Highland Surrender (17 page)

“Of course, my lady. Let me escort you.”

She took his arm, and they left the chamber. Myles stood and joined Tavish near the fireplace.

“We cannot wait for his memory to return, Tavish. Even if it does, it seems there will be little he can tell us.”

“Aye, it would save us a world of speculating if he’d recognized one of them, but I doubt he can add to what we already know.”

“Which is nearly nothing. And we cannot wait for answers to come to us. The time to act is now.” He was laird while his father was incapacitated, and he must think like the leader of the Campbells. ’Twas a heavy burden, but one he’d trained for all his life. “The king must be informed. Choose your men and ride to Stirling at first light.”

He nodded. “My pleasure. Lord knows it’s better than sitting here on my arse while my brother sleeps and our enemy plans another attack.”

Myles smiled. “Or you could stay here and pray with my mother.”

A rolling snort came from his uncle. “Prayer is for women and old men, lad. God put a sword in my hand for a reason. He knows I do my praying on the battlefield.”

CHAPTER 18

F
IONA STOOD UPON
a stool in a borrowed chemise, her arms stretched out on either side. Vivienne was there, and Ruby too, along with the seamstress. Bolts of fabric were strewn all about the place, with trims and ribbons and strips of ermine and fox scattered over the bed, as if a milliner’s shop had suffered a windstorm in this very spot. And if indeed a windstorm could be captured and possessed, it would dwell inside Vivienne.

She was a dervish, twirling the sumptuous cloths around Fiona, giggling with delight over suggestions made by the seamstress.

“I think the gold, with a burgundy kirtle beneath, don’t you agree? Your hair will look stunning next to the gold.” Vivienne’s smooth cheeks were pinked by enthusiasm.

“Oh, so lovely,” Ruby breathed, pressing both hands against her own ruddy cheeks.

“And you’ve a fine figure.” The seamstress nodded.

Fiona was breathless from the gluttony of it. So many silks and satins and brocades. There were velvets and linens and furs. Vivienne insisted she needed a dress for every event. Gowns for riding, for walking, for morning and afternoon. And of course,
there were the gowns for special occasions, such as visits with the other nobility, and even the king.

“Surely I’ll not be meeting the king,” Fiona protested.

Vivienne’s finely arched browed furrowed. “But of course you will. One day soon, we’ll visit Linlithgow or Falkland Palace. You’ll meet him then.”

Fiona felt blood pooling to her feet, leaving her woozy at the thought of being face-to-face with that ruthless sovereign. What words might she spit in his face if given the chance? But just as quickly, Marietta’s words of warning sounded in her memory.
Rein in that unpredictable nature.

That
was as unlikely as the possibility of Fiona ever being allowed within earshot of Scotland’s ruler. Vivienne was misguided in her optimism.

“I think we’ve chosen enough dresses. As it is, I cannot imagine wearing them all,” Fiona said.

Vivienne looked over the piles of fabric. “These aren’t so very many. But fine, if you grow weary, we need only choose your bedclothes and we’ll be finished.” She picked up a bolt of white linen so sheer it looked like frost upon a windowpane. “This should do nicely. Take off that chemise and let’s see it against your skin.”

Fiona blanched. She’d do no such thing. Take off her chemise, indeed. She clutched it close to her chest.

Vivienne laughed at her modesty. “Oh, come now. We’re all women here. We’ve got the same bits as you.”

“Aye, though mine have sunk a good deal lower,” added the seamstress, chuckling.

“Mine are a good deal more plump,” Ruby giggled. “But my husband loves a fine cushion.”

The others laughed, while Fiona felt her cheeks grow hot. In fact, she felt hot all over. The idea of Myles thinking anything of the like was embarrassing. She should shoo Vivienne and
Ruby from the room and choose the most opaque fabric of the lot. Perhaps a somber gray to dissuade her husband’s interest. Although his interest seemed to have dissipated through no effort of her own.

“Oh, girls, we’ve made our maiden bride blush,” Vivienne teased, which only infused more heat into Fiona’s tingling skin.

