Laird of Ballanclaire

by Jackie Ivie

  “I can imagine,” Constant replied.

  “Besides which, everyone hears of love at first sight. They just never got to watch it unfold before. It is such a romantic story. A forced meeting, a gift of a blue ribbon attached to a key, a bedroom assignation to consummate a union. The story will be repeated for years if I do not miss my guess.”

  “Must you take so long unhooking my gown?” Constant asked it between clenched teeth that contrasted with the reddened, bee-stung look of her lips.

  “You were sewn into it, señora, as you well know. That leaves me little room to slip the hooks. Perhaps if you let some breath out it would help.”

  “It is out,” Constant replied. The diamanté bodice took longer to shed than it took to put on, which was hard to believe. It had been sewn on twice, once on the outside and again from the inside. That way none of her corset-inspired shape would be disguised. Everything had been done to enhance her beauty for her new husband, and bring about exactly what had transpired. The Princess Althea was supposed to get her new husband to fall in love at first sight, especially since he’d been so difficult to coax into a position where he could see her. No wonder the other maids had been giggling and giving her wide-eyed looks.

  They actually believe in love at first sight? Well, if there were such a thing, it was on one side only—his.

  “There! It’s off, and not as easy as it looked. I will hand this to Sir San Simeon. I’m certain he hovers at your door for such a thing. I will return. Try not to frighten your castle maids until then.”

  Constant whirled and glared at the little Spanish woman. There were audible gasps about them. It probably had to do with her clenched fists and heaving bosom barely shielded by the chemise she was wearing.

  “I will not sit and await my fate like a puppet! I’ve ceased being so pliable! I cannot believe I was so naïve, so gullible . . . so stupid! I will not be so again. Ever. I will find a way to live through this, but I will not sit calmly like a sacrificial lamb while I prepare for it!”

  “A sacrificial lamb?” Lucilla chuckled.

  Constant’s eyes flared. “You dare to laugh at me? With what I’m facing?”

  “Oh, señora, please. He is so handsome. On that, he hasn’t changed, has he? And he looks to be so very strong, still . . . with the same strength that saw him rowing through the sea to your side. That will be yours again. Tonight. You are so lucky.”

  “I’m so angered I want to break something, and you call it luck? Ah!” Constant finished by slamming her hands onto the top of one of her dressing tables, making bottles and jars dance.

  “Your husband is a very virile man. He will not take such anger as easily as I do. He will probably make you pay for such words. You forget, I have prior knowledge.”

  “That’s another huge part of this! Huge! Gigantic! How am I supposed to pretend otherwise? Well? Have you considered that? Of course not. You, the barristers, and the Count de la Garza-Montagna. None of you considered this, did you? I’m supposed to be a maiden!”

  Lucilla smiled and shook her head. “What you whisper of in your bed is no business of mine, Your Highness. It will not be so difficult. You’ll see. No man, as in love as that man was, will be difficult to persuade. He may not have recognized you yet, but he hasn’t seen the unclothed version. For a woman who has birthed three babes, you have changed little, too. He will be appreciative of that, I’m certain.”

  “Out! The lot of you! Out!” Constant swung her arms wide as she announced it and ended up shrieking it to the ceiling since nobody but Lucilla understood her Spanish commands.

  “You’ve become a very convincing princess, Your Highness. I am certain word will get to Esmerelda, the Countess de la Garza-Montagna, and her new husband.”

  Constant gasped. She put her head down, set her lips, and looked across at the maid. The princess had chosen to be known by her second name, Esmerelda, once she was wed. She lost every claim to royalty, although from what Constant had seen of it so far, it resembled a luxurious cage. Princess Althea hadn’t cared. She was in love. She had been for nearly twenty years.

