Kill or Be Kilt (14 page)

She glanced over her shoulder, and Ian stood tall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His vexation was evident. They stared at each other, and it wasn't long before she detected bitterness, hurt—perhaps a little of both. Without warning, he stormed off, and his broad back thundered from the tournament. The man was confusing in every way.

* * *

Ian was ready to turn the archery tournament into a bloody battle in the middle of the field. If not for Fagan who rested his hand on Ian's shoulder with a restraining grip, there would've been bloodshed.

The way Condell gazed at Elizabeth made Ian's blood boil, especially when the lass seemed to return the actor's favor. Whatever this was between Elizabeth and Condell, Ian couldn't let it continue. He needed to tell the lass the truth and decided no matter what, it would be tonight. Enough was enough.

Fagan's grip tightened. “If I have to remove Condell's dead body from where he stands, I am nae going to be pleased.”

Ian took a deep breath. “I have my wits about me, but mayhap 'tis best if I remove the bastard from sight.”

“Aye. Take your leave before ye do something foolish.”

He spun around, never wanting to run someone through more than he did King Henry with his bonny face and flirtations with Elizabeth. He wondered if men had ever felt the same way about the true King Henry during his reign at court, since the man also had a bold reputation with the lasses. A smile crossed Ian's face when he knew one of the kings couldn't stir more trouble because he'd been long since dead and buried. The thought pleased him, because if Condell continued to step in Ian's path, the arse would soon be joining King Henry in a cold, dark grave.

Ian increased his gait, needing to place as much distance between himself and Condell as he could. Elizabeth was being pulled out of Ian's grasp right before his eyes. Fury almost choked him. Curses flew from his mouth. Blood pounded in his ears. What he needed was a bit of swordplay to calm the raging storm.

When he realized he was alone in the garden because most of the crowd was gathered at the tournament, he withdrew his sword and swung at the first object in his path. God bless the dozen roses he had just beheaded. The flowery blooms met their end of days, and he felt a moment of brief satisfaction. He sheathed his weapon and sat on a bench.

All his life, he'd never mattered to anyone. Elizabeth was the only woman who had ever seen him for who he truly was. He couldn't deny the evidence. He recognized that Elizabeth was the only woman he'd ever
permitted
to get close to him.

He was a fool for denying his feelings for her. She believed in him, and time after time, all he did was push her away. His mind became filled with sour thoughts. Had he made too many mistakes? A dire thought plagued him at that moment.

Had he given up his only chance at happiness?

A female voice startled him.

“I do believe you've won the battle, Laird Munro.” Elizabeth's eyes narrowed with suspicion. “That is your handiwork, is it not?” When she gestured to the fallen blooms, she sighed and sat on the bench beside him. “Is England that unbearable that you can't even enjoy an archery tournament?”

He leaned over, placing his elbows on his thighs. When he realized he was hunched over like a defeated dog, he sat up straight. “'Tis naught England or the tournament, lass. I have greater troubles.” He rubbed his hand over his brow and then met her gaze. “I've made mistakes, and now, I'm afraid 'tis too late to make them right.”

When his hand came down on hers in a possessive gesture, her eyes widened. “I'm nae verra good with words, but I will try. I was a blind fool nae to see what was before my verra eyes. I avoided Sutherland lands all those years because of ye.”

Elizabeth merely stared at him.

“The truth is that for the first time in my life I was frightened. Aye, the battle-hardened Laird Munro was cowering like a wee bairn. Nay one—I should say nay
woman
—has ever cared about me the way that ye do. Your eager affection unsettled me because I could nae determine why ye held such feelings toward me. I am much older than ye. And I know damn well…er, I know there are better men out there who are younger, bonnier, and more suitable than the likes of me.”

He looked at their entwined hands. As if the sight gave him strength, his gaze once again met hers. “I remember the kiss in my chamber. How could I nae? I think of holding ye in my arms every waking moment. I denied the time between us because I did nae understand what I was feeling. I can nay longer deny in my heart what I've known all along. I want ye—I'm begging ye—to give me another chance to win your favor.”

“Why?”

Of all the words he'd expected Elizabeth to say, that was not one. “Why?” he repeated.

She pulled her hand away. “Yes. I've been nothing but kind to you, and you've hurt me at every turn. You disregarded me when I had never once given up on you. You looked me in the eye and denied what happened between us even after I'd given you a chance to tell the truth. You
lied
after I gave you my heart and soul.”

