Sandra Madden (30 page)

"The English do believe the Scottish fight too much among themselves, Father. Your tale will be believed."

"It must be. Ye have stirred interest at court. I overheard Henry Stanton puzzle over yer ring some weeks ago. At the time I thought nothing of it, but now his interest troubles me."

Kate felt an unpleasant twinge in the pit of her stomach. "The queen's adviser has followed me."

" 'Tis worse than I feared. We must make haste. If Stanton recognizes ye as the daughter of a Scottish duke and his dead mistress, ye will no' be regarded as a threat to the crown." The duke paused for a moment. "Ye are not a threat, are ye?"

"God save me, no!"

The duke chuckled, but quickly grew serious again. "An’ daughter, although it might be grand being addressed as the princess ye know ye are, yer life will be safer if ye are known to all as Lady Katherine— daughter of the Duke of Doneval."

Kate smiled. "Princess Katherine. I do like the sound of it," she admitted.

Better yet, she would be delighted to have the Earl of Stamford address her so and pay homage to her royalty. 'Twould serve him right for attempting to marry her off to a widowed bookseller with six children!

" 'Tis a dangerous title," Kate's father reminded her

"Aye, and I have no desire to take part in court intrigue. I am proud to be your daughter."

A gust of wind blew wisps of graying auburn hair from the top of his bare head. "An' ye are a beautiful daughter. I will have documents drawn to show ye are mine."

" 'Tis evident in my height."

"Aye, ye do take after me there."

"Father, I... I would like to see Papa Beadle and talk with him before you proclaim me as your daughter. I should be the one to tell him."

"Aye, lass. We'll visit him on the way to London. I have much to thank him for."

"My thanks to you." Kate kissed her father on the cheek.

The tip of his nose was red from the cold, but the corners of his mouth turned up in a broad smile. "I can see that ye'll be having whatever ye ask for."

"I shall not take advantage of you, Father. Never fear," Kate promised with a laugh. Once more she had forgotten her gloves, and rubbed her icy hands together for warmth. "Must we remain in London long?"

"No, but are ye certain ye will be happy living here at Downes? Ye are a young girl, used to dancing and fishing. And if I am not mistaken the Earl of Stamford is besotted with ye."

"He has been husband hunting for me among the gentry."

The duke hiked a bushy brow. "Aye? Well, now he can marry ye himself, Lady Katherine."

She shook her head. "Edmund has sworn never to marry for love, and I will marry
only
for love."

"Why has the lad taken such a vow?"

"Love brought nothing but misery and death to his father and brother. Lord Stamford therefore wishes to avoid such a fate, and so has decided to marry only to provide an heir."

"Lass, I have loved and lost two bonny women, and I dinna regret a moment. The joy I've known far outweighs the sorrow."

" 'Tis the Earl of Stamford who requires your wisdom."

Her father nodded in solemn agreement. "And I shall share it with the lad at me first opportunity."

"I would like to be there when you do!"

"Come na, lass. Ye'll catch your death in the cold. An' we have much to do if we are to leave for London by week's end."

"I shall come in soon, but first I must play with Percy. He needs to run." She pulled a ball out of her pocket, a toy she'd fashioned stuffed with horsehair and stitched by Sally.

"Dinna stay long." The Duke of Laird bent and kissed her forehead before heading back to the castle.

Donald Cameron was all that Kate could ask for in a father. She would always love Papa Beadle, but rejoiced that the planets had blessed her two times over.

When the duke strode out of sight, Kate turned her attention to the panting dog at her heels.

In the days since Princess Anne's passing, Percy had proved a comfort. Through some sixth sense, Edmund's large, slobbering bloodhound felt Kate's sadness. She was never alone. Percy sat at her feet when she played the lute in her bedchamber, licked her face whenever she sat on her heels to feed or tug at his ears the way she had seen Edmund do. Percy even slept on her bed.

Kate threw the ball as far as she could, and with a frenzied bark, Percy gave chase.

Kate threw the ball several more times to the hound before giving in to the cold. A biting wind from the north slapped at her skirts and stung her cheeks. "Come, boy! Come."

Lowering her head into the wind, she hurried toward the castle, Percy barking at her heels. She had not gone far when she heard the horses and  turned to see who it was.

