Kill or Be Kilt (2 page)

Elizabeth briefly closed her eyes, her patience wearing thin. “‘Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, needs not the painted flourish of your praise: Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, not uttered by base sale of chapmen's tongues.'”

“Pardon?”

“Shakespeare, Kat. Perhaps you should be taking your studies more seriously if you've never heard of
Love's Labour's Lost
.”

“Don't pay her any heed,” said Grace. “She always quotes literary works when she's in a foul mood.”

As they walked through the gardens waiting for the horses to be readied, Elizabeth felt more and more irritable, not that Grace helped matters. Her sister had no right to lecture anyone, especially since she'd never even followed her own advice. There had been a time when Grace despised Scotland and the captain of Ruairi's guard, but now, here she was living in the Highlands and married to Fagan.

Joy bubbled in Ravenna's laugh. Elizabeth wasn't a jealous person, but she was envious of the love her sister found with Ruairi. Even more so since the two had now started a family of their own. The more Elizabeth pondered the matter, the worse she felt. Ravenna had Ruairi, Grace had Fagan, Kat and Torquil were inseparable, and Elizabeth had no one but Angus to confide in. But lately, even the black wolf had parted from her company. She could only find the animal either with the men or out stalking small game in the woods.

When they entered the bailey, the horses were already saddled. The stable hand had just brought Elizabeth's chestnut mare over to the mounting block when a rider came through the gates with Angus trailing on his heels.

“I have a message for Laird Sutherland.”

“I'll find him, Ravenna.” Elizabeth lifted her skirts and walked with hurried purpose into the great hall. She wasn't a bit surprised when she found the men in the same place she'd left them with tankards in hand. All eyes were upon her as she made her way toward the dais.

“I thought ye were going to the beach. Is something amiss?” asked Ruairi.

“There's a messenger waiting for you in the bailey.” Ruairi stood, and Elizabeth didn't wait around to see who followed.

When Ruairi entered the courtyard, he talked briefly with the messenger and then broke the seal of a letter that was handed to him. Although her brother-in-law always had an air of authority and the appearance of one who demanded instant obedience, his face was bleak. He dismissed the man and stood as still as a statue. She'd known him long enough to recognize when something was troubling him, and this was clearly one of those times.

“What is it, Ruairi? What has happened?” asked Ravenna.

Fagan, Torquil, and Ian came into the bailey at the same time Ruairi approached Ravenna, giving her a compassionate smile. But when he reached his wife, he hesitated, gazing down at the letter as if he was having second thoughts.

Elizabeth had never seen the man so unsettled, and that frightened her. Ruairi was always a rock, confident with his every move. After several moments, he handed Ravenna the missive. As her sister read the contents, a glazed look of despair washed over her face. When she burst into tears, Elizabeth's spirits sank even lower.

Ruairi pulled Ravenna into the circle of his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I'm sorry, Wife. I'm truly sorry.” He pulled back and wiped her tears with his thumbs. “But ye can nae allow yourself to be so distraught and must consider your health and that of our bairn.”

“What has happened?” asked Grace.

Ravenna turned and faced her sisters. The pain in her eyes was unbearable. “Uncle Walter is dead.”

Elizabeth gulped hard, hot tears falling down her cheeks. She could feel her throat close up and started to tremble. As her family embraced each other, she stood alone with only her misery to accompany her.

Uncle Walter was dead.

He was not coming back. She would never see him again for as long as she lived and breathed. The pain was insufferable, and she felt an acute sense of loss. When a large hand gently wrapped around her midriff, Elizabeth gasped. Green eyes studied her intently, and she lowered her gaze.

Ian pressed his body tightly to hers, and his arms encircled her. “Lass, let me offer ye comfort,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “I'm sorry for the loss of your uncle. Mildmay was a good man. He'll be sorely missed.”

At first she tried to resist being held in Ian's arms, but then she buried her face against the corded muscles of his chest and yielded to the compulsive sobs that shook her. Her feelings toward him at this instant had no significance whatsoever because this was the second time she'd lost a father in her lifetime.

