Highland Heat

by Mary Wine

  The clouds drifted above them, granting them just enough moonlight to see by.

  An underrobe was lifted up for her to slip her hands and arms into. It slithered down her body as smooth as water. It was longer than she was accustomed to, the hem trailing behind her. The velvet overrobe was next. Deirdre enjoyed its weight, because it promised her relief from the chill as soon as her body warmed the fabric. But it was cut low in the front, with a square neckline. The two women began to lace it closed up the back. Her eyes widened as she felt the garment forming to her figure. She had never worn anything so revealing, and she felt her breasts swelling up to fill the neckline as the back of the gown was secured across her shoulder blades.

  “Perfection.” The queen walked in front of her, studying her while the women pulled the plait from her hair. “No one shall guess you are not me.”

  “She should wear your head signet. Many know it as your favorite.” One of the attendants spoke.

  “Another good idea.” The queen didn’t reach up to remove the slim ring of gold that encircled her forehead. The attendant moved toward her mistress and lifted the costly item off her head.

  Deirdre stepped back and winced when a stone jabbed into her unprotected arch. “That is too precious a thing for me to be responsible for.”

  The queen waved her hand in the air, dismissing her protest. “No one shall believe you are me if you do not have gold.” She pulled a ring off one finger. “And no one shall believe I am a bride of Christ if I do not appear humble.”

  The signet crown was gently pressed down over her head, the metal still warm from the queen’s skin. The woman behind her pulled the front sections of her hair back and tied them with a ribbon. The final touch was a silk veil that fluttered in the night breeze. The clothing was far finer than anything Deirdre had ever worn, but it was also completely impractical. Deirdre discovered she was afraid to move in it, for fear she might damage such costly fabrics. The queen held out the two rings she had removed, and her ladies carried them to Deirdre.

  “You must be at ease. I care not if I ever see that robe again, so worry not about it.”

  The queen’s attendants began to disrobe their mistress and re-dress her in the undyed robe Deirdre had worn. The queen wrinkled her nose but remained silent until even her hair was concealed beneath the thick nun’s veil.

  “I am grateful our feet are close in size.” She tested the boots with a few steps, and her lips lifted into a pleased smile. “I can see why you wear these. Although ugly, they are quite comfortable.”

  Deirdre looked at her boots with envy. Her toes were rapidly losing every bit of heat as she struggled to find a spot to stand on that did not have some rock or lump of dirt to hurt her. In the Highlands, that would be a chore indeed.

  “We should take you away now.” Sir Richard appeared, gesturing to the queen. “I have several volunteers who will stay and act as her escort.”

  The queen nodded. She stepped forward and grasped Deirdre’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I shall keep my word and pray you make it to me so I may reward you. Do not be frightened.”

  “I’m born of Highlander stock, madam; there is naught here I fear. It is my home.”

  The queen’s grip tightened a fraction more. “Excellent.”

  She stepped away, Sir Richard urging her away until the night shadows swallowed them. Deirdre listened to the sound of their footsteps until they faded as well. Only a few of the horses were left; the one the attendants had taken the clothing from remained near her. Deirdre reached out and ran a sure hand along the side of the creature. There was comfort in feeling the heat of the animal. In spite of her brave words, she discovered loneliness assaulting her.

  There was the true root of the reason she had taken her place at the abbey instead of remaining under her father’s roof. It was in every person’s nature to seek the company of other living souls. Very few could resist that urge for long. Remaining on Chattan land would have seen her falling from grace again. Oh, it might have taken years; in fact, she was certain of that, for she had more than her share of pride.

  Yet she was still weak enough to recall exactly how Quinton’s lips felt against her wrist. She had enjoyed it. Now, when there was no one about to judge her, and darkness to hide in, she had to face the truth of her own nature. She did not like being alone. She suddenly understood why women lived as mistresses; they were unable to ignore their need for companionship even if fate had been cruel enough to see them loving a man who was already wed.

