Heaven and the Heather (36 page)

“Yer father, in his dying, told me to away and find ye, protect ye. ’Tis what I have done.”

“What ye’ve done?” Niall shouted. “Ye’ve got a bloody fine way of doing it!”

“I have taken money from Campbell for deeds undone.” Rory reached into his plaid.

Niall grabbed Sabine and pushed her behind him. In an instant he grabbed his claymore from the foot of the bed. “Careful, ye bastard,” he warned, the blade a whisper from Rory’s throat.

“I wish to give ye this.” Rory dropped a bag at Niall’s feet. It jingled heavily.

“What is it?” Niall asked, without giving the bag a glance.

“Coin, a muckle coin. For ye, for the clan.”

“Campbell’s coin?”

“Aye.”

“The coin he paid ye to murder the queen?”

Rory fell silent. “’Tis coin, ’tis all ye need ken, that and Campbell is on his way here.”

Niall snorted. “Ye bloody bastard, why did ye not tell us in the first place?”

A shudder coursed through Sabine.

“We have to see Her Majesty,” she said. “Without a moment to spare.”

The bedcover slipped from her body as she rushed for the door to tell Monsieur le Canard to haste with the costumes. She caught Rory’s blatant stare in her periphery. Sabine took up the robe from the floor and wrapped it around her body.

“Show the
mademoiselle
respect, ye bastard,” Niall spit. “Or I’ll kill ye where ye stand.” Niall placed the tip of his sword on Rory’s neck.

“I can bring to Her Majesty proof of the
mademoiselle’s
innocence,” the Buchanan said hastily.

“She was never guilty, bloody bastard! Ye cannae prove her innocence because she was never bloody guilty!”

“Niall! Stop! Let him speak!” Sabine cried.

She lunged across the room and pushed the blade from Rory’s neck.

“I know,” the Highlander rasped at her, “that ye didnae try to kill Her Majesty.”

“How d’ye know?” Niall demanded.

“Because I tried to kill the queen. ’Twas my arrow, painted to look like Sabine’s, that took ye in the shoulder, Niall. That arrow was indeed intended to pierce the queen’s heart, but it didnae.”

Sabine gasped. “I should beat you myself for trying to murder my queen,
your
queen.”

“Campbell ordered ye to do this thing?” Niall asked.

“For yon coin,” Rory said. “But I wasnae gonnae kill the queen. I wanted the coin for our clan, for yer plan of building barges and sending wool to Leith from Loch Katrine. We’re friends, Niall.”

“What a misguided git, ye are,” he snarled.

“I want yer protection,” Rory said. “I have nowhere else to go.”

“Nowhere but Her Majesty’s gaol.”

Sabine turned to the door. “Campbell is on his way,” she said. “We’ve not time to tarry. Rory must go before Her Majesty.”

“And place my head in the noose?” Rory asked.

“Or die by my sword,” Niall threatened.

“Men!” Sabine exclaimed, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. She opened the door.

“Where are ye going?” Niall asked.

Sabine swept a lock of hair from in front of her eyes. “I am going to find
monsieur
Le Canard and get our costumes. Campbell will not wait, I fear, for an invitation to Her Majesty’s masque. We must be there before him. We must be in the best position to strike forth with our truth to Her Majesty.” She glanced at Rory then at Niall. “We have proof, remember? Your friend need not place his ‘head in the noose’.”

Niall’s anger turned to a grin. “Did I ever tell ye that ye’re full of the Highland spirit?”

Sabine offered him her own smile as she wrapped her right hand effortlessly around the door latch. “That,
mon amour
, I’ll carry as a compliment. I’ll return forthwith. You decide what to do with Rory, but do it quickly. We have an appointment with the queen.”

“Such a bold lass,” Niall quipped.

“Aye,” Sabine said with a wink and stepped out the door. But the ebullient gesture masked the fear raging within her at the thought of seeing her queen without invitation, as a fugitive with a Highland outlaw.

chapter 20

The Wonder of Good Lives

“Y
ou look splendid,” Sabine cooed.