“I don’t need any such impractical nightgowns. Just something serviceable.”

Vivienne’s laughter filled the air, with Ruby and the seamstress’s quick to follow. “Serviceable? That sounds as enticing as a case of the pox. Of course you need something impractical. A flimsy little something, thin as a spider’s web that tears away just as easily.”

Ruby and the seamstress both nodded emphatically.

Fiona gripped the chemise more tightly. “Tears away? What good is a shift such as that?”

Vivienne doubled over in her laughter. “My goodness, what a lot my nephew has to teach you. Are you a virgin, still?”

What a rude, invasive question
. Fiona scowled. “I assure you, I am quite thoroughly married.”

“Then shame on Myles if he’s left you to wonder about the joy of
impractical
nightgowns. Although, you have been traveling, and you can’t do much rending of things when you’re on the road. And I suppose last night he sat vigil with his father, but once Cedric is on the mend and Myles is not so distracted, I do hope you obtain a different view on the matter.”

This was quite enough. Vivienne had proven kind, but this went far and beyond any business of hers. Fiona would not stand there, naked before them, while the seamstress draped her in fabric so sheer that mist from the loch would serve as better cover.

Vivienne smiled again. “Oh, Fiona. I don’t mean to tease. You’re so beautiful you could be clad in sackcloth and he’d want you still. I saw the way he looked at you this morning. But there’s no shame in adding a little sweetness to the pot, is there?”

Fiona’s mind turned to fuzz. The way he’d looked at her this morning? She’d averted her gaze when he’d come into the room, and when she’d finally met his eyes, he’d looked nothing save annoyed. Vivienne was making sport of her once more.

“He looked at me in no such manner. And I wouldn’t want him to.” Avoiding his attentions was her goal, not beckoning them.

Vivienne crossed one arm over the other. She raised one fisted hand and rested her chin upon it as she perused Fiona. After a moment, she said, “Can you best him with a sword?”

“What?”

“On the field or in the yard, could you beat him with a sword?”

What riddle is this?
“No, of course not. He’s far too strong.”

“Could you outdrink him? Until he’s passed out on the rushes?”

Fiona felt the tremors of a smile tapping at her lips. “’Tis unlikely.”

“Mm-hm.” Vivienne began to pace in the small space in front of Fiona. “And what of strategy? ’Tis clear you cannot evade him in the woods. But could you outwit him in a game of chess, perhaps?”

Chess had never been Fiona’s forte. She was ever too impatient to master its nuances. “I fail to see what chess has to do with my choice of nightdress.”

“This is your battleground, Fiona.” Vivienne’s hands swept round the room and ended by pointing at the bed. Myles’s bed. “This is where you best him. This is where you sway him to obey
your whims. If you hope to ever take an upper hand with Myles, this is where that begins. Make him want you, and soon enough, he’ll jump to do your bidding at every turn.”

Fiona crossed her own arms. “You mean seduce him to obtain what I want?”

“Exactly.”

“But what if what I want is for him to leave me alone?”

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. “You want more than that. I’m certain of it. And to win the war, you must start with tiny victories. Remember, men are like their horses.”

“Big and sweaty and fun to ride?” Ruby chimed in.

Vivienne smiled at the maid. “Yes. But in addition to that, they are drawn to whomever dangles the most enticing carrot.”

Fiona frowned. “Didn’t you say your husband was faithless?”

Vivienne’s shrug was nonchalant. “Yes, but my husband was an idiot, and I had long since put away my carrots. Myles is another type of man altogether. And he wants you, Fiona. I saw it in his eyes. Use that, and you’ll both be better off.”

This put a wrinkle in her plans. Seduction. The very thought of it panicked her. She had no comely wiles to trap a man. She had nothing but a sharp tongue and a tenacious disregard for his family. She’d never trick him into compliance, no matter how diaphanous the gown. And even if she could, what good would it do her? She had sealed the truce. She was here. All she wanted now was to keep her family safe and for him to let her be.