  There was a crunch of dry wood, left behind as the snow melted, and new plants had yet to cover the ground with soft leaves that would mask the sounds of men moving through the hills. Every Highlander knew to wait until spring was full in bloom before attempting to raid. The queen’s escort was obviously English.

  “We’ll wait until dawn breaks.”

  The man held out something shapeless. She reached for it and smiled when her fingers felt the unmistakable roughness of wool. The fine garments she wore didn’t hold back the chill, and the coldest part of the night was yet to come. Deirdre wrapped the cloak about her and raised the hood. The English knight didn’t linger near her. He rejoined the small group of men who had been chosen to be sacrificed for their queen.

  Deirdre felt their frustration as she tried to ignore a growing sense of impending disaster. She held the edges of the cloak tight and forced herself to sit down near a smooth boulder that might offer her a place to lean her head. She pulled her legs up against her chest and sighed. At least her body heat was no longer seeping away into the night. The wool might be rough and scratchy, but it was warm. Her toes began to thaw now that she had her feet drawn close to her body. She leaned her head against the stone and tried to force her thoughts to stop spinning so fast.

  But that left only Quinton Cameron’s face behind. For some reason, she recalled his face with vivid detail, the square jaw and hard features, which lacked excessive fat because the man kept pace with his men.

  Deirdre stiffened, annoyed with the direction of her thoughts.

  Her eyes opened, and she watched the shadows again. She didn’t know much about Quinton Cameron, but she was sure the man was every inch a Highlander. There was a boldness in him that a man might only earn. More than one arrogant English lord had tried his hand at demanding respect from the Highland clans. They failed because they sent their servants to do their hunting.

  Quinton Cameron had walked into the abbey first, doing what he ordered his men to do without hanging back. She discovered herself respecting the man even as she felt her temper sizzle once more.

  With a snort, she forced herself to seek out what little sleep might be hers before the day arrived. She would need every bit of strength to accomplish the task she’d set herself. Deirdre banished the memory of Quinton Cameron from her mind. For the moment, there were far more important matters she needed to be concerned with.

  But she frowned, because the man invaded her sleep once her mind was no longer obedient to her will.

  Curse and rot her nature.

  ***

  “Rise. It is dawn.”

  Deirdre felt a boot tip nudge her, and she opened her eyes to see one of the English soldiers was frowning down at her.

  “We’ve a duty to attend to.”

  His voice was edged with solid determination. It sent a shiver down her back, because it sounded like a man who had already accepted he would be cut down in the service of his master. She rose and felt her cramped muscles protest.

  But the long hours of labor at the abbey had made her strong, and the ache dissipated with a few steps. The horizon was pink, with golden rays beginning to stretch out over the landscape.

  “You need to cast off the cloak so the fine clothing Her Majesty gave you can be seen.”

  The soldier reached for the thick wool keeping her warm, but Deirdre shifted away from him. “Then we must find something else to keep me warm, for no one shall believe that the queen would be riding while shiveri
ng from the morning chill.”

  The man let his hand drop while he frowned. “Aye, you have a point there.” He pointed to the horse the queen’s attendants had taken the clothing from during the night. “See what you can find among the things she left. I’m no lady’s maid, and I don’t know one of their fancy garments from another. A pair of robes and shoes is all a woman needs, to my way of thinking.”

  “And a cloak when traveling in the Highlands,” Deirdre insisted.

  The soldier shrugged. “Aye, but we need you to be seen in that fine velvet so those we pass will talk about you. That cloak is too common looking for our purpose.”

  Deirdre reached up and fingered the gold resting on her forehead. “This will gain plenty of attention.”

  She was still surprised to feel the smooth surface of the gold resting against her skin. Her father had a gold ring that had been worn by her grandfather as a symbol of the laird of the Chattan clan. Her mother had left a chest containing several gold chains she had brought with her as her dowry, but Deirdre had never worn them, only sneaked into the chamber where the chest was stored and gently touched the precious metal. Her father had promised once that she’d take one of those chains with her when she wed.

