Kathleen Harrington (41 page)

“I
understand that a baby is on the way! I’m so happy for you!”

Francine turned to see a lovely, fair-haired woman, accompanied by her family, join their group. She went straight to Lachlan and saluted him with a familiar kiss on the cheek.

“Your understanding is correct,” he said, smiling broadly. Then he turned to Francine. “Darling, this is Lady Nina Cameron, and her good brother, Laird Alex Cameron. And this is Raine, Nina’s daughter.”

The middle-aged man took Francine’s hand and kissed it. His hazel eyes were beaming with approval. “Congratulations!” he said to Lachlan, as he pumped his hand. “We couldn’t be happier about your marvelous news.”

Kinrath’s loved ones were standing in the Great Hall of the palace of Holyroodhouse, surrounded by the cream of Scottish and English nobility.

After the wedding, the guests had joined the royal couple in the banqueting hall, where they feasted on boar’s head, hams, and every manner of delicacy. After the banquet, the dancing commenced.

Lady Nina took Francine’s hand, her joy for the unborn child lighting up her deep blue eyes. With her apricot hair and creamy complexion, she looked like an angel, just stepped down from a cloud.

“We are so very pleased at this wonderful turn of events. This is simply too exciting for words.”

Her daughter came to stand beside her. Where Lady Nina was dainty, with a peaches-and-cream complexion, Lady Raine stood several inches taller than her mother. She was black haired, with dark, pensive eyes.

“And what do you think of our good news?” Lachlan asked the young woman.

“I’m happy for you both,” Lady Raine said, smiling with a serenity beyond her years. “I believe your love will be triply blessed.”

Startled, Francine met Lachlan’s gaze. Those were the exact words of the Romany fortuneteller. Yet, he seemed not to recall.

“Here, here,” Rory MacLean said. He signaled for a servant to pass around glasses of wine to their close-knit circle. “I propose a toast to my fortunate brother.”

His mother, Lady Emma, beamed proudly. “To the baby!”

“Aye,” Keir MacNeil added with a grin of admiration. “To my clever brother and his lovely lady.”

Every one of Kinrath’s family and friends lifted their glasses in salute. Francine had never seen a group of people so thrilled at the coming of a new baby. Their joy bordered on delirious.

Alex Cameron clapped Lachlan on the back. “And when is the wedding?” he inquired. “This is one nuptial I don’t intend to miss.”

With his slow, sideways smile, Lachlan met Francine’s startled gaze. “The lady has not yet consented to be my wife.”

Francine looked around the group. Everyone seemed to be staring at her in shock and disapproval. Not because she was pregnant and unmarried. But that she’d refused to wed their beloved Lachlan.

She swallowed and lifted her chin. “I am an English subject,” she said, resenting the need to explain. “King Henry is expecting me to return to London after the wedding festivities are over.”

“Have ye asked her nicely to marry ye, ye
glaikit bowdykite
?” Keir demanded of his brother, clearly placing the blame on him.

Lachlan sent him a withering look.

Keir failed to take the hint. “Well, then, if she dinna care all that much for you, I’ll be happy to marry her.”

The family groaned as one.

“Keir, you ass,” Lachlan grated.

His brother looked around with an injured air. “Isn’t the main point to keep the bairn in the family?” he asked. “The lady apparently has reservations about Lachlan. Once she got to know me, I think she might like me better. As for myself, one bonny lass is much the same as another. And Lady Walsingham is certainly bonny.”

“Don’t be such an outspoken fool, Keir,” Rory admonished, though he grinned in spite of himself. “You’re embarrassing Francine.”

“What an idiot,” Raine said to no one in particular.

The entire hall suddenly grew quiet. People were looking in distaste at the marquess of Lychester, dressed in riding attire with dusty cape and boots. He strode angrily across the floor to where the earl of Kinrath stood. Unaware of his approach, the family didn’t notice him, until he was practically in their midst.

“I know!” he spat out. “I know!” His black eyes glittered with rage. He moved to stand in front of Francine.

Lachlan stepped between them and placed his hand on Lychester’s chest to shove him back. “What the hell are you talking about? You sound like a crazy man.”

Lychester bared his teeth, his eyes locked on Francine. “I have Angelica secured in a safe place. If you ever hope to see her again, you’ll come with me now.”

