X Marks the Scot (3 page)

“I daresay that is true,” said Catesby, holding up his cup in mock salute. “I’ve never seen anything like him. He is quite the shot.”

Declan shook his head, leaning back casually in the chair. “Ye swell my head and will curse me into bad luck by speaking such words.”

Catesby smacked him on the shoulder. “I don’t think that would happen. Your skill is far too superior. Do you need more ale? I am buying.”

Fawkes banged his tankard on the table. “Hell, Catesby, if you’re buying, I’m drinking. Bring another round!” he shouted, waving his hand in the air.

Percy filled Declan’s tankard and nodded briefly to Catesby. Glancing around the table, Catesby lowered his voice. “Tell me, MacGregor, what are your thoughts toward the king?”

Declan almost choked on his ale and placed his tankard back down on the table. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he cast Catesby a questioning glance. “The king?” he asked, his voice unintentionally going up a notch.

Fawkes leaned forward and his words were loaded with derision. “In April, the Commons refused his request to be titled King of Great Britain. King James still has ambitions to make Scotland and England one country under one law. I’m curious, MacGregor. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

Taking another drink of ale, Declan shrugged. He’d known Percy, Catesby, and Fawkes only for the brief time he’d been at court. They’d engaged him in some form of sport one way or another, but he was not well enough acquainted with these men to speak so openly.

“I donna judge a man by his title. Ne’er have. His Majesty just signed a peace treaty with Spain and stopped the war. Besides, he is holding a great banquet in celebration,” said Declan, holding up his tankard. This could quickly turn into a dangerous conversation. He needed to promptly change the subject. “There will surely be flowing ale and plenty of lasses.”

Fawkes studied him closely. “Then tell us, MacGregor, do you side with the realm and practice the Protestant religion or do you hold fast to your roots?”

Declan leaned back in the chair. All of the men were on the edge of their seats waiting for his response when a warning voice whispered in his head. Who in the hell would care what he thought? He was no one. These were certainly not matters to be discussed freely in a tavern with so many open ears. Men had been killed for less.

He held a blank expression. “Ye know? There are two things I donna think men should speak upon when they are in their cups—politics and religion.” He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Just as he thought, the men followed suit.

At that moment, Declan became astutely aware that this was not a chance gathering. These men were plotting…and they wanted something from him.

Liadain stood in a corner, attempting to be a wallflower. As soon as she could manage, she would make a fleeing attempt back to her chamber. The heat was unbearable. Even with her hair pinned up, sweat dripped down her back. Reaching behind her, she gently pulled the moistened gown away from her skin.

She glanced around the room, hoping to see if any other women were just as miserable. Perhaps she could find someone to share in this brutal torture. To her dismay, the women danced and laughed as if they had not a care in the world.

They were dressed in their finery, their escorts looking much the same. She yearned for the rugged Highlands, and although it pained her to admit as much, perhaps even one Highlander in particular.

Although MacGregor sparred with her constantly, Liadain had become accustomed to his stalking behavior. At any given moment, she would be able to lift her eyes and spot him through the crowd. It was if he always knew where she was and was looking after her from afar—always from afar. Without him tonight, she felt oddly bereft.

The sounds of laughter hammered at her nerves. Now was the perfect opportunity to make her escape. Walking along the outer edge of the ballroom, she discreetly made her way into the hall.

A short man approached her with a sly grin. “Escaping already, my lady?”

Liadain returned a nervous laugh. “I am trying.”

Standing to his full height, which was not much, the man extended his hand, his breath reeking of ale. “I do not believe we have been formally introduced.” Grabbing her hand, he bent over and planted a wet kiss on the top of it, giving her a view of his balding top. “I am Lord Dunnehl.” Lifting his head, he narrowed his dark eyes as he studied her. “And you are a very beautiful woman, if you do not mind me being so forward.”

She pulled her hand away. “Thank ye. Pray excuse me.” As she attempted to move around him, he stepped to the side and blocked her path.

The English lord chuckled with a dry and cynical sound. “Now, now,” he said in a singing voice. “I did not mean to frighten you. Besides, you have not yet shared your name.”

Liadain smiled and knew the smile did not quite reach her eyes. Something about this man made her uneasy. Whether it was his shifty stance or the lecherous looks he threw her way, she could not say, but everything about him told her to tread carefully.

Lord Dunnehl stretched out his arms to stay her. “You are a relation to the Earl of Argyll, are you not?”

Looking around for another means of escape, she shifted from foot to foot. “Aye, he was my half brother.”

“Please accept my sincere condolences. And why is it that Archie never said that he had such a lovely sister?” He gave her body a bold and raking gaze.

“My brother and I werenae verra close. I am sure he ne’er mentioned me. If ye will excuse me, I will be retiring,” she said hastily.

He cast a menacing look. “Alone?”

