Kill or Be Kilt (7 page)

“Fagan, did ye hear my words to Lady Elizabeth?”

A puzzled expression crossed his friend's face. “When?”

“Before we took our leave from the inn. After ye and Ruairi told her how bonny she was, I said she was a fine young lass. 'Twas if she was angry with me. What did I say?”

Fagan laughed. “Ye're asking me? I ne'er understand the lasses. I can nae comprehend why I fire my own wife's ire at times, let alone her sisters'. But I will tell ye this… Having lived under the same roof as all the Walsingham sisters, more often than nae, they're angry with us men most of the time. If ye think Elizabeth is cross with ye, offer her an apology.”

“And what the hell do I apologize for?”

Fagan shrugged. “I donna know. Mayhap being a man, being born. I'd start with one of those.”

They arrived at Hampton Court Palace and rode through the courtyard to the second inner gatehouse. Even in the light of day, Ian didn't favor the structure. A gaudy astronomical clock hung over the gatehouse, and he couldn't imagine having such a monstrosity on Munro lands. From the elaborate detail of the brick chimneys to the blending of old and new styles, the palace looked as though it belonged in Rome.

As the stable hands secured their mounts, Ruairi escorted Elizabeth from the carriage. Her head whipped from left to right, and the smile never left her face. She was clearly enamored with the sights before her, and Ian was disappointed that she couldn't see Hampton Court Palace for what it truly was—a structure built to impress the gentry and flaunt the wealth of the Crown.

“I donna need to ask what ye think, lass. I can see ye are pleased,” said Ruairi.

“Yes, I am thrilled to finally be here, and I can't wait to explore.”

Ruairi tapped Elizabeth's hand. “I'll be happy to escort ye wherever ye'd like to go.”

They entered the main hall, and Ian frowned unapprovingly at the audacity. The inside of the palace was more elaborate than the outside, the same as he'd remembered it. There were marble statues in every nook, and circular, decorated windows as far as the eye could see. Men and women flooded the hall dressed in their finery.

“I'm going to find the king's secretary with Fagan to put our names on the list for an audience. Will ye stay with Elizabeth?” asked Ruairi.

“Aye,” Ian answered. He knew his friends hated the English court as much as he did. The sooner they met with the king, the faster they could be home.

Elizabeth walked at a leisurely pace beside him. He studied her, but she paid him no heed. He stepped around men and women in the crowded hall and then escorted her by the elbow to an unoccupied wall.

“Laird Munro, what are you doing?”

“I'm offering ye an apology.”

“For what, may I ask?”

“Umm… I said something that offended ye at the inn.” He wasn't about to ask what.

“Yes, well, I wanted to talk to you too.” She rested her hand on his arm, and there was some unidentifiable emotion that crossed her face. “Mistress Betts told me that you defended my honor. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you thought that much about me to come to my defense.”

He felt her thumb brush his arm, and she was watching him intently. A knot formed in Ian's throat. It was important that Elizabeth thought highly of him. “'Tis naught I would nae have done for any other lass.”

Once again an expression of hurt crossed her face, and he was to blame.

Elizabeth was brooding at the tennis court when a large shadow loomed overhead. She didn't need to look to know that Laird Munro stood by her side. His feelings toward her were clear. She'd never be any different from all the other women. From now on, she resolved to let her trip to Hampton Court Palace restore her senses. No longer would she allow herself to think of the man as “Ian” because he'd never be anything more than the steely Highland laird that everyone knew. Although she was one of the few who had seen kindness within him, his walls were formidable, and they'd never be penetrable.

“I believe the tennis court was built for King Henry VIII,” said Laird Munro.

She kept her eyes forward. “It was actually built for Cardinal Wolsey, but yes, King Henry loved to play. Many say tennis is the sport of kings.”

“Swordplay is all the sport I need.” He chuckled, and she regarded him with impassive coldness.

“And I believe that
is
all you need, Laird Munro.”

He was staring at her, speechless, when Ruairi and Fagan approached them.

“Our names are on the list. Now we wait,” said Ruairi.

“Thinking about playing a wee bit of tennis, Munro?” asked Fagan.

“Nae in my lifetime.”

A loud commotion came from behind them as guards clamored into the palace with swords drawn. Men were shouting, but Elizabeth couldn't make out their words. Ruairi moved in front of her, his arm keeping her in place. She tried to gaze around the mountain that was her brother-in-law.

“What is happening?”

“I donna know. We'll stay here until we know what is afoot,” said Ruairi.

Laird Munro placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I'll find out and meet ye back here.”

As he walked away, Elizabeth jerked Ruairi's arm. “Do you think that's wise? Perhaps Laird Munro should wait here with us as you said. Wouldn't it be easier for us to take our leave if we had to? I don't think he should go in there.”

Ruairi turned around and rested his hands on her shoulders, as if he were comforting a child. “Munro could walk into the middle of a sword fight and come out unscathed. There is nay cause for ye to worry. Where did ye wander in the palace when we were seeking the king's secretary?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“Do ye know that ye and Kat are becoming more like Ravenna and Grace every day?” asked Fagan.