Tears fell down her cheeks. “Now that Mister Condell makes attempts to woo me, you finally find your voice. Why? Tell me
why
I should give you another chance, Laird Munro. Are you too proud? Is jealousy for Mister Condell the only reason you beg me for another chance? You owe me a reason. You owe me that much.”

“
Gràdh geal mo chridhe
.”

She gave him a look of amusement. “Gaelic, Laird Munro?”

He briefly closed his eyes and prayed for strength. “I needed to say the words in my own tongue first because I needed to find the courage to say…” He lifted his hand and gently brushed his fingers against her cheek. “Ye're the bright love of my heart, Elizabeth.” As if fate was once again laughing in Ian's face, pellets of rain fell, stinging their faces.

But neither moved.

Elizabeth was speechless. She was experiencing a wide gamut of emotions from Ian telling her that she was the “bright love of his heart” to his admission of guilt, lies, and deceit. She'd waited so long to hear his words of love, but for some reason, she wasn't feeling as exhilarated as she thought she should've been.

He decided that he'd rather hurt her than admit the truth, even after she'd given him ample opportunity to acknowledge their kiss. She was disappointed that he wasn't the man she thought him to be. Furthermore, what if she gave him another chance only to have him turn around and cause her additional pain? There were only so many times her poor heart could be mended.

As the rain fell harder, men and women darted along the garden path trying to seek shelter from the storm. Elizabeth didn't have enough strength to think, let alone move her body from the bench. Firm hands pulled her from behind, and she immediately recognized the Scottish accent.

“Lass, come out of the rain.” Ruairi placed his arm around her and glared at Ian. “Munro, what the hell are ye doing?”

Ruairi hastily escorted Elizabeth inside the castle walls. She was numb, cold, wet, and confused. The servants were handing out towels for those who were foolish enough to get caught in the rain. Ruairi wrapped one around her and handed her a cloth.

“Thank you.”

“Why did ye nae have enough sense to come into the castle?” Ruairi glanced over her shoulder. “Munro, why were ye sitting with Elizabeth in the heavy rain? Ye did nae think to take her inside?”

When Ian didn't respond, she hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions. She didn't feel the sudden need to come to his rescue like she always had in the past. Trying to weigh all the events, she was swimming through a haze of mixed feelings. She remained frozen in limbo, where all actions and decisions were impossible.

Ruairi wrapped his arm around her, moving his hand up and down her frame. “Ye're trembling. Let me get ye something warm to drink.”

“I'll do it,” said Ian.

“Ye're going to catch the ague if ye donna change your wet clothes. Ye did nae bring anything else to wear, did ye?” asked Ruairi.

“No. Do you think it would be all right if we returned to the inn? I'd like to put on some dry clothes and rest for a while. Laird Munro offered to escort me to the theatre later this afternoon.”

For a moment, Ruairi stared, wordlessly. “He did?”

She patted her hair dry. “Yes. Does that surprise you?”

“Aye, especially because Munro does nae favor plays or art of any kind. Well, I must say that is nae exactly true. He favors my wall hangings. But the only culture he shows an interest in is his own.”

“
Tha e fliuch an diugh
,” said Fagan, shaking off the rain.
It is wet today.
“
Tha tàirneanaich agus dealanaich ann
.”
There's thunder and lightning.
He looked at Elizabeth, and his eyes widened. “Why are ye all wet? Where is Munro?”

“He took his leave to get her something warm to drink. We'll take Elizabeth back to the inn so that she can change her wet clothes. Munro will be escorting the lass to the theatre this afternoon.” Ruairi spoke in an odd tone, and Fagan averted his eyes.

“To tell ye the truth, I much prefer Mistress Betts's cooking over the food at court anyway, and I find myself needing a respite from all the English…er, people attending court.”

Elizabeth laughed to cover her annoyance. “You do realize that if Grace heard those words upon your lips, your other eye would be blackened. Need I remind you the Walsinghams, including your wife, are English?”

“
Cuidich mi
,” said Fagan.
Help me
. He cast Ruairi an imploring look, but her brother-in-law only chuckled, giving his captain a friendly punch in the arm.

“Ye and Munro have much to learn. I keep telling ye both, and yet, ye donna listen.”

“Here ye are, Lady Elizabeth.” Ian handed her a cup of warm broth.

