“The lad or lass isnae due for several more moons,” Hardi pointed out.
“I ken, but I don’t begrudge her any eagerness. She’s waited a long time to get with child, so the anticipation must be difficult to ignore. If sewing the gown pleases my godmother, then I’m happy to do it.” Blair was careful not to admit her connection to the queen too loudly. It was a secret few knew, and she preferred to keep it that way.
“Ye are a lass of many talents. I remember ye practiced yer stitching on ma leines. Dougal and I had the bonniest clothes of all the men in the lists,” Hardi chuckled.
“Maude was sewing her own clothes, so what else did I have to work on?” Blair countered.
“Lachlan and Michael’s clothes.” Hardi bit his tongue when several heads turned back at his rumbling laughter. “Though I’m certain yer skills with a needle and thread have only improved. I have some mending ye can do if ye tire of yer fancy stitching.”
Blair shot him a withering glare as they stopped to allow an approaching couple to pass. It offered an excuse for them to fall back further from the group. Blair clasped her hands before her as she summoned the courage to return to talking about Hardi’s impending meeting with the king.
“Do you have any idea what the king may ask of you, other than your oath of fealty?”
“Nay. There’s bound to be matters regarding our neighbors and ongoing strife with the Mackintoshes and Macphersons, but I dinna ken what he might ask of me.”
“Did your uncle give you any hint of what pledges he made to the Bruce that the king will expect you to uphold?” Blair asked.
Hardi shook his head. “I ken the king can order ma clan to provide warriors, and we proudly support him. We will lend any aid asked of us. There are the taxes I’m here to pay. King Robert granted us extra land nae long after the war ended, so he may inquire aboot its use. I have several missives ma uncle left me, and some concern potential clan alliances. It may interest King Robert to learn of the negotiations ma uncle began.”
“Alliances?” Blair’s stomach tightened as she thought about what usually bound clans together. She feared that Hardi would mention an impending betrothal. She didn’t understand why the thought suddenly bothered her so much.
“Aye. Trading grain and wool mostly,” Hardi’s tone reassured Blair that there wasn’t anything of grave concern, but it only bothered her more not knowing if a betrothal might be on Hardi’s horizon.
Hardi considered whether to tell Blair about the graver matters in the missives his uncle left him. He didn’t want to worry her or bore her with the reality of how precarious his position was with two rival clans breathing down his neck. But he also knew Blair was the only person at court who he could trust with the information, and the only person he could ask to read the missives to him to refresh his memory before meeting with Robert the Bruce. He drew Blair off the path, his hand lightly grasping her elbow.
“There are several missives that ma uncle left me. Some of them contain troubling information. I didna want to trouble ye with ma woes, but I need to ask for yer help. It would serve me well to have those details fresh in mind to prepare for King Robert’s inevitable questioning. Will ye read them to me?” Hardi tried to keep his voice even despite his embarrassment at having to ask Blair to complete such a simple task. A task a laird should have been able to do on his own.
“Of course. Hardi, please don’t hide things from me if I can help you. I won’t pretend to understand your position as laird, but I can still aid you by reading anything that benefits—or might harm—you.” Hardi looked into Blair’s beseeching eyes, finding himself lured into their deep whisky hue. He would have promised her anything if it meant he didn’t have to look away. Intelligence, kindness, and worry drew him in.
“I will accept yer offer. I trust ye, Blair.” Hardi realized he’d never spoken truer words as he continued to lock eyes with the petite woman standing before him. He’d looked into those eyes countless times in the six years he lived among the Sutherlands, but they’d never before felt so magnetic.
Blair bit her lower lip as she considered the offer she wanted to make. She didn’t want to insult Hardi, but she knew she could help him by doing more than just reading the missives. Before she could speak, he pulled her lip loose from where her teeth were creating divots.
“Ye shall bite yer way through it,” Hardi warned.
“Hardi, will you let me teach you to read?” Blair blurted. She felt her cheeks go up in flames. “I mean, since I still remember how, mayhap I could teach you what I ken.”
