What if Gordon Campbell broke his promise? What if he told Henry that they were already married? Her dream to remain in England would be destroyed. She’d lied to Henry, and never again would he trust her once he realized how unworthy she was.
Rob stole a peek at Gordon. His attention was fixed on the movement of her hands. She instantly dropped her gaze and hid her deformity behind her right hand.
Unexpectedly, a hand offered her a linen-wrapped package. Rob snapped her gaze up.
“I’ve brought you a gift,” Henry said with a smile.
“Thank ye, my lord.” Accepting it, Rob flicked a nervous glance at Gordon and then slowly unwrapped the linen. Relief surged through her when she saw the wonderfully innocuous book. She flipped through the first few pages and realized the words were written in a foreign language.
Was she now required to admit to being ignorant in addition to being deformed? Rob thought as humiliation stained her cheeks pink. How could Henry gift her with this? Didn’t he realize that her education could never equal that of a sophisticated lady of the Tudor court? Well, she would pretend to read it.
“French love poems,” Henry was saying for the benefit of the others.
“Apparently, my sweet betrothed is unschooled in French,” Gordon remarked with obvious satisfaction. He offered her his gift, saying, “I rode into Londontown this mornin’ to fetch these for ye, angel.”
Crimson with angry embarrassment, Rob wondered how he’d known she was unable to read French. She squelched the almost overpowering urge to toss Gordon’s gift into his face; instead, she managed an insincere smile and reluctantly opened the box. Inside lay at least a dozen pairs of lacy gloves — fashioned without any fingers like his golf gloves — in colors that matched the gowns in her wardrobe.
“How lovely,” Lady Keely said.
“The merchants cheated you, Campbell,” Henry said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “You’ve purchased gloves without any fingers.”
Gordon said nothing.
Ignoring their byplay, Rob stared in misery at the fingerless gloves. Old Clootie’s mark disturbed Gordon. He would never admit it, but his actions did speak louder than his words. Her husband had purchased these gloves so that neither he nor anyone else would be forced to see the devil’s flower staining the back of her left hand. How embarrassing it would be if others discovered how flawed his bride was.
“Did you hear me, sweetheart?”
Rob raised her gaze to Henry. “I beg yer pardon?”
“We’ve business to discuss in the study,” he said. “I’ll see you again before I return to Hampton Court.”
“Yer leavin’ today?”
Henry gave her an apologetic smile. “The Lord of Misrule presides over all the holiday entertainments. You wouldn’t want me to shirk my duties to the queen, would you?”
“I understand,” Rob said. Glancing back over her shoulder, she watched him follow Uncle Richard and Gordon out of the hall.
Bleak melancholy and aching regret mingled within her breast. Rob sensed that her relationship with Henry would never be quite the same after that day. Even if she did manage to rid herself of her arrogant Highland marquess, happiness would elude her, and misery would follow every step she took in life.
Absently, Rob fingered the beggar bead necklace and stared into the hearth’s hypnotic flames. Glistening tears welled up in her eyes and then slid slowly down her cheeks.
Great Bruce’s ghost, what a coil! Was she falling in love with the man she refused to marry? Would she never find heart’s ease?
Rob looked at the two gifts that sat in her lap, a book of love poems she was unable to read and a dozen pairs of fingerless gloves to hide her shame. Ignorant and deformed, a vile freak to be cast out. That’s what she was.
“Do you wish to talk about it?” Lady Keely asked, her voice soothingly gentle.
“The jest is on me,” Rob said, brushing her tears away with her hand. “I am fortune’s greatest fool.”
“Life jostles everyone, dearest. Your problem isn’t that bad.”
Rob looked at her aunt. “’Tis worse than words can express.”
“What is so tragic about two wealthy, attractive noblemen vying for your affection?” the countess asked.
“Henry’s too busy dancin’ to the queen’s tune to rescue me from Gordon who’s determined to drag me north,” Rob answered. “Livin’ in the Highlands will destroy me.”
“’Tis untrue, dearest.”
“’Tis, I say.” Rob held her left hand out toward her aunt. “This cursed devil’s flower made me an outcast within my own clan.”
