Heart of Gold (41 page)

Letting her gaze travel upward to the great Macpherson coat of arms, carved into the stone wall across the courtyard, Elizabeth felt her eyes well up with tears again as she remembered how, after her father’s departure, she had relayed to Ambrose her father’s news of Mary’s letter. And when she told the Highlander the tale she had told her father about Jaime’s parentage, Ambrose had hugged her fiercely to him, telling her that he would swear by that story until the sun fell from the sky.

“I love you, Elizabeth,” the blond giant had growled. “Jaime’s our own now. And by God, that’s how it will stay.”

And she loved him. By the Holy Mother, she loved him more than life itself.

Dashing a tear from her cheek, Elizabeth hurried to the stairwell and went downstairs to the corridor below. She was running late. Fiona probably had the children all ready and waiting.

Elizabeth, on arriving, had taken it upon herself to do a portrait of the Macpherson grandchildren as a gift for Lady Elizabeth and Lord Alexander. Fiona had been her accomplice from the onset, gathering all the children together for a number of sessions in the sitting room by Ambrose’s bedchamber.

Collecting the children, Fiona had included Malcolm and Jaime, though at first Elizabeth had been uncertain as to whether it was proper to have Jaime there. But Fiona would not have it any other way. She knew the Macphersons well, and she’d told Elizabeth in no uncertain terms that Jaime was their granddaughter, and they, too, would not have it any other way.

Stepping into the dark hallway, Elizabeth picked up her skirts and ran down the hall. Passing by Ambrose’s bedchamber, she paused, seeing the heavy oak door standing partially open.

Accompanied by his brother Alec, Ambrose had left for court at once after bringing them to Benmore two weeks ago. From what he told her, Elizabeth knew that he still had unfinished business to tend to. Ambrose’s first trip to court had been cut short by the news of Thomas Boleyn’s arrival at Roxburgh Castle. After his brief stop at Edinburgh, Ambrose had barely reached the court at Stirling when word reached him, and he had ridden out without a moment’s delay to get back to her.

And as much as Elizabeth’s hours since arriving had been filled with activities and with preparations for the wedding, she missed him terribly.

Elizabeth glanced at the doorway. Knowing his quarters would be theirs after the wedding, she took a step toward the room. And then, unable to stop herself, she pushed open the door. The bright sunshine, pouring through the open windows, bathed the room and drew her in at once. Her eyes traveled over the fine furnishings and then came to rest on the large canopy bed that sat empty at one end of the roomy chamber.

She felt a flush of excitement wash over her at the thought of being able to share his bed once again. Their bed. She couldn’t wait for him to get back. Crossing the room, she touched the fine cloth of the damask curtains.

Elizabeth turned with a start, hearing the door swing fully open on its hinges. The smiling figure swept into the room. He was back.

“Ambrose!”

He opened his arms as she ran and threw herself into them. He lifted her into the air, and they hugged fiercely in the open doorway. They had only been apart for a fortnight, but it seemed to Elizabeth as if months had passed since he had last held her like this. He kissed her hungrily, and she kissed him back.

“You are here.”
S
he pulled him by the hand into the room. He paused only long enough to push the door closed and to drop the heavy bar in place.

“At last.” He held her tight. “I never want to leave you behind. Not ever again. From now on, wherever I go, you go.”

She smiled. “I like that.”

His hands framed her face. His deep blue eyes gazed into hers. “Everywhere I went, wherever I turned, I was looking at you. Your beautiful face, your brilliant, black eyes were always there before me.”

“I’ve watched every traveler that has trod the path to Benmore. I’ve studied every line of this valley through my window.” She raised herself on her toes and kissed him. Pulling back, she felt her heartbeat hammer in her chest, her insides becoming molten and liquid. “These days have been the longest I have ever known, Ambrose.”

“And the nights?” Scooping her up in his arms, Ambrose carried his fiancé to the bed. “Have they, too, been long?”

She nodded with a smile. Running her fingers through his hair, she looked dreamily into his eyes. The jolt of excitement, the knowledge of what was to come, made her quiver with joy. But she had to bank her fire. They had time. From his slow steps, his graceful movement, she knew he was savoring the moment. She had to control her desire and do the same.

“When did you get back?” she asked. She could hear the tremor in her own voice.