“Dinna do that, Blair. That really will anger me. Dinna pretend to nae be intelligent or educated just because I amnae. Dinna make it sound like ye dinna read anymore and that it’s some far stretch for ye to do so. I’m certain ye read most days.” A hard edge crept into Hardi’s voice, and Blair regretted sounding foolish after agreeing to read the missives, but she’d feared offending him. Once more, Hardi seemed to read her mind. “I amnae too proud to ask and accept yer help. I asked if Lachlan could teach me, but he couldnae stay. Just because ye’re a lass doesnae mean ye arenae able to teach me what I need to ken. I dinna pretend to be more than I am, so dinna pretend to be less than ye are.”
Hardi’s steely gaze and iron tone didn’t intimidate Blair; still, she could see the resolve within Hardi that would make him a powerful laird. She prayed that she could teach him the mundane tasks that would be as much of a necessity as swinging a sword. She searched his face, but she wasn’t certain what she was looking for. She couldn’t name what she needed to see, but a sense of reassurance and calm swept over her. Perhaps it was a hint of the boy she’d once known that still lurked within Hardi. The familiarity that had developed over six years of growing up together was once again in place.
“I’m sorry,” Blair murmured.
“Blair, who is this meek creature? This isnae the lass I kenned growing up, or even the young woman I kenned when I left. Dinna be anyone ye arenae when ye are with me. Dinna simper and coddle me. It willna do either of us any good, and I havenae long to stay here and play games. If this is who ye must be at court, then do what ye must. But I hope ye can be yerself with me. We’ve kenned each other too long to be aught else.”
Blair lifted her chin and set back her shoulders, her eyes narrowed as her mouth set in a firm line. Hardi wanted to laugh as he recognized the stubborn expression he’d seen all too often. He waited with bated breath to hear what Blair would order him to do. He admitted to himself that he had followed her about like a puppy when they were younger. While not spoiled or arrogant, Blair had an inherent sense of command that made people comply with minor effort on her part.
“Meet me in the music room we were in a few days ago and bring any missives you have,” Blair’s burr fell from her voice, and she once more sounded like a lady-in-waiting rather than a Highland lass. “Do not keep me waiting, and for the sake of all the saints, be discreet.”
“Aye, my lady.” Hardi stood from the bench they’d found and offered his hand, bowing over hers. “As you wish.”
Blair nodded, but she looked down her nose at Hardi despite his superior height. “You told me not to pretend to be someone I’m not. Get rid of that hideous Scots accent and sound like a proper Highlander.” She didn’t wait for a response, spinning on her heel before sweeping through the garden. If Hardi didn’t understand Blair’s need to appear from the gardens as though she hadn’t just arranged a secret rendezvous with a man—even if they would only be talking—he would have found her haughtiness obnoxious. Instead, it seemed somehow endearing. He knew she was protecting him just as much as herself. If anyone learned they’d been together without a chaperone, they’d be forced to marry. Blair was attempting to keep him from being trapped.
Hardi returned to the chamber he’d shared with Lachlan, the chamberlain having given him permission to remain until he, too, departed Stirling Castle. He unlocked the small chest he’d brought with him that carried various documents his uncle left in
his possession before his death. His uncle read most of them to Hardi, but now he had no way of knowing which was which. He also couldn’t remember everything they contained. He’d been swallowed whole by his grief and overwhelmed at the prospect of becoming laird when he’d sat beside his uncle’s bed. The man’s rasping voice had often been difficult to hear and understand. Coupled with Hardi’s inability to remain focused, most of what Hardi heard had gone in one ear and out the other. What he recalled was his uncle’s warning that he shouldn’t share at least three of the missives with the clan council until the king officially recognized Hardi as laird to Clan Cameron. Hardi wished he’d marked those. He dropped the folded pieces of parchment into his sporran and slipped from his chamber.
Hardi was nearly to the music room when he recognized three MacMillan men approaching him. Their clans were allies, so Hardi knew there was little chance he could avoid being detained. He was certain Blair would already be waiting, but he would only appear suspicious and rude if he didn’t stop.
“Hardwin,” Henry MacMillan greeted him, thrusting out his arm before clasping Hardi’s forearm in a warrior handshake. “My mother and father would have me pass along their condolences. You have mine as well.”