  Constant had seven months of friendship with Althea to thank for that knowledge, before the princess was assured that the plan would work. She’d helped Constant with every mannerism, every movement, every bit of intrigue. Constant learned the entire litany of the royal house of Anjou—every descendant, every claimant, every member of court—just in case Constant met up with any of them. Princess Althea had been so secluded, however, that most of her descriptions were from her childhood memories. Constant knew that part was in her favor; few knew what the real Princess Althea looked like as an adult. So Althea had been free to wed her possessive count and live out life amid the comfort of Casa de la Montagna, far from the prying eyes of the court and the demands of a royal life. It was what she’d told Constant she’d dreamed of all those lonely years.

  It was what she’d lose, if any hint of what they’d done ever surfaced—on any level; even a whisper.

  Constant closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then she reopened them. She couldn’t change the fate set in motion over a year ago; to do so would harm too many. She didn’t dare look at the image in the mirror. She’d lost. She didn’t want to see what the loss looked like. She looked across at the maid instead. “Go, Lucilla. Give my treasure to San Simeon. I will not betray anyone with my lack of control, least of all my friend, the Countess Esmerelda.”

  Lucilla nodded and turned, crossing the bare floor to an antechamber and out the door. This tower was an immense affair, the size of the entire house at the Ridgely farm. There were three chambers within this level. On one side was the room known as the boudoir. It was lined with light blue tapestries, the chaise and two chairs were in the same light blue shade, while the carpets covering the floor were thick and white. The boudoir had been designed to hold a woman’s wardrobe on long poles along the walls, just as Kam had described a lifetime ago. Since Princess Althea commanded a huge wardrobe, there were more than fifty dresses hanging there, although her stay at BalClaire wasn’t expected to be longer than two days.

  The wardrobe Constant owned hadn’t been an added expense to the crown, although King Charles had sent a thousand silver pieces to pay for his sister’s trousseau. That silver had done exactly what it was supposed to, and the count thanked them for it. Count de la Garza-Montagna had wealth, but nothing near the extent necessary to keep a princess from the ruling house of Spain. It was probably still taking all of Althea’s persuasive abilities to convince him he was worth it. Men had such a fragile constitution about some things. Constant remembered that much from Kameron’s reaction to his being shaved.

  She tossed the memory aside before it destroyed Lucilla’s handiwork around her eyes. She had enough experience of that already. The burn from tear-imbued kohl wasn’t pleasant and just led to more tears.

  No. She wasn’t going to cry. She was going to get clothed in the expensive, gossamer netting of loosely woven linen she’d selected for the occasion, and she was going to be put on display for when her new husband arrived to claim her. He wasn’t going to regret it until later, when he found out how much he’d destroyed in one hour.

  Constant watched as one of the servant girls pointed to the silver-blue sheen of her chosen peignoir and whispered. Then all the girls sighed. Constant knew why. It wasn’t going to conceal much. Constant and Althea were a like height and weight, but there had been differences, and they were notable. Constant possessed a much larger bosom and a smaller waist. Almost all the clothing had to be altered. And they’d had to wait until her child was born.

  Princess Althea had been quite amused over that, but she was the only one. Both barristers were ready to pack Constant back to the colonies once they found out. It was Althea who had come up with the solution and the move to the Ballanclaire estate. It was also her idea to invent the story of a godchild to explain Geoffrey’s presence in her life.

  Constant shut her eyes again. She owed a lot to Count
ess Esmerelda de la Garza-Montagna, but the princess owed her, too. Althea owed her happiness to Constant. She’d been so happy, it had brought tears to everyone’s eyes when she’d wed her count. Constant had attended the wedding as the princess, swathed head to toe in heavy brocaded fabrics, carried into the chapel on a litter. She hadn’t minded. She’d been too large and unwieldy with her baby’s size to walk easily, anyway.

  Constant opened her eyes. The three maids were still standing in a row watching her. They looked about her age, and as innocent as she’d been before she met Kameron. They all had smiles pasted to their faces, and the same look of envy and awe. Constant whirled back to the mirrors. She’d rather watch her own reflection.

  Through her mirrors, she could see the other side of the Queen’s Room. Benches were set up against a wall covered ceiling to floor with dark red tapestries, seeming to frame an ornate door; the one that led to Kameron’s chamber.

