“Kat?” the queen laughed. “I have a dear friend named the same. Does yours have claws?”
“Aye, she has spirit, though she hides it.”
“She wasn’t really fainting, then.”
“She seemed hearty once we quit the room.”
The queen laughed and moved her bishop in an aggressive move against his knight. “Still, marrying a woman without a name, without a dowry. It’s a good thing your father is dead as he would never have allowed it.”
Toren moved, taking her bishop. Elizabeth sat upright, not expecting the bold action.
“It’s a good thing my Catholic father is dead, else ye and I may not be having a friendly game before the fire.”
Elizabeth frowned but nodded. “He was an open supporter of my cousin Mary while she lived.”
Toren looked to Elizabeth. “I support ye, Elizabeth, King of Britain.”
She leaned forward studying him. “I see it in your eyes, my Highland knight, and I feel it in the weight of your gift,” she said pulling the necklace from where it lay against her cinched bodice of gold damask.
The dragonfly center sparkled in the firelight, its wings almost coming to life. Toren blinked and the image stilled.
He smiled. “I’m pleased ye like the gift,” he said. Mac an donais! She was wearing it. How to retrieve it? He groaned inwardly. How many hundreds of other pieces did she receive as gifts and have tucked away in some dusty room? But the dragonfly necklace she wore. Elizabeth inclined her head toward the board and moved her queen in line with Toren’s king. “Check.”
Toren didn’t look at the board but studied the strong, intelligent woman before him. She had a king’s heart, a general’s intellect and her father’s passion. Her interference or favor could change the course of history. “Yer Majesty did not answer my question.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed as they came to rest on him. “It seems, my Highland knight, that you make your own decisions, regardless of authority.”
“I do not wish to make myself yer enemy, Yer Majesty.”
She stared at him with narrowed eyes. “But you will bloody well do as you like.”
She would know if he lied and could throw him in the Tower if he agreed. It was best to hold his tongue.
Instead he moved his king out of check.
Elizabeth quickly moved to match him. “Check,” she said. Toren moved out of check again, and she followed. “Check.” She chased him for two more moves until finally leaning back in her chair. She ran a hand along her smooth cheek. “I grow weary of chasing you.”
Toren reached across the board to his ebony king and laid it down at her ivory queen’s feet. “Then I surrender.” He bowed his head in what he hoped looked like supplication.
“God’s teeth!” Elizabeth yelled, quickly bringing his focus back to her face. “If you imagine that I would believe your surrender in this matter so quickly, you must think me quite the fool.” Her words seethed, but her eyes twinkled and a small grin played on her painted lips.
“Yer Majesty…” Toren began, but the queen threw up a hand to stop him.
“I will make my opinion known after reviewing all the testimony. Your Lady Kat Wednesday or Lady Maxwell.” She folded slender, be-ringed fingers in her green damask dress and steepled them. “It is your word against Maxwell’s, and the child must be protected if possible.”
She nodded at an attendant, who quickly took the chess game away.
“And then it will be up to you, my Highland knight.” She raised her goblet of wine in salute. “To rescue the one who needs it most.”
Chapter 4
The half scream, half gasp made Kat jump and spin around, gown clutched in front of her chest. A tall, attractive, brunette woman stood staring at her.
“I ken I’d do it one day,” she said, her Scottish accent evident. “I counted the wrong number of doors. Please forgive me. I must have the room next door.”
“Wait,” Kat said, before the woman could exit. “Is this your gown by any chance?”
The woman looked closer, then glanced around the room. “This is my room,” she said. “Aye, that is my gown.” She looked Kat up and down. “Who are ye and why are ye donning my gown? Where are yer clothes?” She glanced around the room. “Did ye walk here nude?”
Kat stood there open-mouthed for a moment while her whirling thoughts came to a complete halt. Had Toren even mentioned his sister’s name to her? Yes, Brie or Brianag or Briannan. Which was it?
“I am Kat.”
“Like the beast?”
Kat’s brow furrowed. “No. It’s spelled with a K.”
“Oh. Is it short for Katherine then?”
“No, Katell.”
