Kill or Be Kilt (10 page)

She placed a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. “My sisters are visiting my aunt at Apethorpe Hall.”

“My word, was Lord Mildmay your uncle?”

She gazed down at the grass and couldn't meet his eyes. “Yes.”

“Please accept my condolences for your loss.” He handed her a long-stemmed flower. “Roses are Mother's favorite, and I hope you enjoy them too. Be sure not to tell anyone that I picked the bloom from the palace grounds. The king—and my mother—would have my head.”

“Your secret is safe with me, my lord.”

“I only knew your uncle in passing, but I know he was favored by the king.”

“He'll be sorely missed.”

Seeing the expression of sadness that crossed her face, the earl placed her hand on his arm and they continued to walk along the garden paths. “The musicians will be playing after supper this evening. Will you stay to dance?”

“Yes, I should hope so. I'll have to speak with Laird Sutherland first, but I'd like that.”

Elizabeth knew there was a gleam in her eye. Her first dance in England would be with a peer of the realm at the king's court. This was what she'd been waiting for. But a sour expression crossed her face when she realized she'd already had her first kiss with a Scot. That was something she could never take back.

“Mother loves to dance. She wouldn't miss it.”

Elizabeth wondered if the man meant to dance this evening with her or his mother.

* * *

Ian didn't know what the hell he was doing. He was a Highland laird and used to making decisions for the clan. But when Elizabeth had taken the English peacock's arm, a feeling washed over him that he couldn't explain. For the first time in his life, he doubted his own judgment. And that frightened him more than anything.

“I'm surprised ye let the lass go alone,” said Fagan.

“I think Kinghorne will be the least of our worries. Be thankful ye have an hour to yourself and donna have to follow the lass around,” said Ruairi.

Laird Fraser and Laird MacKay approached them with wry grins. “I see ye've had nay such luck in seeing the king either,” said Laird Fraser.

“Did ye think we'd be granted a boon so soon?” asked Ian. “Where is the Ross?”

“He's taking advantage of the liberties offered at court.” Laird MacKay gestured down the hall to a group of buxom women. Several “ladies” were running their hands all over Laird Ross, and he looked as though he was enjoying every moment.

When an elbow poked Ian in the back, he knew that little shove had come from Fagan. He didn't need his friend encouraging him to sate his needs with some English harlot. Frankly, he wouldn't have been irked at an idea like that in the past, but the thought of bedding another woman after he'd held Elizabeth in his arms instantly killed his ardor.

Giddy laughter came from the blond lass who led Laird Ross away, as another one of the women turned and gave Ian what she thought to be a luring gaze. She placed her forefinger into her mouth, sucking, and licking it. To him, brazen women were only good for one task and at the moment, his stomach churned with the thought of bedding a whore.

He averted his eyes, especially when two of the women started to approach. He'd even briefly thought about fleeing, but he was no coward. The lasses reached Laird MacKay and Ruairi, rubbing their hands over the shoulders of the men.

“Would you like some company?” a brown-haired wench asked Ruairi.

“Nay, lass. I am happily wed.”

Not hearing the answer she wanted, the woman moved behind Laird MacKay. “And what about you?”

“I'm wed as well.”

When the woman glanced at Fagan, he held up his hands. “Nay, I'd like to keep my head and the other parts of me where they are. I'm wed too.” He grasped Ian by the shoulders. “But my friend here is nae yet wed.”

Ian cringed.

One of the women stood by his side and ran her fingers all over his chest. He stilled her hand in order to deter her affections, and that's when he caught sight of something from the corner of his eye.

Elizabeth.

Her eyes welled with tears.

Elizabeth tried to hide her inner misery but wasn't sure she was successful. She didn't think it possible, but Laird Munro had a way of slicing open her wound again. It was bad enough when the man vehemently denied the kiss they'd shared, but now she was forced to watch as he held the hand of some harlot right in front of her bloody eyes. Elizabeth was perfectly aware that she'd always had her heart open wide, but the shock of defeat held her immobile.