  She winced. She’d spent so long preparing for this moment, but it tasted bitter, rather like the aftertaste of old tea in her mouth. She watched Lucilla come back into the room.

  “You are ready to continue?” Lucilla asked.

  “Do I have a choice?” Constant blinked. She wasn’t going to cry. She’d vowed it. It wasn’t working.

  “You must not cry, señora. What will your maids think? They believe in love at first sight. You must not ruin it.”

  “Sí,” she whispered, lifting a fingernail to whisk moisture away from her eye before it damaged the kohl.

  “I have it on good authority that His Lordship is acting like a caged tiger. He is raging. He is ready. He growls at anyone who crosses his path. He has banned everyone from this wing of the house for the entire night. We must hurry. We must not make him wait longer.”

  Constant wiped at her other eye, blinked, and wiped again.

  “These tears? They are silly.”

  “I can’t help the way I feel, Lucilla. I am very close to weeping, and you call me . . . silly.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

  “Within a minute of enwrapping you in his arms, that man will know the truth. He’ll be ecstatic. He has mourned you for a year. Twelve months! The only thing he lived for were his children.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I have heard them talking of it, of course.”

  “Then why didn’t you speak of it before?”

  “Because I didn’t think it needed saying. The man is about to have his every dream fulfilled, and you cry. Here.” She handed Constant a handkerchief. “Dab lightly. At the corners. It will not do so much damage that way. I learned this from working for the Countess Esmerelda. That woman could cry. Now turn. We must hurry. His Lordship will be breaking down the door if we do not finish quickly. I have been so warned. All of us have. You should have seen Sir San Simeon run the moment he had possession of your dress.”

  “I must not keep you, then.” Constant turned her back to them.

  “Keep us? We are trying to get you ready for your husband, who from all descriptions will be upon us momentarily, and you call it keeping us? I will wash my hands of you yet, you know.”

  “Hurry then. Wrap me up all nice and pretty, so I may flaunt myself for my rutting boar of a husband. Go ahead.”

  “You will need to work on your sarcasm, my lady. I must warn you of it in advance.” She turned to the other servant girls and spoke in her Spanish-accented English. “Do not stand there. Accept this, and this. You! Bring the gown.”

  Constant set her lips and watched her transformation from an elegant, wealthy, pristine princess into a seductive siren. The blue sheen of her negligee filmed her body, leaving little to the imagination. Nor was the excuse of a robe much better. That piece of clothing weighed almost nothing.

  The silver hairnetting came off last. Lucilla unclasped each hook of it, pulled it gently from her hair, and then brushed it out. Although saturated with ink, the strands were still unruly and thick, brushing the base of her spine before she moved sections over her shoulders to cover her bosom.

  “You are very beautiful. He will not be disappointed. We go now.”

  “Wait!” Constant stopped Lucilla at the door of the antechamber.

  “What is it, ma princesa?”

  Constant dabbed at the outer corners of her eyes. It still wasn’t working. She was about to be with the man she’d love forever, the man she’d given absolutely everything away for, and it hurt too much to consider. “Bring me Geoffrey,” she whispered.

  “Are you crazed?” the maid answered, finally losing a bit of her even tone.

  “I need my son. Now. Right now.”

  “You need another mind, for you have lost yours!”

  “If you don’t bring him, I’ll wrap up in a cloak and search out the nursery myself. Think of the gossip that would cause.”

  “Madre de Dios! You are mad. A man of great passion is coming for you, and you think to bring an infant into the bedchamber?”

  “I need to be loved for myself! Right now. That is what I need. I need my son. Now. Only for a moment. Then you can take him away. If you will not bring him, we can all suffer the consequence. Gossip. Whispers. Intrigues.” Constant walked over to the boudoir door, preparatory to getting her cloak. She had the knob in her hand before Lucilla answered.

  “Very well. I will do as you command. I will not take responsibility for what happens. You make an excellent princess.”

  Constant felt the door close. The silence and emptiness of the immense chamber surrounded her, seeming to possess a personality of its own. Her shoulders slumped, her hands shook, and she buried her face in the handkerchief. She was absolutely amazed she wasn’t weeping.

