Kill or Be Kilt (6 page)

Ian rubbed his hand over his face. “Lass, ye're coming with us.”

“I don't understand.”

Ruairi placed his hand on her shoulder. “We can nae leave ye unattended.”

“You're not leaving me unattended. You're returning in the morn.”

“If ye think we're going to take our leave without ye, ye're nae thinking verra clearly. Ye can nae stay in the castle alone,” said Ian.

She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. “I'm not alone. You said there were one thousand people attending court. What could possibly happen between now and the morning?”

“Elizabeth, ye are nae staying here alone. 'Twas your decision to suddenly come along. Be thankful ye're able to attend court. Now get back in the carriage,” said Ruairi in a commanding tone.

All pleasure left her body, and she tried to keep the whine out of her voice. “I understand.” She didn't.

Fagan placed his hand on her shoulder. “I know ye're disappointed, lass, but ye'll still be able to dance and mingle with your own kind. We just won't be sleeping here.”

“Thank God for small favors,” said Ian.

Between the disappointment she'd felt about not being able to stay at the palace, and now Fagan and Ian's words, Elizabeth's blood started to boil. “The last I want to do is scold the two of you like children, but I have to say, whether you realize your words or not, I am English. Need I remind you there is nothing I can do to change that?”

She glowered at Fagan. “Thank you for telling me that I'll still be able to mingle with my ‘own kind.'” She whipped her head to Ian. “And thank you, Laird Munro, for reminding me how much you despise my countrymen. Although I've lived in Scotland for years and have appreciated all that Ruairi has done for us, I am greatly insulted by your rudeness. And frankly, you two should know better.”

Elizabeth spun on her heel and approached the waiting carriage, leaving the men standing with their mouths agape.

* * *

“Now why did ye have to go and do that, Munro? Ye've fired Elizabeth's ire,” said Fagan with a smile. “And if she's anything like Grace, she won't let ye forget that anytime soon.”

“Bastard.”

“Aye.”

Ruairi lowered his voice. “
Tha thu mi-mhodhail.
”
You're badly behaved.
“I've learned that even if ye feel the way that ye do, 'tis nae always best to tell the lasses what ye are thinking. Now let's get the hell out of here. I can nae stand being this close to the English.” He gave them an amused look. “And notice ye did nae hear me say that in front of Elizabeth…or her kind.”

Ian mounted his horse and said a silent prayer of thanks as they traveled out the gatehouse and into the city. At least they wouldn't have to sleep under the same roof as all those English. Even though he wasn't fond of the Walsingham sisters, he hadn't meant to insult Elizabeth. After all, the lass had taken the time to talk with him on several occasions, a task most lasses would've avoided. He'd be sure to mind his words in the future; he owed her that much.

As the men followed the carriage through the narrow, barely lit streets of London, Ian cringed. A pungent odor filled the air from all the rubbish that lay on the dirty roads, and he willed himself not to gag. Feeling a sense of compassion for his horse, he patted the animal on the neck. “
Tha mi duilich.
”
I am sorry.

They arrived at a nearby inn, and as Ruairi secured their rooms, Ian paid the stable master more coin than what was required to see that their horses were well cared for. He certainly hoped his own accommodations would be more welcoming than the streets of London.

Elizabeth approached Ruairi as he came out of the inn. “There are enough rooms for us all. The innkeeper will have your trunks brought up to your room, lass. Why donna we have something to eat before we retire?”

“That sounds delightful.”

Ruairi held open the door for Elizabeth, and the men followed her into the inn. Bawdy laughter filled the small dining hall, and the lass hesitated at the entrance. There were roughly two women and ten Englishmen who sat at the tables with tankards of ale in hand. Large, wooden beams stretched overhead, and lanterns were lit on the walls.

Fagan gestured to a table in the corner. “Over there, lass.” He pulled out her chair, and she smiled her thanks.

“This has been a long day.” She sat and straightened her back. “I'm weary. I can only imagine what you must be feeling.”

“I didn't know we allowed their kind in here,” said one of the men who sat at the next table.

Ruairi, Fagan, and Ian exchanged carefully guarded looks, but none of them paid the English curs any heed because of Elizabeth. Ian walked around the table and pulled out his chair. His gaze rested on one of the men. The whelp had blond, curly locks and barely looked old enough to be weaned from his mother's breast.