“The stain you wear is no curse,” Lady Keely disagreed, mirroring her daughter’s words. “At the moment of your conception, the great mother goddess blessed you with her touch.”
“If I’m so damned blessed, why did my own clansmen avoid me like the black plague and make a protective sign of the cross whenever I chanced to pass by?” Rob asked, a lifetime of anguish making her voice crack with raw emotion. “Why did their children refuse to play with me? Why did they taunt me with names like ‘changelin’-witch’ and ‘Lock Awe monster’?”
“Ignorance governed their actions and their words,” Lady Keely answered.
“The Highlands abound with ignorant people,” Rob said. “I canna return to Scotland now that I have experienced acceptance in England.”
“Did you know that I lived my first eighteen years as an outcast at my stepfather’s holding in Wales because I am the Duke of Ludlow’s bastard?” Lady Keely asked, reaching out to touch Rob’s hand. “I can see that surprises you, but I swear ’tis truth. When I married Richard, I felt conspicuously out of place and was positive Elizabeth’s courtiers considered me a backwoods Welsh bastard, a nobody who’d somehow managed to entrap England’s premier earl into marriage. How wrong I was. When I accepted myself, they accepted me. And the same will hold for you.”
“’Tis different with me,” Rob replied, shaking her head sadly. “Ye carried yer stigma hidden within yer heart where none were privy to it, but I carry mine on the back of my hand for the whole world to see.”
“Adversity builds character,” Lady Keely said. “The bigger the adversity, the nobler one’s character grows. Indeed, you are truly blessed.”
Rob smiled without humor. “If I had any more character, the pope would surely canonize me a saint,” she replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. “I know ye possess unworldly talents, Aunt Keely. Can ye help me?”
“Well, what is it you really want?” the countess asked.
“Acceptance,” Rob answered without hesitation, though her heart felt heavy with regret. “Ye must help me send ‘Old Clootie’ Campbell back to the Highland hell from whence he came.”
“Success cannot be guaranteed,” the countess warned. “The force you send out to control Campbell may return to control you instead.”
Rob perked up at her aunt’s words. “I accept full responsibility for whatever happens,” she replied, nervously rubbing a finger back and forth across her devil’s flower. “Gordon willna be injured in any way, will he? I wouldna want to hurt him.”
Lady Keely cast her a knowing smile as if she were privy to a secret that eluded Rob. “Cockle bread and white heather wine are our only hope to remedy this delicate situation without angering the goddess.”
“I never heard of such thin’s.”
“White heather, a sacred herb, cools the ardor of unwanted suitors,” Lady Keely explained. “I’ll grind a bunch into fine powder, and you’ll serve it in wine to Gordon. ’Tis perfectly safe.”
“And the other?” Rob asked.
“Cockle bread is an aphrodisiac cake,” the countess answered. “You’ll knead a small piece of dough and then press it to your vulva —”
“I dinna have any vulva,” Rob moaned in dismay.
Lady Keely burst out laughing. “Dearest, your vulva lies between your legs. Mold the dough to your privates, bake it, and then serve it to Henry. Do you
still wish to do this?”
Shocked embarrassment colored Rob’s cheeks a vivid scarlet. “Yes,” she agreed in a choked voice.
“We’ll serve them in Richard’s study whilst their attention is fixed on business,” the countess said, rising from the chair.
“And where are we goin’ to perform this magic?” Rob asked, standing when her aunt did.
“The pantry, of course.”
An hour later the two women stood outside the earl’s study. Rob held the tray steady while her aunt positioned the three crystal goblets of mulled wine, the small loaf of cockle bread, and the two round tartlets topped with sweet-curd cottage cheese called maids of honor cakes. The wine laced with white heather, destined for Gordon, sported a cinnamon stick and perched on the opposite side of the tray from Henry’s cockle bread.
“Richard will be sitting behind his desk,” Lady Keely said, arranging the food and the beverage, “so I’ll place one wine goblet and a tart here. The white heather wine and the other tart should go here. If ’tis necessary, we’ll turn the tray around after I serve Richard.”
