Kill or Be Kilt (8 page)

For a moment, he stared at her. “You're not?”

“No.” She had many words that came to mind about her chaperones but thought it in her best interest to keep her mouth closed.

Lord Kinghorne glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, well, if you don't mind me asking, why are you accompanied by those three men?”

“They're my chaperones.” When he gave her a puzzled gaze, she added, “My sisters are wed to two of them.”

“I see.” His eyes rested on his mother. “If you'll please excuse me, I don't like to keep mother waiting.”

“Of course not.”

“Will you be dining here this eve, Lady Elizabeth?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He smiled with an air of pleasure. “Good. Mother prefers to dine early, but perhaps I'll see you in the hall.”

“That would be lovely.”

Lord Kinghorne sat beside his mother in the pew, and the sight warmed Elizabeth's heart. The man cared for the woman, and Elizabeth took his actions as a positive sign of character.

The men were still lingering out in the hall, and she didn't want to torture them too much on their first day at court, but she couldn't resist one last look around the chapel. Furthermore, they deserved to wait for not permitting her to stay in a grand bedchamber at the palace.

Heavy footsteps approached her from behind.

“We'll be attending court for some time, lass,” Ruairi said. “I can always escort ye here anytime ye wish.”

“Thank you.”

When she realized her brother-in-law came to fetch her, she stole a quick glance out in the hall. She could've sworn Laird Munro was actually scowling at her. Whether the laird was irritated with her, Lord Kinghorne, or court, she couldn't discern. And frankly, she didn't care. She made up her mind to stay the course.

The man did not return her interest; therefore, he did not deserve her love. Grace said the words herself.

* * *

Ian gritted his teeth, knowing his vexation was evident. He was resentful of the entire situation—court, Elizabeth, and this English lord that Ruairi and Fagan didn't seem worried about. Ian wasn't an idiot. The lass would one day wed. He knew that, but was it too much to ask that he did not have to bear witness to men who sought Elizabeth's attention?

Something clicked in his mind, and an unaccustomed pain formed in his chest. When he thought about another man sharing the lass's company, companionship that she'd freely shared with him, his mouth felt dry and dusty.

As the men escorted Elizabeth back through the halls, far too many English crowded court for Ian's tastes, but then a smile crossed his face. Laird Ross, Laird Fraser, and Laird MacKay stood huddled against a far wall. Ruairi and Fagan saw them too. All the lairds stood over six feet, and each wore their clan tartan plaids and badges proudly.

“Munro, Sutherland, I see ye've come to share in the misery of the English court,” said the Fraser.

“Aye. There's naught like a Highland gathering to be held in the middle of the English,” said Ian.

“'Tis good to see ye. Ye remember the captain of my guard,” said Ruairi.

Laird Ross extended his hand to Fagan. “Murray,
ciamar a tha thu?
”
How are you?

Fagan shrugged. “
Tha gu math.
”
I am fine.

The MacKay cast a puzzled gaze at Elizabeth. “And
dè an t-ainm a th'oirbh?
”
What is your name?

“This lovely lass is Lady Elizabeth. She is my sister-by-marriage,” said Ruairi. “Lady Elizabeth, these are Lairds Ross, Fraser, and MacKay.”

She placed a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. “My pleasure, gentlemen. Have you just arrived at court?”

“We came three days ago and tried to get our names on the list before the others to nay avail,” said Laird Fraser.

A glazed expression crossed Elizabeth's face. She was growing weary of hearing men complain about court.

“Are ye staying in the palace?” asked Ian.

“Nay, thank God,” said Laird MacKay. “There was nay room for us, even three days ago. We're staying in the city. I think most of the lairds came to pay their yearly homage to the king. I saw the Grant, the MacLeod, and the MacKenzie wandering around. None were verra pleased.”

A scowl crossed Ian's face. “Mmm… If ye arrived three days before us, it could be some time before we are called before the king.”

Elizabeth let out a heavy sigh.

“Were ye here when the guards were running awry over the death of another member of the king's Privy Council?” asked Laird Ross.

“Och, aye. We were at the tennis court,” said Ruairi.

“They're saying the man's neck was sliced from ear to ear. Now we can look forward to having a cutthroat among us at the palace,” said Laird Fraser.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Pray excuse me, Laird Fraser, but did you say the man was killed?”

