He seemed to know all sorts of things about her, and had since the moment they met. It was both annoying and flattering.
“How was the Regalia Ceremony, dear?” Victoria asked. “Poor Sir Walter seemed quite anxious about it when we spoke last week.”
“It was an immensely ridiculous spectacle,” Arnprior replied. “I’ve never seen so many oddly dressed Highlanders in my life.”
“That’s because many of them weren’t really Highlanders,” Graeme said.
“It sounds quite jolly, if you ask me,” Ainsley said.
Arnprior grimaced. “Sadly, there was a mishap. In the crush, one of the viewing stands collapsed. There were some injuries.”
“How dreadful!” Victoria exclaimed.
“And that, my love, is exactly why you’re not to attend any of these events during the king’s visit,” he said. “I’ll not have you putting yourself at risk.”
“I can’t avoid everything,” Victoria protested. “The king won’t like it.”
“I don’t give a tinker’s damn about the king,” replied her protective husband. “He can get crushed by the mob, but my wife will not.”
“His Majesty specifically told me he was looking forward to seeing her ladyship at the reception at Holyrood and at the two balls to be held at the Assembly Rooms.” Sabrina smiled at Arnprior. “The guest lists for those events are tightly controlled. No mobs allowed.”
“Victoria will be well guarded, Nick,” Graeme said. “My word on it.”
The brothers exchanged what Sabrina could only describe as a meaningful look before Arnprior gave a nod and went to fetch a whisky.
“Bossy man,” Victoria muttered.
“Was Grant with you?” Royal asked Arnprior. “I thought he’d be back by now.”
“He was near the collapsed stand, and he helped to pull out the victims. He arrived home a few minutes ago, and went directly up to change.”
Graeme instantly rose. “I’d best check on him.”
He was halfway across the room when a man who was quite obviously Grant Kendrick came through the door. The brothers exchanged a brief hug, although Graeme kept a protective hand on the back of his twin’s neck.
“All right, lad?” Graeme asked.
Grant mustered a smile. “I’ll survive.”
Graeme’s sharp gaze flickered over him. “No damage done?”
“Not to me. Others weren’t so fortunate.”
“We’ll talk later. For now, come and have a drink and meet our guest.”
Sabrina rose to her feet.
“Lady Sabrina Bell,” Graeme said, “allow me to introduce my brother, Grant.”
Grant bowed over her hand with a polite smile. “It’s a pleasure, my lady.”
She smiled back. “Likewise, sir.”
Although the twins shared an incredibly strong resemblance, Sabrina could easily tell the difference between them. There was a brash, restless energy to Graeme, while his twin seemed quiet—almost solemn.
Until a few short months ago, Sabrina would have laid odds in a betting book that she’d have preferred quiet and solemn to brash and restless. The times had certainly changed.
Once Grant had settled in with a generous whisky and some sandwiches, the conversation again turned to the king’s visit. Lord Arnprior asked Sabrina a few gently pointed questions about His Majesty’s plans, which she found slightly puzzling. When she flashed Graeme a quizzical look, he simply returned a bland smile.
“I’m quite looking forward to seeing the king,” Ainsley said.
“You and half of Scotland,” Arnprior commented. “The city is bursting with visitors.”
“Let’s hope the other half are also looking forward to it,” Royal said. “And pray they don’t do something stupid.”
Sabrina frowned. “Are you expecting trouble? Everything seems quite well planned, from what the king told me.”
A sudden silence followed her remark. The various Kendricks exchanged more veiled glances.
“I’m sure everything will be perfectly fine,” Arnprior said.
“More tea, anyone?” Victoria brightly interjected.
That fact that Graeme was avoiding Sabrina’s eye confirmed for her that there was a problem involving the king’s visit. It was a very good thing then, that she loved solving problems.
Chapter Ten
With Nick at the port of Leith taking part in the arrival ceremony, it fell on Graeme and Royal to transport the family to Union Street for the king’s official entrance into the city. Given the massive crowds, getting there in time would be a challenge.
