by Carmen Caine
Biting her lip, she took a deep breath and timidly pushed the door open.
The chamber was dark, the weak gray light of the morning unable to penetrate the shadows.
“Kate?” a voice queried sleepily from the bed. “Is it morning already?”
Could it be that Lady Elsa hadn’t noticed her absence? Cautiously, she cleared her throat and murmured, “Aye, my lady.”
Lady Elsa sat up slowly and stretched. “Did you enjoy the music?”
An enormous sense of relief washed over Kate. She expelled a grateful breath and knelt before the fire, stirring it into life as she meekly answered, “Aye, my lady.”
She should feel guilty in deceiving the woman so, but she could scarcely confess she had spent the night in the Earl of Lennox’s chamber rolling on the bed with a brawny outlaw. She blushed, scarcely able to believe it herself even as she felt a deep ache in her soul for how it had ended. Aye, and the end made little sense. She’d have to speak to Cameron, to understand what ailed him. Something was not right.
But first she had duties to attend to.
Yawning, Lady Elsa sat down in her chair, allowing Kate to brush her soft, lustrous hair with a fine, silver-handled brush. After a time, she eyed Kate critically. “You shouldn’t sleep in your dress, ‘tis far too rumpled for the feast. You’ll have to change.”
“Aye, my lady.” Kate dipped her chin.
Unbidden, the sudden recollection of Cameron unlacing the green silk and tossing it over his shoulder paraded through her thoughts. She blushed, jerking the brush a little, but Lady Elsa didn’t appear to notice. The woman chatted lightly as Kate arranged her hair, pinning a modestly adorned headdress to the silky mass, and assisted her in stepping into the fine garnet silk gown edged with the Spanish lace.
Smoothing her hands over the fine material, Lady Elsa gave a pleased, dreamy sigh. “The earl will not be able to resist me, Kate.”
“Aye, my lady,” Kate agreed obediently, kneeling to tie yarrow to the woman’s shift. She felt strangely weary. As Lady Elsa chattered nervously about her earl, Kate’s thoughts shifted to Cameron. Why had he kissed her so, and then, just moments later, pushed her away? Was love that cruel?
With a heavy heart, she watched Lady Elsa douse her lips in pearlwort and retire again to her chair before the fire, taking up the needlework once more to wait for the feast to begin.
It suited Kate well. She was oddly reluctant to talk. She stood at the foot of the bed, wading through her bewildered thoughts when a sudden knock at the door startled her. Lifting the latch, she discovered Maura standing on the threshold, holding out a small flask.
“Not now!” Kate hissed, glaring.
“I’ll have what is mine!” Maura hissed back, her blue eyes icy cold. “Fill it, Kate. At once!”
Gritting her teeth, Kate grabbed the flask, casting a sidelong glance at Lady Elsa, but the woman was staring into the fire, lost in thought, a smile playing about her lips.
Turning her back so that she could not be seen, Kate hastily filled the small container with the pearlwort all the while sending dark looks Maura’s way. Aye, her patience was wearing thin with the greedy woman. Returning to the door, she thrust the flask into Maura’s outstretched hands.
The woman’s eyes lit. “Aye, the Earl of Lennox will be mine afore the night.”
“Aye,” Kate muttered doubtfully.
“Ye’d best pray he is!” Maura threatened softly and then hurried away, humming a tune under her breath.
Kate watched her go with a feeling of trepidation. If the earl did not fall for the woman, she was in trouble. She heaved a sigh, hoping that he would. Her thoughts were interrupted as Lady Elsa announced it was time to attend the feast. After a last minute checking of the yarrow, and a dab more pearlwort upon her lips, Lady Elsa set out for Stirling’s Great Hall with Kate trailing in her wake.
The day promised to be a beautiful one with not a cloud in the sky, and for a moment, Kate closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin. She hoped it would lighten her increasingly heavy heart, but it did little to ease the burden.
Her head was beginning to ache.
Ach, she’d never expected the day to turn so sour.
