front of them. “I happen to take offense at the thought of anyone connecting your bullying approach and mindless decisions to my peaceful and reasonable ways.”

Ambrose snorted. “Reasonable?”

“Actually,” Gavin chirped in from where he sat, “what I said was meant to be an insult to Ambrose. Everyone knows he hasn’t a great heart—it’s about the size of a berry. But I never expected you to be offended, Phillipe, my friend.”

“You be quiet,” Ambrose snapped at his friend before turning to Elizabeth. “Would you care to dwell on why you take offense at my actions and decisions? This should be quite interesting, considering the fact that you’ve hardly had an opportunity to witness any decision that I have made.”

“I have been around, m’lord. And I can hear.” Elizabeth stared straight ahead, toying with the food in front of her. “And I can see.”

“Nay, you haven’t been around,” he responded curtly. “You have been locked away with your sister ever since we arrived.”

She turned sharply in his direction. This was no place to discuss what she had in mind. “Do you care to take this argument outside?”

“Nothing would please me more.” He stood at once.

“Don’t, Phillipe,” Gavin advised seriously from where he sat. “He could beat you into bloody mash. And I think he is in no mood to argue.”

“I can take care of myself,” she stated under her breath, patting the surprised warrior on the arm before following Ambrose out of the hall.

Elizabeth had wanted to be alone with him. She knew she needed to get him away from the rest of his men so she could work on him, use whatever interest he had in her to take him in hand. It was the only leverage she had right now.

But now her eyes riveted to his broad shoulders as Ambrose led her through the winding stairwells to his room—no doubt the finest in the hostelry—Elizabeth felt the prickly heat of panic surging through her, draining her of the strength to climb even the next step. She knew what he was after. But Elizabeth couldn’t let him make love to her. She began to fall behind.

The man thought she was experienced—that she had lain with other men and had even born a child. And he thought that she was as hungry for him as he was for her.

Of course, Elizabeth reasoned, why would he think otherwise? It was partially true. Elizabeth had given up the lie of telling herself that she could do without him. Her mind and body cried out for him. But she knew—she forced herself to know—that this yearning for him must be controlled. She had to hold him off.

If Ambrose were to find out that Elizabeth had lied, if he were to think that she was nothing more than an overripe virgin, all too willing to jump into the sack with the first man who showed some interest in her, then all hope of getting her family to safety would be dashed.

Elizabeth had seen the way men had treated Mary after they had taken what they wanted. Kings or commoners, men were quick to lose interest once their appetites were satisfied.

No, once Ambrose knew the whole truth about Elizabeth—once he had found out what a total fraud she was—he would not just leave Mary behind. He would go on without Jaime, without the Bardis, and without Elizabeth herself. How disappointed he would be, once he had her.

Somehow, Elizabeth knew, she had to put him off. Enchanting a man is easier said than done, she thought, her mind racing. But that was the answer. The only answer.

Ambrose pushed open a heavy oak door on its loud hinges and turned toward her. “After you.”

She remained where she was, but tried to peek past him into the semidarkness of the room. Not much was visible from where she stood.

“M’lord, I don’t think—”

“After you.” His voice was commanding, and Elizabeth stepped reluctantly into the bedchamber.

The room was larger than the cell that Elizabeth was supposed to share with Joseph and a half dozen of Ambrose’s men. Not that she had spent any time there, considering the hours that she’d remained at Mary’s bedside. Though she would have preferred to be closer to Ernesta and Jaime, they were closeted in a separate section of the hostelry, a section that Elizabeth doubted had any rooms quite like this one. For it was clear from her first glance that Ambrose was being treated like royalty.

The room, situated in the corner of the stone building, had been paneled below and plastered above, and the bright blue color of the woodwork shone attractively even in the fading light of day. A number of small wooden chairs were clustered around a well-made wood table, and a mat of woven rushes covered the floor. Against the far wall, a huge bed brooded ominously, its stuffed mattress high and frighteningly full. Elizabeth quickly looked away.

The shutters of the four small windows had been thrown open, and the young painter crossed the room to one of them. She gazed down at the walled garden, and at the orchards and vineyards that stretched in an orderly fashion into the distance. This was a prosperous monastery, of that she had no doubt.

“Long way to jump.”

She turned around and saw him standing casually at the end of the bed. She could see the door to the room was already barred from the inside. “I came willingly, didn’t I?”

He smiled. “If you call dragging ten steps behind and shuddering at every corner, willing, then I can’t wait for what’s to come.”