“Where is everyone?” Royal asked as he joined Graeme in the front hall. “If we’re late, Nick will kill us.”
“There was a bit of a brangle over Grandda’s choice of attire.”
“That sounds alarming.”
“I’m sure we’re in for a grand surprise. You, though, are entirely on point.”
Royal eyed the cockaded hat he loosely twirled on his hand. “Victoria has been nose-deep in that blasted pamphlet. She’d have my hide if I didn’t comply with her orders.”
Leaving nothing to chance, Sir Walter Scott had issued a pamphlet detailing the appropriate attire and conduct during the king’s visit. For the opening processional, “gentlemen of the city” had been instructed to wear blue coats, white waistcoats, and white cotton trousers. The finishing touch was to be a dark hat decorated with a patriotic cockade. Actual participants in the formal procession were dressed in more Highland traditional garb, as befitting the king’s Scottish escorts.
Royal eyed Graeme. “You, however, are not on point, and Victoria will not approve.”
Graeme had chosen plain attire to help him blend into the crowds of ordinary people. “Fortunately, I convinced her that it was my job to protect the king, not lark about in funny outfits.”
“One can hardly walk two feet without tripping over a soldier or a constable. It’ll be fine.”
Though it was a slight exaggeration, trouble did seem unlikely. Graeme had spent the last three days and a good part of each night roaming the more unsavory parts of town, his ear close to the ground. So far, he’d neither heard nor seen anything of real concern. Even Nick had suggested he was being over-cautious.
No point in taking risks, though. Besides, his work had the benefit of keeping him away from Sabrina, who was proving to be a challenge to his peace of mind.
“I’m sure you’re right,” he told Royal. “The biggest danger should come from getting squished by a gaggle of idiots or expiring of boredom waiting for the Sassenach king.”
“There is nothing boring about the king’s visit,” Vicky said as she marched out from the back hall. “And I will have no more disrespectful chatter, Graeme Kendrick.”
He bit back a smile. “Yes, my lady.”
Vicky was as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm. She would be meeting her father for the first time, a man who just happened to be the monarch.
His sister-in-law frowned. “Where are the others? I will leave without them, if necessary.”
Ainsley appeared at the top of the staircase. “I’m here. And Sabrina—”
“Right behind you,” said the lady in question, pulling on her gloves as she joined her friend.
Garbed in a primrose dress with a formfitting blue spencer, Sabrina floated down the stairs in Ainsley’s wake. She looked like a bloody angel. For most of his adult life, Graeme had lived surrounded by beautiful women, his sisters-in-law. In his wilder days, he’d been lucky enough to sample the feminine delights of more than one willing, winsome lass or buxom widow.
But those days were long gone. Mostly because of Nick’s stern tutelage on the subject, Graeme had thankfully never hurt a woman or taken advantage of one who wasn’t eager to take advantage back. Still, he’d yet to meet a woman who truly claimed his heart. And he’d been making damn sure to keep it that way—both for him and for any lassie that crossed his path.
And then he met Lady Sabrina Bell.
He briefly closed his eyes, shutting out her lovely image and cursing the inconvenience of it all. She was mucking with his brain and his heart, and he didn’t like it one damn bit.
An elbow dug into his side. “What’s amiss, lad?” asked Royal, his gaze bright with amusement and understanding.
“Not a damn thing,” Graeme growled.
“Graeme, dear, you’re looking a bit dyspeptic,” Ainsley said.
Sabrina peered at him with concern. “Are you unwell, Mr. Kendrick?”
Victoria glanced up from her pamphlet with alarm. “I do hope Rowena hasn’t passed along the case of the grippe she’s just getting over. We don’t need it going around the entire household.”
“I don’t think that’s what he’s got,” Royal said with a smirk.
Graeme contemplated tossing his brother out the nearest window. But that would make a hell of a mess, and then Ainsley would probably toss Graeme out, too.
Victoria patted his arm. “Perhaps it’s your nerves. It’s a very big day for all of us.”