They were halfway across the courtyard when the door to the royal apartments opened, and a tall, stern-looking woman dressed in a blue silk gown and a pearl-encrusted headdress stepped out into the bright sunlight. Three grandly dressed women, one carrying a small gray dog with long silky hair, followed her closely.
“’Tis Princess Anabella!” Lady Elsa squeaked under her breath, coming to an abrupt halt.
Immediately, the tall woman’s cold gaze turned their way. After a moment, she lifted her hand and slowly beckoned them to join her.
With noticeable reluctance, Lady Elsa complied.
“Princess Anabella.” She bowed deeply before the woman in greeting.
Princess Anabella was a thin, middle-aged, red-haired woman of such unusual height that Kate found that alone intimidating. But there was so much more about her that inspired fear. Her eyes were sharp, intrusive, and her thin lips etched in disapproval as she towered over them, demanding, “And ye are?”
Remaining deep in her curtsey, Lady Elsa licked her lips nervously. “I’m Lady Elsa MacRae, of—”
“Cameron’s ward?” The princess interrupted, raising a critical brow.
“Yes, my lady,” Lady Elsa whispered in a wavering voice.
Kate blinked. Cameron? Surely, Lady Elsa’s protector was not Cameron Stewart, the Dreaded Earl of Lennox? Ach, why had she not bothered to find out which earl protected her mistress? A ripple of horror washed through her, and she eyed the hem of Lady Elsa’s skirts in dismay. What a fool she was! She’d given two women love potions for the same man! Sweet Mary, but she prayed the potions truly didn’t work.
“Enough simpering!” The princess sniffed disdainfully. “Rise!”
Lady Elsa straightened, fluttering her hands nervously.
“Attend me at the high table, then,” the princess ordered, adding, “Only because ye are the ward of my beloved kinsman.” Whirling on her heel, she proceeded to the Great Hall with Lady Elsa submissively in tow.
Worried and biting her lip, Kate joined the other maids. If only she had heeded her mother’s advice, and her father’s, too. If only she had thought twice! The day was turning into a disastrous one, and she strangely wanted to weep.
Clenching her hands, she stepped into Stirling’s Great Hall.
Lit with the light of a thousand candles, the Great Hall was a magnificent sight to behold. The tables lining the great chamber were already set with the most elaborate assortment of delicacies that Kate had ever seen. Silver bowls of oranges, braided loaves of bread, and platters of almond cakes already graced the tables as servants poured fine Rhennish wine from ornate flasks into silver-inlaid goblets.
Lads moved through the hall bearing pitchers of water, basins, and towels to wash the hands of the finely dressed nobles. Musicians attired in green embroidered satin played softly on recorders and lutes as jugglers and poets entertained small clusters of nobles near the massive fireplaces.
Princess Anabella grandly made her way to the high table to pause behind the king’s empty chair. It was a massively carved chair with velvet cushions and a blue canopy, embroidered with the royal crest.
“Where is James?” She huffed, scowling deeply.
A man detached himself from a group of nobles nearby. It was almost comical, the way he strutted and postured as he made his way to the princess, but then Kate recognized him and all humorous thoughts fled. He was the nasal-voiced Thomas, the man who had threatened her with the erroneous warning for the earl he thought she knew.
Bowing low before Princess Anabella, he stretched out an elegantly ringed hand. “Your highness—”
Deliberately turning her back upon the man, Princess Anabella repeated, “Where is James? Why doesn’t anyone answer me?”
Thomas straightened. His long f
ace flushed darkly.
Spying a burly man with a red, bushy beard and a friendly, welcoming face, Princess Anabella waved curtly to him. “Archibald Douglas, come here at once!”
As Thomas stepped back, his cold eyes fell upon Kate, and a sudden smile flickered on his lips.
Kate swallowed uneasily. The man appeared to remember her. What if he hadn’t been drunk that day? Worriedly, she stepped behind the woman carrying the princess’ dog, but the sudden fanfare of trumpets announcing the arrival of the king distracted them all.
Rising on her tiptoes, Kate peered through the crowd to see the king making his way to the high table, his arms flung about the shoulders of his brothers, Albany and Mar. They were followed by an entourage of musicians, poets, and nobles.