Hardi listened to the man’s insincere tone. He was certain that Laird and Lady MacMillan would mean well, but Henry was arrogant and self-centered. The man had adopted a Scots accent when they were younger, much like many members of a laird’s family, but he wielded it as though it were a weapon to make others feel inferior.
“Ma thanks to ye and yer kin.” In contrast, Hardi allowed the words to roll across his tongue, his burr more pronounced than ever. “Are ye here to pay yer taxes as I am?”
“Pay taxes, pay whores. A little of both, I suppose.” Henry’s comment drew laughter from the men beside him, but it died when Hardi failed to smile. Henry shifted uncomfortably before continuing. “Aye. We arrived recently. Just in time to see you strolling among the ladies-in-waiting. Imagine my surprise to see you and little Blair Sutherland slipping away together as the queen and her ladies continued their walk. I waited for you for as long as I could, but alas you never appeared.”
Hardi refused to take the bait. “Aye. We spoke of ma new position as laird. Lady Blair asked how things are among the Camerons. We parted ways while in the garden. I returned to my chamber, and I believe the queen expected her.” None of what he said was a lie. He merely left out the part about needing Blair to read the missives to him. And he didn’t intend to confess that the queen might have expected Blair, but she’d been offering to teach him to read instead. He wished to change the subject, and he was certain he knew how. “MacMillan, perhaps we can share a table at the evening meal.”
“It’s MacGillemhaoil,” Henry snarled. His branch of the MacMillan clan preferred the alternative address. Hardi had never understood why being known as “son of a tonsured servant” was so imperative. To his mind, they were the same MacMillans as those known as “son of one who bore the tonsure of St. John” or Mhaoil-Iain. Either way, he knew it drew Henry’s attention away from discussing Blair. “Aye. We shall join you, but you will pay for the first round of whisky when we go to the tavern later.”
Hardi hid his grimace. He had no intention of going anywhere with Henry or the other MacMillans. He wasn’t interested in finding himself in a tavern fight, nor was he interested in bedding a whore. He nodded and stepped out of the MacMillans’ way, silently encouraging Henry to continue to wherever he headed. Hardi breathed a sigh of relief when he recalled there were two more turns down different passageways before he would reach Blair’s hiding place, so Henry wasn’t likely to see where he went. As he made his way, he kept his ears open for even the softest footsteps following him. At each turn, he glanced back to see if he’d gained an extra shadow or three. He strained to see into the distance in each direction before slipping into what appeared to be an empty room.
Eight
“Ye can come out, Blair. Tis only me.” Hardi looked toward the window embrasures and watched as Blair materialized from behind an enormous tapestry that hung to the floor. She’d once been the best at playing hide-and-seek, but Hardi had learned where to look for her first. He’d caught a whiff of her lemongrass scent as he entered, so he knew she’d arrived before him. He turned back to the door and locked the portal before offering an unrepentant smile. She watched as Hardi approached. His broad shoulders looked as if they could bear the weight of the world, and Blair feared that was how he felt.
“Before ye chew ma leg off for keeping ye waiting, I ran into Henry MacMillan.” Hardi held his hands up in surrender, but Blair was happy to hear the humor in his voice.
Blair arched an eyebrow as she smirked. “And which tavern will you be going to first? The Wolf and Sheep, The Merry Widow, or The Picked Over Plum.”
Hardi’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, shocked that Blair knew the unofficial names of the three bawdiest taverns in Stirling. The Wolf and Sheep was known for a tavern owner and whores who fleeced their customers after getting them drunk with cheap whisky. The Merry Widow was where matrons from court slipped away to their illicit assignations. And the whores from The Picked Over Plum couldn’t remember the blush of youth.
“Don’t look so shocked and don’t you dare reprimand me for knowing. I’ve been here for three years. How could I not ken aboot such places?” Blair didn’t contain her merriment as Hardi grew redder in the face. “You needn’t fear that I’ve been to any of those places. At least not after dark.”
“Blair,” Hardi warned.
“I’ve walked past them enough times to know one from another, and neither of us needs to pretend I don’t know what happens there. I might not be a guest at any of those establishments, but I know both men and women who are. I won’t judge if you’re among them.”