“Where is she?” Francine asked, her voice a hoarse croak. “What have you done with my baby girl?”

“She’s my daughter!” he roared. “Mine!”

Everyone in the room started talking, angry at the disturbance in front of the royal couple.

King James and Queen Margaret were seated on a dais at the far end of the room. They’d been watching the dancing while visiting quietly with one another. James signaled a guard to bring those involved in the disruption to him.

Lachlan placed his hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Roddy’s with the horses. Take Duncan and Alex with you and go to my townhouse. See what’s happened to Wally and Bertie and the other men we left guarding the child and her nurse. And take a court physician with you. If they’re not dead, they’re wounded. Otherwise, Lychester wouldn’t be here alive.”

Colin nodded. He bent his head to quietly reassure Lady Diana, who’d clung to him most of the day. With Duncan Stewart and Alex Cameron, Colin strode quickly out of the chamber.

Lachlan and Francine, along with his family and friends, crossed the length of the Great Hall. They were followed by Lychester, who stalked angrily, gripping the handle of his broadsword.

King James nodded to the English marquess. “Come forward,” he said, his voice cold with disapproval, “and state your reasons for this interruption of my wedding festivities.”

His body rigid with anger and contempt, Lychester’s rage filled his booming voice. “Lady Walsingham is to be wedded to me on our return to England. The Lady Angelica, previously known as her daughter, is really my daughter by her sister, Cecilia, who died in childbirth in Naples. Since all of us are English subjects, I have the right to insist this be settled in the courts of Northumberland or by the king of England himself.”

King James looked at Francine. “Is what he says the truth?”

“No,” she said, her heart pounding. She clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking. She fought to keep the tears from blurring her vision. “Angelica is my daughter. And the marquess and I are not betrothed.”

“I call for my cousin, the duke of Northumberland, to testify to the truthfulness of what I have to say,” Elliot Brome said, his voice ringing through the crowded hall.

King James looked at Lord Harry Percy, who had come to join his cousin in front of the dais. “What say you, your grace? Who speaks the truth here?”

“’Twould seem that the entire affair is an English matter and has nothing to do with Scottish laws or procedures,” Northumberland replied. “The legitimacy of Lychester’s claims should be decided by a magistrate in North Yorkshire.”

“Wait,” Lachlan said. “There are more than English subjects involved in this dispute.”

“How so?” the king asked in surprise.

The lords and ladies craned their necks to hear the earl of Kinrath’s answer.

“Lady Walsingham carries a babe in her womb. That child is mine, and therefore a Scot. Until the bairn is delivered, Lady Walsingham must remain in Scotland to protect my rights and the rights of my child. And since the marquess has no proof, whatsoever, of his claim to the Lady Angelica, the lassie should remain with her mother. One only has to look at the two of them together to see their resemblance.”

King James tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the arm of his chair. He looked again at the English marquess. “What proof can you give that the little girl is yours?”

Lychester’s face turn florid beneath his thick black beard. “The nursemaid who was present at her birth told me so.”

“Then bring the woman forward to testify,” the king said, leaning back in his chair.

Furious, Lychester clenched his fists. “Signora Grazioli is dead. She fell and accidently struck her head a short while ago.”

Francine cried out softly. “Oh, dear God, Elliot, you killed Lucia! In front of Angelica!”

Lychester turned to Francine, his eyes dull with regret. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. You must know, Francie, I’d never purposely do harm to the nurse in front of the child.”

King James looked over to Northumberland, once again. “What do you know about this matter, your grace?”

Harry Percy stared at the three large brothers, who stood side by side, their hands on their swords. Then he glanced at his cousin, who waited with impatience, expecting his powerful relative to come to his aide.

“Nothing,” the duke of Northumberland said abruptly. “I know nothing more of this matter.”

“Then it appears to be settled,” James declared. “Since two of those most intimately involved in this case are our subjects, namely the unborn babe and its father, the dispute does, indeed, involve Scottish law. Lady Walsingham and her daughter shall remain in Scotland until the child is delivered, whereupon, it will presented to its natural father, Laird Kinrath.”

“Wait!” Lychester cried. “I demand my right as an English noble to trial by combat.”

King James looked over at Lachlan. “What say you, Laird Kinrath? Do you agree to resolve this dispute by wagering a judicial battle of arms?”