“Come to think of it, I believe this is the second member of the king's circle who died within the month.” Laird Fraser didn't notice the color drain from Elizabeth's face. Otherwise, he would have known to keep his mouth shut.

“Fraser,” Ian warned.

Ruairi placed his hand on her shoulder. “Now, lass, there is nay cause for ye—”

“I can nae remember. What was that man's name?” asked Laird Fraser.

Elizabeth spoke through gritted teeth. “Mildmay. His name was Lord Mildmay. He was my uncle.”

Elizabeth sat in the crowded great hall drinking her third goblet of wine and was almost foolish enough to ask Ian—Laird Munro—if she could have a sip of his whisky. It had been a long day. She was mentally exhausted. And just as luck would have it, King James did not sup in the great hall this eve.

With so many warm bodies packed in the hall, the heat was unbearable. Sweat dripped from her brow and in other places no lady should ever mention. To add to her enjoyment was the fact that she could barely hear herself think with the incessant chatter all around her. As she gazed at the tables, she wondered if the other women in attendance felt as miserable. A male voice spoke from beside her.

“So tell me, Lady Elizabeth. Is court everything ye thought it would be?” asked Laird Munro with a knowing grin.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, even more than I'd hoped for.” She took another sip from her goblet, not about to admit to the man she'd been ready to take her leave well over an hour ago. The thought of removing her gown, donning her nightrail, and climbing into a soft bed was delightful.

A devilish look came into his eyes. “Och, aye. I can see how much ye're enjoying yourself at this verra moment.”

“Is my discomfort that apparent?”

Laird Munro leaned in close. Too bloody close. She silently cursed her heart that turned over in response.

“'Tis written all over your face, lass.”

Elizabeth instantly wondered if everything she felt was written all over her face. She averted her eyes and when she did, there was a man staring at her. He was handsome with dark eyes and a secret expression. When he smiled, his teeth, even and white, agreed pleasingly with his dark, tanned skin. His wavy, black hair flowed from his face like a crest to his shoulders, and drops of moisture clung to his damp forehead. There was an exotic look about him that captured her attention.

He sat very still, and his eyes hadn't left hers. She instantly became aware of another kind of excitement, one that didn't involve Laird Munro. The dark-haired man looked away from her, and she watched him as he rose to his feet. He stood there as if he prided himself on his good looks. Her eyes froze on his long, lean form, and his eyes once again met hers. He inclined his head in a deep gesture and with that, he spun and was gone.

Perhaps fate had granted her a boon after all.

* * *

Under a dusk sky, Ian, Ruairi, and Fagan followed Elizabeth's carriage through the streets of London. Ian's patience was wearing thin. He'd had enough of the English court and was pleased they were finally returning to the inn. Although he'd rather be on Munro lands and sleeping in his own bed, for now, the accommodations would have to do.

“What an exciting first day among the English, eh?” asked Ruairi.

Ian kept his eyes ahead as his mount whinnied, almost as if the animal had responded to Ruairi's question. “Aye. One hell of a day. I've been meaning to ask something of the both of ye.”

Fagan chuckled. “Munro, have ye nae learned anything from me? I told ye to offer Elizabeth an apology. Beg for her forgiveness.” He gestured to Ruairi. “Tell him that I speak the truth.”

“I donna know about that. Ravenna is becoming the wiser when I offer her any type of apology. Now she asks what I'm apologizing for, and I donna always have an answer.”

“My question has naught to do with Lady Elizabeth. I want to know your thoughts on Mildmay.”

Both men were silent, their expressions guarded.

“Sutherland,” Ian warned. “I've known ye forever. Your attempts at subtlety donna fool me nor do they suit ye.”

Ruairi hesitated. “I've had my doubts, but I ne'er mentioned my views to Ravenna.”

“Nor I to Grace,” said Fagan.

Ruairi glanced around, reining in his mount next to Ian. “Even before this man was killed at court, I had a difficult time believing a man as skilled as Mildmay died in a carriage accident because of startled horses.”

“Did your wife suspect anything untoward?” asked Ian.

“If she had, she ne'er would've let me bring Elizabeth to court. And I think Ravenna was too distraught over her uncle's death to even ponder the question. Besides, she's again with child. The spy craft should be left with the spies. I will nay longer allow her to place herself and our bairns in danger.”

