“Bastard.”
Fagan chuckled. “Aye. Dinna fash. We brought plenty of whisky, and we’ll be back in Scotland before ye know it.”
No sooner did Ian open his mouth to tell Fagan that he didn’t believe a word he said when the coach stopped. Elizabeth opened the door and stepped down from the carriage.
“I need to search my trunk,” she called to them. “I think I forgot my silk slippers.”
What Ian wouldn’t give to be home again.
* * *
The men certainly weren’t pleased with her, but they were not that far from Scadbury Manor. They could have easily turned around if Elizabeth had forgotten the slippers that Ravenna had given her to match her gown. Fortunately, they did not need to return.
Ruairi and Fagan returned the trunk to the carriage and secured the bindings as Ian continued to scowl at her. The man could be irritated with her all he wanted. She’d be making her first appearance at court. Her clothes needed to be in perfect order, and she refused to be the one who tarnished the Walsingham family name. She wanted to make her sisters, uncle, and her mother and father proud.
It wasn’t long before she once again sat in the coach and nestled into the seat. With the sound of hoofbeats and the gentle, rhythmic movement, she should’ve been able to fall asleep, but she couldn’t. She was wide awake and eager to experience all that court had to offer.
The hours dragged, and one mile faded into the next. Being confined in the carriage was suffocating enough, especially when she had no one to talk with to pass the time. They’d stopped along the way to rest the horses, but every waking moment managed to feel eternal.
Elizabeth’s mood turned buoyant when they finally arrived at London Bridge, roughly the middle between Scadbury Manor and Hampton Court Palace. At least they were getting closer. Large buildings sat on top almost the entire length of the magnificent structure. She stared in awe, resolving never to undervalue the skills of a mason.
When they reached the end of the bridge, a gasp escaped her, and her body stiffened in shock. She closed her eyes, trying to banish the image of the two heads impaled on long spikes as a warning to all those who conspired against the realm. She supposed there was a reason the end of the bridge was named Traitors’ Gate.
Her fingers tensed on her lap, and her mind was consumed with doubts and fears. Although she was eager to attend court, she ought to remember that men and women of great power and influence would also be in attendance.
Ravenna and Grace were right.
Elizabeth needed to be careful, praying her head wouldn’t be joining the other two on the road they’d just passed.
The sun was starting to set. They’d traveled the entire day, and the gates of the palace still weren’t in sight. She gazed out of the carriage for the hundredth time, watching pieces of wood floating in the strong currents of the River Thames. Ironically, she could relate to the sight before her. She was being swept toward a future that was unclear and unknown.
When the coach abruptly stopped, she sat up. Ruairi, Fagan, and Ian rode to the front of the carriage, and a wave of apprehension swept through her. She was both thrilled and frightened.
Finally, she’d arrived at Hampton Court Palace.
After a few restless moments, the coach rolled forward. They continued through the first courtyard and stopped at the second inner gatehouse. The carriage door opened, and Elizabeth stepped down.
A large astronomical clock made for Henry VIII hung over the gatehouse. The piece showed the date, time of day, phases of the moon, and the water level at the London Bridge.
She gave herself a pinch because she couldn’t believe she was standing on the grounds of royal history. King James was the son of Mary, Queen of Scots, and the great-grandson of Henry VIII, but now here she was, Lady Elizabeth Walsingham, attending court. She’d soon be walking through the same halls as kings and queens of past and present.
Ruairi, Fagan, and Ian were talking with two men as she approached, and Ruairi’s voice was irritated. “I suppose we donna have a choice.” When he turned around, Fagan and Ian grabbed their mounts.
Uncertainty made Elizabeth’s voice harsh and demanding. “What has happened?”
“I’m sorry, lass. There are one thousand people attending court, and the palace only has forty-four bedchambers. There is nae enough room for everyone. Ravenna was able to send word ahead, and even though there is a bedchamber readied for ye, there is nae room for all of us,” said Ruairi. “Lodging has been made for us in the city. We best make haste before darkness falls.”
When he started to lead his mount away, she called after him. “Where are you going?”
A puzzled look crossed his face. “I told ye.”
She closed the distance between them. “But aren’t you going to see me to my chamber before you leave?”
Ian rubbed his hand over his face. “Lass, ye’re coming with us.”
“I don’t understand.”
Ruairi placed his hand on her shoulder. “We can nae leave ye unattended.”
“You’re not leaving me unattended. You’re returning in the morn.”
“If ye think we’re going to take our leave without ye, ye’re nae thinking verra clearly. Ye can nae stay in the castle alone,” said Ian.
She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. “I’m not alone. You said there were one thousand people attending court. What could possibly happen between now and the morning?”
“Elizabeth, ye are nae staying here alone. ’Twas your decision to suddenly come along. Be thankful ye’re able to attend court. Now get back in the carriage,” said Ruairi in a commanding tone.
All pleasure left her body, and she tried to keep the whine out of her voice. “I understand.” She didn’t.
Fagan placed his hand on her shoulder. “I know ye’re disappointed, lass, but ye’ll still be able to dance and mingle with your own kind. We just won’t be sleeping here.”