“I’m sure everything will be splendid.” Sabrina gave him a reassuring smile. “The organizing has been superb, you know. I’m sure there’s no need for rattled nerves.”
The lass must think him a complete idiot.
“My nerves are fine, as is the rest of me. I’m simply wondering where the bloody hell—”
“A-hem,” Vicky interjected.
“—everyone is.” Graeme finished. “We’re late.”
“I’m here,” Grant said.
His twin stalked down the staircase, looking massively aggrieved. Graeme couldn’t blame him.
“Oh, dear,” said Ainsley, trying not to laugh.
“Good Lord, why are you dressed like that?” Royal asked.
“Vicky,” Grant tersely replied.
Kitted out in Kendrick plaid with a dress kilt and black coat, Grant also wore a plaid tam more befitting a ride on the moors, and was laden with weaponry, including steel-wrought pistols and a dirk.
Vicky circled him, consulting her pamphlet. “According to Sir Walter, this is the appropriate garb for family members marching with the Celtic Society. But, Grant, where is your broadsword?”
“I am not wearing a blasted broadsword,” he said with a glower. “I look like a complete moron as it is.”
“Only half a moron, dear,” Ainsley assured him.
Grant snorted. “Thank you for that show of support.”
Vicky flapped the pamphlet. “It says right here that you should be wearing a—”
“I’m sure Grant’s outfit is fine,” Graeme hastily said. He clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Best get a move on, or you’ll miss the procession.”
His twin flashed him a grateful smile. “See you later.”
“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Graeme murmured.
“Aye, that.”
“The carriages are ready, madam,” Henderson said, approaching from the back hall.
“And now where in Hades’s name is Angus?” Graeme said.
“Right here,” said his grandfather as he clattered down the stairs.
For a moment, they were all struck dumb at the sight of him.
“Och, that’s not good,” Royal finally murmured.
Vicky jabbed the pamphlet at him. “Angus, you’re supposed to be dressed like Royal, not like a deranged Highlander.” Deranged Highlander was an apt description. Grandda wore the old-fashioned belted plaid, although God only knew where he’d dug it up. Because it was too big, he’d wrapped it twice around his waist, cinching the extra material with a belt. The end still sagged like a bedraggled train and would collect dust as effectively as a mop. He’d finished the bizarre look with a white linen shirt topped with his old leather vest, an ancient pair of boots, and an equally ancient bonnet sporting moth-eaten feathers.
“I’m wearin’ the belted plaid, the true outfit of a Highlander,” he huffed.
“It’s certainly colorful,” Sabrina faintly managed.
Ainsley was choking on laughter. “Insanely colorful.”
Angus waggled a finger. “I’ll have nae sauce, Miss Sassenach.”
“Mrs. Sassenach, if you please. And you’re going to give Vicky a fit, which is hardly helpful in her condition.”
“Och, she’ll nae be faintin’ over seein’ a proper Highlander.”
“You do not look proper. You look . . .” Vicky trailed off, as if words failed her.
“Deranged,” Graeme dryly finished.
“I’ll nae be wearin’ those shabby philibegs that yon Grant is flashing aboot in,” Angus retorted.
“You wear a philibeg all the time,” Graeme said. “We all do. And your ridiculous outfit doesn’t even fit.”
“Now, see here, yer not too big for me to—”
“What’s a philibeg?” Sabrina asked, cutting off the impending Angus eruption.
“It’s the short kilt,” Graeme answered, scowling at his grandfather. “You know, the one we all wear all the time.”
“Just aboot the house, ye ken.”
Ainsley shook her head. “I do believe that may be the biggest whopper you’ve ever told.”
The old fellow scoffed. “Nae, I always tell the truth.”
Graeme impatiently checked his pocket watch. “We don’t have time for him to change. We’re miles late as it is.”
And he needed to be out in the crowds, doing his bloody job.
Ainsley patted Vicky’s shoulder. “Since Angus will be inside the barouche, no one will be able to tell if it’s a belted plaid or a phili-whatever.”