“That seems logical,” Rob replied.
“And may the great mother goddess smile with approval upon our venture,” Lady Keely said, reaching out to knock on the door.
“Amen.”
Pasting a smile onto her face, Lady Keely opened the door and stepped inside the study. Rob, carrying the tray, followed behind her.
“Don’t bother to stand for us,” Lady Keely called as they crossed the chamber. “We’ve brought refreshment.”
Relief surged through Rob when she caught her first glimpse of the seating arrangement. Earl Richard sat behind his desk just as her aunt had predicted. Henry and Gordon, perfectly positioned in relation to the tray’s contents, sat in the two chairs pulled up in front of the desk. Arousing their suspicion by rearranging the refreshments would be unnecessary.
“And how is your business discussion progressing?” Lady Keely asked as Rob set the tray on the desk.
“Peaceful, at the moment,” the earl answered, giving his wife a meaningful look. “We’ve been discussing commodities. Lord Campbell is also interested in my Levant Trading Company.”
“May the one who hears all bless us with prosperity.” Lady Keely smiled and asked, “Do you mind if I browse for a book?”
“Me too,” Rob said, noting her uncle’s surprised expression.
Without waiting for her husband’s permission to stay, Lady Keely grabbed Rob’s hand and led her across the chamber to stand in front of one of the walls of books in her uncle’s extensive collection. Nonchalantly, Rob peeked over her shoulder and decided she didn’t trust the expression on her uncle’s face. He appeared to sense something was amiss.
Rob didn’t doubt that he felt suspicious. In the year since she’d arrived in England, neither her aunt nor she had read even one book.
“Dearest, why don’t you read Lives of the Saints?” the earl suggested, an amused smile flirting with the corners of his lips. “I gave it to you eleven years ago.”
“I’m in the mood for romance,” the countess replied.
“Then I’d do well to finish my business,” the earl remarked in a low voice, making the two younger men smile.
“My sweet betrothed has a book of French love poems, if that appeals to ye,” Gordon suggested, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
Rob shifted her gaze to Henry. He appeared ready to pounce on Gordon.
“Shall we conduct ourselves like gentlemen?” the earl asked, obviously trying to prevent trouble.
Henry smirked and said, “Expecting a Highland barbarian to behave like a gentleman is like expecting a pig to sing like a skylark.”
Before Gordon could defend himself, Rob whirled around and marched across the study. “I’m a Highlander,” she said in a challenging voice. “Apologize at once.”
Gordon relaxed in his chair. He caught the other man’s attention and grinned at him.
“I’d never refer to you as a barbarian,” Henry told Rob.
“My father and my brothers are Highlanders,” she countered. “Are ye callin’ them barbaric pigs?”
“No, but you always refer to Highlanders as barbarians,” he answered.
“I’ve the right to say whatever I wish,” Rob told him. “I was born there.”
“I do apologize,” Henry said, taking her right hand in his and planting a kiss on it. “I’d never hurt you in any way.”
“I’m sorry too,” Rob relented, hoping her reprimand hadn’t offended him. She wouldn’t want him to return to court while he harbored angry feelings toward her. “Drink yer wine, my lord.”
Henry released her hand. Instead of choosing the wine closest to him, he reached for the one with the cinnamon stick.
“’Tis for Gordon,” Rob told him, staying his hand.
“But I like mulled wine with cinnamon sticks,” Henry said.
Great Bruce’s ghost, Rob thought in a near panic. If she’d known that, she would have left the white heather wine plain. Had her aunt known that Henry liked cinnamon sticks with his wine? No, that couldn’t be. She trusted that her aunt desired what was best for her.
“The cinnamon willna taste good with the bread I baked,” Rob told him.
“I don’t want bread,” Henry replied. “I’ll take the pastry.”
“I’ll taste yer bread,” Gordon said.
“No!” Rob cried, whirling around in time to see him reach for it. Without thinking, she raised her hand to slap his hand away, but her aunt was faster.
“Let them choose whatever they wish,” Lady Keely said, grasping her wrist and giving her a reproachful look.