Niall scowled. “I wish ye wouldnae look at me like that.” He glanced up at the carved ceiling of Canard’s outer chamber. “And I wish I had my bloody claymore.”

He shifted his gaze down to the mighty sword leaning haphazardly against a trestle table laden with silks and other fine fabrics. It did not belong there and neither did he belong here in Holyrood Palace, in this ridiculous garment.

“Aye,” Rory commented around a mouthful of beef. “Ye look right a dandy in blue silk doublet and slit pantaloons. Nice stockings too, by the way.”

“I’ve no’ started forgiving ye, Buchanan. Best haud yer wheesht as my fingers are playing me toward my claymore. Or would ye have me call in Canard and let him make his choice of pleasures known to ye?”

Looking warily at the door where the big Frenchman had recently left to fetch the masks he had created, Rory said, “I ken ye’re in jest, but all the same I’ll keep my backside to the wall.”

Niall sniffed and took another painful glance at himself in Canard’s grand glass. Rory, the bastard, was right. He did look a dandy. He did not recognize himself in the outlandish garb, the shimmering blue brocade doublet, the startling white linen underblouse with the ruff collar that threatened to strangle the Highlands from his soul, and the pantaloons. The bloody split pantaloons of the same blue as the doublet mocked him with the slices of bright orange silk peering out from between the blue. He reached down and scratched at the stockings that ran up the length of his leg all the way to his bits and pieces. He scratched there too.

“Perchance you would like me to ease your itch,
mon amour
?” Scandalously, Sabine reached down and gave a quick, satisfying scratch between his legs.

He seized her in his arms not caring that Rory was watching, not caring that soon they would place their heads on the block before Her Majesty as they stole an audience.

Sabine kissed him, long and so very deep. Slowly, she broke the kiss and stepped away from him as if the reason they were dressed so oddly had struck her. Niall held her out at arm’s length. She could make any manner of garment look more radiant when she wore it. Canard had created for her a gown of crimson and gold, a garment worthy of displaying to the queen. And Sabine had made it into a rare treasure for the eyes. Her raven hair cascaded lavishly about her shoulders, the locks decorated by gilded stars and moons. Canard had interpreted Sabine’s essence into a dazzling garment even a wool-and-towed-linen rube like Niall could appreciate. She wore a vivid interpretation of what Heaven must look like.

Niall could barely breathe when faced with such beauty.

Sabine glanced down, her long dark lashes sheltering her eyes from him. “We will have to meet our Queen and tell her the most distasteful of things.”

Absently, he reached down to his sporran with Sabine’s purse and Campbell’s incriminating letter. Against Canard’s wishes Niall had insisted on adding the sporran as part of his costume.

Sabine stepped forward and gave him a small kiss.

“
Monsieur
Le Highlander and
cherie
Sabine, please, please we do not have the time for this!” Le Canard declared. “Her Majesty is beginning to receive her guests. I give you both these masques. Then I show you the way to the Great Hall.”

Sabine took her mask, a golden half-mask, with moons and stars bursting from the top in a spray. She slipped it on. Was that the glisten of tears Niall saw in her dark eyes?

He had no time to consider anything when Le Canard strapped a mask over his face. He had to adjust it to see out of the holes. Then he caught sight of himself in the glass.

“Och, bloody hell….” he sighed.

Behind him Rory laughed. And Sabine, the minx stifled a giggle.

Le Canard had done his magic and seen that no one, not even Niall’s own mother could recognize him.

“I’m a bloody…flower?” he asked.

“
Oui
,
monsieur
Le Highlander. I have made you into a noble sprig of, how do you say,
the heather
.”

“And what a lovely wee flower ye do make,” Rory teased.

“You are most handsome,” Sabine added. Niall could not tell if she was serious.