“Thank you, Lady Elizabeth, for your company in the gardens, but I don't want to keep Mother waiting. Pray excuse me, and we'll hope to see you later again this evening. Be sure to save a dance for me.”

She'd barely heard Lord Kinghorne's words. “Thank you, my lord.” As he walked away, she hadn't even noticed Fagan's hand on her shoulder.

“Lady Elizabeth, ye do remember Laird Fraser and Laird MacKay, eh?”

“Yes. It's a pleasure to see you again.”

Fagan's voice softened. “Is everything all right? Ye look distraught.”

She made the mistake of glancing at Ian. He was speaking in hushed tones in the courtesan's ear as the woman nodded in return. The courtesan pulled the other harlot by the arm down the hall, more than likely waiting for the time when Laird Munro agreed to meet her again. When Elizabeth lifted her eyes, Ian's expression darkened.

“If Kinghorne did nae behave and did something, ye need to tell me,” said Fagan. She hadn't realized he was still speaking.

“Lord Kinghorne was nothing but a gentleman. Why don't you stay and finish your conversation with the men? I'll wait for you on the first bench in the gardens.”

“The conversation is nae that exciting, lass. I can accompany ye to the garden.”

“I'd rather have a moment alone if that's all right with you.”

“Hmm… Grace always tells me those words have two meanings. Ye either want me to come along and talk with ye about something, or ye truly desire to be left alone. I have nae mastered the subject yet, lass, so ye'll have to tell me. Which is it?”

Elizabeth patted him on the arm. “You're safe, Fagan. I can assure you that my words meant the latter, but thank you for your concern.”

Trying not to think of anything, Elizabeth sat alone on a bench in the garden. Men and women passed her in their finery, but she didn't know a single soul. She probably would've had better luck if Uncle Walter had accompanied her and made introductions. Sadness washed over her when she remembered that he was no longer here.

She glanced down, fingering the material on her gown. Even choosing the daring dress to entice Ian hadn't worked. When she spotted black boots, she lifted her eyes and was greeted by the handsome stranger from last night. He had warm, brown eyes and appeared just as she'd remembered him. His wavy, black hair hung down to his shoulders. He wore tan breeches, a loose-fitting tunic, and wisps of hair curled against the V of his open shirt. His exotic look was captivating.

“Pardon the intrusion. I know that we haven't been formally introduced, but I am King Henry VIII.” When he gave her a low bow, she laughed.

“I must say, Your Majesty, you look very well and have certainly traveled far from Windsor where you've been interred for the last sixty-six years.”

His smile widened. “I am Will Condell, an actor commissioned to play King Henry at the Globe Theatre in Southwark.” He gestured to the bench. “May I?” His accent changed, but he was easier to understand than most of the Highland lairds she knew.

“Please, sit. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Condell. I am Lady Elizabeth Walsingham.”

He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “The pleasure is mine, my lady.” His eyes never left hers, and she was flattered by his interest.

“The palace must provide you with a lot of inspiration to play a role such as King Henry.”

He casually leaned back on the bench. “That it does. The king was without a doubt a lover of sport. He loved to play tennis.” Mister Condell grinned mischievously. “He also had a way with the ladies and his many wives.”

An amused expression crossed her face. “Oh, yes, but I certainly wouldn't have wanted to be one of the many women among his court.”

“I agree, Lady Elizabeth. Your head is lovely where it is.”

“Your accent was very believable. I never would've known you weren't an English gentleman.”

He reverted back to the English accent. “I've been an actor for many years. In order to play different roles, I have to speak many accents fluently.”

“How many accents can you do, Mister Condell?”

“Let me see. I can speak in French, a bit of German, some Italian, you've heard the English, and of course, I can speak my native Spanish tongue.” Elizabeth was amazed as the man kept changing his accent after speaking only a few words.

“And what about my language? Are ye able to speak Scots?” Laird Munro's expression held a note of mockery, and Mister Condell flew to his feet.

