Heart of Gold (18 page)

But she could feel her heartbeat race at the very thought of being near him. No, she thought. Put it out of your mind. You must go to Scotland. You must paint. Phillipe de Anjou is expected, and Phillipe de Anjou must comply.

Hearing the steady breathing of the little girl, Elizabeth pushed her hair back away from her eyes and quietly crossed the large room. Smoothing the fine dress over her slender hips, she stepped past the dividing screen into the light.

“I’m sorry, m’lord. But you’ll have to...” She stopped.

Ambrose Macpherson was gone.

The young maid’s jaw dropped. She stood stock-still, the stack of dresses that she had been carrying scattered around her feet.

Elizabeth, hearing the footsteps, turned briskly from the window. She had opened the shutters and was looking outside for the Highlander who had been standing in her apartment only moments before.

“I can’t see anyone leaving the house,” Elizabeth murmured, almost to herself. “Katrina, did you pass anyone coming up the stairs?”

The young woman continued to stare with her mouth open.

“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth moved toward the young maid and grabbed hold of her two hands. “Have you seen a ghost? Has something happened?”

Katrina shook her head from side to side.

Elizabeth followed the woman’s gaze. She was looking at her. At her dress. “You’ve never seen me in a dress, have you?”

The woman continued to shake her head. “No, I...”

All of Bardi’s servants had been told the truth of Elizabeth’s sex. After all, from the very beginning, it was clear that it would be very difficult to live under the same roof and not share the truth. But there had never been any question of their loyalty. “I look foolish, don’t I?”

“You look stunning, Signor Phi...signorina. You are like a dream.” The young girl’s eyes scanned the painter’s face. “But your scar...it is gone...your face is beautiful.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Can I tell you something?”

Katrina crossed her heart quickly.

“I paint my face. I redden the scar to accent it. I darken under my eyes to look older.”

The woman’s eyes widened in awe once again.

Elizabeth shook her head in amusement. She had definitely made an impression on the young woman. “Katrina, did you see anyone leaving when you came up?”

“No one, signorina.”

“Don’t start calling me that. This dress hasn’t changed who I am. Have you been downstairs? Did anyone come to the door?”

“No one, signorin—I mean, Signor Phillipe.”

“Are you certain of that?” Elizabeth asked, her perplexity showing in her face.

“You know the porter, signor. He guards that door with his life when Signor and Signora Bardi are not here.”

Baffled, Elizabeth turned and strode back to the window. The street was empty. Where had he come from? Where had he gone?

Had she conjured this man?

Elizabeth glanced about the room wildly for some trace, some sign, that Ambrose Macpherson had been standing here with her.

Nothing. She saw nothing.

Joseph Bardi quivered under the blazing words being directed at him. The nobleman had not stopped his tirade since entering the room. Offending, dishonoring Don Giovanni, the Queen of Scotland, and, even more, the Baron of Roxburgh Joseph decided fearfully that he should consider himself as good as hung right now. He only hoped his end would not be terribly painful.

“Please, m’lord,” Bardi put in quickly, breaking into the other man’s harangue. “We only meant to relieve Your Lordship of all unnecessary burdens. The last thing we intended to do was bring you rushing to Florence in the manner you’ve described.”

“Taking a painter safely to Scotland is not a toilsome burden, so long as you know the safe route to travel.” Ambrose looked at the nervous twitch in the merchant’s face. He’d scared the man half to death. My God, he was getting too much like Gavin. “I have given my word to the Duke of Nemours to see to the task myself. The regions to the north of us are rough and dangerous lands. My anger comes from you taking on the task so blindly, without any advice.”

Bardi heard the giant’s voice lose some of its edge. Perhaps the worst was over. But the Scottish lord still needed to be told of the rest. “M’lord, I am not certain if the duke made mention of the painter’s companions. You see, he won’t travel without them. And we were concerned that you might have objections to taking so many, and—“

“And you thought if he arrived in Scotland with his entourage, then the Queen would not send him back and they could all stay?”

The merchant wrung his hands, nodding disconsolately. “The truth is, m’lord, he doesn’t have many that accompany him. Just a young woman and a child. And perhaps a couple of servants. He is very attached to them.”