“I’ve never heard of that name before. What is yer family name?”
Kat wasn’t quite sure what to say so she went with what Toren had started. “Di-Ciadaoin.”
Toren’s sister stared at her with amusement. “That isn’t a family name, it’s a day of the week. Today actually.”
“It’s Wednesday today?”
“Aye. It must be yer lucky day.” She smiled.
They continued to stare at one another while Kat’s mind began to function again.
“Your brother, Toren, brought me to your room and said that you would not mind if I borrowed one of your gowns until a wardrobe could be made for me.”
“Tor is having a wardrobe made for ye?”
“Yes,” Kat said guardedly.
“Why?”
Kat’s mind churned for an explanation that made sense. “Because we are betrothed?” she asked, more than stated.
“Oh bloody hell. Did my brother beget a child on ye, too, then? First Lady Maxwell and now Lady Wednesday.”
“Di-Ciadaoin,” Kat said, although her mouth suddenly felt numb. Toren begat a child?
Toren’s sister pivoted to pace. Her hands emphasized every third word. “I ken that he is brawn and that the ladies like his strength and bluster, but really, he should ken something of restraint. There will be little illegitimate MacCallums running all over the country at this rate.” She threw her hands up in the air. “And ladies at that, ladies who have been ruined and unable to make a suitable match. At least he says he will do right by ye.” She looked to Kat. “Ye are more beautiful than Lady Maxwell, and so far, much more amiable.” She smiled, her emotions flipping so quickly Kat was having a hard time following them. Like brother like sister, she thought. Though Toren’s sister was much more of a talker.
Brianag frowned. “I do feel sorry for the little Maxwell child, what with that problem with her face.”
“Problem?”
“Aye, they say it is the devil’s mark on her, red as a berry and big, right up to her pretty blue eye.” Brianag looked at Kat’s middle. “Ye sure are a slender thing for having a bairn. A daughter or a son?”
“What?”
“Did Tor father a daughter on ye or a son? Or are ye just now with child?”
“I have no child, of my own that is,” she added, and then wished she hadn’t. Her children were all in the twenty-first century. Her heart ached with homesickness. They weren’t even born yet. Their ancestors weren’t even born yet. Yet Kat grieved for them. They would be split up if she didn’t return. Lisa wouldn’t know how to hold the orphanage together. Even if Kat managed to leave her a message that lasted five hundred years, Lisa wasn’t the sort of person to know what to do with it. Kat loved Lisa. She was a sister, if not by blood then by the sanctity of best friendship. But Lisa was a follower, and not one to do whatever it took to keep those kids together.
Brianag’s mouth fell open. “No child? But ye said that Tor had begot a child on ye?”
“Actually you said that.”
“And ye agreed.”
“I believe I just stood here in my underwear.”
Brianag looked her over again. “Pish, we should get some clothes on ye. Did my brother steal yer clothes, because I will have to box his ears if he did.”
Kat
held up her hand. “No,” she said, her mind and mouth finally falling into sync. “My clothes were ruined when I fell into a pond and my trunks never arrived. Your brother gave me a cloak to wear.” Kat pointed to Toren’s ruined Armani jacket on the floor. “And he brought me to your rooms, knowing that your kindness would allow me to borrow a gown until more could be made.” Kat breathed in.
“Oh ye poor dear,” she said, and hurried over to help Kat into the blue gown. “Of course ye can borrow the gown, though yer bosom will be near to popping out of the top. Tor probably likes that in ye,” Brianag rattled as she began fastening the back of Kat’s gown.
Kat wasn’t sure if Toren liked her breasts or not, although his eyes had lingered there several times. The idea warmed her inside.
Brianag had been correct. Kat’s breasts did push up rather dangerously above the neckline.
“Aye,” Brianag said. “Necklines seem to plunge lower each season. Soon we’ll be parading around court with our breasts hanging out.” Brianag tucked a thin silk handkerchief into the top of the gown to try to hide the swell, but it was useless. “Well Tor may like it, but he won’t like other men liking it.”
Kat stared dumbfounded in a polished glass that served as a mirror.
“Ye do look beautiful in my gown.”