And that was the moment Elizabeth realized her life would never be the same again.

If it weren't for Grace's endless prattle, Elizabeth would've closed her eyes in the carriage long ago. Her sister's words grated on her nerves, sticking to her like wet blades of grass. Just when Elizabeth allowed herself to believe that she would never be rescued from this torment, she heard the voice of an angel.

“It's been
three
hours since we've taken our leave. Will you please do us all a favor and close your mouth?” asked Ravenna. She shifted her weight on the seat and let out a heavy sigh.

“Here, let me help you.” Elizabeth sat forward and moved the pillow out from behind Ravenna's back, plumping it.

Grace spoke in a whisper. “You should be thanking me that Mary is asleep in my arms. I think the sound of my voice lulls her.”

“If only all of us could be as fortunate,” replied Ravenna. As Elizabeth replaced the pillow at Ravenna's back, her sister smiled her thanks. Lowering her hands, she cradled her stomach. “My body isn't even showing that I'm with child yet, and already I'm uncomfortable.”

When Kat reined in her horse beside the carriage, waved, and then rode off, Elizabeth laughed. “I believe our sister might ride that mount the entire way to England with the men if they'd let her. One would think her bottom would be sore by now.”

“Mmm… No doubt she follows Torquil. Have you taken notice of the two of them lately? Do you want to know what I think?” asked Grace.

“No!” said Elizabeth and Ravenna at the same time.

When Mary cried, Grace snarled at them as she tried to soothe her niece. “You've both gone and done it now.”

Ravenna pounded on the roof of the coach as it slowed to a halt. “Just as well. I need to feed her.” Ravenna's eyes met Elizabeth's. “Besides, I think we could all use a rest.”

Elizabeth didn't wait for the driver's hand and stepped down from the coach into the glade. She walked with hurried purpose, and branches cracked under her feet as she made a mad dash through the brush. It wasn't long before a bunch of thistles attacked the hem of her skirts, and she was pulling and tugging to free her dress. As she stepped behind a bush to see to her personal needs, she yelped in pain.

She should've known better than to lower herself too far to the ground. Something pricked her bare bottom. Closing her eyes, she stood. She glanced over her shoulder, and the unyielding patch of nettles appeared as though they mocked her for being so careless. After reaching behind her and determining no unwanted remnants of the dreaded plant remained, she dropped her skirts and wandered deeper into the forest.

Although the summer solstice would soon be upon them, spring had bloomed in the Highlands like a sigh of relief after the long, dark months of winter. Leaves were green, blossoming flowers blanketed the fields, and the sun was shining. If she weren't so distraught over Uncle Walter's death or irritated by her sister, this would have been a perfect day.

Elizabeth jumped when something snapped behind her.

“'Tis only me,” said Laird Munro. “I did nae mean to startle ye. Are ye hurt? I heard ye cry out.” He gazed into the forest and, as if he was expecting something to appear, uncertainty crept into his expression.

Rays of sunlight through the pine trees cast his face in contorted shadows. His long, red hair was ruffled by the wind. He looked powerful standing there in his kilt and tunic, not to mention the hand that rested on the hilt of a very large broadsword strapped to his waist. There were age lines around his mouth and eyes, but she'd barely noticed. After all these years, Ian still had a commanding way about him, but she certainly wasn't going to answer him with the truth—well, at least not all of it.

“Nettles pricked me.”

He closed the distance between them. “Do ye want me to have a look? Ye donna want to leave any nettles beneath the skin.”

“Thank you, but there's no need. I'm certain nothing remains.” An unwelcome blush crept into her cheeks as he held up a large flask.

“If ye pour water over it, the pain will lessen. Where did the wee bastards pierce your skin?”

She felt her face turn to crimson. “I don't think I need the water, but thank you just the same.”

“If ye change your mind, lass, let me know.” Ian secured the flask on his belt. “We're resting the horses, but ye should nae be wandering this far into the trees. Let me escort ye back.”