“He is married?”

“Oh, no! No, it isn’t that. You see—”

“I have no problem with that.” Ambrose tried to suppress his smile. He had been correct in assuming that Elizabeth was only a mistress to the painter.

“And then there is the two of us,” Bardi put in hopefully. “My wife and I. We hoped to be able to see them to safety and—”

“You don’t trust them in my hands?”

“Oh, no! No, m’lord! That’s not it at all. You see, I am a merchant, and I was hoping that perhaps I might meet and come to some bartering arrangement with wool merchants in Scotland. And as for my wife...well, she is very fond of the little child. M’lord, she could be...no, she will be a great help on the journey.” The merchant watched a scowl darken the man’s intimidating scar. “I know it all seems like so much we are asking. But I can assure Your Lordship, we are all well-seasoned travelers. We will cause you and your men no trouble. No inconvenience, I swear, m’lord.”

He would take them; Ambrose knew he would. Elizabeth was definitely going, so he supposed he had to take them all. But so many people!

The warrior turned to the study’s small open hearth and kicked at the embers. A small burst of sparks exploded as the fire flared up. What Ambrose really wanted to think about was how to break Elizabeth away from her lover. Well, first he had to size up his foe. He had to meet Phillipe.

“Get the painter.”

The merchant looked at him wide-eyed. It was way past midnight. The household had settled in their beds long ago. In fact, Joseph himself had been awakened by a terrified servant with the news that the Baron of Roxburgh was about to break down the front door.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“Now, m’lord? You want to speak to him now?”

“Now!” Ambrose repeated.

Seeing the man’s hesitation, Ambrose took a step toward the door. “If you don’t get him, I will.” Was Elizabeth lying in the painter’s arms? Ambrose found himself getting angry at the thought.

“No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’ll go after him myself.” Bardi jumped quickly toward the closed door. This Scotsman certainly has a way of unnerving a person, he thought. He just hoped Elizabeth would be able to deal with him. She was often a lot better in difficult situations than he was. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll awaken him and bring him to you, m’lord.”

Ambrose watched the man’s hasty retreat, then turned his attention toward the darkened inner room. The furnishings were well made here, too, but as he’d seen in the great hall and in the corridors, they were rendered practically invisible by the large number of portraits that dominated the walls and that drew the eyes upward in an impressive display. He strode to the closest one.

It was portrait of a child. A young child, still soft and round with ebony-colored hair. Against a harmonious background of light blues and grays, the face of the child stood out like a flower or a patch of sunlight in the dark room. Ambrose grabbed a candle from the desk and, lighting it in the fire, brought it closer to the painting. The eyes...the eyes of the child. He knew them. The large black eyes that stared back at him were Elizabeth’s. Then he lowered the light and saw the brushes. The paintbrushes clutched in the tiny plump hand.

Elizabeth tripped over the tub and fell with a thud.

“Are you hurt?” Joseph whispered from behind the panel.

“Why, in God’s name, must he come now?” Elizabeth hissed under her breath, standing up once again. She pulled the stockings up her legs. “Why couldn’t he wait until morning?”

“Trust me, I tried. But he’s a bear, Elizabeth. I’m sure the Baron of Roxburgh is one powerful and difficult man. When he wants something, he wants it now.”

“I’m trying to sleep, if you don’t mind,” Mary called out, her complaint answered by a hush from the two standing in the dark.

“How am I going to paint my face?” Elizabeth asked softly. “I don’t want to light a candle and awaken Jaime.”

“You don’t have to,” Joseph whispered. “It’s fairly dark in the study. Let’s just go down and agree to whatever he says. Then we can send him on his way. I think I’ve talked him into taking all of us with him.”

“Why do we have to go with him, anyway?” Elizabeth pulled the loose shirt over her head. “We could travel on our own.”

“No, no, Elizabeth! Please don’t talk that way. I thought he was going to hand me over to the Medici’s executioners for suggesting that. That is out of question. We’ll have to go with him. There is no other way.”

Elizabeth cursed under her breath as she stepped around the wooden screen. “Do I look convincing?”

“Absolutely. Let’s go and get it done with.”

