He’d make quick work of the Sassenach lassies, just as he’d done with all those other husband hunters. Tam sat at the head of the planked table and cracked his knuckles. What a wily old fox his king was. This time he’d chosen not one but two maidens to dangle before him, and both girls were fetching. Before he’d glimpsed them, he’d presumed that their Englishness would snuff out his mating hunger. But he’d been thoroughly wrong there.
Putting his hands around her waist and helping her down from the king’s carriage had been a mistake. The feel of the ripe female body under his palm had a disturbing effect. He’d been like an old, rudely awakened bear. And what an appetite he now had. His hands had a memory of their own. They remembered the sumptuous feel of women-skin and the rise and fall of female curves. His hands craved the female form. His mouth must also have a memory because it suddenly recalled the taste of tender lady-skin. It was better than honey and cream. Aye, those two lassies had poked his hunger, and that be a dangerous thing to do. He swallowed. The older one interested him most.
He must avoid touching those girls again, especially the one they called Juliette. He’d known her for naught more than a minute afore his sword registered woman and rose. He’d tried to force himself to simmer, but his sword would not listen. What choice did he have; he’d had to flee.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of maidens’ slippers scratching the stone. He dropped his fists to his sides. They were coming. Hopefully, when he saw the two of them up close, they’d be plain of face. The mind was like that; it played tricks on a lonely man. He’d likely imagined their beauty.
The door to his private dining room burst open. His eyes shot up. Lord in clover, Juliette was bewitching, more so than afore. He tried to look away, but he found he could not. Heaven help him!
“You,” she gasped in shock, or anger, or some such thing. Her lips parted, her tongue moistening her cupid’s bow. What God-given lips they were too: rosy and plump and made for kissing. She was, of course, the only one speaking because he was incapable of uttering a word.
Her eyes, too, were a sight to behold: mesmerising like a valley of wild flowers. Nay, they were more like wet jewels. He could stare at their brilliance and depth all night long.
“So, you are not the stable master, after all,” she cried, bolting down the length of the dining hall and clearly annoyed at being duped. This was a girl who did not like to be made fool of. She stomped past the bench seats till she reached his right shoulder. Then, without any sort of permission seeking, plonked herself next to him. She sat close enough for him to smell her scent of oranges and warm woman.
Few innocent maidens would dare to sit at the right hand of a powerful Laird, certainly not a Laird favoured by two kings. But this lassie chose the best seat in the house, as if it was her right. Bold, she was, like the king’s gold.
And then she went on to astound him even more. Without waiting to be offered, she snatched a drinking mug from the centre of the table and gulped the watered ale. “You could have said something!”
He watched her because he was quite unable to look away. His eyes had stopped obeying his commands. Juliette scrunched up her beautiful face, and yet she was still stunning to look at.
“Yuk, watered ale, my least favourite. I am in no mood to drink something that I’m not partial to. I thought you’d serve wine or mead. After all, this is our welcome dinner. Surely there is honey wine somewhere in this . . .”
Tam could tell she was scratching around for just the right word.
“. . . in this most quaint and unusual castle?”
Martha Pins, the old steward’s wife, drifted into the room like a vapour of bad air. The younger sister, the one they called Vienna, followed Martha inside.
“Martha,” he said, finding his voice at last, “the English maidens wish to drink mead instead of watered ale. Do we have some?”
“Oh, do they now?” Martha’s eyes settled on Juliette. The old steward’s wife made no attempt to keep her feelings hidden. “Of course, this castle has mead,” Martha snapped back, obviously taking exception. “But the king’s ale was good enough for the bonnie Scots lassies that courted you afore.” She folded her arms over her chest.
“Laird Tam has entertained wee girls on many occasions, and all his young lassies have been happy to drink our watered ale. So, watered ale will be good enough for the likes o’ you two as well.”
Tam held his grin. This meal was shaping up to be quite sprightly, quite unlike the others he’d endured. He might even find this supper amusing. “Martha, best bring the mead.”
She drew in a sharp breath and stood tall before sniffing out her disapproval. Without so much as a simple, “Yes, milord,” she titled her chin to the roof and bolted from the room.
The minute she was gone, Juliette turned on him. “Why did you pretend to be the stable master? I do not appreciate being laughed at.”
Tam took a long draw of his ale and then placed the goblet back on the planking table. “I did not pretend anything of the sort. You mistook me for a stable hand. Tis not the same thing.”
Vienna seated herself beside her sister. She poked Juliette in an attempt to quiet her quarrelsome tongue, but the ruffled Juliette simply brushed her sister aside.
“You played along, pretending to be the stable master, knowing full well that I misunderstood. You willingly deceiving me. Nay, you deliberately deceived me.”
He shrugged. “What of it?”
“You made no attempt to correct my misapprehension. In England, your behaviour would be considered bad manners. Rude, even.”
“Ah, but we are far from England now, praise the Lord, and here, in God’s Highlands, I am Laird and as such, get to do just as I please.”
