Heat of the Knight

by Jackie Ivie

  “Mary?” she asked.

  “You should na’ have let Angela hold the coffers. She hasn’t let anyone have their fair share. We need more. In separate accountings.”

  Lisle’s eyebrows lifted. “You should speak with your uncle Angus over such things, Mary.”

  “Angus does nothing but drink. Why would I ask him anything?”

  Lisle’s heart fell. Her body felt like it might be right behind it. As if he knew, an arm snaked about her back, pulling her even closer to him.

  “Have Angus MacHugh report to Monteith Castle on the morrow. Noon. I shall handle it, young woman.”

  “Do I have to answer him, Lisle?” Mary asked, making even her escort look uncomfortable.

  “If you will na’ get my instructions to him, I’ll send them through your sister,” Langston replied easily. “Or with a payment. That should get a reading.”

  Mary turned her back on them. The escort smiled slightly in apology as he escorted her away. Lisle watched them with no emotion whatsoever.

  “Your brood appear an ungrateful bunch. I hope the same does na’ happen with ours.”

  “We doona’ have a brood, Langston.”

  “I know.” He grinned down at her.

  “What are you going to have of Angus?” she asked.

  “Well…I’ll take him to task first for misusing good whiskey. Then, I’ll probably put him to work fashioning bagpipes. I feel a need for more of them, for sales purposes, you understand. It’s strange, but the one thing we’re denied, the world seems to want to have. Odd, isn’t it?”

  Lisle couldn’t contain how it felt. The sides of her lips were splitting with it. “You’re giving him back his self-respect,” she said.

  “I’m using his talents for my own ends. I’ll be getting good gold out of the bargain. I’d not do it for any other reason.”

  “You canna’ fool me much longer, Langston.”

  “Oh dear. You’re looking at me with an expression I’d rather na’ comprehend. You should cease that before someone sees it…like you.”

  “Me?”

  “Self-hate…remember?”

  “You think that I—?” She was choking on the rest of her sentence. She had turned the hate to him. She stumbled, but had the matter under control the moment it happened.

  “But, of course. Such a thing is vitally important, at present.”

  “You want me to hate you?”

  “Does that possibly mean…that you doona?” he asked instead.

  The entire roomful of others dropped out of sight, and there was only Langston, looking down at her with those odd-colored eyes, amidst that handsome face, and making a yawning chasm open up everywhere else. Lisle clung to his arm to keep from stepping over the edge and disappearing. She didn’t hate him at all. She was terrified of what she did feel.

  “Oh dear,” she heard him say again, from what sounded like a long way away. “This may mean what I think it does.”

  “And what would that be?” she whispered.

  “That I’d best step up everything…this evening. Balls begin to bore me. That’s exactly what it means. Where is that Captain Barton?”

  “Captain…Barton?” Lisle’s legs were giving her trouble.

  “Bother that. We’ll dance.”

  He was shaking his head as he rotated her within his arms, and moved her into another dance so effortlessly, he looked like he’d been trained in it and did it often. He also looked less fit than she knew him to be, and she wondered what tailor would design a suit that made him look loose, and paunchy, and unfit around the midsection, and also how much it would cost. He was paying men to fashion clothing to make him look fat and lazy. She wondered how offended his tailors were.

  She giggled.

  “Something amuses you, love?” he asked.

  There was that particular endearment again, and Lisle’s feet stumbled, despite everything she was immediately exerting in a effort to subdue it.

  “Why…do you use such endearments with me?” she asked.

  “Someone might be listening to us. I’m attempting to act like I’m in love with you. Isn’t it working?”

  He pulled back to show an expression of surprise, and that put the line in his forehead back into place, drawing her eye there, if, of course, she managed to look past the sparkling sheen on his ale-colored eyes.

  “It’s working quite well,” she replied, drawing out every word.

  His response was a groan that if she hadn’t had her hand to his chest, she wouldn’t have known.

  “I believe we’ve danced enough. I’m parched.”