Hardi stalked across the chamber before stopping with his hands on his hips. He leaned over to bring himself at eye level with Blair. “I dinna go whoring. I have nay wish for the pox, and I’m nae interested in aught a woman can offer that she finished doing five minutes ago with someone else.”
Blair cocked her head to the side and cast Hardi a look that said she didn’t believe him, but she chose not to argue. “Very well. Keep yourself to your leman. But I ken where you, Dougal, Lachlan, and Michael used to go.”
Hardi’s face grew so red, Blair feared a vein would rupture. “What I got up to back then was nae yer concern. And to be clear, Michael didna do aught but drink. And as for a leman, who the bluidy hell said I keep one?”
Blair shrugged. “You’re not married, and you’re very braw. I just assumed.” She shrugged once again.
“I dinna keep a mistress, and I dinna go wenching.”
“But ye’re a mon with needs,” Blair persisted, attempting to swallow her laugh as Hardi grew more uncomfortable.
“I’m a mon who needs to learn how to lead his bluidy clan,” Hardi snapped, and Blair was immediately contrite.
“I didn’t mean to imply you shirk your duties. It’s none of my business who you do or don’t visit. I’m sorry.” Blair’s apology eased Hardi’s frustration, and he reminded himself that it had been a long time since they’d seen one another. They may have fallen back into their jovial relationship, but Blair had no way to know what life had been like for him over the past few years. He’d been too grief stricken to think of bedding a woman often. He’d sought release but never found comfort. Eventually, he opted to forgo visiting the village women he’d once preferred. They asked too many questions about how he felt, and he didn’t have the strength or trust to explain his emotions. He’d been a veritable recluse the past several months, training in the lists and meeting with his uncle, then the clan council. He took meals in his Great Hall only because he couldn’t ignore his clan’s expectations.
“I dinna mean to be short-tempered, lass. I ken ye were teasing. There hasnae been much time for merriment of late, and there isnae a woman I dally with.” Hardi watched Blair nod, but she opt
ed to remain quiet as she led them toward a table with chairs on each side. She gestured to a seat before gathering and lighting several candles. The light in the chamber was dim and would make it difficult to read whatever the documents contained without the candles. Hardi drew the folded vellum from his sporran and laid them out on the table. He opened each one, stacking them by the handwriting since he had no other way of categorizing them. Blair slipped into the chair beside him, waiting for him to offer her the first one to read. When he didn’t move, she glanced at him. “Lass, I dinna ken what any of them say. I mean Uncle Farlane read them to me, but I dinna ken one from another now.”
Blair turned her head to look sideways at Hardi, sensing his embarrassment now that they sat together, and the proof of his lack of education sat before them. She placed her smaller hand over his fist that lay on the table. She tunneled her fingers into his palm before brushing her thumb over his knuckles. She drew her hand away just before Hardi opened his to accept her touch. Her sympathetic gesture surprised him, but he felt bereft once it ended. For a heartbeat, he hadn’t felt alone. The aching isolation had disappeared while he held Blair in the garden the morning Lachlan left, but it had returned as soon as they parted. And for a moment, just now, he’d had another respite.
It took Blair quite some time to make her way through the missives. Several were written so poorly that she had to guess what certain lines meant. There were more that she expected, so time slipped away quickly. As though she sensed his ever-churning emotions, Blair laid down the final missive she’d picked up but hadn’t read. She turned to face Hardi.
“Ye can talk to me aboot aught, Hardi. I willna think less of ye for aught ye tell me. I willna push ye, but ken that I am here if ye should want an ear to listen to ye.” In the privacy and intimacy of the music room, Blair didn’t notice that she abandoned her refined speech. She turned back to the missive before Hardi could respond, and he appreciated that she had. He was grateful not to be put on the spot to answer, and she didn’t see the tears that misted his eyes. He nodded, knowing she would see the movement in her peripheral vision, but the lump in his throat kept him from speaking. He watched as Blair reread one document after another before sitting back. Her grave expression matched how he’d felt each time his uncle shared one with him.
A Saint at the Highland Court: A Friends to Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 6) Page 5