The Baron of Roxburgh was sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair in a dark corner of Joseph’s study. His face was hidden in shadow, but Elizabeth could see from the man’s long, muscular legs and broad chest that he must be an imposing figure. His high boots shone in the fading firelight, one leg crossed over the other. The doublet that covered his pure white shirt and hosiery was made of well-tailored black satin, and richly appointed with strips of black velvet. The glint of the jeweled broach clasping the man’s dark tartan caught Elizabeth’s attention. The size of the diamonds and rubies, even from a distance, was impressive. As he turned slightly in his chair, the light picked up the raised metalwork of the broach. A rampant cat sitting above a shield that had a ship depicted on it. Elizabeth felt a sudden stir at the sight. She didn’t know how, but she knew the design.

This was a side of Scotland that Elizabeth had not experienced before. The image of wealth and power that was being displayed here was far different from the power that Ambrose exhibited. While Ambrose was rough-hewn, strong, and true, he always wore the gear of the Highland warrior he was. With the exception of the tartan, this man was dressed in fashion of the day. He had the look of the perfect European courtier.

“M’lord, I’d like to intro—”

“Go!” the baron commanded abruptly, cutting Joseph off. “And shut the door.”

Elizabeth and Joseph exchanged a quick look, and then the merchant bowed and backed out the door.

Elizabeth couldn’t see the man’s face, but his voice carried the weight of authority. This was clearly a man who meant to be obeyed, but the painter felt her temper flaring at the rough treatment of her friend in his own study. If this was a sampling of what they would have to put up with on their journey, then she would have to put this nobleman in his place now.

“M’lord, I am not certain if anyone has brought this to your attention, but this is Joseph Bardi’s villa. As the rules of etiquette provide, it is discourteous to throw a man out of his own study.”

The baron’s boot slammed to the floor. “Into the light, you.”

“I believe you came here to speak with me.” Elizabeth tried to deepen her voice. “Not to order me and my friend about.”

“I asked to see the painter.”

Elizabeth clenched her hands into fists. Again. So many times during the past four years, people had only seen the frail build in their first encounter with her, and nothing else. And so many times, she had to give her sermon, as Pico called it, and lose her temper before they were convinced.

“I am the painter.”

He disregarded what she said. “Do as you are told. Get the painter.”

Angrily, she took a step closer to the man, her clenched jaw grinding. “Before we get started on this journey to your homeland, I have to make one thing clear. If you have any desire to arrive in one piece, then you’d better change that disdainful tone of yours. Now, you demanded to see me at this godawful hour of the night. So here I am. What is it you want?”

“In one piece?” Ambrose studied her anger. Elizabeth’s face was now shining in the light of the candle. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Take it as you wish.
”

“You are too puny for such swaggering.”

“I have been known to split a man’s head with my words and twist his body into a crawling, earthbound snake with my brush.
”

“And you think this strikes fear?”

Her hands were tight fists at her sides.

“Push all you want. But be aware the next time you walk inside some chapel or cathedral. As you stand looking up, admiring the scene as so many others do, don’t be surprised when you see your own face looking back at you. In fact, everyone will see your features gracing the face of a devil.” Elizabeth showed no sign of mirth. “And you can be assured, it will be a very lowly and very ugly devil.”

Elizabeth waited for a response. But there was silence. An eerie, awkward silence.

“You
are
the painter.”

Elizabeth watched him straighten in the chair. She wished she could see his face. “I am Phillipe de Anjou.” As often as she’d said it before, the words still felt odd leaving her mouth. She saw him stand up, and her blood ran cold. Though his face was still shadowed in the darkness of the room, she knew. From his full height, from the way he stood. And then she glimpsed the colors of his tartan.

Not being able to control the gasp that escaped her lips, Elizabeth turned and ran for the door. But he was there before her, blocking her exit. She turned again and tried to run to one of the shuttered windows, but he grabbed her roughly from behind and swung her around to face him.

Elizabeth felt the pressure of his strong fingers crushing her arms. She would not scream or complain. She had no choice but to make him understand. She looked up into his eyes. They were cold, angry. Nothing like what she had seen in the past.