Kill or Be Kilt (11 page)

“My apologies, Mother. Lady Elizabeth, pray allow me to introduce you to Lady Glamis.”

Elizabeth stood, and the woman patted the top of Elizabeth's hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

Lady Glamis glanced to Elizabeth's right and stared with astonishment. “And who do we have here?”

Elizabeth grasped Ian's arm, and he stood. “Lady Glamis, please allow me to introduce to you Laird Munro.”

“'Tis a pleasure to meet ye, my lady.” Ian gave Lady Glamis a slight bow. Elizabeth almost chuckled when he once again stood to his full height, and the woman tilted her head back—as if she was breaking her neck—to look up at him.

“If you don't mind me saying so, you are quite a large man.”

“Mother…”

“'Tis nae the first time those words have fallen upon my ears, my lady. I'm Lady Elizabeth's chaperone.”

“Then I dare say Lady Elizabeth is very well protected, Laird Munro.” Lady Glamis gestured to the table. “Would you care to join us?”

When an uneasy expression crossed Ian's face, Elizabeth was tempted to make him suffer. But truth be told, she wasn't in the mood to converse with anyone either. “My apologies, my lady, but Laird Munro was escorting me to the gardens.” When she gazed at him and gave him a knowing look, he placed his hand at the small of her back.

“Aye, mayhap we'll see ye again soon. 'Twas a pleasure to meet ye.” He tipped his head to the earl. “Kinghorne.”

As they walked away from the table, Lady Glamis spoke. “Patrick, I don't know what you're talking about. The laird was very kind.”

“I know ye're verra cross with me, but I thank ye for that,” said Ian.

“Cross does not even begin to describe what I feel.” When Elizabeth was about to step out into the gardens, Ian escorted her the other way. “Where are we going?”

“There is something I want to show ye.”

They passed the chapel some time ago, and she wondered where he was taking her. As they entered one of the halls she hadn't come across before, it wasn't as crowded as the others. They'd only passed one man before they came to a set of marble stairs.

“Are we allowed to be here?” she whispered.

“Ye donna see any guards, do ye?”

Elizabeth followed Ian up the stairs, and they stood before a large, wooden door. He moved to the side and gestured to the latch. “Open it.” When she hesitated, he folded his arms across his chest. “Are ye going to open the door, or are ye going to stand here and be stubborn?”

She shrugged with indifference. “I haven't decided.”

Ian sighed and opened the door. As soon as she set foot inside, she brought her hand to her chest.

“It's magnificent.”

“Aye, I thought ye'd enjoy it.”

The library was something she never could have imagined. The walls were lined with more books than she could count. Two men were reading silently in the corner, but she'd barely given them a second glance. Winding stairs led down to the first floor, but she would explore that one later. A single wall displayed artwork—and not scenes of death and battle. As she studied the paintings of English landscapes, flowers, and a man holding his dog, she smiled.

“I see it in your eyes. Donna get any ideas, lass. Ruairi will nae take down his tapestries.”

She walked to the next painting. “You've read my mind.” When she glanced over Laird Munro's shoulder, she studied the intricate wood carvings on the ceiling. “Have you ever seen anything so grand?”

“I have.” He closed the distance between them and lifted his hand to her cheek. “Elizabeth, there is something I need to tell ye.”

Intense astonishment touched her pale face. She bowed her head, and then she curtsied. “Your Majesty.”

Ian turned, giving his liege a low bow. King James's brown hair was combed back and his beard hung nearly the length of his chest. He wore a white doublet and hose, accented with black and silver breeches. A large chain hung around his shoulders, set with gold and other fine jewels. His black shoes were adorned with silver and pearls, and Ian only knew that because he studied them.

“Good day to you,” said the king. “Please rise.” He gazed at Ian and then at Elizabeth. “You must be Lady Elizabeth.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I apologize for not greeting you when you arrived at court, but I have pressing matters that require my immediate attention. Please accept my deepest condolences on the loss of your uncle. Mildmay was a good man, a man I was proud to call my friend. If you want for anything during your stay, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The king gave a brief nod to Ian. “Laird Munro.”