“And I’ll nae be changin’ just to please King Fathead,” Angus added.
Vicky capitulated. “Very well, but please stay inside the carriage. I will not have you embarrassing Nicholas or your grandsons.”
“I’ll be the only proper-dressed Highlander in the entire city, ye ken.”
“We need to go,” Graeme reiterated.
Sabrina glanced at him before taking his grandfather’s arm. “I think you look extremely dashing, Mr. MacDonald. Shall we sit together?”
Angus beamed his approval. “Call me Angus, lass. Or Grandda. We consider ye part of the family.” He winked at Graeme as he escorted Sabrina to the door.
Ainsley snickered and took Vicky’s arm to follow them out.
“And do we consider Lady Sabrina part of the family?” Royal asked Graeme in an innocent tone.
“Oh, shut it,” Graeme snapped as he propelled his brother down toward the waiting carriages.
* * *
Poor Graeme had been radiating frustration since they departed Heriot Row, no doubt because of Angus. Sabrina, however, liked the old fellow. He’d paid her a great deal of attention, taking her for walks in the parks and filling her with information about Graeme. She enjoyed those chats, although the subject under discussion would be dismayed to hear some of the amusing stories his grandfather had told her.
Angus was clearly matchmaking, as were several other Kendricks. The fact that they were rather obvious was alarming her already skittish prey.
Sabrina swallowed a chuckle at the notion of Graeme as helpless prey. She’d never met a more formidable or competent man, and every moment in his company placed her heart in more danger. She’d avoided such danger in the past, but now it lured her with a siren’s call.
She hoped Graeme heard that call, too.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Something amusing, my lady?”
She mentally blinked. “I’m simply enjoying the sights. It’s quite the extravagant display.”
As the carriage rolled under a festooned lamppost, Graeme swatted aside a fluttering banner that would have taken off his hat. It seemed that every square inch of pillar, post, or brickwork had been decorated with streamers, banners, and placards of welcome. One could
barely see the buildings for all the embellishments. It was a festive sight, and the locals were clearly in a corresponding mood as the cheerful din from the crowds illustrated.
“Extravagant understates the case,” he replied with a reluctant smile as they passed a young man waving a star-shaped board that read: You Are Welcome, King!
Angus stood up and leaned halfway out of the barouche. “Ye ought to be ashamed of yerself,” he yelled at the startled fellow. “Dinna be callin’ yerself a Scotsman.”
Graeme pulled his grandfather back. “Stop embarrassing poor Vicky.”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “I’m beyond embarrassment, and I do find myself agreeing with Angus somewhat. It’s all a bit much. I only hope we can get through the crowds in time to reach our spot at Picardy Place, near the arch.”
The triumphal arch erected at Union Street marked the official entrance into Edinburgh. Sabrina hadn’t seen so large a crowd since the king’s coronation, and she too hoped they wouldn’t miss the royal procession to Holyrood Palace.
Victoria craned up to peer over the back of the carriage. “We seem to have lost Royal and Ainsley.”
The couple was traveling separately in Royal’s curricle, attended by a groom. Ainsley would join Sabrina and Victoria to watch the parade.
“Royal will look for the footmen I sent ahead to Picardy Place,” Graeme said. “If the poor lads haven’t been crushed to death, that is.”
“I told them to bring cudgels to beat back the crowds,” Angus said. “Just in case things got mucky.”
Victoria looked appropriately appalled. “You didn’t!”
When Angus winked at Sabrina, the countess scowled. “You’re ridiculous,” she said to her grandfather-in-law.
The old man looked entirely unrepentant.
“I thought we would be driving directly to Union Street,” Sabrina said to Graeme.
“Too crowded and too many dignitaries. We’d never get the carriage in.”
“Oh, that’s disappointing. Will we still be able to see everything?”
“Dinna fash yerself, lassie,” he said with a teasing smile. “We’ll not have our Sassenach ladies missing a moment of the festivities, ye ken.”
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