  They’d taken a total of ten steps, maybe eleven. Lisle pursed her lips in thought. If she wasn’t mistaken, he had a flush of color rising from beneath his neck-thing. He wasn’t meeting her eyes. That was interesting. This man, who was such a good actor, who was capable of fooling everyone, was having trouble with his facade tonight? She could only guess at the reason, and hope it was true.

  The refreshment tables were set all along the stone walls of MacCullough’s banqueting hall, or, if the real chieftain was in residence, it would be known as the Great Hall. Either way, it was an old castle, with stone-lined walls and a feeling of history and lore and mystery about it. Lisle stood patiently as Langston reached forward and accepted a goblet of liquid from a servant, then handed it to her. Then he reached for another one. Lisle looked up the span of his arm from over the rim of her wine glass, and right into the cheerful face of the Monteith groomsman, Fergus.

  She blinked. Stared, blinked again…stared again. He’d shaved off that carrot-orange beard, and there was still no telling if he had the same shade of hair or not, because he was wearing a curled, powdered wig atop his English service uniform. Langston was looking at her, and Lisle moved her eyes to him. There was a distinct frown on his face now.

  “Something wrong, love?” he asked.

  She took a deep gulp of her wine. The stuff was still acrid and slid across her tongue without even feeling like it was liquid, but it was starting a very warm feeling the moment it landed in her stomach, which was exactly what she was looking for. She took another gulp, swallowed it, and looked directly up at her husband.

  “You control his servants. That way, you’ll know where he is. You’ll know his movements,” she said softly. “That’s the horn. That’s what it means.”

  He went still, and breathed very shallowly, if what she was observing was any indication. Then, he reached out and took the goblet from her hand to place it back on the table. The line in his forehead was in full force as he looked down at her, and then he smiled.

  “You have very interesting ideas for conversing at a ball, Lisle. Very. Come. We’d best get some air.”

  Langston had gone cold all over, but had it under control before he reached for her glass. He’d known better! Everything he’d been taught, and lived through, and created, and sacrificed for, using his wits, body, and mind for, had shown him never to trust a woman with anything! Yet here he was, with everything in such a delicate balance, while the woman he loved was announcing part of his plan…aloud!

  He’d forgotten her propensity for alcohol, especially wine. He’d forgotten that liquor loosens the tongue. He’d forgotten a hundred other things the moment she’d looked at him with those sky-blue eyes that he’d made certain were the match to her every outfit, and intimated that she didn’t hate him.

  Everything he prided himself on had deserted him, but there was no excuse. It was as if he’d done it to himself on purpose. He could drown in the depths of her eyes, worship at the altar of the bosom he’d ordered put on display, and match every part of his frame to every trembling section of hers, and the dance hadn’t changed a thing. He couldn’t rotate with her in his arms. He couldn’t think with her scent in his nostrils. He couldn’t plan, think, decide, act. He was beginning to think she truly was a Celtic goddess; one that took a man’s wits and smoked them into nonexistence, like so much opiate.

  He was grinding his
teeth now, and she was looking at him with a not-so-innocent, sly type of glance, and even that made him want to take her, hold her, caress her….

  “Why, Monteith! ’Tis a pleasure seeing you at my ball. I’d about given up on seeing you at all. My prisoners giving you trouble?”

  “Prisoners?” Lisle asked.

  Langston pulled her to his side and held her around the middle, looked deep into her eyes for the slightest moment, begging for her trust, and then he forgot what he was trying to ask. She had the most amazing way about her…the most stunning eyes…the most fire. Captain Barton was clearing his throat and speaking again. Langston had to shake his head to clear it.

  “Why, that’s Mistress MacHugh. Whatever possessed you to bring her to an English ball?”

  “Her beauty,” Monteith said smoothly, turning his head and putting Lisle fully in front of him. “Don’t you agree, Captain?”