“Your Majesty.”

The king's black, gold, and silver cloak flowed behind him as he descended the stairs with four of his guards. The man had an air of regal grace and authority. When Ian heard the king exit the library through the door on the first floor, he took a deep breath. He gazed at Elizabeth as she held her fingers over her lips and then slapped him on the arm.

“That was the bloody king.” Satisfaction pursed her mouth, and he chuckled.

“Aye. That was the king.”

“I simply can't wait to tell Ravenna and Grace that King James spoke to me. You
did
hear him.”

“Och, aye. I heard him.” From the excitement in Elizabeth's voice and the expression on her face, he was amazed she wasn't jumping up and down like a child given a toy.

“I should've told him there wasn't enough room for all of us, and I wasn't staying at the palace, but my words failed me. And to think my uncle was the king's friend.”

Ian placed his hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “I'm sure Mildmay is sorely missed by the king.” When he removed his hand, she cast a puzzled gaze.

“My apologies. I was distracted by His Majesty. What did you want to tell me?”

“Pardon?” An inner torment gnawed at him because Elizabeth's eyes were lit with happiness. He didn't have the heart, nor could he find the strength, to tell her that he'd lied. God knew he was a daft fool, but at this moment, she didn't despise him. He didn't want to take the chance that she would again.

“I only meant to say that I brought ye to the library because I thought ye'd enjoy it. I know how much ye like your books.”

“Thank you. I do like it very much. Do you mind if we stay awhile?”

“Of course nae. Take as much time as ye'd like. I'll wait for ye over there.”

Ian sat in a soft chair as Elizabeth wandered around the second floor of the library. Her behavior reminded him of a bee that flew from flower to flower, except that the lass traveled from book to book. She ambled past a shelf, running her fingers over the spine of the leather bindings. Every now and then, she'd even stop and sift through the pages of a tome. And when a smile crossed her face, the sight warmed his heart.

Even though he was hesitant to admit it, the lass looked lovely in the black dress. He just didn't like other men staring at her wearing that gown. Settling back into the cushion of the chair, Ian closed his eyes. Fagan was right. Elizabeth had become a beautiful woman.

* * *

A loud snort escaped Laird Munro and reverberated through the library. The man flew to his feet, withdrew his sword, and his eyes darted from left to right.

“Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth's sense of humor took over, and she laughed in answer. As she approached him, her lips were trembling with the need to smile. “Slaying the beastly dragons, Laird Munro?” His state of foolishness quickly turned to annoyance as he sheathed his weapon in the middle of the library. When he glanced around the room in a nervous gesture, she added, “No one is here. The men took their leave about two hours ago.”

“Two hours?” His eyes widened.

“Yes. I suppose that's what happens when you spend the night drinking and not getting any sleep. Perhaps you'll seek your bed this eve and get some rest.” When the memory of his lips on hers came to mind, she decided a change of subject was in order. “Should we seek Ruairi and Fagan now? Do you think they're done talking with Laird Fraser?”

“Aye.”

As they reached the door, she paused in front of it, lifting her hand to stay him. “Thank you. You were kind.”

His eyes brightened with pleasure, and then he gifted her with a smile, the kind of look that would melt the winter snow. Good heavens. She forced herself to settle down, clinging to the reality that he'd hurt her. Furthermore, she had no intention of falling under that spell—again. They walked out into the hall, and he closed the door behind them.

“I'm glad ye enjoyed yourself, lass. Ye even spoke to the king. Many of his subjects donna get the chance.”

“I can't wait to tell Ruairi, but somehow, I don't think he'll be as excited to hear the news. Do you think we can stay after we sup this eve? Lord Kinghorne said musicians will play, and I'd love to listen. Who knows? Perhaps you can find another chair in the corner in which to relax and rest your eyes.”