Juliette tapped her fingers together in irritation. “The way I understand it, your King Alexander has commanded you to play host, just as Vienna and I have been forced to visit and entertain you. So, stable master or Laird or whomever you are playing at being tonight, we must put up with each other for a whole two hundred days.”
Spurred on by her sister, Vienna gathered strength. “Two hundred days. That’s long enough for an Englishman to discover another country.
He smirked. “Unlikely.”
Juliette took the bait. “Why is that unlikely? Two hundred days is long enough to sail to another part of the world.”
Tam rose his brows. “Aye, tis. But your sister’s observation is still unlikely because, in my experience, Englishmen oft get lost. They cannot follow the sun. In fact, if you turn them around on a circle, they lose their baring. I believe that it would take an Englishman two hundred days to find his way home from anywhere. Two hundred days to discover another country is out of the question.”
Martha came back into the dining hall carrying a jug of mead. With much abruptness, and with her temper barely under control, she plonked the jug in front of Juliette, splashing some of the mead onto the table. Tam raised his hand signalling for Martha to pour.
Martha measured out a scant few sips for each girl. While they drank, he took the opportunity to study each one. Their dresses and adornments were fine indeed. How long had it taken them to bead and ribbon each strand of long hair?
“There is no need for you both to dress in such an elaborate fashion for me. Here in the Highlands, we are a practical people and do not see the sense in strutting about like peacocks.” He certainly hoped that Juliette would not dress in such a bewitching manner again because he was having trouble schooling his eyes away. Not only was her face breathtaking, but the swell of her breasts beneath that tight kirtle was also disturbing. He did not need to look lower to know her waist nipped in like a wasp’s and her hips swelled in promise of what lay betwixt. He would better survive the next two hundred days if she wore drab serge and if the fitting of the cloth was loose.
Julie
tte gave him a honey smile. He waited, knowing that a sting was sure to follow.
“We English are not rude to our guests. We never call them peacocks. We are agreeable in all things we do. It is called being a civilised people.”
Tam smiled back. The girl had more prickles than a hedgehog. Mayhap he might even enjoy meal times from now on.
The younger sister, Vienna, was sitting there looking unperturbed as if used to her sister’s lashing tongue. Juliette reached over and took her sister’s hand, silently reassuring her that all was well. He’d better go easy on the younger one. She looked more delicate. Clearly Juliette thought so. Mayhap Vienna was more easily spooked. If a girl was to survive in the Highlands, she needed a firm back and a steely character to match.
By all accounts, Juliette was peppery and trouble, and for some reason he found her spitting nature endearing. After a few years with the frail, soft, and easily frightened Helena, he’d come to appreciate a woman with a waring spirit. He’d loved his wife dearly, but life in the Highlands had been a constant trial for her. Someone of Helena’s nature needed to live in a gentle climate and even gentler surrounds. Juliette was different.
Tam slammed his palms onto the planking table. “Let me be upfront with you two girls. I wish to console you especially, young Vienna. Not now, nor ever in the future, will I wish to wed you. Not in a month of Sundays. Not even if you were the last woman on earth.” With that said, she could now relax.
Vienna looked startled, like a herring that had darted past the open mouth of a shark. Clearly relieved, the younger sister’s mouth turned up at the sides.
Juliette was the one looking stormy. She glanced from Tam, back to her sister, then back again at him. Juliette’s jaw was set firmer than clay in the baking sun. Didn’t the girl realise he’d just let Vienna off the hook? Why did her rigidness suggest he’d slighted the wee thing?
The older sister spoke in a bluster, like a burst cloud. “And let me assure you, Laird Tam, that the skies will rain pink elephants before either Vienna or I consider marrying you. So there.”
Tam nodded and dipped his head, afeared he’d give himself away and laugh out loud. “Fine, then. We understand one another. We will endure each other’s company as best we can till these torturous two hundred days are through.”
Juliette cleared her throat, as if ready to speak again. Did that girl always need the last word?
“Exactly,” Juliette said. “Vienna and I have high standards, especially high when it comes to husbands.”
“Oh, so you set your mark above a Laird or Earl, do you? I only ask because when this two-hundred-day stretch is done, my king plans to make me Earl of Ross.” Tam waited for Juliette’s surprise, and indeed her awe, because the honour was high.
But Juliette waved her arm dismissively.
“Vienna and I have our hearts set on marrying gentlemen, English gentlemen.” She nodded and waited, as if giving him time to understand the unbridgeable gap that lay between a Scottish Earl and an English nobleman.
Tam couldn’t help himself. He mumbled, “Of course if you wish to marry a dandy, then that is up to you. Here in the Highlands, lassies like men who are strong and fearless and able to fight. They want men that look like men and act like them too.”
Juliette’s face pinked. Although she was clearly angry, she looked most becoming. He shuffled in his seat. Why was it that every time he looked at that girl, all he could think about was bedding her?
The castle cook, Agnes, entered the dining room, struggling under the weight of her huge platter. What a feast she carried! He rose to help.