“Take the pretty nightgowns, Fiona,” Vivienne said softly. “Leave them in a chest, if you’ve a mind to, but some evening, you may have need to put one on. When you’re ready, they’ll be waiting.”

Lord, the woman could tempt a sinner into church the way she prodded. Those Campbell traits of persuasion and persistence must have rubbed off.

“Fine,” Fiona said at last. “But I only need one cut from that transparent bit of nothingness. Make the rest of sturdy linen.”

“Make her three of the sheer,” Vivienne instructed the seamstress. “And two of the linen. And add some ribbons and pearls.”

Fiona looked to the ceiling and shook her head. “’Tis another frivolous waste. Pearls, indeed.”

“Hush up, Fiona. By God, you are unruly.” The words might scold but for the laughter in her voice. “My nephew deserves such a wife as you.”

Fiona flushed once more, heady from the statement though not sure why. “Unruly?”

“Aye. One who will put him through his paces. Thank God he did not marry that simpering Odette.”

A dizzy sort of tremble ran through her. “Odette?”

The seamstress and Ruby began unrolling the sheer material, though Fiona kept her chemise firmly in place.

“Aye. She had her hooks sunk deep, but marriage to her would have bored my nephew silly. Pouty little French thing. She’d never last a winter. She’d drop over dead as sure as the king’s first wife.”

“Were they betrothed? Myles and Odette?”

Vivienne shook her head and stepped closer to push up the hem of Fiona’s shift.

Distracted as she was by the thought of some woman in love with her husband, Fiona raised her arms and soon was stripped bare. Ruby winked at the seamstress, and they spun the pale-white linen around her torso.

Stepping back, Vivienne answered, “They were not formally betrothed, for Myles has always been betrothed to you. Since the day you were born. He meant to seek James’s permission, though. Of course, Cedric would have none of that.”

“Why?”

For the first time since they’d met, Vivienne fell silent. She looked away and fumbled with some ribbon. After a moment, she shrugged and turned back to Fiona with the brightest of smiles. “Oh, who knows why men do any of the things they do?” She took one step farther back and tilted her dark, glossy head. “Oh, my Fiona. You are a temptress. If I were a man, I’d bed you myself.”

Fiona’s gasp of surprise quickly turned to laughter. And soon the four of them were giggling like a gaggle of geese.

Outside his chamber door, Myles halted, his hand poised to knock. He quickly admonished himself. ’Twas his room after all. He should not have to announce his entrance. And so he grasped the latch, about to lift it and push his way in, until a sound came through the wood. A sound that stopped him like the edge of a cliff and triggered a ripple of surprise.

Laughter.

Feminine laughter coming from
his
bedchamber. What in heaven’s name where they doing in there, chortling like fishwives?

He listened for a moment, his ear pressed to the door like a snooping dowager, but he could not hear their words. Only more giggles. The sound pricked at him, to know his wife was in there, sharing her good humor with others, while all he got from her was frowns.

He pushed the door open with more force than necessary, and it thumped against the wall with a bang.

The women’s laughter stopped abruptly, and his wife let out an ungracious squawk before leaping from a stool to crouch beside the bed. A cloud of white fabric puddled in her wake, and her reaction to his entrance set the other women to guffawing once more.

He stepped inside, annoyed as much from their presence as by their laughter. Women did not typically irritate him, but he was exhausted and not interested in their silly antics. Nor was Fiona, it appeared. She wasn’t laughing either. Instead, she peeked from the edge of the bed, just high enough that he could see her face and her bare shoulders. So, the lass was naked, was she? His irritation decreased by the smallest degree.

“Don’t you knock?” she demanded.

“’Tis my room,” he tossed back, and crossed to a table where a tray rested, the remnants of her lunch, no doubt. He picked up a glass and emptied the wine inside.

“But I’m not dressed!”

He tipped his head, as if to get a better look. “I can see that.”

Her face went crimson, and she scuttled back closer toward the wall. She looked to the maid. “Ruby, give me my dress.”