“Thank you.” She took a sip, the warm liquid feeling delightful the entire way down.

“Would ye like me to ride back to the inn and have Mistress Betts pack ye some warm clothes for court? I donna mind,” said Ian with an eager affection.

“No, thank you. I told Ruairi and Fagan that I wouldn't mind returning to rest for a while before we attend the theatre this afternoon. Would that be all right with you?”

He bobbed his head without missing a beat. “Aye, I could use a respite from court.”

Elizabeth smiled at Fagan. “I hope you took notice. Laird Munro doesn't favor the English either, but he was able to hold his tongue this time. The task is not difficult. You should try it more often. Doesn't my sister—or I should say my
sisters
—tell you it's best not to say anything when you don't have anything nice to say?”

“I donna why I miss Grace. She's right here.”

* * *

A storm was brewing, and it wasn't the one that happened an hour ago at the palace. Ruairi was silent the entire way from court. That meant there was something on his mind. Ian only hoped that his attempts to woo Elizabeth were not the reason his friend was troubled.

As soon as they arrived at the inn, the lass retired to her room. He couldn't say that he blamed her. His confession had probably taken her by surprise. From the expression on her face when he'd told her his true feelings, there wasn't any doubt about that.

Ruairi slapped Ian on the shoulder. “Let's have a wee dram, shall we?”

He wouldn't have thought Ruairi's request was odd, but Fagan had conveniently disappeared. And the man never declined a drink in his life. They made their way into the dining hall and sat at the same table in the corner. There were ten men and a handful of women in the room. For several moments, his friend didn't say a word, even when the young lad from the kitchen approached them and set two tankards of ale on the table. The boy walked away, and Ruairi met Ian's gaze.

“We've been friends for years and always held the other's back. Ye're my brother. More often than nae, we even think the same.” Leaning forward in his chair, in a controlled voice, Ruairi said, “So tell me what is happening between ye and Elizabeth.”

Of course, Ian's first reaction was one of complete denial to save his own arse, but his friend saw right through him.

“I'm nae blind nor am I stupid.”

Ian had never lied to Ruairi, even in the worst of times, and wouldn't ruin their friendship by starting now. Besides, he could no longer stand the anticipation. Since there was no way to explain his foolish behavior, he blurted out the words in a single breath, ready to face the consequences of his actions. “I love her.”

His confession wasn't as difficult as he thought it would've been, but Ruairi's expression was a mask of stone. If his friend pulled out his
sgian dubh
and stabbed him through the heart, he wouldn't have been surprised. Ian's misgivings increased by the minute, especially when Ruairi hadn't moved or had yet to say a single word. When a muscle started to tick at his jaw, Ian unknowingly shifted in the seat.

“Did ye ruin her? I will have the truth.” Ian knew he was in trouble when Ruairi spoke through clenched teeth.

“Nay. I give ye my word.”

He sat back in the chair and grinned with no trace of his former animosity. “'Tis about damn time, Munro. The lass has been pining after ye for years. I'm glad to see ye finally took notice.”

Ian lifted his fallen jaw. “Ye're nae cross with me?”

“The only reason I'm cross with ye is for taking so long to see what was before your verra eyes. I'm nae sure what my wife or Grace will think on the matter, but I thank ye for one less Walsingham under my roof.” Ruairi lifted his tankard in mock salute.

“Donna be too pleased. I'm nae sure if there will ever be a wedding in my future.” Ian glanced at his cup, trying to keep the sound of defeat from his voice, but wasn't certain he was successful.

“Och, aye. Ye and Elizabeth will be wed. There is nay taking back your words now. I heard ye say that ye love her, and I know she loves ye.”

Ian chuckled. “If only it were that simple…” His voice became serious. “I'm afraid there is another contender fighting for the lass's affections.”

“Who? Kinghorne? He loves his mother too much to love another woman.”

“I'm not talking about the earl. I'm speaking of the actor, Condell.”

“The man at the archery tournament?”

“Aye.”

Ruairi raked his fingers through his hair. “Munro, just because the man is fair of face does nae mean he has even a chance of capturing Elizabeth's heart. The lass is smart. She would nae throw away three years of love that she held for ye for a mere actor. God's teeth! Ye're a Scottish laird. Furthermore, Elizabeth is a lady. Do ye think Ravenna or Grace would permit her to wed an
actor
who is below her station?”

Ian gave him a knowing look. “Grace wed Fagan, and he's your captain.”