  She frowned and cast the wool cloak off her shoulders. She wasn’t wed, and the reason was that men were untrustworthy. The soldier reached down and grabbed the cloak, taking it away with him without another word. A soft groan rose from her as she turned to begin looking through the bundles tied to the horse. Men certainly did enjoy having the women around them doing what they wanted. She honestly shouldn’t be so surprised by that, for the world was run by men, yet still it chafed at times.

  For the moment, the chill of the early morning was more pressing than her desire to argue against what any man wanted her to do. She began to unlace bundles, marveling at the rich fabrics contained inside. But there was no way to tell what anything was without shaking everything out to see what type of garment it was. Soon she had several more robes made of costly velvet lying over the rock she had leaned against. The sun shone off the rich colors of the threads and illuminated the trim attached to their necklines.

  At last, she unrolled a surcoat made of wool so fine, she had to look closely at it to confirm that it was truly wool. The threads were thin, and Deirdre shook her head as she thought of how difficult it must have been to spin such delicate strands. The garment was lined too, and she eagerly shrugged into it.

  She hesitated when she reached to close the front of it and discovered gold buttons sewn to one edge. Each one had a design on the top.

  Fit for a queen…

  Deirdre forced her fingers to push the buttons through their holes. She’d agreed to the deception, and that meant wearing the clothing of a highborn lady. At least the surcoat began to warm her, and she turned to rolling the garments she’d placed over the boulder. Once they were tied onto the animal again, she looked toward the soldiers to discover them watching her.

  She felt her stomach tighten with dread. Every one of them looked as though he was ready to walk to his own execution. She forced down the lump that appeared in her throat. But that didn’t stop her from feeling like the fine clothing she wore was burning her. She wanted to cast it off and had to quell the urge by recalling why she was wearing it.

  The future. She wanted more from life, and she would have to earn it.

  Deirdre lifted her chin. “Shall we go?”

  ***

  Time felt frozen.

  In spite of the way the sun rose and warmed her face, Deirdre would have sworn every minute was as long as an hour while the soldiers took her up the rocky roads that led to the Highlands. She could see the heather beginning to bloom and smell it, because the Englishmen kept their pace slow. By afternoon, she was ready to flinch from the sound of the horses’ hooves hitting the ground. Every one of her senses felt strained, and her neck ached from how much she was jerking her face around to look for attackers.

  Joan Beaufort had earned her sympathy for living under such horrible stress.

  “There looks to be a village ahead. We’ll see if they have an inn.”

  Deirdre jerked her face around again, because the solders had ignored her for the entire day. They’d spoken to one another, but never to her. This man looked tired, as though he was as exhausted as she felt, but there was a spark of kindness in his eyes that she found very welcome.

  “They should have something to offer for supper,” he said before closing his mouth with a shrug.

  “That would be very nice.” Deirdre searched her mind to recall how the queen had spoken. She lowered her voice and tried to wash the Scottish brogue from her pronunciation, but feared she failed.

  “Aye, that’s a good trick to practice,” he remarked. “I suppose this ruse won’t work very well if anyone hears that accent of yours. Best leave the conversation to us.” He waved his hand in the air. “Ladies don’t generally talk to their escorts anyway. Just smile and nod or shake your head.”

  “If you believe that is best.” Deirdre felt confidence building as she remembered to say “you” instead of “ye.” The word felt slightly awkward, but the man grinned.

  “You’re a clever one, I can see why our lady choose you.”

  Satisfaction edged his voice now. He offered her an approving look before nudging his horse forward so he was once more riding close to one of his companions. Four of the men were in front of her, and four behind. It felt like the sun was shining brighter on her, illuminating her to anyone who looked up as they passed. There were houses along the road now, and the scent of cooking food drifted to her nose. Deirdre heard her belly rumble, low and long. The tension of the day had made it possible for her to ignore her hunger, but now that she could smell bread baking, it was impossible to miss how empty her belly was.