Satisfaction pursed her mouth. “Thank you.”

Long, red hair and a massive frame walked toward them at a hastened pace. Laird Munro's face was a mask of stone, and she couldn't tell if he brought good news or bad. When he started to speak to her brothers-in-law in Gaelic, she became instantly irritated.

“Would someone please tell me what is happening—in English?”

“A member of the king's Privy Council was found. He is nay longer of this world,” said Ruairi.

“The poor man. That's simply tragic. Do they know how he died?” When a strange look passed between the men, she lifted a brow. Having lived under the same roof as Ruairi and Fagan, she was getting pretty good at recognizing when they were trying to keep something from her sisters.

“Nae yet,” said Fagan. “Dinna fash yourself.” He glanced at Ruairi. “Why donna we show Elizabeth the gardens?”

Why were all the men in her life masters at diversion?

* * *

When Ian discovered a man of the king's Privy Council had been killed, his senses were heightened. Mildmay had also been a member of the king's inner circle, and Ian didn't believe in coincidences. Granted, there were differences between their deaths. Elizabeth's uncle was crushed under the wheel of a carriage when the horses were startled—an accident—whereas this latest man had his throat slashed. But Ian didn't miss the spark in Ruairi and Fagan's eyes. They thought the same. Perhaps Mildmay's death was not by chance at all. Ian's doubts certainly weren't something he was going to express at this moment in front of Elizabeth.

The lass wandered aimlessly through the gardens. Her reddish-brown hair lifted into the wind, and tiny curls escaped the heavy, silken mass. She stopped to study the roses, some kind of purple flowers, and other types of orange blossoms. He wondered if every woman paid attention to such frivolous detail. Thistles and stinging nettles were all the plants he'd ever concerned himself with in the Highlands, only because he tried to avoid them.

A blond-haired man several years older than Elizabeth approached her on the stone path. He wore tan breeches and a linen shirt with deep cuffs, and a black capotain crowned his head. He closed the distance between them, removed his hat, and gave her a low bow.

“My lady, I do not believe we've been formally introduced.” He lifted her hand. “I am the Earl of Kinghorne.” He brushed a brief kiss on the top of her knuckles, and his eyes never left Elizabeth's.

Ian didn't like him at all.

When she gave the man a brief curtsy, Ian glanced at Ruairi and then at Fagan. Instantly, his friends looked elsewhere and appeared interested in the blooms. What a picture the two made as fierce Scottish warriors smelling the dainty flowers. For an instant, he wasn't sure if they were English fops or Scottish fools. What were they thinking? They had no idea who this man was or what he wanted from Elizabeth. He knew one thing for certain. If Ruairi and Fagan weren't going to intervene, he would. He couldn't stand there and do nothing.

“My lord, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am—”

“Lady Elizabeth, is everything all right?” Ian stood to his full height and gazed down at the earl as if he were a mere insect that Ian could crush under his heel. As the man took a step back, looking like a cornered animal with no means of escape, Ian smiled. This wasn't the first time he used his mountainous size to his advantage. The earl looked terrified, and he was pleased at the thought.

“Laird Munro, allow me to introduce you to Lord Kinghorne.”

Ian placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He didn't care if the man was an earl. In truth, he wasn't thrilled with the idea of any man approaching Elizabeth. He'd have time to figure that out later because as of this moment, all he wanted was for Kinghorne to move along.

“
Ciamar a tha sibh? Mar sin leat
.”

The earl studied Ian from head to toe. “Pardon?”

“Laird Munro!” Elizabeth chided him and then turned back to the earl. “Please accept my apologies. He asks how you are and seems to have forgotten that not everyone in this world understands Gaelic.” She cast Ian a look of disdain. “We are in England after all.”

“No apologies are necessary, Lady Elizabeth. If you'll excuse me, I gave my word to my mother that we'd take a leisurely walk in the garden, and I'm afraid that I've neglected her too long. She's resting over there on a bench. Too much sitting isn't good for mother's circulation.” He gestured to his left, and Ian spotted the elderly woman through the branches of a tree.

“Of course. I hope to see you again, my lord.”

“We'll meet again soon.”

When the earl gave Ian a stern look, Ian lifted a brow, and a chuckle almost escaped him. The man minced away to his waiting mother when Elizabeth whirled around to face Ian. Glowering with rage, she poked him in the chest with her finger.

“How dare you! Your behavior was rude, and you humiliated me in front of the earl. Not only did you ask the earl how he was in Gaelic, but you told him good-bye. You're lucky Lord Kinghorne didn't understand your words.”

Fagan slapped Ian on the shoulder. “Ye've done it again, Munro. I think the lass is angry with ye.”

Elizabeth's response held a note of impatience. “And what gave me away?”

Ian folded his arms over his chest. “Ye're supposed to be her chaperone, Sutherland.”

Ruairi laughed as if he was sincerely amused. “Fagan and I were watching. The man only made an introduction. I did nae think he needed to face the end of my sword for that.”