That was all she could take. Her lips pursed in annoyance as she tried willfully to control her tongue. Standing to her full height, she towered over the petite man. “Aye. Good eve, sir.” Liadain brushed past him and strode away as fast as her skirts would allow. Once inside the security of her chamber, she bolted the door. At least MacGregor always kept the scoundrels at bay.

***

Declan shared a small room in the village with the men. The floor was hard and unwelcoming. It was not as warm and soft as sharing a comfortable bed with a desirable, willing lass. When he thought of the healer, he wondered if His Majesty would marry her off to a Highland laird or perhaps even choose an English lord. Then again, what difference would that make and why should he even care? She was a bloody Campbell, an enemy of the MacGregors, and he was only a third son.

He was nothing.

Rolling over, Declan reminded himself that she was only another wily female—no different from his sister-by-marriage, Aisling.

The healer complained that he watched over her constantly and insisted she could take care of herself. Yet, when he saw her in a crowd, her emerald eyes would find him and she would grace him with a smile. She was completely unaware of the captivating picture she made when she did so. Her behavior this eve had caught him by surprise. She believed he was deserting her. He was not a total arse—well, at least not in this instance. He would remain until the king…He turned back over. Why was this woman consistently consuming his thoughts?

He must have dozed off because the next he knew, the sun’s rays shined brightly through the window in the early hours of the morn. Declan rubbed his eyes until his vision cleared. Catesby slept in the bed, and Percy and Fawkes moaned from the floor.

“Too much ale,” Percy groaned, reaching for the chamber pot.

Slowly, Declan pulled himself up. “I go below stairs to break my fast. Do ye come along?”

“MacGregor, how can you eat after last eve?” asked Fawkes in astonishment.

Declan chuckled. “I am used to my brother’s ale and ’tis much stronger than what we drank last eve.”

“Your stomach must be made of iron, my dear boy,” grunted Catesby, sitting up on the bed and running his hands through his hair.

“I will meet ye below stairs when ye all can move.”

Declan broke his fast companionless, chuckling to himself. Apparently, he was the only one who could handle his drink—well, he did have years of discipline. But it was the conversation from last eve, not the ale, that continued to gnaw at his gut. Why all of the questions and why ask his opinion on such matters? His instincts were definitely on alert; he would have to keep his eyes and ears open.

Sluggishly, Catesby, Percy, and Fawkes made their way down the steps a short while later. Bloodshot eyes and pale faces nodded in greeting as they mumbled something incoherent about the stables and staggered outside.

Declan tossed the last piece of biscuit into his mouth, then walked briskly to the stables. The fresh air gave him new life. He inhaled deeply, the cool breeze clearing his senses. He found the men ready to ride—more or less. Fawkes was mounted. Percy grunted, pulling himself awkwardly upon his mount, and Catesby looked as though he was going to faint.

Englishmen…

Declan swung up effortlessly onto his mount and was ready to ride. “Do we head back to court then?”

Dropping the reins, Percy clasped both hands over his ears. “Shh…MacGregor. I go to my chamber and seek my bed…for days.”

Declan laughed. “Mayhap ye should just pour the ale with the other wenches and leave the drinking to the men.”

“It pains me too greatly to argue. I think I will just remain silent,” said Percy with a grunt.

As they rode back to court, the only sound beyond the horses’ hooves was that of an occasional groan or two from the Englishmen. Returning to court, the men secured their mounts and Percy, Catesby, and Fawkes retired to their chambers. Declan was surprised that they walked on their own accord. He would see to the healer and confirm that nothing untoward had occurred while he was away. Although, he was not sure she would be completely honest with him if it had.

Stubborn
female…

Perhaps she would like to go for a walk with him. Declan knew the confines of court were restricting her. And of course he felt somewhat guilty for having some enjoyment while she was stuck at court.

***

Liadain opened her bedchamber door and MacGregor stood there, devilishly handsome. His windblown hair brushed his face and his crystal-blue eyes sparkled. She had to remember to breathe.

He nodded in greeting. “Healer.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “MacGregor.”

“I take it ye didnae cause too much trouble last eve since ye are standing here before me.”

She smirked in response. “I figured ye caused enough unruliness in the village for the both of us.”

He paused, running a hand through his hair. “Do ye wish to go for a walk?” She must have had a startled look upon her face because he quickly added, “I know ye have been confined and thought ye might enjoy some air.”

“I would love to join ye. Do I need a cloak?”

“Nay, ’tis plenty warm enough.” He stepped aside and she walked out into the hall.

She cast him a thankful smile as they walked to the gardens. As they ambled along the stone path, flowers filled the air with scented sweetness. Several hedges formed a trail along the way that led to the fountains, but they chose to stay on course.

“So how do ye fare?” MacGregor asked, placing his hand at the small of her back and then hastily removing it.