Ian removed his scabbard. He smiled at the young man, and then sat in the chair, resting his weapon against the table. Ruairi and Fagan followed suit, but they didn't look at the bastard. If Elizabeth heard the comments of her countrymen, she didn't say.

“I'm sure you're all famished,” said Elizabeth.

“I could always eat,” said Fagan.

Ruairi chuckled. “Aye, we know.”

A small lass brought over three tankards of ale for the men and wine for Elizabeth. The woman was a few years older than Elizabeth and had brown hair pulled into a tight bun. As the lass returned to the kitchen, the blond whelp from the other table grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

“Tell me. Did you serve wine to all the women over there? I'd be amazed if any of them drank ale.” His comrades laughed in response, and the man slapped the woman on the bottom before he let her go. “They must be here for court. I hear the king makes them crawl out from under their rocks in the north to come to London once a year.”

“And I heard they're nothing but a bunch of barbarians. Have you heard them speak? One can barely understand their words,” said another arse at the table.

Elizabeth leaned forward. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Pardon, but are those men talking about you?”

Ruairi patted her hand. “Donna pay them any heed.”

“That's very bold and isn't right. You know how my sisters and I become cross with you when you speak about England the way you do, but those men have no right to say such horrible words either. They don't even know you, and I find their manners sorely lacking.”

“I donna think they worry overmuch about manners, but Ruairi is right. Pay them no heed,” said Fagan.

There was a heavy silence around the table when the woman returned with their meals. “Here you are.” She placed the food in front of them and wiped her hands on her apron. “I'll bring you some bread with your meal. Is there anything else I can bring you?”

“No, thank you. This looks delicious,” said Elizabeth.

“My pleasure, m'lady. I made the stew myself.”

“Then I'm certain it's very good.”

No sooner had the woman turned away from the table when they all ate like they hadn't eaten in days. A few moments later, the lass returned with the bread. Ian chuckled as they all reached for a piece at the same time. He broke off a chunk and handed it to Elizabeth.

“Thank you, Laird Munro.” She turned to Ruairi. “When do you want to leave for the palace on the morrow?”

He wiped the crumbs from his lips. “Right after we break our fast.”

“And you don't know how long we'll remain?” asked Elizabeth.

“Nay. Our names will be put on a long list for the king. When he is ready, he will grant us an audience. Until then, we wait.”

One voice could be heard above all others in the hall.

“I think they call them kilts, but I could never wear one of those skirts. If I did, I think my betrothed might question my preferences.”

Ruairi, Fagan, and Ian had known each other for years, so much that they knew the thoughts of one another without a spoken word between them. And this was one of those times. If the English bastard didn't shut his mouth, the man was going to find himself in a heap of trouble with three Highlanders who were tired and worn.

When a worried expression crossed Elizabeth's face, Ruairi said, “The men are young and foolish. Finish your meal.” She looked down at her empty bowl.

“I'm afraid that I can no longer keep my eyes open. I saw my trunks being carried up to my room. Are you ready to retire, or will you be staying for a while longer?”

Ruairi stood. “I'll escort ye to your room.” With a tip of his head, he gestured toward his drink. “And then I'll be back to finish my ale.”

Elizabeth stood and brushed down her skirts. She placed her hand on Fagan's shoulder. “Good night. I'll see you on the morrow.”

When her eyes met Ian's, his heart jumped in response. He wasn't sure what the hell that was about, especially because he couldn't tear his eyes away from her until she was out of sight.

“Damn. I'd like to give that chit a good tupping. I wonder if she's chaste. She looks soft and ripe for the picking if you ask me.”

Ian glanced sharply around, his eyes blazing. He flew to his feet and closed the distance between him and the blond whelp. The man's eyes widened when Ian pulled him roughly to his feet. When the arse raised his hands in defense, the other men stepped away from the table. Ian was amused when the man's “friends” no longer wanted to have any part of him.

“I was only jesting! I'm a sot who has had too many!” The man hesitated, and the corners of his lips slowly lifted into a smile. “Tell me. Have you already bedded her then?”

