X Marks the Scot (5 page)

Robert’s wife smiled. “Please, call me Elizabeth.”

Declan prepared for the evening’s festivities in honor of Viscount Cranborne, donning the courtly fashions he had borrowed from his brother. Having met the viscount, he could not say what surprised him more: that Cranborne had ruined the healer or the obvious affection the man held for his wife.

Reluctantly, Declan had to admit that the healer had handled herself with dignity and respect. He was not sure he could have done the same. When he had placed his hand at the lass’s back, she had trembled, but he was relieved to see her compassion for others beat out the urge to cause bodily harm.

Feeling like an arse, he had tried not to overhear the conversation with Cranborne, but raised voices left him with few options. Cranborne had promised her a future, taken her innocence, and never returned. And that was why Declan had enough sense never to dally with virgins or women who were wed. They led to nothing but trouble. Cranborne had certainly made a mess of things.

As of late, the healer had been through a great deal. Losing a brother, being a ward of the court, finding out that the man she was to spend the rest of her days with was now a viscount wed to another…It was enough to drive a sane person mad. The poor lass. This eve, he would make sure that the woman enjoyed herself. Perhaps he could stay his tongue long enough not to spar with her, or maybe he could even swallow his pride and choose another partner for her with whom to dance—not an easy feat, by any means. She clearly needed some joy in her life and he would see to it. It was but a small price to pay for her aiding his kin.

As Declan made his way through the halls of the castle, he sorely missed the informality at Glenorchy. The solace of his own chamber, the bantering with his brothers—well, that part was not exactly peaceful. At least he could just be himself. Granted, his family drove him mad with their constant lecturing, but they were his own and they depended on each other. At court, he had no doubt someone might drive a dagger straight through his heart as soon as he turned around. He trusted no one. His mind wandered back to the peculiar conversation in the tavern. Fortunately for him, he had no interest in political machinations.

When he entered the great hall, someone poked him in the ribs. “’Tis about time, MacGregor. Ye leave me to the wolves,” jested the healer. She wore a gold-colored gown that clung to her curves in all the right places. Her throat looked warm and shapely above a low-cut bodice. Her hair was pinned up, but one curl brushed against her slim, ivory neck.

Closing what was left of the gap between them, Declan looked down at her and gave her a roguish grin. “Looking like that, lass, I bet the packs are fighting over ye. Ye look beautiful.”

She smiled at the compliment. “So do ye.”

He raised a brow. “I donna think ye are to say those words to a man, lass. Ye are to consider me handsome or the like. Nae beautiful.”

She waved him off. “I know exactly what I said, MacGregor. Ye are handsome and ye know it. In fact, ye are more bonny than most women.” She giggled. “It should be a sin for a man to be so bonny.”

As she leaned in close, her lavender scent teased his senses. “Think ye, aye? I only know one thing for certain. I am nae as beautiful as ye look this eve, healer.” Her flush deepened to crimson. Declan took her hand and brushed a kiss on the top of it, looking into her emerald eyes. She was stunning.

“There you are, Liadain. I was searching for you.” Viscountess Cranborne approached with a wide smile. “I wanted to thank you. The herbs that you brewed made me feel remarkably better.”

Releasing the healer’s hand promptly, Declan smiled in greeting. “Viscountess Cranborne. A pleasure to see ye again. Ye look well.”

“Thanks to Liadain. I must apologize for my earlier—”

“Please, there is nay need for apologies. Ye are a woman with child. I am joyful I was able to assist ye. Ye look much improved.”

Instinctively, the viscountess raised her hand to her face. “I do feel somewhat better. I would never forgive myself if I missed Robert’s celebration. His Majesty certainly spared no expense,” she said, glancing around the hall. Looking back to Liadain, Robert’s wife leaned closer. “So tell me. You said that you knew Robert when he visited with the Earl of Argyll. That was when? Four or five years ago?”

“Three,” the healer said.

“What was he like then? You must tell me. Robert doesn’t like to speak about his past. Sometimes I think he doesn’t want me to hear that he took to the drink or the women.”

Declan moved in an instinctive gesture of comfort, placing his hand again at the small of the healer’s back. Her body screamed with unreleased tension.

His fingers gently rubbed her.