“Just a few moments ago.” Laying her gently on the bed, he stretched his long body beside hers and gazed longingly into her eyes. “I missed you more than I would have thought possible.”

“I missed you, as well,” she murmured, her fingers pushing his blond locks back from his face. “Every day has been harder and harder to bear.”

“I hope my family’s been behaving,” he growled. He couldn’t keep himself away from her inviting lips. His mouth descended on hers, devouring her attempt to answer. Her lips opened to receive him. Ambrose’s hand found its way to her breasts, and he cupped one gently as his knee moved against the junction of her legs. Her moan of pleasure went to the very core of him.

Suddenly he couldn’t get enough of her. He found himself getting hard. He could take her that instant. But, as always, he wanted to enjoy this, to bring her to that exquisite moment of pleasure. He drew back to look at her. Under the round neckline of her mauve colored lamb’s-wool dress, the ties at the neck of a white linen blouse attracted his attention, and Ambrose gently reached up and tugged at them.

“Your family...” Elizabeth whispered. His hand made contact with her bare skin. “They’ve been angels.”

Gazing up at him, she felt a longing to recapture his mouth. But those thoughts were quickly forgotten as Ambrose trailed his lips downward over her chin and over the skin of her now exposed throat.

“Keep talking,” he whispered. “Tell me.”

A gasp escaped her as he softly buried his face in her neck. Elizabeth grasped the tartan that crossed his back as Ambrose took her earlobe between his lips. His warm breath in her ear brought renewed shudders from her frame, and involuntarily her body arched even more tightly against his. Her fingers worked themselves lower and lower until she reached his kilt. She began to pull it upward.

“Aye, they’re perfect,” she purred. “Just perfect.”

“You drive me mad, woman. I want you.”

Hearing the footsteps of someone passing in the hallway, Elizabeth cried out softly, suddenly alarmed. “Ambrose, we can’t. We’ll have your entire family banging on the door in a few moments. Everyone will want to see you, now that you’ve arrived.”

He held her down.

“Nay, lass,” the Highlander responded, brushing his lips over the soft ivory skin of her newly exposed breast. “My father is out hunting and my mother has ridden out with Cook to choose exactly what we will be serving at an upcoming wedding feast.”

He drew his face back and smiled at her.

“No one saw us arrive, other than Fiona.”

“But Fiona saw you.”

“Aye, and knowing the way my brother Alec feels about his wee angel—and she about him—they’re probably already locked away in their chamber, heedless to the goings on of this world.”

“I like her very much,” Elizabeth whispered as she snuggled back into his embrace. “I know now why they call her the Angel of Skye. I don’t think I ever met a person as kind, as gentle, and as beautiful as she is.”

“I have.”

She stared at him.

“You, my bonny lass,” he responded gazing into her eyes. “You are every bit as kind, as gentle, and as beautiful. Far more so, I would say.”

“I love you, Ambrose.” Elizabeth hugged him tightly. “How did I ever live without you?”

He whispered his response softly in her ear. “I don’t care to think of the past, my love. Only our wonderful future—and the next hour or two.”

With the tip of his tongue, the Highlander traced a line along the skin of her velvety jaw to her waiting lips, finally reclaiming her mouth. His hands reached down and pushed her skirts up over her hips.

“I was thinking of this all the way back from Stirling.”

“Then it must have been a hard ride,” she whispered smilingly. “Very hard.”

Elizabeth felt once again the surge of the raw desire that was swelling within her. Her lips responded to his, to the heat that was coursing through her veins. Whatever discretion remained within her dissipated like a morning mist. Indeed, the full sun of desire burst recklessly through. She opened her legs as he moved between them.

Elizabeth’s senses were filled with him. The scent of him, the taste of him, the warm and throbbing pressure of his body against hers. God, how she missed him. How she loved him. How she wanted him.

“An hour or two...” She moaned as he entered her. “But Ambrose, that’s the whole afternoon.”

“Hmmm.” He pushed himself up on his hands as he drove to the very center of her. “Just what are we going to do with all that time?”

Elizabeth smiled dreamily as she held him tight and gave in to the oncoming waves of pleasure.