“And what of Lady Elizabeth?”

“We are nae staying at court, and she has three Highland warriors as chaperones.” A smile crossed Ruairi's face. “Why do ye ask? Do ye question your prowess?”

“Nay. I was questioning yours. If I'm nae mistaken, the Gordon is dead, the Stewart is imprisoned, and there have been nay mercenaries as of late to challenge your skill with a blade.” Ian's expression held a note of mockery. “Ye have nae grown soft in my absence, have ye?”

“Ye donna need to worry about that, Munro,” said Fagan. “My laird is wed to Ravenna. I'm certain the lass does nae favor her husband growing
soft
. And being that she's again with child, evidently she's making Ruairi practice his swordplay quite often.”

Ruairi leaned over and punched Fagan in the arm. “Bastard.”

“Aye.”

They arrived at the inn, securing the horses and carriage with the stable hands. When Elizabeth stepped down from the coach, she looked tired, worn. She lifted her skirts and walked into the inn as Ian trailed behind her once again today. Mistress Betts greeted them at the entrance with a smile.

“How was your first day at court, my lady?” The woman wiped her hands on her apron.

“Lovely, thank you. I'm weary and think that I'll just retire to my room for the rest of the night.”

“Do you need anything to eat or drink?”

Elizabeth returned a tired smile. “No, we dined at court.”

“Give me a moment to clean up a bit, and then I'll be up to help you with your dress.”

“Thank you, Mistress Betts.” Elizabeth turned to Ruairi and Fagan. “Did you want to leave on the morrow after we break our fast?”

“Aye, but we donna need to make haste. I'm afraid ye've worn out Munro from the tour of the palace. He'll need plenty of rest before he returns to court on the morrow,” said Ruairi.

Ian placed his hand over his heart. “I'm afraid 'tis true, Lady Elizabeth. My feet nay longer want to carry me.”

“And I'm certain your feet have nothing to do with the fact that you men will be getting into your cups this eve.”

“Ye know me too well,” said Ian.

Elizabeth's face turned scarlet, and she looked away from him. “I'll be bidding you all a good night, gentlemen.”

“
Oidhche mhath
,” said Ian.
Good night.
He watched the lass as she climbed the stairs to her chamber. Once she was out of sight, he elbowed Ruairi in the arm. “I need a drink.”

“I think we could all use many,” said Ruairi.

They found an unoccupied table in the corner of the dining hall and pulled out their flasks. A young lad with light-brown hair approached the table from the kitchen and placed three tankards of ale on the table. He wrung his hands in front of him in a nervous gesture.

“For God's sake, lad. We donna bite,” said Ian.

“Pardon?”

Ruairi chuckled. “Donna let the Munro frighten ye lad. He was born that way.”

“I'm not frightened.” The boy looked terrified. “Is there anything I can bring you?”

“What do ye have left from this eve's sup? I could always eat,” said Fagan.

Ruairi pulled out his flask and took a swig of whisky. “Aye, we know.”

“There are some biscuits and gravy left.”

“Aye, my friends and I will take a few of those,” said Fagan.

“Would you like me to bring you more ale too?”

The men laughed in response, and Ruairi held up his flask. “Nay. We have all that we need.”

When the boy walked away, Ian shook his head. “Do ye think there will ever be a time when I donna frighten the wee lads?”

Teasing laughter answered him, and Ruairi handed Ian the flask. “Have another drink, Munro.”

“It feels so damn good to sit here with a man's drink in hand. Did ye see the watery piss they were drinking at court?” He took another swig and then glanced around at the handful of men and women in the hall. Lowering his voice, he added, “The English would nae know something good if it bit them in the arse.”

“Och, aye. I saw the Fraser empty the contents of his goblet on the floor and pour his own drink into it. The Highland lairds know to bring their own
uisge beatha
by now,” said Ruairi.

The lad returned with Fagan's food, and as soon as the boy left the table, Fagan tossed a biscuit to Ian, which he didn't even attempt to catch.

“Are ye going to leave it on the table?” asked Fagan.

“I donna want to eat. I want to drink myself into a stupor. I think I've earned it for spending all this time with the English.”