“For goodness' sake, we only arrived yesterday. We're not able to stay at the palace because none of you will leave me alone for a single moment, one of us has already been in a heated brawl, a man has died, and now, Laird Munro frightens off the first person who begs an introduction. We're off to a fine start, gentlemen. Need I remind you that
Ruairi
is my chaperone? The three of you had been no more than a stone's throw away the entire time. What could have possibly happened to me in the garden in the light of day with three Highlanders hovering about?” When no one responded, she added, “That's what I thought,” and bristled off without them.

“Ye know the lass gets that tenacity from your wife,” said Ruairi.

Fagan chuckled. “I was thinking the same of yours.”

“How many names are on the king's list before ours?” asked Ian.

* * *

Elizabeth had to step away from the men before she strangled them. If they—rather, Laird Munro—thought he would be hovering over her shoulder at every turn, he was in for a surprise.

Even though she never really fathomed why Ravenna and Uncle Walter had always kept her sheltered from the London aristocracy, she was pleased that she'd already met Lord Kinghorne, a bloody earl. Perhaps her luck was changing. But if Laird Munro's careless actions ruined any chance she'd had to make the acquaintance of an earl, she'd make certain the laird's head joined the others at Traitors' Gate on their return home.

As she entered the palace, she disappeared quickly into the crowd with her Scottish guard dogs nipping at her heels. She turned down the hall, slowing her pace, and there was a room on the left that had pomegranates carved into the corners of the arch of the door. When she walked into the great hall by mistake, she paused.

A carved hammer-beam roof hung overhead, and she stood in awe. The ornate architecture on the ceiling was a magnificent sight. At least fifteen colored glass windows were throughout the hall. There were many tables and benches on the floor, but her eyes were drawn to the dais. That's where King James and the royalty before him dined.

Ruairi flanked her. “What do ye think?”

“I find myself at a loss for words.”

“I've ne'er known any Walsingham sister to be at a loss for words, but they say there is a first time for everything.”

Her eyes darted around the hall. “Have you ever seen anything so grand?”

“Aye. Every time I look into Ravenna and Mary's eyes.”

Seeing how much love her brother-in-law held for her sister and her niece brought an instant smile to Elizabeth's face. As Fagan and Laird Munro prowled around the great hall, she approached the empty dais with Ruairi.

“Can you imagine the number of kings and queens who have dined here with their loyal subjects? Do you think King Henry would have sat here at this very table with his many queens, even Anne Boleyn perhaps?”

“I donna know about that, but we'll be dining here this eve—well, nae on the dais. Mayhap King James will grace ye with his presence.”

She didn't realize her voice raised a notch, and she slapped her hands together. “I would be happy beyond measure. And to think Uncle Walter was part of the king's Privy Council. I should have begged my uncle for an introduction a few years ago.”

“I have nay doubt he wanted to keep ye from the madness of court, lass. After a time, the view and the people become stale.” Ruairi leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Even the king.”

“You're probably right, but until then, I'm going to enjoy every moment. Do you think we can find the chapel?”

“Aye, I think we can find it well enough.”

They walked through the halls of the palace and through the seas of people. Elizabeth was perfectly aware she must look like a small child on market day. Her head whipped from left to right, her gaze scanning from the ceiling to the floor, not wanting to miss anything of importance. She smiled in greeting to everyone she passed, loving the spark of excitement.

“The chapel is this way,” said Ruairi.

They entered through the carved wooden doors. Not only was the timber and plaster ceiling of the chapel breathtaking, but the altar was framed by a massive oak reredos. Opposite the altar on the first floor was the royal pew where King James and his family attended services. When she realized this was probably the place where Queen Catherine Howard had pleaded for King Henry to spare her life, a shiver ran down Elizabeth's spine. She was so deep in thought that she jumped when a warm, male voice spoke from behind her.

“Are ye cold?” asked Laird Munro.

“No. I was thinking about ghosts. I assume you don't believe in them.”

He glanced up at the colored glass windows. “I worry more about the living, but I would ne'er tempt fate.” His gaze met hers. “Ruairi and Fagan are waiting for ye at the entrance when ye're ready.”

Laird Munro stopped in his tracks, and her attention was drawn to the chapel doors where Lord Kinghorne was escorting his elderly mother inside. Laird Munro hesitated as if he was deciding to stay, but then he walked out the chapel door. She was thankful he remembered the verbal thrashing that she'd given him for his earlier unnecessary intervention.

Lord Kinghorne assisted his mother into a pew and then approached Elizabeth. He gave her a bow, and she curtsied. “Lady Elizabeth, how wonderful it is to see you again so soon.”

“I was thinking the same of you, my lord.”

He gestured to the pew. “Mother enjoys coming to the chapel a few times a day. She claims prayer soothes her soul.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Your mother speaks the truth.”

“Be that as it may, after she is done here, I'll be taking her back to her room to rest. She needs to lie down or her ankles swell.”

“You're staying at the palace, my lord?”