“And if ye say any such words to Fagan or Ruairi, they'll have my head for falling asleep and neglecting my duties of watching over ye.”

“I'm certain that I could be persuaded to keep my mouth closed if you'd quit interfering when a man tries to talk with me. Maybe then I'd consider making a deal.”

He gave her a measured gaze. “Are ye blackmailing me?”

“Perhaps. Is it working?”

Laird Munro didn't respond, not that she thought he would. They made their way back through the halls of court, and when they passed the same harlot who'd had her hands all over Ian, Elizabeth stiffened. But something stirred within her when she felt his hand resting at the small of her back. His behavior toward her wasn't as aloof as it had been before. She wasn't sure what had changed, but maybe it was a blessing he couldn't recall the kiss between them. He was returning to the same kind laird that she'd always known. When “loved” came to mind, she mentally chided herself.

Her brothers-in-law stood in the hall with Laird Fraser. When Ruairi's eyes met Elizabeth's, he smiled. “And how did ye enjoy the library, lass?”

She glanced at Ian, and he shook his head in an appeasing gesture. “Go on and tell him. 'Tis written all over your face.”

Elizabeth wrapped her fingers around Ruairi's arm, trying to stay her excitement. “You're never going to believe this. We saw King James in the library, and he talked to me,” she blurted out in a rush of words.

“He did?” asked Ruairi.

Fagan folded his arms over his chest. “And what did he say?”

“Good day to you.” Ruairi laughed, and Fagan rubbed his hand over his brow. “That wasn't all he said. He gave his condolences for Uncle Walter and said if I needed anything at court not to hesitate to ask. I was so excited that I forgot to ask him for more rooms for you.”

“I'm glad ye did nae. I donna want to stay here. I'd have to sleep with one eye open,” said Fagan.

“Please tell me ye seized the opportunity to ask the king when the Highland lairds were going to be granted their audience, Munro,” said Laird Fraser.

“There was nay time.”

“Damn.” When Elizabeth's eyes widened, Laird Fraser added, “My apologies, Lady Elizabeth.”

She waved him off. “Think nothing of it. I'm quite used to foul language.”

“I imagine so, having to live with Sutherland and Murray under the same roof.”

“Actually, I was referring to my sisters, Ravenna and Grace.”

“Elizabeth, there is a tennis tournament commencing at the court. Would ye like to attend?” asked Ruairi.

“Yes. I've never seen anyone play the sport before.”

“Then ye're in for a treat, Lady Elizabeth,” said Laird Fraser in a dry tone.

* * *

Ian wondered if this brutal torture would ever come to an end. Why would grown men want to hit a ball back and forth between them? At least practicing swordplay kept men alert and made them fit for battle. But this futile display was yet another example of the pampered English having too much time on their hands. He gazed at the men and women who were watching the men hit the ball, realizing he was among the many spectators encouraging this madness.

An elbow poked him in the side. “Did ye tell her?” asked Fagan.

Ian kept his eyes on the game and spoke in a low voice. “The king came into the library as I was about to say the words.”

“Leave it to the royals…always interfering. Ye have nae changed your mind about telling her the truth, have ye?”

“Nay. I'll take your counsel on this, but I'll have to find another time to speak with her.” He paused. “Why is it ye're helping me?”

Fagan let out a heavy sigh. “I've often told Ruairi that sometimes I'm the only one who knows what's best for him. And I'm giving ye the courtesy of telling ye the same.”

“Aye, but the lass is your sister-by-marriage, and Grace is your wife.”

“And I love them both verra dearly, but ye are my friend, my brother. Tell me. Is it wrong to want to see ye with happiness in your life? Ye've always had this stubborn way about ye, Munro, and God knows how ye've managed to plant this ridiculous notion in your head that ye're nae worthy of a woman's love. Granted, ye're verra large, and most lasses run at the sight of ye, but ye're a good man nevertheless. Elizabeth saw that in ye many years ago.”