Ruairi gave a mock salute, and Ian took another swig. He'd seek his bed when his senses were dulled. And at the rate he was going, it wouldn't be long.

* * *

Elizabeth removed her gown, donned her nightrail, and washed her face. She didn't think Mistress Betts had noticed the dagger strapped to her thigh and hidden under her chemise. If the woman had seen anything, she didn't say, and Elizabeth didn't take the time to explain. After a while, she'd even forgotten the blade was there. But all she wanted to do now was crawl under the blankets and embrace the darkness.

As soon as Mistress Betts departed, Elizabeth didn't waste any time. She climbed into bed and blew out the candle. Wiping the hair away from her face, she rolled onto her side, placing her hands under the pillow. She felt empty and drained. Her last thought before she drifted to sleep was of an exotic stranger who cast a furtive smile from across the table.

The next she knew, her eyes flew open. The latch was rattling on her door. She sat up abruptly, pulling the blankets up to her chin. For an instant, she dared not breathe. The sound she heard wasn't her imagination since it happened again. Elizabeth fumbled to light the candle, and once the room was illuminated, she thought she'd feel more secure.

But she didn't.

Heaven help her. Someone was trying to come into her room. Perhaps if she waited silently, one of the men would come to her rescue. When she heard a curse outside the door, she flew out of the bed, thinking she recognized a Scottish accent. How she prayed that voice belonged to Ruairi, Fagan, or Ian, who were coming to her aid. Placing her ear to the door, Elizabeth waited.

When she didn't hear anything, she whispered, “Is anyone there?”

Receiving no response, she donned her robe that rested on the chair. Once again, she paused at the door. God only knew what was on the other side. Slowly, she lifted the latch and stole a peek into the hall.

Laird Munro sat on the floor with his back resting against the wall. His head was bent forward, and his body was hunched over. What was he doing? She found it difficult to believe the intruder at the door had been strong enough to knock the Highland laird from his feet.

Elizabeth glanced down the hall. Even though there were two candles lit on the wall, she didn't see anyone else. She walked out of her room and knelt beside him. When he didn't move, she gave him a firm shake.

“Laird Munro.”

The man jumped to his feet. She lost her balance, falling on her rump in the middle of the hall. She had evidently startled him because when he lifted his arm on the way up, he'd barely missed her face. He gazed around, unsteady on his feet. After a moment, he glanced down and looked at her twice, as if he needed to make certain she was there.

“Lady Elizabeth, what are ye doing on the floor in front of my room?”

She could hardly make out his words. The sweet smell of whisky was on his breath. He extended his hand and pulled her up, but then she had to steady his quaking body in return.

“Your room? I'm afraid this is my chamber, Laird Munro.” Something clicked in her mind. “Was that you grabbing the latch of my door? I thought someone was trying to… You startled me.”

His words were slurred. “Nay one would dare enter your room with me here, unless they had a wish for death.”

“Yes, well, let's get you to the right door, shall we? Where are Ruairi and Fagan?”

“Bed. They gave up on their drinking hours ago.”

“And from the look of you—”

He waved her off. “Donna tell me that I should've given up too. I can handle my drink.”

She laughed. “I can see that. Try to keep your voice down. Everyone is abed.”

Elizabeth wrapped her arm around Laird Munro's waist, and he was so close that she could have rested her head on the man's broad chest. He was only able to take a few tottering steps at a time, but at least he was moving in the right direction.

When they reached his room, she lifted the latch and pushed open the door. Darkness greeted them. Even the dim flicker of candlelight from the hall didn't provide much help to see inside.

“You didn't think to leave a candle lit?”

“I donna need to see. I'm going to fall into bed anyway.”

She sighed in exasperation. “And you're going to kill yourself getting there. Did you leave the candle by the bed?”

There was a heavy silence.

“Laird Munro!”

“Aye. Aye.”

The man could barely finish his words, and it took all Elizabeth's strength not to leave him where he stood. Then again, perhaps she should wake up her brothers-in-law to handle the mess this eve that was Laird Munro. She was certain they wouldn't be pleased. “Wait here by the door and I'll light the bloody candle.”

“Are ye cross with me again, Lady Elizabeth?”

“Am I… Laird Munro, please do us both a favor. Stand here by the door, and keep your mouth closed. Please.”