This was a gift from his king, a celebration meal to signify the beginning of the two-hundred-day visit. The meat, of course, was far too much for their small party, but no matter. There would be plenty left for the staff and others to dine on when this meal was done. All in the Highlands knew of the king’s fondness for roasted boar head, but Tam was yet to meet a lassie who savoured such a treat. Meat from the face of a beast, strangely, soured their stomachs. His own dear Helena learned to keep her eyes averted whenever any roasted head arrived.
Agnes, her proud cheeks aglow, placed the heavy platter on the table. “Compliments of the king himself.”
Tam leaned toward Juliette and whispered, “Just eat the kale and onions if your stomach is sour. You English are feeble about food. We Scots know this.” Then he added, “Squeamish and afeared about most things. It cannot be helped. Tis the way you are made. But you needn’t worry, I’m a compassionate man. I’ll not say one word of your sour and timid stomach to the king.”
Juliette glared back at him, her cheeks as tight as a fencer’s lance. Mayhap she was readying herself, nay, forcing herself to show gratitude. A thank-you would be most appropriate about now, and he would accept it graciously.
But instead, she waved her hand at the cook. “Bring that platter closer, so I might inspect it better, if you please.”
Agnes nodded and dragged the platter down the table till it rested in front of Juliette. Cook smiled like a smug pigeon, puffing out her chest. “Tis a beauty to be sure,” Agnes said, wedging the roasted apple back into the boar’s mouth. “Aye, I’m not surprised ye want a closer inspection.”
Instead of answering, Juliette reared up on her elbows, leaned over the dining table, her palms supporting her weight, and then she lowered her head till she was cheek to jowl with the boar’s head. She opened her beautiful mouth, and, reminiscent of a piranha fish, took a huge bite out of the boar’s cheek. Then she turned back to face Tam, her cheeks bulging, brimming with boar meat, and the boar’s sweet juices dribbling down her chin. It was obvious she struggled to hold all the meat in.
“Juliette!” Vienna gasped, looking as if she wished to be anywhere else.
Agnes did a poor job of hiding her shock. A curse slipped from her throat, followed by, “Devil’s dick! Never have I seen such a thing, and from a lady too.”
It took every ounce of Tam’s strength to keep his face straight. When he was able, he glanced at Juliette.
Her eyes flitted about the room, uncertain now, having lost their boldness. Her gaze jumped from Vienna, to him, to Agnes, then back to the mutilated boar face, with one missing cheek. The head was a sorry-looking centrepiece now.
Juliette’s cheeks pinked, and she lowered her eyes. As slowly and silently as she could manage, she chewed, trying to eat her way through the huge mouthful. The girl looked mortified.
He’d poked her temper. Mayhap she’d reacted to his words, not liking to be called feeble and squeamish. And just like an angry kitten, she’d scratched back. Another look at her flaming cheeks told him something else: she was having second thoughts about her rash action, and if she could undo her deed, she would.
Keeping the snigger from his voice, he said, “I wonder how your table manners will appeal to the flowery English gentleman you are so keen to wed?”
Tam noticed Juliette’s cheeks had reddened even more. If anyone else had defiled the king’s gift, he’d order the carver to leave the bite mark on the cheek and carve around it. Normally, he’d enjoy displaying the mutilated centrepiece and use it as a trophy that said, “This is how our enemy behaves. See how civilised they are!”
Ah, but the lass was peppery and spirited, and he’d had horses with similar tempers. He’d loved each one dearly. Those horses always turned out to be his favourite chargers.
“Carver, slice up the whole head, every, last bit. And be quick about it. We shall all eat from both cheeks and enjoy every mouthful.”
Chapter 5
Juliette sat on her narrow cot next to Vienna. Her sister giggled into her kerchief, but thankfully, her mirth was fading, and she was able to speak.
“I still can’t believe what you did last eve, Juliette. I shall never forget that meal, and I’m sure I shall laugh every time I reme
mber.”
Juliette felt more worried than amused. “He suggested we were feeble and squeamish and afeared of food. I was proving him wrong and defending the English nation as a whole.”
“You don’t suppose Tam will tell the king what you did, do you?” Vienna quizzed. “Because it might get back to Pa, or worse, to Mama even.”
Juliette bit her lip. “Hope not.”
“Pa would say, ‘Wars have been started over less.’”
“Hush up, Vienna. Pa always says that. Mama might laugh. You never know.”
“Or she might not.”
They sat silently for a moment, contemplating Mama’s wrath.
“Tam doesn’t look like a gossip,” Vienna added, by way of offering hope.
“Nay, he does not.”
“What do you suppose he thinks of us, really?”
Juliette shrugged, still too concerned to give the question much thought. Anyway, how could Tam feel anything other than loathing? She’d acted like a savage or a starving person. Even her pet ferret had better table manners. She’d set out to defend England, but somehow, something entirely different had happened. Would England’s King Henry still consider her a fitting ambassador?
Vienna babbled on some more. “What do you think of Tam, really?”
Juliette lifted a caterpillar from the bed covers and carried it to the window. She had no intension of airing her real thoughts because they were disturbing, even to herself, and they were the last thing her mischief-making younger sister needed to hear.
Thistles and Thieves Page 4