Henry Stanton approached with two bodyguards and a riderless chestnut mare.

Oh, fie.

An
ominous chill swept through Kate, but she stood her ground as the small group circled her before coming to a halt.

"Sir Henry! Tis an unexpected pleasure to see you so far from England." Kate eyed him with renewed interest. Stanton was one of her aunt's—Queen Elizabeth's—most trusted advisers.

His bovine eyes locked on hers. "I have been to the Duke of Doneval's manor, but he was not in residence. His servants told me that he might be here."

"He is indeed."

A smug smile set on Stanton's thick lips. "But now that I have found you, I do not require a meeting with Doneval."

Kate felt as if she had swallowed a rock. "How, how may I help you?" she stammered.

In reply, Stanton growled an order to his men. "Take her."

"No!"

Kate spun on her heel and ran. Hampered by full skirts, heavy cloak, and foolishly delicate leather slippers, she was easy prey. Within a heartbeat, one of Sir Henry's henchmen leaped from his mount and snagged her. Crushing her forearm, he dragged her back toward the queen's scowling adviser.

Percy jumped and barked at her side.

The guard kicked out but missed the bloodhound.

"Stop!" she cried. "He is but a poor, dumb animal,"

But Edmund had sent Percy in his stead to guard and protect her. Kate felt like an airling. Percy was not so dumb. He urged her, by his insistent barking, to give the command that would set him upon her captor.

Summoning all of her strength, she wrenched free from the blackguard holding her. She stumbled but quickly righted herself. Pointing at the muttering man, Kate issued the order Percy awaited. "Go!"

Edmund's oversized bloodhound launched a snarling, growling attack, pushing the villain to the ground. From the corner of her eye, Kate caught a glint of metal. Stanton leveled a musket at Percy. As soon as the dog subdued the guard and stilled, he would be shot.

She marched toward her canine protector. "Percy, come!"

The bloodhound looked around at Kate in confusion. He had her attacker pinned to the ground. Success was at hand.

"Come," she repeated, sharply.

Timing meant everything. Kate refused to be responsible for the death of Edmund's beloved hound. She could not live with herself if even one hair on the silly beast's head was harmed.

Percy whined his objection, but obeyed. As he turned, Kate threw herself to the ground and wrapped her arms around the panting bloodhound, blocking him from Stanton's line of sight.

"You are a foolish shrew," Sir Henry spat between his teeth.

"Why are you looking for me?" she demanded with false bravado. Every bone and muscle within her trembled.

"The queen desires to speak with you in private."

Kate could not believe him. Threats to the crown were disposed with promptly. No meeting with the queen was required. " 'Tis my father's decision. I beg you to speak with him."

"And who might your father be?" Stanton asked in a mocking tone. "The gardener?"

Kate rose, straightening her shoulders, her head high and the hound behind her. "Donald Cameron, the Duke of Doneval."

"Nay!"

"He has been searching for me all these years. I was stolen by a warring clan and given to the Beadles."

Sir Henry shifted in his saddle. He swiped a clump of dark hair from his face. "Are you telling me that Doneval's journeys to London in the name of King James were also to discover the whereabouts of his abducted babe?"

"Aye. I am." Kate rubbed her bare hands together in a vain attempt to warm them.

"It must have been disheartening to learn you came from a Scot's womb, when you thought yourself English, Mistress Kate."

"My heart is English."

Stanton's penetrating gaze fell to her hands. He jerked his head. "Where is the ring you always wear?"

He knew too much of her.

"I have misplaced it," Kate lied. She had a reputation for misplacing or forgetting necessary items. Perchance Stanton had heard.

"A shame, to be sure." His tone was sharp.

" 'Twas only a trifle."

"But you sought to discover its origins," he countered, ignoring the tic that pulled at his mouth.

Kate found the tic strangely fascinating. "I did, but only because I thought the band might be valuable. No goldsmith I consulted could agree."

"You have no need to sell your baubles any longer. 'Tis well-known that the duke is a wealthy man."

She dipped her head in acknowledgment. "I am certain my father would like to welcome you himself if you will but come to the castle, where it is warm."

"What place is this?"

"Downes Castle, Sir Henry. My home."