“Agreed,” Lachlan said without a heartbeat’s hesitation.

“Very well,” King James said. “I declare that the marquess of Lychester and the earl of Kinrath will engage forthwith in a duel of swords. The winner shall take Lady Walsingham and her daughter, Lady Angelica, to his home and hearth, where the lady shall become his wife in the eyes of God and man, if the church ordain, and the child, his daughter in the eyes of the law.”

Francine caught Lachlan’s sleeve. “You can’t fight,” she whispered, her eyes wide with dread. “You’re injured.”

Lachlan clasped her shoulders and drew her closer. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “I’m going to fight, and I’m going to win. I want you to stay with Lady Emma during our combat. No matter what happens, my brothers will protect you.”

“No!” she said, her face drained of color. “I won’t let you. Not with your injuries. The cracked ribs could snap and puncture your lungs.” She burst into tears. “He’ll kill you. I . . . I’ll go with Elliot. Just let me go with Elliot.”

Lachlan kissed her forehead. “Darling lass,” he said softly. He motioned for his mother to escort Francine away.

But as Lady Emma moved toward her, Francine whirled and grabbed Rory’s sleeve. “You or your brother could fight Lychester,” she pleaded.

“Aye, we could,” Rory answered with calm reserve. “But Lachlan intends to settle this himself. And I agree that he should.”

Francine turned to address the king. “Your highness, I refuse to accept the earl of Kinrath as my champion. I claim a lady’s right to choose the man to defend her.”

King James looked at her dubiously. While it was true that a woman whose honor had been impugned had a right to choose her defender, it was far from clear that the defense of her honor was the reason for this dispute. He glanced at the curious faces of the gentlemen surrounding the group. “Is there a knight willing to fight as this lady’s champion?”

Several English knights and Scottish lairds stepped forward, including Keir MacNeil.

“The unborn bairn is mine,” Lachlan said, his voice ringing throughout Holyroodhouse’s Great Hall. “’Tis my right to answer the Sassenach’s challenge.”

Silence descended on the throng of people. James looked over to Margaret, who’d remained seated throughout the entire altercation. “We will let my new queen decide who will be Lady Walsingham’s champion.”

Queen Margaret rose and moved to stand beside her husband. “During our journey from Collyweston,” she said, “Laird Kinrath displayed the qualities of a true knight. He is loyal, brave, and trustworthy. I have also observed his sincere affection for both Lady Walsingham and Lady Angelica.” She smiled at Lachlan, her hazel eyes glowing with admiration. “I declare that the earl of Kinrath has the right to claim his unborn child in a combat of honor.”

Before Francine could protest, Lady Emma put an arm around her in consolation. “Shh, dearest,” she said. “You need to stay calm for the baby’s sake. Don’t be afraid. Lachlan will protect you and your daughter from Lychester.”

King James rose from his chair, taking his queen’s hand. “Let us proceed to the palace courtyard.” Stepping down from the dais, he motioned for Lachlan to come closer.

“Try not to kill the fellow,” James said quietly. “We don’t want to upset my new father-in-law unnecessarily. King Henry might not appreciate the loss of Northumberland’s cousin on our wedding day.”

“I’ll try not to,” Lachlan said grimly.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

T
he three brothers gathered at one side of the palace’s sprawling courtyard. Lachlan removed his jacket and sporran and handed them to Rory. Dressed in ruffled shirt and kilt with short, checkered hose and brogues, he would be able to move nimbly across the smooth paving stones.

“I can kill him, if you want me too,” Keir offered with a confident swagger.

“While I stand here and watch you display your swordsmanship in front of Francine?” Lachlan said in disgust as he tugged on his gloves.

Keir raised his brow in a show of selfless altruism. “Now, would I play with that bloody bastard like a cat with a mouse, simply to impress a beautiful lady?” His emerald eyes flashing, he glanced at Rory with a diabolical grin.

Rory shook his head at their youngest brother’s antics, then moved closer to Lachlan. “Finish it fast,” he advised. “Otherwise, those cracked ribs are going to be pure torture when you start gasping for a breath.”

Lachlan jerked his head in agreement. Much as he’d like to follow Keir’s plan and draw the fight out to impress the mother of his future child with his prowess at swordplay, this was one time to disarm his opponent as fast as possible and end the combat.