“Thank God for small favors,” said Ian.
Between the disappointment she’d felt about not being able to stay at the palace, and now Fagan and Ian’s words, Elizabeth’s blood started to boil. “The last I want to do is scold the two of you like children, but I have to say, whether you realize your words or not, I am English. Need I remind you there is nothing I can do to change that?”
She glowered at Fagan. “Thank you for telling me that I’ll still be able to mingle with my ‘own kind.’” She whipped her head to Ian. “And thank you, Laird Munro, for reminding me how much you despise my countrymen. Although I’ve lived in Scotland for years and have appreciated all that Ruairi has done for us, I am greatly insulted by your rudeness. And frankly, you two should know better.”
Elizabeth spun on her heel and approached the waiting carriage, leaving the men standing with their mouths agape.
* * *
“Now why did ye have to go and do that, Munro? Ye’ve fired Elizabeth’s ire,” said Fagan with a smile. “And if she’s anything like Grace, she won’t let ye forget that anytime soon.”
“Bastard.”
“Aye.”
Ruairi lowered his voice. “Tha thu mi-mhodhail.” You’re badly behaved. “I’ve learned that even if ye feel the way that ye do, ’tis nae always best to tell the lasses what ye are thinking. Now let’s get the hell out of here. I can nae stand being this close to the English.” He gave them an amused look. “And notice ye did nae hear me say that in front of Elizabeth…or her kind.”
Ian mounted his horse and said a silent prayer of thanks as they traveled out the gatehouse and into the city. At least they wouldn’t have to sleep under the same roof as all those English. Even though he wasn’t fond of the Walsingham sisters, he hadn’t meant to insult Elizabeth. After all, the lass had taken the time to talk with him on several occasions, a task most lasses would’ve avoided. He’d be sure to mind his
words in the future; he owed her that much.
As the men followed the carriage through the narrow, barely lit streets of London, Ian cringed. A pungent odor filled the air from all the rubbish that lay on the dirty roads, and he willed himself not to gag. Feeling a sense of compassion for his horse, he patted the animal on the neck. “Tha mi duilich.” I am sorry.
They arrived at a nearby inn, and as Ruairi secured their rooms, Ian paid the stable master more coin than what was required to see that their horses were well cared for. He certainly hoped his own accommodations would be more welcoming than the streets of London.
Elizabeth approached Ruairi as he came out of the inn. “There are enough rooms for us all. The innkeeper will have your trunks brought up to your room, lass. Why donna we have something to eat before we retire?”
“That sounds delightful.”
Ruairi held open the door for Elizabeth, and the men followed her into the inn. Bawdy laughter filled the small dining hall, and the lass hesitated at the entrance. There were roughly two women and ten Englishmen who sat at the tables with tankards of ale in hand. Large, wooden beams stretched overhead, and lanterns were lit on the walls.
Fagan gestured to a table in the corner. “Over there, lass.” He pulled out her chair, and she smiled her thanks.
“This has been a long day.” She sat and straightened her back. “I’m weary. I can only imagine what you must be feeling.”
“I didn’t know we allowed their kind in here,” said one of the men who sat at the next table.
Ruairi, Fagan, and Ian exchanged carefully guarded looks, but none of them paid the English curs any heed because of Elizabeth. Ian walked around the table and pulled out his chair. His gaze rested on one of the men. The whelp had blond, curly locks and barely looked old enough to be weaned from his mother’s breast.
Ian removed his scabbard. He smiled at the young man, and then sat in the chair, resting his weapon against the table. Ruairi and Fagan followed suit, but they didn’t look at the bastard. If Elizabeth heard the comments of her countrymen, she didn’t say.
“I’m sure you’re all famished,” said Elizabeth.
“I could always eat,” said Fagan.
Ruairi chuckled. “Aye, we know.”
A small lass brought over three tankards of ale for the men and wine for Elizabeth. The woman was a few years older than Elizabeth and had brown hair pulled into a tight bun. As the lass returned to the kitchen, the blond whelp from the other table grabbed her arm and pulled her close.
“Tell me. Did you serve wine to all the women over there? I’d be amazed if any of them drank ale.” His comrades laughed in response, and the man slapped the woman on the bottom before he let her go. “They must be here for court. I hear the king makes them crawl out from under their rocks in the north to come to London once a year.”
“And I heard they’re nothing but a bunch of barbarians. Have you heard them speak? One can barely understand their words,” said another arse at the table.
Elizabeth leaned forward. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Pardon, but are those men talking about you?”
Ruairi patted her hand. “Donna pay them any heed.”
“That’s very bold and isn’t right. You know how my sisters and I become cross with you when you speak about England the way you do, but those men have no right to say such horrible words either. They don’t even know you, and I find their manners sorely lacking.”
“I donna think they worry overmuch about manners, but Ruairi is right. Pay them no heed,” said Fagan.
There was a heavy silence around the table when the woman returned with their meals. “Here you are.” She placed the food in front of them and wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll bring you some bread with your meal. Is there anything else I can bring you?”
“No, thank you. This looks delicious,” said Elizabeth.
“My pleasure, m’lady. I made the stew myself.”