“I have not had ample opportunity to study the Scot's language, but I'm always willing to learn.” The man extended his hand to Ian. “I am Will Condell, an actor at the Globe Theatre.”

“Laird Munro…” Ian glanced around the garden and then at Mister Condell. “And as of this moment, I am the chaperone for the lass.”

* * *

Ian knew what Elizabeth was doing. He'd hurt her by denying the kiss between them. And the English harlot had only made matters worse by adding salt to an already open wound. Last eve he realized Elizabeth was no longer a child. But if she thought to use her feminine wiles to make him jealous by consorting with a man who was fair of face, her actions wouldn't work. Nor would he permit her to throw herself into the arms of the first man—well, the second man she'd met at court.

He wasn't worried over Kinghorne because the earl couldn't separate himself long enough from his mother. But for some reason, this
actor
unsettled him. Condell stood tall, confident, and could almost look him in the eye. This was the first time Ian could remember a man standing before him who was not cowering in his boots.

Ian didn't like him at all.

When the man smiled, Ian wanted nothing more than to ram Condell's straight, white teeth down his throat.

“I'm certain Lady Elizabeth is in good hands with you as her guardian, Laird Munro.” Condell's gaze narrowed, and he lowered his voice. “But I'm no coward.” He turned around and brought Elizabeth's fingers to his lips. “Lady Elizabeth, until we meet again.”

“Of course, Mister Condell. It was a pleasure.” As soon as the man walked away, Elizabeth cast a look of death upon Ian. Her expression was thunderous, and she closed the distance between them. “How dare you! You have no right to interfere in my life. Lest you forget, Laird Munro, you wanted no part of mine.”

Her angry gaze swung over him, and then she poked him in the chest with her finger. She continued to speak through clenched teeth. “You have no trouble consorting with a harlot before my very eyes, but you cause me grief for talking to a man on a bench in the garden in the light of day. I'll never understand you.”

Ian stopped her escape with a firm grip on her arm, and his eyes softened. “There are many harlots at court.” When her eyes blazed, he added, “I have nay desire to take any to my bed.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I would ne'er deliberately hurt ye, Elizabeth.”

There was a heavy silence as tears fell down her cheeks.

“You already have.”

She walked away from him, and he called after her. He did not blame the lass when she did not look back. For being a Highland laird, he was certainly making all the wrong decisions. He sat on the bench and wondered at what point in his life everything went awry.

“Did ye find Elizabeth?” asked Fagan. As soon as Ian glanced up, his friend's expression changed to one of concern. “What the hell happened?”

“Where is Ruairi?”

“He's still with the Fraser and the MacKay.” Fagan sat on the bench beside him. “Munro, is there something ye want to tell me?” When Ian didn't respond and rolled his neck from side to side, Fagan added, “We've been friends for years. I know something has been troubling ye. What the hell is going on?”

Ian thought hard about opening his mouth to his friend. Granted, they'd talked about everything—mercenaries, spies, crops, drinking, and wenching—but he gave pause. Although Ruairi and Fagan were his best friends, Elizabeth was their sister-in-law.

“For God's sake,
tha thu gus mo liathadh. Sput a-mach e.
”
You're driving me gray. Spit it out.

“Lady Elizabeth told me that she loved me.” Ian spoke in a rush of words, and Fagan chuckled.

“'Tis nay great secret. Everyone knows that.”

“She's almost sixteen years younger than me. How could she know the meaning of the word, and what in the hell could she possibly want with the likes of me?”

Fagan rubbed his chin. “Mmm… I've been pondering that thought for many years. In fact, we've all wondered at what point the lass had lost all sense of reason, but she's always loved ye. She cares for ye, and ye know damn well that she's nay longer a child. What did ye say to her? I hope ye denied her in kind.”

“I think I've managed to make matters worse.”

There was a gleam in Fagan's eyes. “We always do.”

“What do ye mean?”

