Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(66)

“Barbaric,” the other insisted. “You want your lover to kiss you there? Yes? So, the hair must go.”

Their words sparked a memory that heated her cheeks. The maids laughed and pulled her back toward the chair they had been using.

By the time they left her, there wasn’t a single hair left anywhere except on her head. Katherine wandered over to the mirror and untied the tie of her dressing gown. She let it slip from her shoulders, refusing to cower away from the sight of her own body.

Was she pretty?

She didn’t know.

Now, though, every bit of her was on display, the little bush of hair that had hidden her cleft gone.

She missed Rolfe.

Alone with her thoughts, she realized she was a wanton indeed. Her clitoris was throbbing gently as she recalled their time together. As she looked at her reflection, her nipples drew tight.

“Good.” The Earl of Morton announced his presence with a snicker. “Ye are ready to be wed.”

Katherine hissed and sank to where her robe was puddled around her ankles. Morton didn’t look away as she struggled to pull it up and over her shoulders to cover herself.

“The French do know a thing or two about preparing a bride,” he offered in a tone that made her temper flare. He tossed a small knife on the table near the hearth and sent her a warning look. “Ye’ll be the one to suffer if ye displease yer husband. Think on that before ye defy me.”

“I am wed to Rolfe McTavish.” The words burst out of her. Desperation was clawing at her insides as she looked at how confident Morton was of his plans for her.

The earl moved closer to her. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that reminded her of Colum Gordon. A moment later, she was reeling from a vicious slap.

“Do nae ever say such again.”

The earl was standing still, watching her absorb how easily he struck her. She knew what that flicker was now. It was confidence, absolute confidence in his plans.

“James will inherit England because Elizabeth Tudor is unwed,” the earl explained. “She’s also wise enough to know that the only way she will keep her crown is to never choose a groom, because the moment she does, the rest of the countries of the world will send their armies to try to take her kingdom from her. As long as she keeps them dancing to the tune of courting her, they will not risk the cost of a war.”

The earl paused for a moment and offered her a satisfied grin. “Ye will wed tonight to secure yer father’s devotion to making certain James remains Elizabeth’s heir by keeping Catherine Grey’s sons illegitimate.”

He was so very different from Rolfe.

Perhaps the thought was misplaced just then, but Katherine really didn’t care. She found herself absorbed by how straightforward Rolfe was, while Morton was as twisted as the plots he devised.

Of course, that opened the gates she had been using to hold back hopelessness. It flooded her now, dragging her down as the earl sent her a satisfied look before leaving her to a new group of maids who brought her wedding dress with them.

*

“What?” the Earl of Bedford’s man exclaimed. “What is this?”

The shadows shifted, and Rolfe emerged from them. Adwin still clung to them but made sure the man caught a glimpse of him to drive home that Rolfe wasn’t alone.

“I’ve come on business,” Rolfe said.

“These are my private chambers, sir!”

“Aye.” Rolfe moved farther into the room and sat down. “I believe ye’ll understand why I do nae care to have any of Morton’s spies reporting our meeting back to the man.”

The Earl of Bedford’s man clamped his teeth together as his expression became one of disgruntlement. “I should enjoy never pleasing that man myself, so who are you?”

“Rolfe McTavish.”

The man perked up. “Now I have heard that name.”

“The question is, what would ye like us to do about the lass?” Adwin asked.

The Earl of Bedford’s man cleared his throat. “Well now, my master has bid me to make an amicable agreement with the Earl of Morton.”

The man held up a finger when Rolfe started to speak.

“However, Bridget Hussy, the Countess of Bedford, has made it plain that she has no desire for her stepdaughter to ever be heard from again. In England, that is. She wishes no harm toward the bastard.”

Rolfe slowly smiled. The Earl of Bedford’s man did the same. He leaned toward Rolfe. “So, my good…Highlander…if you were to take your bride home…is it north?”

“Very much so,” Rolfe confirmed.

The secretary nodded. He moved to a small table and struck a flint. Little sparks of light fell into a tinder pile before catching. The man used it to light a candle before he reached into the collar of his nightshirt and pulled out a key that was hanging around his neck. He fit it into a writing desk and opened the lid.

“Here,” he said at last. “An official offer of dowry for the girl.” He handed it over to Rolfe. “Rather generous.”

Rolfe read it over, astonished to have in his hands the means of placating his father’s objections.

“Of course, you will have to steal her away from her wedding.”

Rolfe looked up, all interest in the offer gone.

“Yes, Morton has promised her to one of Lord Campbell’s nephews.” The secretary’s tone made it clear that he disapproved of the match. “You will have to hurry if you plan to steal her away before the vows are consummated.”