Ian rammed his fist into the man's face. When the whelp fell onto the table with a thud, Ian patted the idiot on the head. “Now there's a good laddie.” His eyes darkened, and he glared at the men who remained standing. “Anyone else have something to say, or mayhap ye donna understand my words, eh?”

The men paled, shaking their heads nervously.

Ian walked back to the table and grabbed his scabbard. On his way out of the hall with Fagan, he paused, handing the woman from the kitchen a coin. “The stew was delicious, and I apologize for the mess.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes and rolled onto her back. Her entire body protested. Still weary from traveling, she wasn't ready to throw back the blankets and start a new day. Even her less than desirable room didn't provide her with enough encouragement to put one foot on the floor.

Other than the bed, there was a chest of drawers with a looking glass and a small sitting area with a table and two chairs. Her disappointment returned when she knew her accommodations at the palace would have been on a much grander scale. But she felt guilty thinking that way. She was only considering herself, and her poor traveling companions hadn't wanted to be here in the least.

When memories returned of the abhorrent behavior of her countrymen in the dining hall last night, she fought a war of emotions. Those men were quick to judge someone and something they knew nothing about. Frankly, they were ignorant, and she had no tolerance for stupidity.

There was a knock at the door.

“Elizabeth, are ye awake?” asked Ruairi from the other side.

“Yes, but I'm not yet dressed.”

“We're going below stairs to break our fast. Throw something on and come with us. Ye can always return to change your clothes before court if ye wish. I'll wait for ye.”

Elizabeth grudgingly rose from the bed. After seeing to her personal needs, she donned a simple day dress and her silk slippers. She approached the washbowl, and the looking glass that hung above the chest of drawers returned a vision of red, tired eyes and unruly hair. Wetting a cloth, she wiped her face with cool water. If that didn't wake her up then nothing else would. She patted her skin with a drying cloth and smoothed her long locks with her hand. That would have to do for now. At least she was presentable. When she opened the door, Ruairi was leaning against the wall.

“I'm sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Dinna fash, lass. Fagan and Ian are below stairs. Did ye sleep well?”

“As soon as my head touched the pillow. I didn't move all night.” She closed the door behind her, and he chuckled.

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“And you?”

“The same.”

Elizabeth knew her brother-in-law probably slept with one eye open, but he'd never admit it. They descended the stairs and entered the dining room where Fagan and Ian stood upon her approach. Only a handful of men sat at the other tables, none of whom were the obnoxious ones from last night.

“Good morn, lass,” said Fagan.

Ian gave her a brief nod. “
Madainn mhath.
”

“Good morning to you both.”

“Och, aye. Ye're definitely going to stop a few hearts at court. Ye look verra bonny in that dress,” said Fagan.

She stilled. “I'm not even dressed for court, and you've seen me wear this many times before.”

He lowered his voice. “My apologies, but I gave Grace my word that I'd remember to tell ye that ye look bonny before court. She said that's important for a lass to hear.”

In the years she'd lived with Ruairi and Fagan under the same roof, the men had never taken notice of a new dress. The only time they'd ever said anything was when the cook made a new meal and placed it in front of them. Fagan's explanation shouldn't have surprised her.

They took their seats as the serving woman approached the table with a tray in hand. Her hair was the same as last eve, pulled back in a tight bun, and a long apron covered her brown dress. She gave them all an easy smile.

“Good morn. I hope you like what I've made for you.”

“If the meal is as good as the stew last eve, then I think we're in for a treat,” said Elizabeth.

The woman's face turned scarlet. “Thank you, m'lady.”

“We're going to be here for a while as we're attending court. I'm Lady Elizabeth.” Elizabeth gestured around the table. “This is Laird Munro, Laird Sutherland, and Mister Murray, the captain of the Sutherland guard.”

“I'm Mistress Betts. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The woman lifted a trencher from the tray and placed it in front of Elizabeth. There was an egg, oatmeal, and biscuits, and flavorful smells wafted through the air. When Ian lifted his hands to assist the woman with the food, his knuckles were red and bloodied.

“Laird Munro, whatever happened to your hand?” asked Elizabeth.

Mistress Betts placed the remaining food in front of Ruairi and Fagan. “Please accept my apologies for last evening, but the innkeeper told those men they are no longer welcome here. They had to find another place to stay.”

