Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(65)

“Explain yerself, woman.”

“I am simply suggesting that I might be so…much more than a prisoner.” She flipped her hand in the air. “Consider this. If I were to apply myself to my union, with grace and…happiness.”

“Ye’d be a fool to do otherwise,” the earl said. “No man suffers a shrew.”

There was a thick warning in his tone. He followed it with a stern look before he quit the room. She gained a quick glance at the men beyond the outer door. They tugged on the corner of their bonnets as the earl passed them and firmly closed the door behind him.

She’d heard their boots on the stone floor the night before. Not so very unlike the sound of the stake being readied in the Gordons’ yard.

Well, you escaped that fate. So you will not abandon hope now.

She’d escaped with Rolfe’s help.

And once more, she was in dire straits because she had helped him.

Star-crossed lovers.

Truly, the phrase described them well. She just hoped they didn’t end up as a tragedy, as so many lovers did in theatrical plays.

However, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from acknowledging it was very, very possible.

*

“Ye’re playing a dangerous game.”

Rolfe cut Diocail a side glance. “As are ye.”

He nodded and continued to watch who was arriving and exiting from the court. “A pair of Highlanders willingly staying at court. That will raise a few eyebrows.”

“Why do ye think I’m wearing breeks?”

Diocail shifted in his own set of breeches. “I do nae fancy them meself.”

Diocail snorted and slapped Rolfe on the shoulder. “Men have done worse in the interest of claiming the lady they desire.”

“She is me wife,” Rolfe growled back.

Diocail wasn’t impressed. “Are ye saying ye do nae desire her?” He slowly shook his head. “Now that is a shame. One I think I may have to remedy by stealing her from ye.”

Rolfe sent him a grin that made it clear he’d enjoy the attempt. “Careful, Diocail, I’m in need of a good fight, and a Gordon and a McTavish going at it… Well now, that will no’ be anything to take notice of.”

Rolfe turned back to watching the main entrance to the court.

“What are ye waiting to see?”

“The Earl of Bedford’s secretary arrived this morning.” Rolfe sent Diocail a satisfied smirk. “If Morton has a mind to wed Katherine to someone for an alliance, well, he’ll be needing her father’s agreement or—”

“It would be worthless because the union was made in Scotland.” Diocail slowly laughed. “Ye’ve a fine head on yer shoulders, Rolfe. Of course, ye’ll be needing all of yer wits when ye get the lass back home. I hear yer father is nae too fond of the English.”

“An English heiress would be a bit more welcome.”

Diocail didn’t answer right away. Rolfe knew the man was thinking the facts through. It didn’t take him long to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. “And ye’ll likely be asking for less than the Earl of Morton.”

“Almost certainly.”

Diocail nodded slowly. “Unless the Earl of Bedford wants an alliance. I hear the Bedfords support the troops in the Netherlands. Morton has been raising the king as a Protestant. Bedford would approve.”

“There he is.” Rolfe caught sight of the man wearing the pin of the Earl of Bedford. The man looked enraged as he came out of the gate with his attendants hurrying to keep pace. Rolfe moved along the street, following the man until he ducked into a town house.

Rolfe stayed out of sight. Morton wouldn’t forget to have the entrance of the place watched, and there were too many people on the street during the day.

*

“The earl has sent a bath for ye, mistress.”

A young maid came through the door and happily informed Katherine of what Morton had sent to her. The girl smiled as two men carried a fine copper tub into the room. They were followed by a line of boys, all laden with yokes and buckets of fresh water.

But what Katherine was focused on was the way the guards at her door kept their eyes on her, their expressions tight. They might have no liking for their duty, but they were devoted to it nonetheless.

There was a splash as the maid poured hot water into the tub. Another maid had arrived, carrying a silver tray with a cloth over its contents.

“Fine French soap, mistress,” the maid exclaimed with a happy smile. “And lavender oil. The earl has been most generous in providing all of the things a lady might wish for.”

“I believe you mean to say, all the things my groom might expect me to make use of before a wedding.”

The maids both lowered themselves and clapped their hands together gleefully. “Yes, yes, it is all here. We will have you…perfect in no time at all.”

There was a distinctly French manner about the maids. French women were considered the most beautiful in the world, but Katherine soon discovered that they had some very odd preferences about their bodies. Once she’d risen from the tub and dried off, the maids refused to give her a dressing robe, but instead came toward her intending to bare her mons.

“Come, come, mistress…” One of the maids cajoled her like a frightened child. “You do not need all of that hair.”