The three brothers closely resembled each other, but with several contrasting differences. They were all tall and red-haired, but Albany and Mar were rugged, possessing an easy self-assured grace. The king was pale, edgy, and had an unhealthy look about him.
Kate watched them with interest.
She had never seen the king before. He rarely left the castle. She had only heard the rumors that most thought him an ill fit to be king and preferred Albany or Mar to rule the country in his stead. If she were to judge by appearances only, she was inclined to agree. However, she felt a twinge of shame at the thought. Simply because the man appeared weak, it did not mean that he was, and besides, what did she know of such weighty matters? She was simply a maid and grateful that she still remained one after her recent folly of the night.
Not wanting to think of Cameron, she moved closer to where Lady Elsa still hovered in the company of the princess.
“The mason, Thomas, is hardly appealing,” Princess Anabella was saying tartly to the red-haired Archibald Douglas. “I fail to understand James’ fascination with him. ‘Tis scandalous.”
Archibald laughed congenially, muttering to the princess in reply, but his eyes had locked upon Lady Elsa with open interest.
Lady Elsa, however, was looking elsewhere, and Kate guessed by the way the woman suddenly began to twitch that her protector was nearby.
With a rueful twist of her lip, she sighed.
Ach, how could she have given two women potions for the same man?
The thought suddenly brought a worrisome one to mind.
Maura had traded places with a serving maid so that she might meet the earl at the feast. Apprehensively, Kate searched the faces of the crowd, but when no sign of Maura appeared, she allowed herself some sense of relief.
It was short-lived.
A stone’s throw away, a blonde head wove its way through the hall and Kate grimaced.
Maura.
Wearing a gown of red silk, Maura approached the high table with a provocative sway of her hips. Her lips glistened with pearlwort.
Kate held her breath, not knowing whether to feel pity, distress, or exasperation, as Maura stalked toward a tall man clad in black velvet bowing before the princess.
The man must be the earl.
“Maura!” Kate hissed as she walked in front of her, but if the woman heard, she gave no indication of it.
Biting her lip, Kate glanced back at the earl.
He stood with his back to her, inclining his head towards Lady Elsa now, but something about his movements caught her attention.
Frowning, she peered closer, but several musicians strolled by, affording Kate only a glimpse of a blushing, giggling Lady Elsa. And then the musicians were gone, and she could see the back of the earl’s broad shoulders and dark hair.
Ach, but he seemed familiar.
Learning forward for a better look, she nearly collided with a group of servants bearing a roasted swan upon a silver platter.
“Back, wench!” one of the men growled as someone shoved her back against the wall.
Embarrassed, she stepped away, finding a new vantage point just in time to witness Maura touch the earl’s arm and declare in a husky voice, “What a strong sword arm ye have, my lord!”
By the Saints, she prayed the plants did not work!
She eyed the man for any signs that would indicate that he was bespelled by either woman, but found herself immediately distracted.
There was truly something familiar about the man.
Had she seen him before? She couldn’t place her finger on it. Was it the set of his shoulders? She wished he would turn around, so that she might see his face.
Lady Elsa was frowning at Maura, but Maura was so intent upon the earl that she hadn’t noticed.
It would have been wickedly humorous if it were someone else’s doing that both women were wearing pearlwort for the same man, Kate thought wryly. Holding her breath, she continued to eye the man curiously when it struck her.
His dark hair and unusual height reminded her of Cameron. She smiled, surprised at the similarities, when he turned.
Kate’s heart stood still.
There was no mistaking the strong line of his jaw.
And only one man possessed those dark, expressive eyes.
Cameron stood there, tall and proud, clad in fine black velvets with the silver brooch he favored clasped about his throat.
Kate couldn’t move.
She couldn’t even think.
She could only watch as Maura lunged. He sidestepped her easily, moving back with a sinuous grace as she sprawled at his feet. He stared down at her with a flicker of annoyance.
The maids around Kate tittered.
Lady Elsa clutched her skirts and gasped as Maura scrambled to her feet, her cheeks staining a dark red, and it was then that Cameron turned his head and casually glanced back in her direction.
His face went blank and he froze.