  She felt, rather than heard, the door open.

  “You’ve been quick, Lucilla,” she commented without turning around. “That is good. Was he sleeping?”

  “I don’t speak Spanish, love,” Kameron replied, just before he reached her.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Oh God. Oh, dearest God. Oh God.”

  Kameron grabbed her to him, enfolded her with those wondrous arms of his, lifting her off the floor, and he was shaking. Then she saw why—he was weeping. Constant’s eyes were huge.

  “Oh, love. My dearest love. Constant. ’Tis a miracle, and I canna’ believe it. I still canna’. Oh, thank you, God. I have been on my knees renewing my faith, and ’tis na’ enough. Thank you, God!”

  He lifted his head then, blinked moisture away, and Constant had never seen anything to compare as his eyes met hers from a distance of less than two inches. He was gazing with absolute adoration and he was absolutely still.

  “Kameron?” she whispered.

  “Oh, my dearest love. My Constant. Mine. I still canna’ believe it. I canna’.”

  “You . . . know who I am?” she whispered.

  Little lines creased as he smiled. Then he was grinning. Then his mouth was on hers and there wasn’t a thought allowed. The moan that surged through them didn’t come wholly from her throat, or from his, and it had a timbre to it that made her tremble.

  Kam raised his head. He wasn’t gazing adoringly at her any longer. He was angry. He was intense. His eyes were changing a darker shade, too.

  “How dare you doubt me! Jesu’! I portrayed myself as a lecherous ass for you—and you thought it real? I have never spanked you, Constant, but I am verra near it at the moment. Verra near.”

  “You were playacting?” she asked.

  “Of course I was playacting! And thankful to have pulled it off. Here I suspected my lying abilities had waned, and yet you believed me? I’m actually impressed at myself. What a position you put me in.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “What?” His surprise was genuine. His eyes widened and no longer looked black; they were exactly the golden brown she loved. “You’ve just pulled off a major coup and yet say you did naught?”

  “I didn’t do it alone.”

  “Lord, doona’ I ken that! I nearly throttled Blai
r when I ran into him.”

  “You mean . . . Carlos?”

  “Whatever he goes by, I recognized him.”

  “Him? But. . . not me?”

  “I dinna’ look at you. I had little choice with Blair. I mean Carlos. He accosted me at the stables, grabbed my bridle, and made me look at him. And then he spouted streams of words at me as if I’d understand.”

  “The stables? You were . . . leaving?”

  “I was leaving. And who comes running out to stop me, grinning like an idiot? Barrister Blair. I mean Carlos. Montoya, right? His new identity will take some practice, love. As will the man. He’s trimmed down, dressed in some god-awful Spanish getup, and sporting a curled, black wig? Good Lord. He’s almost perfect.”

  “But I gave you a blue ribbon.”

  “Nae. The Princess Althea Esmerelda something-or-other gave me a key attached to a blue ribbon. That could have been coincidental. She might like blue. Who cares what she likes and what she hands me? I have hated her since I was in dresses. And Constant, women have been handing me keys for years! You knew that! How was I to guess it was you? Well?”

  “I—” she began, but he interrupted.

  “You left me. You died. I was beset with grief. You’ve nae idea. I could na’ eat, I could na’ sleep. Good thing my guards were strong. They tied me into my berth aboard ship to keep me from throwing myself overboard. And then they brought me the bairns. Smart men. You might have recognized some of them.”

  “From where?”

  “My honor guardsmen. Earlier.”

  “All I saw was you, Kameron.”

  He somehow wrapped his arms even tighter about her. Squeezing. Holding. Protecting.

  “I dinna’ see much either. I was seeing red. Literally. My own father kidnapped my bairns to use against me? I was ready to throttle the man. You have nae idea.”

  “Yes, I do. I was there, remember?”

  “I doona’ remember much of that meeting. I gave an ultimatum to my sire. I took your gift. I left. I had to find my bairns.”