The late afternoon sun bathed the two lovers in a golden light, and Elizabeth lounged comfortably on top of the blond giant. Her chin was propped up on his chest, and Ambrose ran his hands gently through the soft waves of her unbound hair. The silky black tresses reached her shoulders now. His fingers traced a frown that was lining her forehead. He smiled.

“Don’t mock me, Ambrose.”

“Never would I mock you, lass,” he assured her, but the glint in his eyes undermined his words.

“You are mocking me.” She lay her head down on his chest, averting her eyes.

He rolled her onto her back at once and propped himself up on his elbow beside her.

“Elizabeth,” he said seriously, “I just don’t understand what frightens you. That’s all.”

“I am not frightened,” she snapped at him.

“Ah, now, that’s more like my Elizabeth.”

“Just...well, a bit nervous,” she continued in a softer tone. “And perhaps a little apprehensive, worried, and maybe...” She rolled her eyes toward the window. “Very well, I’m scared.” A tear escaped from the corner of her eye and dropped onto the down-filled mattress.

“But why, lass?” he asked, perplexed. “Elizabeth, think now. You’ve painted in the studio of the master, Michelangelo. You’ve received the accolades of Giovanni de’ Medici, perhaps the greatest patron of the arts the world has ever known. You’ve painted the king of France, for God’s sake. The leaders of Europe recognize your talent. Why should you fear such...mundane work?”

“Ambrose, it isn’t the work itself that bothers me.”

“Then what?”

“The queen,” she blurted out, turning her gaze back to him. “Queen Margaret.”

He paused and looked at her gently. As he considered, his fingers traced the line of her jaw.

“Isn’t this what you’ve wanted? To paint for her? To be recognized by the world as a woman, as well as the artist that you are?”

She felt her eyes well up with tears. “You know that is what I want. But what I fear is what I don’t know—what I might have to give up in return.” She took hold of his hand as he brushed away a tear, and held his cool palm against her face. “I am happy now, Ambrose. Having you and Jaime. You two are everything to me. I won’t give up this happiness for any dreams that I might have harbored in the past. I love you too much to throw away what I have for some fleeting moment of fame.”

“And I love you, too, Elizabeth.” The Highlander leaned down and placed a kiss on her soft lips. “What I told you before, when we were traveling in France, about Margaret thinking you could be a witch—”

“I know. I know. You were just trying to scare me. That part of it doesn’t frighten me.”

Ambrose gazed into her beautiful eyes.

“If you don’t want to go through with traveling to Stirling Castle and painting the king and the rest of the royal family, that is fine with me, lass. But just remember this. The queen will exact no price from you. You are being presented to the Queen of Scotland as Elizabeth Boleyn Macpherson, a talented artist and the wife of her valued servant. I have brought her your work. She has seen it, and she loves it. She wants you at Stirling, for in becoming a member of her circle, you bring an added element of style to the Scottish court. An elegance, a bit of continental refinement. To her, the fact that you are a woman—albeit one with an enormous God-given talent—only makes it better. It adds a wee bit of notoriety to her reputation. Now Margaret can laugh at the other rulers of Europe and say, ‘You are all fools. I have the most talented painter of all here beside me...and she is a woman.’ Elizabeth, if ever there was a chance for you to demonstrate your artistic talents openly, it is in her court, my love.”

Elizabeth gazed up at Ambrose, but her face was still clouded.

“But Ambrose, she is sister to Henry, the King of England.”

“Aye, she is. What’s in that?”

“He is a brute.”

“Well, lass, in many ways Margaret is a brute, too. But you were raised with your siblings—a condition, by the way, that Henry and Margaret did not share. Even though you three were all exposed to the same conditions growing up, each of you, as adults, took her own path. You, Mary, and the young one, Anne. Are you three the same person?”

She shook her head. “But what I fear is that she will turn me over to the English. That she will send me back to England, separating me from you and Jaime, for what I did four years ago. For disobeying King Henry’s command.”

Ambrose caressed her hair. “She is Scotland’s queen, my love. Her ties to her brother are few. Sending you back would be treachery of the vilest kind. She would never treat an invited guest so inhospitably.”

The baron paused before continuing.

“And what’s more, lass. I don’t think I’d be speaking beyond myself to say that she would never risk the wrath of the loyal Highland clans by sending one of their own to the south.” His gaze was steady and warm. “And you are one of us, now.”