“And ye still think 'tis nae wise to tell Ruairi? The man is nae daft. He'll have my head when he finds out what happened between me and Elizabeth.”

“'Twas only a single kiss.” As if Ian needed his friend to remind him. “I would nae mention anything until ye know how ye truly feel for the lass. Take this time to woo her and make amends for your foolishness. I can nae say that Ruairi was nae cross with me when I told him about Grace, but we're all as brothers, kin, and ye donna turn your back on family. Besides, if ye wed Elizabeth, that's one less Walsingham under Ruairi's roof. More than likely, the man would thank ye for taking the lass out of his hands.”

Ian cringed. “Did ye have to mention marriage? Do ye want me to run back to Scotland and nae look back?” He wiped the irritated expression from his face. “Although it pains me to admit, ye're probably right.”

“I usually am. Mayhap ye can tell that to Grace, eh? She seems to think I'm always in the wrong.”

When the tournament was over, which was not soon enough, they walked back to the great hall to sup. The tables were filling quickly, and Elizabeth sat on a bench at the table with Ruairi flanking her on one side and Laird Fraser on the other.

“Fraser, why donna ye come over here with me? I'd like to chat with ye,” said Fagan.

Thankfully, the Fraser didn't think twice and moved next to Fagan. As Ian swung his leg over the bench to sit next to Elizabeth, he cast a quick glance at Ruairi. When his friend didn't look suspicious of Fagan's request, Ian let out the breath that he didn't know he held.

“Ye've had quite the day, lass.” Ian patted Elizabeth's arm. When she looked away hastily and then moved restlessly, he added, “'Tis nae often someone speaks to the king.”

Warily, she glanced down at his hand that still rested on her arm. She was trembling beneath his touch. “Yes.” Clearing her throat, she lifted her goblet and took a sip of wine.

He leaned in closer, whispering in her ear. “Do ye need—”

“No. I do not.”

An amused expression crossed his face. “How do ye know what I was going to ask—”

“
Uisge beatha.
The last time you sat beside me and offered me your drink, I was found in my father's study asleep in his chair.”

He chuckled. “Aye, but ye held your drink, lass. I told ye before that I've been found in worse places than that.” He pulled out his flask and held it up. “Are ye sure ye donna wish to partake?”

“Oh, I'm certain.”

“Suit yourself.” Ian shrugged and took a swig.

“I need to be able to walk if I wish to dance.”

He placed the flask on the table. “Now that's where ye and I have a difference of opinion. Ye see? I would need a lot more
uisge beatha
if I wished to dance.”

Elizabeth flashed him a look of disdain. “I don't think you have to worry about dancing with anyone, Laird Munro.”

He nudged her in a jesting manner. “And what if I wished to dance with ye?”

“Now why would you want to do that?” she asked in a dry tone. When his mouth curved with tenderness, she briefly closed her eyes. “Ian…” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Your intentions were clear. I can't do this to you or myself. And your actions—your words—are not making this easier for me.”

“Elizabeth, I know that I said—”

A loud scrape came from beside them, and her eyes lit up. “The musicians are here, and the men are clearing the tables to make room to dance. I'd find your sleeping chair now if I were you, Laird Munro.”

* * *

The great hall was a fine display of color, and for a moment, Elizabeth was in a mystical trance as she stared at the beautiful gowns. She found herself glancing at the feet of the women to make certain they touched the ground. The ladies danced the pavane with so much poise they looked like angels floating on wispy clouds in the heavens above. But the men were certainly not to be outshined by the women. The gentlemen looked debonair. With every step, they moved with an easy grace.

And then reality crept back in.

Elizabeth was hesitant to admit the truth, but she couldn't deny it any longer. She was a wallflower. And frankly, she was in a state of foolishness. No one had asked her to dance, and not a single man dared look in her direction. Granted, Laird Munro was hovering over her like a wolf stalking its prey, and Fagan and Ruairi were huddled in the corner with the other Highland lairds not that far away.