  He watched as she gasped for breath, making the captain move his eyes from where he’d been staring at the blue diamonds, to where every other male glance had to go. Langston felt Lisle’s back go stiff. He put his left arm about her ribs and tightened it, lifting her breasts farther.

  “Why, Monteith. You’re quite right. She’s astounding. How did you guess at such a thing, when she was running about barefoot and covered in muck all the time?”

  “I’ve an eye for such things, Captain. It’s another way I made my fortune. Allow me to amend that. It’s how I still make my fortune.”

  “Really? In women?”

  “We don’t only deal in Afrikaners, Captain. Women sell for a very good price, too. In the right parts of the world, that is.”

  Lisle was sucking for air now. Langston pulled her closer to him, almost lifting her from the floor with the motion. If she decided to start screaming, he had to be able to cut off her air.

  “You truly are the devil, Monteith. I congratulate you, but I believe I’ll do it from a distance. Mistress MacHugh looks ready to slice you alive with that look.”

  “I am not Mistress MacHugh, Captain Barton,” Lisle said. Langston groaned inwardly, and all anyone heard was his sigh.

  “Truly? Why is that?”

  “I am now the lady of Monteith.”

  “No! You married her? You? But…why?”

  “Because she’s increasing, of course.”

  “These barbarians breed well. You should have been more careful with your seed. I am. I wouldn’t want my progeny tainted.”

  Lisle’s breath was coming so rapidly, Langston was afraid she might faint. He held onto her, his arm still about her ribcage, and it wasn’t to push anything out farther. It was to hold her, protect her, and try to keep her from the devastation of the words he had yet to say.

  “I haven’t your strength of character, I guess. ’Twas all right, though. I put her through a ceremony, Captain. She insisted on it.”

  “Was it legal, then?”

  “Ask me later, Captain. Do I look stupid enough to say something guaranteed to get me a knife blade between my shoulders when I’m sleeping?”

  Captain Barton thought that was very amusing and tossed his head back to let the laugh out. Lisle’s arm twitched forward, like she was going to swing at him, and was keeping it to herself by force of will. Langston moved his other arm about her, giving her more to rely on.

  “Monteith, you refresh me. Makes me realize that there are more devious fellows in the world than I could possibly be. I thank you.”

  Langston inclined his head. “Accept my regards on the morrow, Captain. That will be thanks enough.”

  “What have you planned?”

  “I have some of my Arabians ready for you and your officers. I’ll have them delivered. Free of charge, of course.”

  “I have forty-one officers, Monteith.”

  “I’ll go you one better and have fifty head delivered; mares, geldings, and stud. You can make use of that many?”

  “Why would you do such a generous thing? You’re not noted for your generosity, Monteith.”

  “That’s where you’re mistaken. I do nothing unless it benefits myself. Absolutely nothing.”

  “You may explain.”

  “I can think of no better test, generating more publicity, which will guarantee myself better sales once I get a shipload to London, than to put the Highland Regiment officers aboard my own Arabian horseflesh.”

  “Toss in the horse you ride.”

  Langston checked the reaction very carefully. “Saladin?” he asked.

  “The big black one. I rather fancy him.”

  “I trained him myself, Captain. He doesn’t like other riders.”

  “Are you denying me?” the captain asked.

  “You wish Saladin? Very well. I’ll have him delivered directly to you. Go gently on him. He’s a devil when crossed.”

  “I can handle any number of devils. Even a Highland one like yourself.”

  “And here I thought I’d risen in your esteem,” Langston replied.

  “Such a thing has merit, but no possibility. You’re a Highlander by birth. Such a thing cannot be erased, no matter how many times you prove your loyalty. It will always be there.”

  “What will?” Langston asked.

  “Distrust. Suspicion. Questions. Speaking of…you also never answered mine. How are my prisoners faring? Not too well, I trust?”

  “It’s been reported to me that they’re not eating, as of yet.”

  “Pity,” Captain Barton said.

  “I’d have more to say, but I haven’t ventured down there yet. They detest me, and they’re far too accurate.”