Elizabeth wasn't about to defy his order. As she walked beside the laird, she silently cursed when the memory of being held in his arms in the bailey came to mind. But as quickly as the thought emerged out of nowhere, the feeling passed. She girded herself with resolve, refusing to relive the humiliation of the past.

Silence lengthened between them, making her uncomfortable. She was helpless to halt her embarrassment, not only for the nettles, but for so brazenly stalking—
pining
—after the man when she was younger. To her amazement, her mood became buoyant when they reached the clearing.

Ravenna's hand was on the small of her aching back. Grace's fingers were pressed on her temple as she held a screaming Mary, and Kat was rubbing her sore bottom. Only hours from home, and her sisters were weary from their travels. They wouldn't reach London for weeks and had a long ride ahead, even more so with Grace pestering everyone in the same carriage. Perhaps their youngest sister had the right idea after all. Then again, Elizabeth quickly curtailed the thought. She'd rather be uncomfortable in the carriage with her sisters than face a gamut of emotions riding next to Ian.

She glanced to her right, and he was no longer by her side. Her eyes searched around the glade until she found him. As he was patting his horse on the neck, she realized that he and the animal looked as though they were made for each other—both massive in size. When Ian caught her staring, she lowered her gaze to the ground and gave herself a firm reminder that she was no longer fifteen.

* * *

God was punishing him. There was no other reason. They'd only been riding for a few hours before they had to stop, and Ian already had to round up one lass who'd wandered from the group. At least the women rode in the carriage. If he had to listen to their incessant pecking the entire way to England, he might've run himself through with his sword before it was too late and he had to suffer another moment in their presence. Even though Lady Katherine rode with the men, he was thankful she only conversed with Torquil.

Ian approached one of the carriages and was untying the reins of two packhorses when Ruairi, Fagan, and three Sutherland guards returned from watering their mounts. “Ye might want to have a wee chat with your women,” he called out.

Fagan chuckled as he tethered his horse to a tree. “What did my wife do now, Munro?”

“For once your wife is nae the problem. I found Lady Elizabeth wandering around the forest alone. Did ye nae tell them to stay close?”

“Och, aye, but I'll talk to them again,” said Ruairi. “I usually have to have words with them three or four times before they listen.”

Ian glanced at the women, and his eyes met Elizabeth's. He forced his tight expression into a smile, but she dropped her gaze to the ground before she saw it.

He led the mounts to the stream, pondering the affections Elizabeth had held for him when she was but a mere child. Not that she was that much older now, but she'd become a lovely young woman. In fact, the regal curves under her blue dress reminded him of that. For one absurd moment, he contemplated what it would be like to have the lass by his side.

When the realization washed over him of the price he would pay for being involved with a Walsingham, his priorities were once again set to path. Becoming entangled with one sister meant you got them all—willing or not—and he was not as daft as his best friends to take on such challenges. Furthermore, it wasn't as if Elizabeth still wanted anything to do with him. The lass could barely stand to be held in his arms when he'd offered her comfort for the loss of her uncle, and as a result, she still couldn't look him in the eye.

“These are the last two.” Fagan dropped the reins of the mounts as the animals drank from the stream. He pulled out his flask and handed it to Ian.

The fiery liquid burned Ian's throat. He paused, and then took another drink. “
Mòran taing
.”
Thank you very much.
He gave the flask back to Fagan and lifted a brow when his friend took an even longer swig.

“I think this is going to be a long journey.” Fagan glanced around, lowering his voice. “The women—”

“I dare you to finish that sentence, Husband.”

Grace stood there with her oval face pointed daintily in the air. Her brownish-gold hair was pulled up on the top of her head, and she wore a green traveling dress. Although all the Walsingham sisters were beautiful, this particular temptress had a bite that could bring a man to his knees. She was nothing but trouble.

Fagan's eyes widened. “I was only going to say if nae for the women accompanying us, the trip to London would nae be as pleasurable.”

When the lass folded her arms over her chest and cast a look of death upon her husband, Ian led the horses away and murmured, “Good luck, my friend.”

“Coward,” said Fagan with a scowl.