“We're men. It's in our verra nature to speak the wrong words to women.” Fagan pulled out his flask and handed it to Ian. “I've noticed ye've been troubled over Elizabeth a lot lately. I have to ask ye. Have your feelings toward her changed? What
do
ye think of the lass?”

Ian took a swig, which was not nearly enough. “I donna think of her. She is your sister-by-marriage.”

“Och, aye. That almost sounded believable. I remember telling Ruairi the same about Grace, and now she is my wife. Tell me the truth. There have ne'er been secrets between us.”

“The lass pities me.”

“Is that what ye think? Hell, Munro. She looks upon ye the same way Grace gazes upon me and the way Ravenna looks at Ruairi. That's nae pity ye see in her eyes, ye daft fool.”

“Nay lass has ever paid me so much attention. In truth, I donna know what she sees.”

“Elizabeth is a kind soul. Whatever she sees, she knows there's kindness within ye too. Now tell me what ye did to make matters worse. I've had to dig myself out of a few troubles with Grace. Mayhap I can help and offer ye words of wisdom.”

“I donna even think ye can help me with this.” Ian rubbed his hand over his brow. “I was a fool and kissed the lass when I was in my cups. The next morn, I denied it ever happened.”

* * *

Elizabeth made her way around the entire garden before she decided to turn around and return to where her brothers-in-law waited for her. Fagan was sitting with Laird Munro on the bench when she approached them, and both men stood.

“Is Ruairi still talking with Laird—”

“My apologies for the delay. I hope Fagan and Munro kept ye entertained in my absence,” said Ruairi as he walked up behind her.

“Yes. I cannot say that I've lacked for entertainment,” she said dryly.

“'Tis about time for the noon meal. Let's make our way to the great hall.”

Elizabeth sat between Fagan and Ruairi at the table and said a silent prayer of thanks no sharp weapons were within her grasp. And God decided to grant her a boon because Laird Munro was sitting on the other side of Fagan so she didn't have to look at him. Although, removing the dagger that was strapped to her thigh was an option. She tapped the hidden blade through her skirts, the thought of impaling the man through his heart making her smile.

Searching the faces of the men in the hall, none were Mister Condell or Lord Kinghorne. Just as well. She needed a break from men, Scottish men in particular. Granted, she had found great pleasure talking with Mister Condell, especially since he was as interested in the history of Henry VIII's reign as she was. How exciting it must be for the actor to play an English king at the Globe Theatre. Perhaps if she'd ask Ruairi nicely, he would accompany her to see Mister Condell playing the part of King Henry.

There was only so much swordplay Elizabeth could stand to watch in the Scottish Highlands. She yearned to attend the theater, and most of the music she'd heard in the Highlands was only that of Scottish bagpipes. A little culture wouldn't hurt her brother-in-law either. Ravenna would probably thank her for exposing Ruairi to the arts of the stage. Maybe then his tastes in tapestries would change from death and battles to life and celebrations. One could only hope.

When they finished their meal, Fagan stood. “We have to see the Fraser. Munro will escort ye wherever ye'd like to go.”

“No!” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “What I meant to say was Laird Munro doesn't have to escort me. Why don't I come along with you?”

“Nay, lass. We have important matters to discuss. Ye stay with Munro,” said Ruairi.

She didn't miss the odd look Ruairi gave Fagan before her brothers-in-law walked out of the hall, and she wasn't ready to have another conversation with Ian so soon. Her goblet suddenly held much interest, especially when the man slid closer to her on the bench.

“Lady Elizabeth, have you finished your meal? Mother and I were just going to dine. Perhaps you could join us.”

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder as Lord Kinghorne greeted her with a smile. His elderly mother stood by his side wearing a blue dress that blanketed her from neck to toe. Her gray hair was tucked up under a large hat that partially covered her face. The woman poked the earl with her elbow.

“Patrick, was this the young lady you were telling me about? I'm asking because you haven't introduced us. Where are your manners, my dear boy?”