Time stood still as their eyes met and locked.
Kate did not know how long they remained that way before the fair-haired Julian stepped into view. Clad in a white shirt with a fine plaid, the man leaned close to murmur in Cameron’s ear.
Cameron did not respond.
Frowning, Julian followed his gaze to Kate, and then he went still, his lips parting in surprise.
It was then that a cold, nasty jolt of realization struck Kate.
They were both nobles.
Cameron was the Earl of Lennox, the Dreaded Earl of Death.
She couldn’t breathe.
She watched with horror as Cameron shook off Lady Elsa’s restraining hand and approached, his dark eyes boring into hers.
She knew she should run, but she was strangely rooted to the spot.
“Kate!” Cameron’s long fingers grasped her shoulders, giving them a little shake. “Kate!”
She stared, unable to speak.
And then fair-haired Julian appeared. With a warm, sympathetic smile, the man dipped into an elaborate bow. “I am the Lord Julian Gray, my sweet Kate, and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”
It had to be some horrible dream. “No!” she heard herself whisper.
Cameron winced and clenched his jaw, murmuring, “Forgive me, Kate.”
Nodding at Cameron, Julian said the dreaded words, “And this, unfortunately, is Cameron Malcolm Stewart, Earl of Lennox, Lord of Ballachastell and Inchmurrin.”
Kate closed her eyes.
Fate was cruel.
Ach, but he must have been amused at their first meeting. Her heart felt torn asunder. He had merely been playing her for the fool! And she had fallen for it, given herself to him, and even foolishly dreamt of wedding him and giving him bairns!
Now she understood his reaction only a few hours ago. Aye, an earl would never wed a mere maid. He’d used her for bed-sport and she’d blithely welcomed it. A deep anger rose, dispelling her stupor. Of its own accord, her hand reached up and slapped him across the face.
He didn’t move or try to avoid the blow. He stood there. His hands clenched into fists.
Julian folded his arms and winked at her with an understanding smile. “Aye, I’d say he deserves more than that, Kate.”
Then su
ddenly, Kate became aware of Lady Elsa shrieking and the gasps of those circled around her, and the full horror of what she had done struck her.
She had just slapped an earl. And not just any earl. One with blood ties to the royal family—a Stewart.
Swallowing bitterly, she forced her wooden lips to apologize, “Forgive me, my lord…”
The words stuck in her throat.
It was nigh impossible to think of him as a noble, but she had only to look at him to see that he was. How had she missed it? Why hadn’t she stopped to think?
“I must have amused ye right well!” The words tumbled from her lips. “And I even swore that I loved ye!” She gulped back sudden tears.
“Forgive me, Kate,” he whispered hoarsely.
She eyed him fiercely and vowed, “Never!” And then remembering his station, belatedly stammered, “M-my lord.”
“Kate, ye swore ye wouldn’t judge me.” He swallowed, his dark eyes radiating distress. “Mind ye, Kate, that ye swore that day in the woods, that ye would understand! Whatever it was—”
She blinked, and then retorted angrily, “I lied, ye fool!”
Again, the onlookers gasped.
Clapping her hand over her mouth, she gulped, “I-I meant to call ye my lord earl, my lord!” Tears threatened.
Cameron blanched, and dragging a hard breath, asked bitterly, “Is being an earl so unforgiveable? Is it worse than an outlaw?”
How could she answer the man? She longed to disappear, to run far away.
“What is the meaning of this, Kate?” Lady Elsa was asking.
Suddenly, it was all too much. Not knowing what else to do, Kate gathered her skirts and bolted.
A flurry of voices called after her, but she heard Cameron’s rise above all others, “Let me go! I’ll not lose her like this! Not like this! Leave me be!”
More voices erupted, but she paid them little heed.
Somehow, she reached the courtyard. She kept running, the commotion from the hall fading behind her as she stumbled on.
“Kate!”
She whirled.
Cameron had followed.
Angrily, she hoisted her skirts higher and flew down a flight of twisting, narrow steps but at the bottom, she came to an abrupt halt, barely retaining enough presence of mind to recognize the fact that she had stumbled into the royal gardens.