Ian fled the scene of the battle before it had even begun. He was far from a coward, but there was no way in hell he was going to stick around for that confrontation. There were several reasons why he was not wed. And right now, he savored every one.

* * *

Elizabeth settled back into the seat of the carriage as Mary rested her little head on her chest. She was so soft, warm, and tiny. Elizabeth covered her niece with a blanket and kissed the top of her curls. Mary's breathing was slow, and she was now in a peaceful slumber like her mother, who sat across from them.

As Elizabeth brushed her finger gently over her niece's cheek, she was filled with a sense of longing. She wanted to be a mother some day and thought she might be a good one. But that couldn't happen without a husband first, and her options were quite limited in the Scottish Highlands.

“You're so good with her,” said Ravenna.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

Ravenna sat up and stretched her back. “You'll learn there's no such thing when you have a child of your own.” She reached out and patted Elizabeth on the knee. “I don't think we're going to make it to the inn this eve. We should be stopping soon.” She nudged Grace in the arm. “I know I shouldn't ask, but why are you so quiet?”

“I've been thinking about Uncle Walter. He's always been so good to us. And poor Aunt Mary… I wish we could've been there for the funeral.”

“I do too, but they couldn't hold his body for weeks until our arriv—”

Grace held up her hand. “You don't need to explain.”

“I'm certain Aunt Mary will be all right. She knew when we moved to the Highlands that we would be far from home—England,” said Elizabeth. “But I can't help thinking about Uncle Walter too. We're all we have left.”

Grace placed her hand over Elizabeth's. “We'll always be a family, and now we have Fagan, Ruairi, and Torquil too.”

She understood that her sister was trying to make her feel better for once, but Grace's words only made Elizabeth think about the future even more. Of course, no one lived forever, but Uncle Walter had been a strong man. She was reminded that life could be stripped away without reason or warning.

As the carriage slowed, a part of her was thankful they didn't make it to the inn. Although a soft bed would've been welcome, she needed to breathe fresh air after being confined all day. The last time she'd slept under the stars was when she'd moved to the Highlands with her sisters.

Kat was helping Torquil secure a post in the ground, and Ravenna and Grace were seeing to Mary. As the men were setting up tents and taking care of the horses, Elizabeth was becoming restless. She needed to occupy herself. Spotting one of Ruairi's guards, she closed the distance between them. She held out her hand for the reins he had just untied.

“Let me help you with that. I'll water them. I don't mind.”

He hesitated, looking at her as though she had three heads. “This is nay task for a lady. Why are ye nae over there with the women?” He abruptly flinched and took a step back, a strange look flashing in his eyes.

She whipped her head around at the same time the reins were shoved into her hand. Ian towered over the guard and was giving him a steely gaze as if he'd run the poor man through right where he stood. From the look of apprehension on the guard's face, Elizabeth felt sorry for him, especially when he didn't linger.

“Laird Munro, did you threaten him?”

Ian released the stern gaze he cast upon the fleeing guard, and his expression softened. “I did nae say a word. If ye want to water the horses, have at it, lass.” He lowered his head and spoke in a whisper. “Speak in truth. Is Lady Grace driving ye mad?”

The corners of her lips lifted into a smile. “You have no idea.” She couldn't believe Ian read her thoughts, but her sister's candid behavior wasn't exactly a secret.

When his eyes widened, Elizabeth's cheeks flushed when she discovered her hand resting on his arm. She quickly removed her fingers from Ian's solid body. Not only was she embarrassed for her brazenness, but the man felt like a rock beneath her touch.

* * *

Ian volunteered with one of Ruairi's guards to take first watch. It wasn't as if he could sleep now anyway. In a few weeks, he would set foot on English soil, something that took a piece of his soul every time he made the journey. At least Ravenna had been able to stay their yearly trips to England for a few years. Who would've thought knowing a retired spy for the Crown could have its advantages?

He leaned his head against a tree trunk and watched the flickering flames dance well into the night. Everything was silent except for the occasional popping sounds of the wood in the fire.