With a sigh of defeat, or resignation, the queen's adviser dismounted. "Take me to Doneval then."

* * * *

After leaving Stanton and his men with her Scottish father, Kate took refuge in her bedchamber. She had no doubt the duke would put any remaining suspicions to rest. In turn, Sir Henry would placate the queen. A new life could begin for the duke and his daughter, Lady Katherine.

Lady Katherine. Kate laughed aloud to herself.

Percy cocked his head.

She could hardly wait to begin preparations for the return journey to England. A return held promise of a meeting not only with Papa Beadle but with Edmund as well.

The prospect brought a joyous hum to her body. As the recognized daughter of the Duke of Doneval, Kate was eligible to be Edmund's bride.

Hey-ho!

Owing to her new status, the Earl of Stamford, if he was so inclined, could marry her rather than Judith Witherspoon. In truth, since Kate was of royal blood, Edmund was a touch beneath her.

Kate could not celebrate the astounding discovery that royal blood flowed through her veins, nor did she wish to. She'd made an important discovery in the past few days.

It mattered little whether she was a princess or a gardener's daughter; she could only be Kate. A young woman who had been blessed with the love of two mothers and two fathers. A girl who enjoyed rose gardening, playing the lute, and who looked forward to having her own family one day.

Aye, and she was a bit of a hoyden who thrilled to the challenge of fishing and the longbow and who had a hankering to learn tennis. Lastly, Kate was a woman who had lost her heart years ago to a man she would love for the rest of her life. She would never, could never, love another.

The privilege and fortune she had gained as Donald Cameron's daughter meant Kate would no longer be at the whim of others. She no longer had to earn her way. Although she regretted not having had time with Anne, at least in those final moments questions had been answered and fears put to rest. She knew her natural mother loved her and had made a great sacrifice.

Kate opened her chest to begin packing when Mary, her lady's maid bustled into her chamber. "Lady Katherine, a guest awaits you in the great hall."

"A guest?" She knew no one in Scotland. "How could that be?"

" 'Tis the Earl of Stamford, milady."

* * * *

Kate flew along the corridor and down the stairs, with Percy at her heels. She reached the great hall out of breath. She stopped short at the sight of him. And sucked in her breath.

Tall, leathered, and muscular, he exuded virility. He paced the hall with his hands clasped behind his back, a man more magnificent than any knight in armor. It was all Kate could do not to throw her arms around Edmund's neck and cling to him like warm honey to a spoon.

"Edmund!"

"Kate!" He strode toward her, holding out both hands.

She clasped his hands, warm and engulfing. Her gaze poured over him, drinking in his tall, striking form, his sparkling eyes. Could there ever be a man as compelling and dear as Edmund Wydville, Earl of Stamford?

Dressed almost entirely in black, he might have presented a menacing appearance if it was not for his dazzling smile. A smile that warmed Kate like a blazing hearth on a winter day. A smile that made her feel alive again. In the light of Edmund's wondrous smile, the pain of the recent past evaporated.

With the rapid
pit-a-pat
of her heart, Kate skimmed the familiar, rugged angles of his body. She fancied the dark, mayhap dangerous look, of his finely tailored black costume. Dressed in black broadcloth Venetians, a black sleeveless jerkin worn over a linen doublet, boots, and a black cloak, the earl might have been mistaken for a highwayman—of some wealth.

In the cold stone vestibule, the heat of his magnetism reached out and ignited a warmth within Kate such as she had never known. Her heart pitched every which way, thundering like a runaway mare. Edmund's hands squeezed hers, his gaze held her locked in the sparkling depths of jewel-green seas.

" 'Tis happy I am to find you safe and sound, Kate." He frowned, leaned close, and lowered his voice. "You are safe and sound?"

"Aye, Edmund," she assured him softly, inhaling deeply of his seductive sandalwood scent.

"I am relieved."

Kate struggled to maintain her composure and suppress her excitement. "What brings you all the way to Scotland? How did you find me?"

"I stopped to ask directions to Doneval's estate but—”

"The stars led you to me," she cried. "And I have wonderful news for you."

"As do I!" He dropped her hands and opened the leather purse attached to his low-slung silver chain girdle.