Amanda Scott (50 page)

Authors: Ladys Choice

BOOK: Amanda Scott

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Beside her, Ardelve said, “Go ahead and take a sip or two, lass. No one will mind. The carver is flashing his knives, but the ceremonial nonsense has only just begun. They’ll be parading platters of food from one end of this hall to the other for some time yet, so I’d advise you to take a few bites of bread with your wine, too.”

Another gillie, overhearing, instantly offered rolls from a basket, and Adela took one gratefully, breaking a bite-size piece off and eating it before she tasted her wine. It was fine claret, she was sure, but her sense of taste seemed to have deserted her along with the rest of her senses.

Ardelve, too, sipped wine, and when the ceremonial presentation of dishes had ended at last, buffered on one side by her sister and the other by her husband, Adela was able to eat her meal in peace. Gillies kept food and wine flowing, and the company was an appropriately merry one. She began to relax and soon realized the claret was a bit heady for one who rarely drank more than half a goblet of any wine.

At her left, Sorcha chatted merrily with Hugo, doubtless most improperly, too. Adela had noted that the two of them seemed to talk about any subject that entered their heads, and she could not approve. People—ladies, at least—should display more decorum. But she had long since stopped trying to persuade Sorcha of that.

“Where is Sidony?” she asked when Sorcha turned to her. “I saw her earlier in the chapel, of course, but I’ve not seen her since we came into the hall.”

“I’ll wager she went upstairs to look in on our new nephew,” Sorcha said with a grin. “She spends more time with him than with anyone else, and you can see for yourself that Isobel is quite calm and relaxed. Had wee William Robert been lying alone upstairs all this time, you can be sure she would be fidgeting by now.” She turned to a passing gillie and asked him to pour her some more wine.

“Dearling, you should have let Hugo give him the order,” Adela said gently.

“He is busy talking to his sister Kate,” Sorcha said.

Adela realized that Hugo must have somehow summoned Katharine, because Isobel had shifted to a seat beside Sir Edward, and Katharine was taking the seat beside Hugo. Adela saw, too, that Katharine was indeed the one who had been flirting with the handsome stranger. Trust Hugo, a notorious flirt himself, to call his sister to order for engaging in a similar practice. Kate looked annoyed, too, as well she might, Adela mused, recalling that she herself had once emptied a basin of holy water over Hugo’s head when she had heard more than enough of his lecturing.

Recalling again that many folks had expected her to marry him, and that she had once sincerely contemplated the possibility, she wondered at herself. She liked him very much, to be sure. He was handsome, charming, and a famous swordsman, but he had an annoying tendency to order people about, and she preferred not to have orders flung at her. Sorcha dealt with him better than she ever would have.

Ardelve would suit her much better, Adela told herself yet again. She would live close to her own home and would be able to see old friends and family whenever she liked, and Ardelve was wealthy enough to provide every comfort.

She turned to smile at him again.

He was staring at his goblet as if he considered refilling it, but he seemed to sense her gaze, for he turned his head and smiled at her. “You are so beautiful,” he said. “I believe I am quite the most fortunate of—”

To her shock, his face seemed to freeze, except for his lips, which opened once or twice as if he gasped for words to finish his sentence. Then, just as she realized that he was gasping for air, he slumped awkwardly against Isabella, and as the countess exclaimed and tried to hold him, Ardelve collapsed to the floor.

Adela stared at him in shock.

“Sakes, I didn’t think he was even in his cups,” Sorcha exclaimed.

“He isn’t,” Hugo said, leaping quickly to his feet.

“Adela,” the countess said in a quiet but firm voice, “turn away, my dear, and attempt to compose yourself. It will not do to cause any great stir. Indeed, I am sure this is naught that should distress you.”

“His eyes are open, but I do not think he sees me,” Adela said without looking away.

Hugo was kneeling beside Ardelve. After only a cursory examination, he looked up at her and said gently, “I’m sorry, lass. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

Adela gasped, and tears sprang to her eyes.

Isabella signed at once to the minstrels in the gallery, and the music grew louder. Startled, Adela turned her
head in time to see jugglers running to the clearing in the center of the lower hall.

As she began to turn back to Ardelve, she saw that although nearly everyone below had turned to watch the jugglers, one person at least had not.

The man with the jade green eyes was looking straight at her.

THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!

From the desk of Amanda Scott

I’ve always loved Sir Walter Scott’s poem “Lochinvar,” the tale of a young Scottish hero who rode off with his lady-love from her wedding to another man:

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And her bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whisper’d, “ ’Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”

While constructing the plot for
Lady’s Choice
, I was hiking in the High Sierras one day when that poem popped into my mind and every writer’s favorite phrase began to twitch: What if I were to begin
Lady’s Choice
with a fourteenth-century Highland version of that wedding? What if the “Lochinvar” everyone cheers turns out not to be the young gallant, “so daring in love and so dauntless in war,” but someone truly dangerous?

To stir more trouble,
what if
my Macleod bride believes at first, just as everyone else does, that the abductor is her Lochinvar? And
what if
her own sister, firmly believing the bride loves someone else, set the whole thing in motion and then has to deal with the
consequences when she learns someone has usurped her plan to suit his own evil purpose?

Best of all,
what if
Sir Hugo Robison, the hero meant to benefit from that plan, knows nothing about it because he did not bother to reply to the urgent messages sent him by the bride’s loving, caring sister, or to attend the wedding? And
what if
all of the above somehow impacts the fate of the legendary, long-lost Knights Templar treasure found by Lady Isobel Macleod and Sir Michael Sinclair in my previous book,
Prince of Danger
?

To say that
Lady’s Choice
was fun to write is an understatement. I hope you enjoyed it.

Sincerely yours,

http://home.att.net/~amandascott/

From the desk of Candy Halliday

When my editor mentioned she’d like a switch in my next book from single-in-the-city to married-in-the-suburbs, I jumped at the chance.
Finally
, I thought. Domestic divas are going to get their due. Any wife will tell you that as hard as it is to find Mr. Right, the real quest begins after the wedding. Making the marriage a success—now that’s the challenge of a lifetime. Or a hopeless cause, to some desperate housewife.

Like Zada Clark, my
she
ro in
YOUR BED OR MINE?
(on sale now). Poor Zada thought she’d found
Mr. Right—until she realized his name was Mr.
Always
Right. Divorce has to be the only solution, but the old-school judge won’t grant it unless she and Rick reach a compromise over who’s keeping the dog and the house.

What does Rick do? Move back in and challenge Zada to a real-life game of
Survivor
. The first one to outwit, outplay, and outlast the other wins. Never one to back down from a challenge, Zada says, “Game on!” Of course, Rick doesn’t know she’s got a secret weapon: the three other members of her Housewives’ Fantasy Club. Together, they’ll help Zada create a fantasy that will
out-tease, out-tempt, and out-tantalize
Rick into losing the game with four little words: Your bed or mine?

The battle of the sexes has always been fascinating to me, and boy did I have fun forcing Zada and Rick to live together again. The icing on the cake for me, however, was creating a group of women best friends who stick together (yes, I’m a
9 to 5, First Wives Club, and Thelma and Louise
junkie) but in YOUR BED OR MINE? I’ve added a slightly naughty but incredibly delicious twist—these women are sensuously secure enough to get together once a week to share their most secret desires.

Need a little spice to jump-start your sex life? Want to be entertained with thoughts of guilty pleasures you’d never allow yourself to pursue? Welcome to the Housewives’ Fantasy Club series. Viva Domestic Divas, ladies! Enjoy the fun and start a Housewives’ Fantasy Club of your own.

Cheers!