“The two love each other greatly. I donna think anyone or anything can keep them apart, and I would ne'er want to be the one to try.” Ruairi cast a puzzled gaze. “Is that why ye're taking the lass to the theatre…because of Condell? If I discover there is a man killed in Southwark this eve, do I need to worry ye're the cause?”

“Why would I take her to see the enemy if I wanted to cause him harm? Although, I have been tempted to run the bastard through,” he mumbled under his breath. “Nay. I try to win Elizabeth's favor, woo her, but I'm nae certain my efforts are working.”

Mistress Betts walked into the dining hall, and Ruairi smiled. “I have an idea. Will ye trust me with something?”

“I donna think I like where this is going. Do I have a choice?”

“Nay.”

Ruairi cleared his throat. “Mistress Betts, may I see ye for a moment?”

That was the instant Ian pondered if his friend had gone mad or if the man was a genius. The next he knew, he was sitting in his room with Mistress Betts standing behind him with scissors in hand. Ruairi sat on the edge of the bed as he gave the lass pointed instructions. Ian had no choice but to pray for the best and trust his friend.

“Are you certain, Laird Munro? Once I cut, there is no turning back.”

“Dinna fash yourself over it, Mistress Betts, because if it does nae turn out right, ye will nae be to blame.” Ian turned his head and gave Ruairi a hostile glare.

“It would nae be the first time ye've been cross with me. Go ahead, Mistress Betts.”

As soon as the lass placed the scissors against Ian's shoulder, he held up his hand. “Wait.” He glanced down at his long, red locks. Grabbing a section of hair into his hand, he lifted it level to his eyes. “
Mar sin leibh an dràsda.
”
Good-bye for now.

There was a knock at the door, and Fagan called out. Ian cringed because the last he needed was an audience, especially this audience.

“
Thig a-steach
,” said Ruairi.
Come in.

“
Dèan às
!
” called Ian.
Be gone!

The door opened, and he didn't even attempt to turn around because Ruairi and Mistress Betts were all he could handle. Unless he wanted to throw Fagan out the door, Ian didn't have a choice but to provide their entertainment. When Fagan sat beside Ruairi on the bed with an amused look on his face, Ian's mood darkened.

“Ye did nae think I was going to miss this, did ye?” When Ian scowled, Fagan added, “Ye're making the right decision.” He held his hand over his heart. “The things we men must do for love.”

“If ye donna shut your mouth, I will shut it for ye,” Ian warned. He glanced at Mistress Betts. “Go ahead, lass. I want this to be done.”

He sat perfectly still until the sound of the scissors stopped. When he glanced down, his eyes widened. “What the hell?” He picked up his fallen hair that lay in clumps on his lap as Ruairi and Fagan stood. “I must look the fool.”

“Munro, it looks much worse than it is,” said Ruairi. He placed his elbow into Fagan's gut.

“Aye, Munro. Ye do look a few stones lighter,” said Fagan.

Mistress Betts brushed the fallen hair from Ian's clothes and picked up his mane on the floor with a wet cloth. She turned and smiled. “If there isn't anything else, I'll be taking my leave.” She paused. “Lady Elizabeth will love the look of you.”

His felt the heat rise into his cheeks, knowing his face must've turned ten shades of red. When Mistress Betts closed the door, Ian let out a heavy sigh. “Do ye think this is going to work?”

“Aye,” said Ruairi. He gestured to the looking glass. “Why donna ye take a look and see for yourself?”

Ian stood and took a couple steps forward. He barely recognized himself. “What the hell have I done?”

* * *

Elizabeth hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until a little snort escaped her. After being in a damp dress, the warm bed felt heavenly. She didn't want to remove herself from under the blankets, but she was excited to see
Henry VIII
.

This was the day she'd been longing for, a chance to attend the theatre. Even though Ian was escorting her, she'd made up her mind this afternoon was hers to claim. She wasn't going to think about Mister Condell's wooing gesture, and she refused to be plagued by Ian's words of love. Otherwise, she'd go mad. There would be no shadows across her heart. Her intention was to sit back and enjoy a play at the Globe Theatre in Southwark.

She rose from the bed and approached her trunk. She decided to wear the golden gown adorned with the laced bodice, ribbon waistband, and a wheel farthingale. Wanting to look her best for the theatre, Elizabeth pulled out her matching gold silk slippers and set them on the bed.