Kat’s reflection showed a gorgeous Elizabethan court woman. She glanced down at the lovely gold butterflies embroidered around her tight waist. The velvet fabric lay in soft folds over the French farthingale. A padded roll worn about her hips held the heavy skirt in a cylindrical shape.
Brianag had convinced her to take off the Wednesday panties as they were not considered proper. They were soaked, anyway.
Kat ran hands down the rich fabric and fine hand stitching. Her magic couldn’t build the real feel of a costume wrapped around her body. The only magic Kat used was the minimal amount to cover her scars. There wasn’t even any scratchy Velcro holding the skirts together.
“Now for yer hair,” Brianag said and smiled over her shoulder. “I’m Lady Brianag MacCallum if Tor didn’t think to tell ye.”
Kat smiled with genuine warmth. “You can call me Kat.”
“Well then, I am Brianag to ye.” Brianag began to drag a bone comb through Kat’s tangled hair. “I’ll call my lady’s maid in to style it up for ye. It is such a perfect shade. Do ye dye it, then?”
“No.”
“Ye have no need to. How lucky.”
Brianag MacCallum chattered on pleasantly with Kat while her maid worked a string of pearls in an intricate weave over a hair pad on top of her head. “Ye are a beauty, Kat. No wonder my brother has asked ye to marry him so quickly. Before any other at court could even meet ye.” She giggled and pressed her hand to her breast.
“Brianag, you are a beauty,” Kat said honestly. “I’m sure that you will find a husband here if that’s what you want.”
Brianag’s smile dissolved like a thin wafer in a puddle of rainwater. Kat wished she hadn’t said whatever it was that had done it. “I am betrothed already, to Laird Fergus Campbell of Glenmore.”
“And you don’t want to marry him?”
“Thank ye, Grettle,” Brianag said to the maid, who quit the room. She turned back to Kat. “Nay. I’ve heard rumors.”
“Bad rumors?”
She nodded. “Plus…well, there’s no happiness in his gaze when he looks at me.” She moved her hands in the air before dropping them to her lap. “I ken how that sounds. Foolhardy.”
Kat shook her head cautiously so as not to dislodge any of the amazing hairdo. “Not foolhardy. A woman’s instincts mean more than rumors in my book.”
“Ye have a book?”
“No,” Kat said, and mentally reminded herself to talk more in line with the century. “I mean to say, that your intuition regarding someone is usually more accurate than what people may say.”
“My father didn’t agree, and he made the match anyway.”
“Forgive me, but your father has died.”
“But Tor has kept the match to strengthen our borders.”
Anger welled up in Kat. Brothers were supposed to look out for their little sisters. “So you told this to Toren and he still says that you need to marry this man?”
Brianag nodded.
“Well we’ll just have to do something about that,” Kat said and squeezed Brianag’s hand.
****
Toren stood amongst the spineless Englishmen talking about the political implications of Spain’s aggression and the execution of Queen Mary of Scotland. They certainly could talk aggressively, but could they hold up a broad sword? However feeble the men were the topics deserved attention. But today was different. Today he was no longer the sixteenth-century laird come to pay tribute to the resplendent queen of Britain. He was different. Five years of living in the future had skewed his thoughts. Curiosity and determination to find his family had sent him in search of historical references to his time.
Toren knew the Spanish would attack. He knew that Elizabeth would be ready for them. He knew she would die without a direct heir, and the world would continue. His ideas and input on the varied conversations around him mattered little. He couldn’t just jump in as a soothsayer, telling everyone what would happen and what the ramifications would be. He would be leading his people, his clan, based on information he wasn’t supposed to know. Bloody difficult to explain.
So his mind drifted to a more interesting and unknown future. Kat, her rich golden auburn hair, so natural. She was a contrast to the ladies who dyed their hair to mimic their queen. Kat’s soft skin glowed with health from a proper diet and her natural radiance. And her blue eyes sparked with her temper or grew round in awe. The fascination and adoration he’d seen in those eyes as she studied the tapestries and his sister’s gowns had amazed Toren.