  A sharp whistle broke through her attention. The soldier at the front of their party was pointing at a weathered sign hanging in front of a large building. There were long rails set outside it to tie horses to, but the sign advertised stable-boarding services as well as rooms for rent.

  Her escort stopped, smiles appearing on the faces of the men. Deirdre sighed, the tension that had plagued her most of the day doubling as the patrons of the establishment peered at her intently. It was an effort to hold her chin steady, as if she were accustomed to wearing gold and velvet upon the road.

  Only Englishwomen did such a thing, and that was a fact. No Scottish noble rode the Highland roads in his court clothing. One of the soldiers offered his hand to her. Deirdre realized she’d been lost in thought and was still sitting on top of her mare. Her cheeks colored, but she was grateful for the lapse of attention, because it made her look more like the queen. Joan would have waited for one of her escort to help her down.

  But it seemed so wasteful of the strength Deirdre had in her own body. She placed her hand in the one offered and slid from the back of the mare. She reached up to pat the animal on the neck, without thinking, and the appreciative gesture gained her a frown from the soldier who had assisted her.

  Deirdre continued to stroke the neck of the mare. She might have agreed to wear the queen’s clothing, but she would not be so arrogant as to deny a horse that had carried her all day a kind touch.

  “This way, Majes—madam.”

  The soldiers stumbled over the word “madam,” his tone loud enough to drift to those watching them enter the inn. Deirdre stepped up and through the doorway while whispers rose around her. They died away when she appeared, the patrons staring at her over their wooden bowls of stew and broken rounds of bread.

  The soldiers directed her to a large table, and two men who sat too near were sent to another table with a harsh look from the captain. A serving girl quickly appeared to sweep a cleaning rag across the surface of the chair before Deirdre sat on it.

  “Ye must be cold and hungry. I’ll fetch ye up a serving of me mother’s supper. It’s the tastiest in the area.”

  Deirdre opened her mouth
but closed it when the captain interrupted her.

  “That will be good. Thank you.” His words were clipped and the girl hurried away. He sent a hard look toward Deirdre, clearly attempting to remind her to remain silent. The man nodded to her, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eye.

  Deirdre stared straight back at him, refusing to lower her chin. She was posing as a queen, after all, and she doubted Joan Beaufort would allow a member of her escort to put her in her place. The soldier frowned but ducked his head after a moment.

  “Straight off the fire, mistress.”

  The serving girl returned with a tray that contained a steaming bowl. Her face was flushed from how fast she was moving, but her eyes glittered with anticipation of earning some additional coin for her troubles.

  Deirdre lowered her eyelashes to veil the shame that entered her eyes. For the first time, she was ashamed of the fact that she was deceiving her own countrymen in the effort to gain what she wanted.

  The stew smelled delicious, though, and when it was placed in front of her, she couldn’t think of anything except tasting it. She burned her tongue because it was too hot, but that didn’t keep her from smiling.

  “I told ye it was tasty. The bread is warm too, and I brought ye some sweet-cream butter me sister churned from this morning’s milk.”

  Deirdre looked up, but the captain answered for her.

  “Our mistress is well pleased with your offerings. We would have your best room for the night.”

  He flipped a silver coin onto the tabletop that made the serving girl smile wide enough to show off her teeth. She scooped the silver off the table almost before the sound of it hitting the wooden surface faded.

  “I’ll get me sister to seeing to the room.” She was gone in a moment, on her way back to the kitchen, where an older woman with fabric wrapped tightly around her hair to keep it out of the fire looked back toward her with excitement. The girl held up the coin, and the woman took it, nodding before she snapped her fingers at someone else in the kitchen.

  “That was a great deal of silver.”