He wore, like her, a half-mask but the color was blue satin. Clusters of blue glass beads, representing heather, sprang forth from it.

“That bloody does it,” he hissed. “I’m gonnae carry my claymore.”

“But you cannot, not in Her Majesty’s court,” Le Canard said shaking his head, the waddle under his neck scraping over the lace ruff collar.

Niall glared up at the giant Frenchman. “Ye’re the maker of magic with yer beads and silks. I will carry a large stalk of heather on my back, a stalk that will serve my purpose if such a purpose arises.”

“To what purpose?” Canard asked.

Niall did not offer a reply to him, instead he turned to Sabine. “Campbell will no doubt make his presence known to the masque. I intend to be ready with paper—” Niall patted his sporran. “—And sword.” He took up the claymore in its sheath and handed it to Le Canard. “Work quickly yer magic with the beads and silk, then Sabine and I will take our leave.”

Le Canard glared down at him. “
Monsieur
Le Highlander, you can leave the hills, but the beast remains in your soul,
n’est-ce pas
?”

Niall gave him a nod. “Aye.” The bead clusters on his mask swayed back and forth. He slapped them still.

Sabine took him by the arm and pulled him away from Le Canard.

“Save your anger for when ’tis really needed,” she said.

“Such time is near,” Niall said as he stared deep into her eyes. “I can feel it as well as I feel my heart quicken when ye’re near.” If he could stop the sun, he gladly would spend more moments like they had before. He swallowed hard. He could not predict what the outcome of stealing an audience with the queen would bring, he could only hope for the best. Yet, with a heavy heart, he could clearly see the end of these days with Sabine.

He gave her a lingering kiss on her lips, despite and damn who was observing. Stolen moments were all he had with Sabine. Why could bliss not linger? He slowly broke the kiss. Bliss was never the Highland way…or the way of the MacGregor. He doubted the queen could change that, but he would certainly try to sway her.

He looked into the eyes of Heaven before him. His strength lived within her, and hers within him. It would take him to their queen.

Niall offered Sabine his hand.

“’Tis time to go,” he said.

A
s much as Sabine had wanted to take Niall’s hand, she could not. Her heart lurched as they parted once inside the Great Hall. T’was best this way, though, that they act as strangers, and mingle without notice into the crowd. She watched as Niall made his way around the fine costumed lords and ladies as easily as he made his way through the Highland forests. He was a predator among the docile sheep, those who thought everything was right in their lavish world with their new monarch.

“
Signorina
Sabine, is that you, my dear?”

Startled, Sabine reached up to make certain her mask was still on her face. It was and she dared look at the one who had recognized her, Davide Rizzio.

“’Tis you,
signorina
! Oh, it brings me great delight to see you!”

“Please, please,
monsieur
Rizzio, silence. For my presence here is but unknown to Her Majesty.”

“
Si
, for I have heard of the lies against you. I did not believe them.” He nodded his head and took a sip of brandy. His stocky, compressed frame was dressed in emerald and golden silks, his mask was that of a parrot.

“May I please have a sip?” Sabine asked.

“Of course, if you would favor me by divulging the identity of that striking person who escorted you to this masque?”

She almost dropped the glass. Rizzio reached under her hand and cupped the bottom of the glass. “He is the Highlander who you ran off with, is he not,
signorina
?”

“Is that the lie you believe?” she asked taking the glass from him and gulping down a long fiery swallow. Tears came quickly to her eyes.

“I believe no lies,
signorina
. I listen and divulge what I know where appropriate.”

“Well,” she said taking another, smaller sip, “I did not run off with the Highlander. But I did return with him for good reason.” she looked about the masque. “Where is our queen?”

“I fear
our
queen has taken notice of your escort.”

“
Comment
?” Sabine dropped the glass. It shattered on the floor. The crash was cloaked by the music and the many animated conversations.

Niall stood before the throne, the queen’s hand in his, and his lips upon her great ruby and diamond ring.

“I must go to him, the fool,” she whispered.