Rob knew what her aunt was telling her. The goddess would decide who ate what. Though she could try to influence her fate, the final decision lay with the greater power.
Rob nodded, accepting the inevitable. She let her aunt lead her back across the study.
Staring at the books without actually seeing them, Rob kept her senses alert to the men as they resumed their conversation. Nervously, she ran her thumb back and forth across her devil’s flower and focused on their mundane words about sheep and cattle production and turning milk into cheese for sale.
Time slowed to a crawl. Each passing moment felt like twenty years.
Finally, unable to endure the suspense another agonizing moment, Rob peered over her shoulder. She fixed her gaze on the tray. Both the white heather wine and the cockle bread had vanished.
Rob closed her eyes, almost afraid to look at either of her suitors. Summoning her courage, she peeked at Gordon who wasn’t eating or drinking. Then she slid her gaze to Henry who sat there and chewed on a cinnamon stick.
Rob dashed across the study and asked Henry, “Have ye drunk the wine and eaten the bread too?”
“I ate the bread,” Gordon said. “’Twas verra well done of ye, angel.”
“The wine with the cinnamon was meant for ye,” Rob blurted out, rounding on him. “Ye werena supposed to eat the bread.”
“Keely, explain what this is all about,” Earl Richard ordered his wife.
Ignoring him. Lady Keely touched Rob’s arm and spoke in a gentle voice, “Child, the goddess has chosen.”
“I dinna give a tinker’s damn aboot yer goddess,” Rob cried as tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. “I refuse to live in the Highlands.” At that, she ran out of the study.
The two marquesses rose from their chairs at the same time, intending to go after her, but the countess gestured for them to sit and said, “Let her go.”
Lady Keely looked at her husband and shrugged, saying, “Rob made cockle bread for Henry and white heather wine for Gordon, but ’twould appear the goddess has her own opinion about the way things must be.”
Earl Richard threw back his head and shouted with laughter, and his countess giggled. A smile of unmistakable satisfaction appeared on Henry Talbot’s face.
Gordon looked at the three of them in confusion. God’s balls, what the hell was
so funny?
“Shall I share our knowledge with Lord Campbell?” Lady Keely asked her husband.
“Oh, please do,” Henry Talbot spoke up.
Gordon looked at his rival. The other man’s expression told him that he wouldn’t care for the explanation.
“You see, my lord, the wrong marquess consumed the wrong food,” Lady Keely said when her husband nodded his permission. “The cockle bread, meant for Henry, primes a suitor’s interest while the white heather wine, meant for you, cools a suitor’s ardor.”
Though irritated, Gordon kept his face expressionless. He flicked an unconcerned glance at the Marquess of Ludlow and said, “’Twould take more than cockle bread and white heather wine to convince me to annul my ma —”
“Brother, perhaps you ought to return to Hampton Court now,” the countess interrupted. “You did wish to arrive there by nightfall?”
“Tell Rob I’ll try to visit on New Year’s though I cannot promise until I know the queen’s schedule,” Henry said, rising from his chair. Before turning away, he paused and offered Gordon his hand, saying with a sincere smile, “Inverary, I’m pleased to have made your acquaintance. And may the best man win.”
“I have no doubt ’twill be me,” Gordon said, standing to shake his rival’s offered hand.
Henry inclined his head. “Or me . . .”
As her two suitors were shaking hands, Rob stood alone in her chamber and gazed out the window at the rain. The bleakness of the day matched the bleakness within her soul.
I willna weep, she told herself, holding back the flood of tears that threatened to spill. Henry would never forsake her because he’d drunk the white heather wine.
And then she saw him. The Marquess of Ludlow dashed across the lawns toward the quay and the barge that would carry him away from her to Hampton Court.
Her dismal future had arrived. The man she wanted to marry had drunk the magical white heather wine. Now he was leaving without even bidding her farewell.
What did the future hold for her? Gordon Campbell, a womanizer who wanted to hide her deformity with gloves. And yet, more than once, the Marquess of Inverary had pressed his lips to her devil’s flower. Was that a self-serving act meant to lull her into believing that he cared for her?
Courting an Angel Page 11