She squared her shoulders. “There isnae much to say to that. I was young and he would visit Archie upon occasion.”

Suddenly, cheers erupted through the hall as the king in his long, flowing robes entered with Cranborne. His Majesty smiled in greeting as they walked to the dais, his hand on Cranborne’s shoulder. The king’s actions certainly erased any doubts Declan had about Cranborne’s relationship to the realm.

The entire hall was silenced as the king raised his hands. “It is with great pleasure that we gather to honor Viscount Cranborne. His efforts assisted us in signing the peace treaty with Spain.” King James spoke in a tone filled with respect. Reaching down, he grabbed his gold cup, lifting it high, and added, “To Viscount Cranborne.”

Raising their own cups in response, men and women cheered—well, everyone but the healer. Declan did not blame her. He was surprised she held together as well as she did. As the viscountess joined her husband on the dais, Declan snatched the healer’s wrist and pulled her toward a table, spotting Percy, Catesby, and Fawkes. The men stood immediately upon their approach.

“My lady, how wonderful to see you,” said Catesby, giving the healer a slight bow. “Pray allow me to introduce Mr. Thomas Percy and Mr. Guy Fawkes.”

She nodded politely. “Mr. Percy. Mr. Fawkes.”

***

MacGregor pulled out her chair and she gave him a puzzled smile. The rogue was obviously trying to behave as a gentleman, and for once, Liadain welcomed the kind gesture. She did not think her nerves could withstand much more.

“I was just speaking of your prowess with the bow, MacGregor,” said Catesby, taking a drink of ale and studying Declan with a glazed expression.

She raised her brow and cast a glance at MacGregor, regarding him with curiosity. Why did that not surprise her? She began to wonder if there was anything the man could not do.

“MacGregor is so precise with his targets. Indeed, he is something to see,” added Percy.

Fawkes raised his tankard in mock salute. “I have not yet had the privilege, but I have heard the same.”

She smiled at the men. “I would love to see him shoot the targets.”

MacGregor grunted and lowered his head. “Why do ye encourage them, healer?”

“A healer?” Catesby asked with a puzzled look.

“Then where were you this morn when I was in need of your aid?” asked Fawkes, placing his hand to his head. “I think you could have assisted Percy as well.”

“I am afraid there is nay cure for overindulging in ale,” she said.

The men laughed in response, and it was indeed a jovial mood—one that she sorely missed. She could not even remember the last time she had enjoyed herself.

“His Majesty hosts a bow tournament on behalf of Cranborne on the morrow. I understand coin will be awarded to the victor. Are you interested, MacGregor?” asked Catesby.

MacGregor shrugged. “Aye. Percy, will ye be showing off your prowess then?”

Catesby choked on his ale, spitting some of it from his mouth. “My apologies, my lady,” he said, wiping his chin.

“Of course. I want to watch your methods so I can learn more from the best. Your slight instruction has already greatly improved my aim,” said Percy with a sly grin. “I shall soon be among the best of the archers.”

Liadain listened as the men jested among themselves. As she thought of the differences between men and women, she couldn’t stay the smile that played upon her lips. While the men bragged of sport and manly pursuits, the women merely spoke of other women. She was thankful she didn’t have to deal with female conversation presently, but she was still subjected to learning everything she ever wanted to know about archery.

Needing a respite, she leaned into MacGregor and brushed against his strong thigh. He was so warm. Reaching out, she placed her hand on his forearm. He was so hard. Hastily removing her hand, she stood, straightening her shoulders and clearing her throat. “Pray excuse me. I am in need of some fresh air.”

MacGregor stood in one fluid motion. “I will take ye.”

Shaking her head adamantly, Liadain spoke in soft tones. “Nay, please stay with the men. I only need but a moment. The heat is a bit overwhelming. I will stand in the entry to the garden, and ye can see me from here. I will be fine. Truly.”

“Come now, MacGregor. She will be fine. You can spot her from here. Besides, it’s not as though you’re shackled to her,” announced Percy in a haughty English tone.

Turning, they both cast Percy an irritated look.

Attempting to drink from his tankard, Percy looked over the top of the rim. “What?”