  “Accurate?”

  “They throw food back,” Langston said slowly and with a bored tone. “We’ve ceased giving them joints with any bone in them.”

  The captain roared with the amusement that time. Lisle’s arm didn’t so much as move. Her heart was hammering rapidly against where he had her held to him. Langston dared a glance down and wished he hadn’t. She had too much on display, and was too soft in the right places, and had such lengthy eyelashes and perfect lips, and everything on him was responding, and all of that was absolutely terrible.

  “Your plan may backfire. I’ll have the gunpowder here moved.”

  Lisle stopped breathing on that word. Langston noted it, and put it aside. “I wouldn’t say so, sir. I’ll be trying again when they dry out.”

  “Dry out?”

  “My moat was overfull. It empties into the dungeons. It makes it very uncomfortable to try and find a place to sit, let alone lie down. I understand the misery is doubled when you add rats to the picture.”

  “Rats?” Captain Barton asked.

  “What castle dungeon doesn’t have rats, Captain?” Monteith replied.

  “I see. I’m beginning to think you’re worse than the devil, Monteith.”

  “I haven’t finished yet.”

  “Do tell.”

  The man’s eyes were gleaming with interest and he craned himself forward slightly. Lisle could be gagging. That’s what it felt like. Langston lifted her up a fraction, put his nose against the mass of curls they’d put atop her head, and inhaled deeply before replying. He lifted his head.

  “They’re receiving moat water at certain intervals.”

  “Intervals?”

  “Aye. Makes it worse.”

  “How so?”

  “A man knowing something is coming can prepare himself for it.”

  “I don’t understand,” the captain replied.

  “Such a man can prepare himself for it and prepare himself for it.”

  “This is a good thing?”

  “Torture of the mind is the worst kind, Captain.”

  “Explain please.”

  “If a man is prepared and no water comes, then he’s left in that prepared stance, dreading it, and yet wondering where it is.”

  “You vary the intervals?”

  Langston nodded.

  “You really are a fiend, but I like that. I truly do.”

&n
bsp; “There’s an added benefit to all of this, too.”

  “Really? What is that?”

  “They smell. My dungeons are starting to smell. They need washing. Badly. Tomorrow…I’m adding soap. Chafes the ankles.”

  The captain pulled back and regarded Monteith with undivided attention. He looked and acted like he was watching and smelling something distasteful. He didn’t notice Lisle, at all.

  “You’re as barbaric as they are, Monteith. Remind me not to get on your bad side,” he said finally, and swiveled.

  Chapter Twenty

  The carriage may have been constructed of white satin and blond wood, but with the gas lamp dimmed the interior looked dark and sinister and any number of other things. Langston stretched on his side, watched where the light swayed toward the goddess on the opposite chair, wishing it were even dimmer, and tried to halt the ache in his chest that seemed to be doubling the closer they got to the future.

  She seemed to want the quiet. That was all right with him. He didn’t feel up to conversing lightly or falsely, or with anything other than the burn that was making his shoulders hurt, too. He probably would have been better off not knowing this beautiful Highland lass named Lisle. She was so full of life, it was impossible to be close to her and not have some of it transfer over. It was what he feared most.

  Those who experienced life had to suffer through the bad, too. That was the only way you knew how good the good felt. He blinked rapidly at moisture God was cursing him with, and shuddered through a breath she’d never be able to detect. He was very good at what he did. He acted. He played falsely. He cheated. That was what he did.

  Then, she said his name, surprising him, and changing everything.

  “Aye?” he answered after a moment.

  “This ball…was na’ what I expected.”

  “You go to many balls a-fore?” he asked.

  “Nae,” she replied.

  “What did you expect?”

  “I doona’ ken, for certain. I thought it would be gayer. There would be more laughter, more wine, more music…more false-sounding words. You know, like the girls used to describe to me.”

  “Girls?”

  “At the finishing school. There was a lass from Paris. She told tales that would scald your ears.”