Nervously, she looked away from him, casting her eyes to the ground. “I am well. How was yester eve? I see ye live.”

He chuckled in response. “I am alive. Howbeit Percy, Catesby, and Fawkes nae so much. As soon as we returned this morn, they all sought their beds. I am still nae sure how Percy made it back without falling from his mount.”

“If ye wish it, I could make them something to ease their pain.”

He shook his head. “Nay, let them suffer. ’Tis their own fault their English blood cannae handle ale.”

Walking past a man and a woman, they nodded in greeting. The man placed his arm protectively around the woman’s back and Liadain smiled at the loving gesture. “I know I have asked this of ye, but how much longer do ye think it will take King James to…”

He stopped abruptly. Turning her to face him, MacGregor placed both of his hands on the top of her shoulders. He towered over her and smiled down at her with compassion. “I donna know and I am sure ’tis on your mind. If ye wish it, I could request an audience with His Majesty.”

“’Tisnae necessary. I donna know what he has planned for me and I donna rush to find out.”

He hesitated, measuring her for a moment. “I know ye arenae fond of court, lass. If there was anything I—”

“Nay, I donna like it overmuch. My apologies that ye must suffer as well,” she said, raising her hand to touch his cheek in a gentle gesture. She offered him a comforting smile, favoring him when he was like this and not being—well, an arse. There had been a handful of times when he dropped the pretenses and she had seen another man that existed within. She hoped that man would appear more often.

“Donna worry about me,” he said, his eyes darkening like a summer storm.

She licked her lips and suddenly imagined being crushed within his embrace. The idea sent her spirits soaring. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, the pull was stronger each time she saw him. He made her feel like a young, breathless lass. Deliberately, she tried to shut out any awareness of him. With a firm resolve, she reminded herself that he had many other conquests, and frankly, she did not want to be added to his list of exploits.

“Ye donna think we should be together again. Yet, ye have clearly replaced me with another,” said a woman’s voice from behind MacGregor.

Liadain jumped back away from him. MacGregor turned and faced the woman, but Liadain could not see her face. It was not for lack of trying. The view was blocked by his massive form.

“Now isnae the time,” he said dryly.

Stepping around him, the woman surveyed Liadain slowly from head to toe. The woman gave an overly dramatic curtsy. “Pray excuse me, my lady. I didnae realize he dallied…” As if she had second thoughts, the woman pulled MacGregor to the side, not even making an effort to lower her voice. “Papa took his leave this morn and I want to meet ye after the celebration.”

This was clearly a private conversation—one Liadain did not particularly want to be a part of. “MacGregor, I will take my leave—”

Spinning toward her, he held Liadain in place with a wide-eyed look of desperation.

She could not stay the giggle that escaped her lips. Though it served the wretch right, she still felt sorry for him. He was clearly backed into a corner, searching for a means of escape. For a brief moment, she thought to flee, but she was a healer. She couldn’t stand to see anyone suffer.

Liadain boldly placed her hand on his rock-hard forearm and fixed the blond with a withering gaze. Nodding to the woman, she said in a firm tone, “I donna share, my lady.”

Liadain could feel MacGregor’s stare boring into her. As their eyes met, she felt a shock jolt through her and she was amazed at the thrill he gave her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his thumb making light, circular caresses.

“She doesnae share me.”

The woman stammered in confusion. “My apologies, my lady,” she said, bobbing a brief curtsy before she ran off.

Liadain could not help herself as she burst out laughing.

***

Declan was rendered speechless. He could not say what surprised him more—the fact that the persistent woman would not yield or the fact that the healer actually came to his rescue.

“Why would ye do that?”

Her gentle laugh rippled through the air. “Your eyes said that ye were in desperate need…of escape.”

“There is that,” he said, shaking his head in astonishment as he watched the blond woman sulk away. Turning his attention back to his champion, he smiled. “I truly thank ye, and my apologies that ye heard…er, her words.”

She waved him off. “A word of advice, if I may?”

Declan twisted his mouth in annoyance. “I donna think I have a choice,” he said dryly.

“If ye continue to behave as a rogue, MacGregor, ye will always find yourself in these situations. Howbeit ye arenae my husband so I donna have a care,” she quickly added. “But when ye settle down with a wife, she may. Just something for ye to think upon,” she said with an air of indifference as she continued to walk.

For some reason, her words disturbed him. Granted, if he ever wed, his wife might have such concerns over his dalliances, but what bothered him more was the fact that the healer was not troubled. He was taken aback because she was unaffected by his wicked behavior. Perhaps he was mistaken and what he’d thought were stolen glances were only that—nothing more.

He shook off their conversation and they continued to walk as if the incident never happened. What was the matter with him? Prior to the woman’s untimely interruption, the thought actually crossed his mind to kiss…the
healer
.