As Mistress Betts walked away, Ruairi became interested in his trencher, and Ian picked up a biscuit.

“Laird Munro?” asked Elizabeth again.

Fagan cleared his throat at the same time Ruairi spoke for Ian. “'Twas naught.”

“Aye, he hit his hand on the wall,” added Fagan.

Ian shook his head. Ruairi and Fagan's reactions seemed to amuse him. “I hit my hand on the…
what
?”

“Munro,” Ruairi warned.

“Don't listen to Ruairi and Fagan. My sisters and I rarely do. Tell me, Laird Munro. What happened to your hand?”

“God's teeth, lass. A man's face came into contact with my fist. Is that what ye wanted to know?” Ian returned to his meal.

“I can only assume you struck one of those men from last eve.” When he didn't respond, she added, “They were clearly in the wrong, but I don't think violence is ever an answer to anything. The innkeeper tossed them out, and they won't be returning. Do you think that was truly necessary?”

Ian scowled at Fagan and then glared at Ruairi. “I am giving ye fair warning to rein—”

“Elizabeth, finish your meal. I will have the horses readied while ye dress,” said Ruairi.

She ate the rest of her meal in silence and listened to the men talk about much of nothing. No matter how many times she'd heard the same conversations about tending to the fields and crops, she was never interested in the subject. She supposed the men felt the same way when she and her sisters discussed literature or the latest fashions. Although, fashion wasn't a subject that often came up in the Highlands because there was only one type—plaid.

Mistress Betts walked over to the table, and Elizabeth welcomed the interruption. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

While the men were still conversing among themselves, Mistress Betts stooped down next to Elizabeth. The woman lowered her voice. “I hope that I'm not being too forward, my lady, but I noticed you don't have a lady's maid with you. If you need my assistance with your clothes or hair for court, please let me know. I've done hair for all my sisters, and I don't often get a chance to leave the kitchen. It would be my pleasure, and I'd be delighted to help you.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Five.”

Ian coughed, and Elizabeth gave him a scolding look. She didn't think the men were listening to their conversation. Even though she didn't need a lady's maid to assist her, the woman was eager to help. And Elizabeth understood the need to escape a mundane life and try something new.

“I'd be delighted to have you as my lady's maid while I'm here, Mistress Betts.”

The woman straightened. “Thank you, Lady Elizabeth. You won't be disappointed.”

Elizabeth pushed back the chair and stood. “I'll be ready within the hour.” She turned to Ian. “I do hope you manage to stay out of trouble until then, Laird Munro.”

“Elizabeth,” Ruairi warned.

Her scolding was quickly forgotten as soon as she entered her chamber and Mistress Betts closed the door. Elizabeth pulled out one of the gowns from her trunk and held it up to her frame. The blue dress with sky-colored reticella collar and cuffs was adorned with a scrolling, embroidered gold design inlaid into the gown, petticoat, and linen jacket.

“I think that I'll wear this one.”

“A wise choice, my lady. The gown is beautiful.”

Elizabeth removed her day dress and stood in her chemise. “Are you certain they won't miss you in the kitchen?”

“My assistant will handle my duties until I return. Don't you worry about that. The boy will do as I tell him.” Mistress Betts placed the dress over Elizabeth's head.

“I don't know that I'll look as beautiful as my sister did in this gown, but I'll try.” As soon as the dress slid over her shoulders and fell to the floor, Mistress Betts sighed.

“I'd bet coin that you look as beautiful, if not more so, than your sister. It seems as though this gown was made for you.”

“My sister and I are about the same height.”

“Come in front of the looking glass. I'll straighten your dress and fix your hair.” Elizabeth stood near the foot of the bed and gazed at her reflection. “May I ask why you didn't travel with a lady's maid?” As the woman bent to adjust Elizabeth's skirts, Elizabeth wasn't certain how to answer because she'd never really thought about the question.

“The women in my family never had ladies' maids. We fended for ourselves. My sisters and I have always done each other's hair or helped the other dress. I'm not sure why. It's been that way for as long as I can remember.” She paused. “Now that I think on the matter, I don't recall my father having a valet either. We've had the same servants in our employ for many, many years.”