MacGregor shook his head and a shadow of annoyance crossed his features. Turning back to Liadain, he gently brushed her arm. “I shall be here if ye need me.”

She turned away, but not before she heard MacGregor tell Percy that he was an arse. At least men spoke bluntly about what they were feeling and moved on. Unlike women.

Placing her back against the door to the garden, Liadain tried to absorb the fresh, cool breeze. Why were these festivities always so unbearable? She missed her Highland weather.

A short, portly man turned and headed toward her. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she stepped back. What was his name? Damn. It was too late to make her escape.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, my dear.”

Smothering a groan, Liadain pulled her hand instinctively out of his reach. A wet kiss on the top of the hand was not something she wanted to repeat, especially from that beastly lord. They exchanged a polite smile and then she quickly turned her head away from him. It worked. Fortunately, he walked past her and she was not subjected to his improper behavior. Once was more than enough.

“You have the right idea. This heat is unbearable,” an older woman standing beside her said with a smile. Her eyes held a certain kindness. She was slim with a regal quality about her.

“’Tis verra warm.”

The woman looked at her, surprised. “You are from Scotland?”

“Aye,” Liadain answered cautiously.

The woman patted her on the arm. “I don’t mean to be so forward. I just adore the Scottish tongue. My husband was from Scotland.” When Liadain hesitated, the woman spoke lightly. “My apologies. I am Lady Caroline Armstrong. My husband has recently passed and I am feeling a little melancholy. I find myself sorely missing Mangerton, my home.”

“Please accept my condolences. I am sorry for your loss. My brother has recently passed as well. He was the Earl of Argyll.” As if something clicked in her mind, Liadain’s face lit up. “Armstrong? Are ye by chance a relation to Lady Rosalia Armstrong?”

A strange look appeared on Lady Armstrong’s face. Her mouth dropped open and a soft gasp escaped her. “Rosalia? She is my daughter. How may I ask are you acquainted with her?”

Nervously, Liadain shifted her weight. How exactly was she to respond?
My
brother
took
her
against
her
will
and
threw
her
in
our
dungeon.
She had to think of something quickly. Not adept at spinning lies, she would stick as closely to the truth as possible. “I had known her from her time at Glenorchy.”

“Glenorchy? Is she still there? I know the last time we spoke she mentioned she was traveling there.”

“I am nae sure, but I believe so. Your daughter is verra kind, if ye donna mind me saying as such.”

Lady Armstrong smiled her thanks. “That is so kind of you to say. Her father and I would expect nothing less. Tell me, where exactly
is
Glenorchy?”

“’Tis in the Highlands.”

“Of course
it
is
,” she said, almost as if she was correcting Liadain’s speech. “Pray excuse me. It was lovely to have met you.”

That was a little…odd. She thought for sure Lady Armstrong would have wanted to speak of Rosalia. For a moment, Liadain was actually excited that she had something in common with another woman at court. But the woman hastily took her leave.

“Did ye cool enough or would ye like to take a walk in the garden?” murmured a warm voice from behind her.

Liadain felt a lurch of excitement within her. Turning, she smiled in earnest. “I would love to take a walk with ye, MacGregor.” As they moved out the door, she welcomed the cooler air that brushed against her skin. “I can feel the difference already.”

“Aye, it was suffocating in there. Who was the woman ye were speaking with?”

Stopping suddenly, Liadain turned to face him with a devilish look in her eyes. “Ye will ne’er believe. In truth, I would have ne’er believed it had I nae heard it for myself. ’Tis a verra small world in which we live. Guess…”

He rolled his eyes, indulging her. “Mmm…Queen Anne.”

She slapped him playfully in the chest. “Cease. Ye know it wasnae Queen Anne. Do ye yield?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I yield. Ye clearly have me at a disadvantage, lass.”

“Lady Caroline Armstrong.”

MacGregor’s expression turned unreadable and he stood motionless. He hesitated, measuring her for a moment, and then his eyes rounded in surprise. Thinking the man was clearly not listening, Liadain poked him in the chest with her finger.

“MacGregor, Lady Caroline. Rosalia’s mother,” she said in a tone that indicated the answer was obvious. His expression remained stilled and serious. Something was wrong. Reaching out, she touched his arm. “MacGregor?”