Ridiculous, Toren thought and took a drink from the wine he held while he half listened to Lord Farley talk about another Catholic threat. It was ridiculous to feel jealous about artifacts that weren’t even artifacts yet.
“You, Laird MacCallum, will be making quite a good connection with the Campbells once your sister and their chief are wed.”
Toren caught sight of Brianag as she entered the room. “Where is Laird Campbell?”
The oil lamps and candles lit the stuffy space as the sun descended beyond the paned windows. Five years of electricity made the everyday ways of his natural life seem strange. It was surreal, the smells of unwashed, covered-in-perfume bodies in the smoke laced rooms of granite and wool tapestries. The aroma of tallow warred with the heavy smells of sweet marjoram, aloe, and nutmeg.
“Campbell’s been to court. Saw him at dinner earlier this day,” one man said, and several agreed. Their eyes seemed to stay riveted toward his sister. Or, Toren thought, the lovely woman accompanying her. The room was dark, but the grace of the woman’s movements, the gentle tilt of her head, the sway of her skirts quickened Toren’s pulse. Ye randy fool, Toren thought, and silently chided his reactions. There was a beautiful woman depending on him in Brianag’s rooms, yet he had a difficult time ignoring this woman as the two walked toward him.
“Tor,” Brianag said in greeting.
His dear sister. Just as beautiful and young as when he’d left. Without thought, Toren pulled her into a hug.
“What are ye doing, brother?” she asked against his tunic.
To Brianag, he’d seen her just that morning, but to Toren, it had been five long years of searching, five long years of thinking he’d never see her sweet genuine smile again. Toren closed his eyes as he smelled her familiar lavender scent.
“I’m greeting ye, sister.” He pulled back, and looked into her eyes. “Ye are a beauty, Brianag. We are blessed to have ye as a part of our clan.” The words were long overdue. His sister’s eyes welled up with tears even though she smiled.
“Why thank ye, brother.”
His eyes lingered for another moment. He lowered his voice. “I need to ask ye a favor, Brianag.”
“Could it have something to do with the naked woman in my room, raiding my wardrobe?” she whispered, as she leaned in.
“Brianag, I planned to find ye…” he said, his gaze drifting toward the woman beside his sister.
The soft light flickered. The court gown and woven hair only enhanced her natural beauty. But her eyes, even more than her scars, made him realize instantly why he had been so drawn to the graceful stranger. Kat, ensconced in court dress, a real non-magical court dress, sparkled like a lustrous gem.
The men around drew closer. As they hungered for an introduction, their gazes raked her ripe figure. Toren’s eyes fastened on the swell of breasts above the deep neckline of Brianag’s dress.
Kat tried to breathe evenly, her gentle smile plastered on weak lips.
Toren had changed into court attire. His fitted jacket of blue brought out the color of his eyes. It was tailored to fit his well muscled body and fell at the authentic length above his knees. Kat had always wondered how men could look masculine while wearing hose below the jacket as was the fashion of Elizabethan court, but Toren pulled it off with ease. As she and Toren’s sister had walked across the low lit room, Kat had admired the movement of his muscles in his calves and his broad shoulders. Although, a Highland plaid would look more natural wrapped around his narrow hips and broad chest.
Toren’s warm greeting to his sister had obviously flustered Brianag. Were they not affectionate before Drakkina sent him to the twenty-first century? Kat glanced around at the genuine sixteenth century furnishings and brightly colored tapestries, nothing like the faded ones in museums. The tables, benches, and chairs were rich and polished and smelled of bees wax. It was enough to make a history major salivate.
What about the costumes of the other men? Were their court clothes more dandified than the straight, understated lines of Toren’s tunic and coat? Kat turned slightly, her eyes quickly surveying the four nearest men. More lace definitely, less contours in their legs, more jewels placed ostentatiously about their bodies to display wealth. Did they wear powdered wigs? Kat glanced up and found all four sets of eyes on her cleavage. With a trickle of power, Kat raised the height of the neckline to cover more of her chest. The change was slight, and wouldn’t be noticed in the low light. She’d increase it a little higher when they glanced away.
Masquerade (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 3) Page 8