Mistress Betts stood and smoothed the material on Elizabeth's shoulders.

“I must apologize. This is my first time at court. I'm nervous, and I know that I'm babbling.”

“There's no reason for you to apologize. That's part of the reason why I asked you the question, to get your mind thinking about something else.” Mistress Betts pulled over a chair. “Here you are. Why don't you sit, and I'll do your hair now?” As she ran a comb through Elizabeth's tresses, she asked, “Could you please hand me those pins?”

“Do you think we'll be finished within the hour? I don't want the men waiting for me. I'll never hear the end of it.”

“You'll be done in a few moments. Remember that I have five sisters, and if we didn't work fast, nothing would've ever been completed.”

As the kind woman pinned up Elizabeth's hair, Elizabeth fingered the material of her gown. She wondered if Ravenna felt the same way when she'd worn the dress. When the last pin was in place, Mistress Betts tapped Elizabeth's shoulders.

“There. You're all finished.”

Elizabeth stood and was amazed when she saw herself in the looking glass. She turned her head from side to side. “I must say that you've done wonderfully.”

“Thank you, m'lady.”

Elizabeth approached her trunk and pulled out the matching silk slippers. She placed them on her feet and then smoothed her skirts. “What do you think?”

“I think you look beautiful.”

“I'd better get below stairs before the men come looking for me or they find themselves in trouble again.” When Elizabeth opened the door, she realized she'd forgotten to secure her blade underneath her skirts, and she did give her word to her sisters that she would. She was about to make her excuses to Mistress Betts when a hand reached over and held the door partially closed.

Mistress Betts cleared her throat. “I wouldn't be too harsh toward Laird Munro.”

Elizabeth was taken aback by the woman's words. “What do you mean?”

“If you don't mind me speaking freely, those men got what they deserved.” When a soft gasp escaped Elizabeth, Mistress Betts added, “Laird Munro's actions were just, my lady. He was defending your honor.”

* * *

Ian glanced down at his swollen knuckles and smiled. The whelp deserved a blackened eye and a sore face, and he was happy to have provided both. But he couldn't believe Elizabeth's words in the dining hall. She didn't think violence was ever the answer? That was another example of her youth and inexperience in the world.

After the men dressed for court, they waited at the bottom of the steps for Elizabeth. Ian pulled at his open-necked doublet. He still wore his kilt and plaid, but he tried to dress more formally. After all, he was a Highland laird. Although he was aware that he wasn't fair of face, the king didn't need to think all Highlanders were barbarians.

A slow, steady smile of happiness crossed Ruairi's face. “That's the gown Ravenna wore the day I asked Mildmay for her hand in marriage.”

Ian turned around, and his expression stilled as Elizabeth descended the stairs. From her long locks that were pinned on top of her bonny head, to her blue gown and matching silk slippers on her feet, everything was perfect. Hell,
she
was perfect. She looked like an angel sent from the heavens above. For a moment, he had to remind himself the lass was Elizabeth. He was even more unsettled when he caught himself giving her body a raking gaze.

As she reached the last step, Ruairi grasped her hand. “I find myself at a loss for words.”

“I hope you mean that in a favorable way, Laird Sutherland,” she said in a jesting manner.

“Aye, I do.”

“Thank you, Ruairi. That's kind of you to say. And you look very handsome in your courtly attire.”

Fagan smiled and inclined his head. “How I wish Grace could see ye.” He lowered his voice. “I think she'd want me to say this now. Ye look lovely, lass.”

“Thank you. Is the carriage waiting?”

Ruairi gestured to the door, but Ian reached out to stay her. His muscles tensed, and he cleared his throat. He thought he should say something and follow suit from his friends. “Ye're a verra fine young lass, Lady Elizabeth.”

Her glowing, youthful happiness abruptly faded, and she looked as though his words had insulted her. She cast her eyes downward. “Thank you, Laird Munro.” She brushed past him, walked out the door, and stepped into the coach.

The men mounted their horses and followed the carriage at a snail's pace through the narrow, crowded streets of London. Ian had barely noticed the merchants shouting and selling their wares along the busy streets because something in the back of his mind refused to be stilled. He had tried to be kind to Elizabeth back at the inn, but he couldn't stay the feeling that she was cross with him.