“Then I’m certain it’s very good.”
No sooner had the woman turned away from the table when they all ate like they hadn’t eaten in days. A few moments later, the lass returned with the bread. Ian chuckled as they all reached for a piece at the same time. He broke off a chunk and handed it to Elizabeth.
“Thank you, Laird Munro.” She turned to Ruairi. “When do you want to leave for the palace on the morrow?”
He wiped the crumbs from his lips. “Right after we break our fast.”
“And you don’t know how long we’ll remain?” asked Elizabeth.
“Nay. Our names will be put on a long list for the king. When he is ready, he will grant us an audience. Until then, we wait.”
One voice could be heard above all others in the hall.
“I think they call them kilts, but I could never wear one of those skirts. If I did, I think my betrothed might question my preferences.”
Ruairi, Fagan, and Ian had known each other for years, so much that they knew the thoughts of one another without a spoken word between them. And this was one of those times. If the English bastard didn’t shut his mouth, the man was going to find himself in a heap of trouble with three Highlanders who were tired and worn.
When a worried expression crossed Elizabeth’s face, Ruairi said, “The men are young and foolish. Finish your meal.” She looked down at her empty bowl.
“I’m afraid that I can no longer keep my eyes open. I saw my trunks being carried up to my room. Are you ready to retire, or will you be staying for a while longer?”
Ruairi stood. “I’ll escort ye to your room.” With a tip of his head, he gestured toward his drink. “And then I’ll be back to finish my ale.”
Elizabeth stood and brushed down her skirts. She placed her hand on Fagan’s shoulder. “Good night. I’ll see you on the morrow.”
When her eyes met Ian’s, his heart jumped in response. He wasn’t sure what the hell that was about, especially because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her until she was out of sight.
“Damn. I’d like to give that chit a good tupping. I wonder if she’s chaste. She looks soft and ripe for the picking if you ask me.”
Ian glanced sharply around, his eyes blazing. He flew to his feet and closed the distance between him and the blond whelp. The man’s eyes widened when Ian pulled him roughly to his feet. When the arse raised his hands in defense, the other men stepped away from the table. Ian was amused when the man’s “friends” no longer wanted to have any part of him.
“I was only jesting! I’m a sot who has had too many!” The man hesitated, and the corners of his lips slowly lifted into a smile. “Tell me. Have you already bedded her then?”
Ian rammed his fist into the man’s face. When the whelp fell onto the table with a thud, Ian patted the idiot on the head. “Now there’s a good laddie.” His eyes darkened, and he glared at the men who remained standing. “Anyone else have something to say, or mayhap ye donna understand my words, eh?”
The men paled, shaking their heads nervously.
Ian walked back to the table and grabbed his scabbard. On his way out of the hall with Fagan, he paused, handing the woman from the kitchen a coin. “The stew was delicious, and I apologize for the mess.”
Six
Elizabeth opened her eyes and rolled onto her back. Her entire body protested. Still weary from traveling, she wasn’t ready to throw back the blankets and start a new day. Even her less than desirable room didn’t provide her with enough encouragement to put one foot on the floor.
Other than the bed, there was a chest of drawers with a looking glass and a small sitting area with a table and two chairs. Her disappointment returned when she knew her accommodations at the palace would have been on a much grander scale. But she felt guilty thinking that way. She was only considering herself, and her poor traveling companions hadn’t wanted to be here in the least.
When memories ret
urned of the abhorrent behavior of her countrymen in the dining hall last night, she fought a war of emotions. Those men were quick to judge someone and something they knew nothing about. Frankly, they were ignorant, and she had no tolerance for stupidity.
There was a knock at the door.
“Elizabeth, are ye awake?” asked Ruairi from the other side.
“Yes, but I’m not yet dressed.”
“We’re going below stairs to break our fast. Throw something on and come with us. Ye can always return to change your clothes before court if ye wish. I’ll wait for ye.”
Elizabeth grudgingly rose from the bed. After seeing to her personal needs, she donned a simple day dress and her silk slippers. She approached the washbowl, and the looking glass that hung above the chest of drawers returned a vision of red, tired eyes and unruly hair. Wetting a cloth, she wiped her face with cool water. If that didn’t wake her up then nothing else would. She patted her skin with a drying cloth and smoothed her long locks with her hand. That would have to do for now. At least she was presentable. When she opened the door, Ruairi was leaning against the wall.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Dinna fash, lass. Fagan and Ian are below stairs. Did ye sleep well?”
“As soon as my head touched the pillow. I didn’t move all night.” She closed the door behind her, and he chuckled.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“And you?”
“The same.”
Elizabeth knew her brother-in-law probably slept with one eye open, but he’d never admit it. They descended the stairs and entered the dining room where Fagan and Ian stood upon her approach. Only a handful of men sat at the other tables, none of whom were the obnoxious ones from last night.
“Good morn, lass,” said Fagan.
Ian gave her a brief nod. “Madainn mhath.”
“Good morning to you both.”
“Och, aye. Ye’re definitely going to stop a few hearts at court. Ye look verra bonny in that dress,” said Fagan.
Kill or Be Kilt Page 6