Mad for the Plaid

by Karen Hawkins

“As with most adventures. I would have gone with you, but I, too, fell victim to Rurik’s plot.” A shadow passed over the courtier’s face. “He convinced both the prince and me that it would be best if I stayed behind.”

  “He convinced a lot of people of a lot of things,” Ailsa said. “He was a guid liar.”

  “I feel for his poor father,” Her Grace said sharply. “He will never forgive himself, I fear.” Her gaze went to the doorway. “Ah, there you are! I was beginning to think you’d lost the courage.”

  “To say a simple good-bye?” Nik strolled in, his eyes so dark they seemed black. Dressed in a fitted coat that clung to his broad shoulders, his cravat perfectly tied, his buff-colored breeches outlining his muscular legs, he was the picture of civility. Ailsa watched him hungrily, clenching her hands together to keep from reaching for him.

  He went to Lady Edana and bowed over her hand. “I fear we must leave, my lady.”

  Must? Or wish to? Ailsa tried to swallow the lump of hurt that filled her throat. Why won’t he speak to me?

  To be fair, she hadn’t found the words, either. When she looked into his eyes, she could see the devastation caused by Rurik’s actions. She had no idea how to ease that pain. He would have to find his own answers.

  Which left her feeling achingly alone, especially when he was in the room, within touching distance.

  He turned to Gregor. “You, I owe much.”

  Gregor laughed, though it was a bit shaky. “I’m lucky I hit him at all. He shot me and then, for good measure, bashed me over the head with his pistol. When I woke up, I had a headache that was so blindingly painful, my hands shook.”

  “I am lucky you have a hard head.”

  Gregor laughed and, after a handshake, Nik crossed to Ailsa.

  He held out his hand and she placed hers in it, aware that everyone watched.

  Nik lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, his lips warm on her skin. “This is not an easy good-bye.”

  Her skin burned where he touched it, and she ached for more. She wondered what she should say—what she could say. But she couldn’t find the words.

  She was left stating rather stiffly, “I hope we will see one another soon.” As she spoke, she looked at him with every bit of the hope she felt, praying he would see it.

  His eyes darkened and he tightened his grip on her hand. “I—”

  She held her breath, waiting.

  His gaze swept over her face and for one breathless instant, she thought he would say something, do something. But then his expression hardened and all he said was, “That would be nice.” He released her hand. “But unlikely.” He bowed. “Thank you for your kindness, Lady Ailsa. You will not be forgotten.”

  He turned. “Tata Natasha, are you ready?”

  “Nyet, but I suppose you do not care. Go ahead. I know you will wish to make certain your prisoner is well secured. Apraksin can escort me to the coach.”

  “Very good. Again, I thank you all for your kindness.” Nik inclined his head and then, just like that, he was gone.

  Ailsa’s heart lurched and she dug her nails into her palms to keep from saying anything foolish.

  Apraksin offered his arm to the duchess, who took it, and with much groaning, stood.

  Ailsa stared at the empty doorway, listening as Nik’s footsteps faded away. She wanted to run after him and throw her arms around him and— And what? What do I want of him? That which he obviously cannot give?

  Her throat tightened, and she had to bite her lip to keep tears from forming.

  The duchess, leaning on Apraksin’s arm, muttered something under her breath and then looked up at the courtier. “I would have Lady Ailsa walk me to the door. You may meet me in the foyer.”

  Looking surprised, the courtier bowed. “Of course, Your Grace.” He smiled at the rest of the assemblage. “Thank you again for your hospitality.” With a warm smile, he left.

  “Come,” Her Grace ordered Ailsa. “Walk me to the front door. And do not argue, for I’ve no patience with it.”

  Though she didn’t feel like doing anything but running to her bedchamber and throwing herself on the bed and indulging in a good cry, Ailsa came to assist the older woman. “I was nae going to argue, Your Grace.”

  “Good. Your family seems much given to it.” Her Grace jerked her head toward Lady Edana, who sniffed, but pretended she hadn’t heard.

  The duchess leaned on Ailsa’s arm and together they walked out of the salon and into the hallway.

  For several slow steps, the duchess didn’t speak. Finally, she announced in an overly loud voice, “My grandson is a fool.”

  “Your Grace, that’s unfair—”

  “You are a fool, too,” the duchess added sharply.

  Ailsa closed her mouth, uncertain what to say about this. She finally settled for a sniff.

  The duchess’s lips twitched. “We will talk about how much you love my Nik.”

  Ailsa almost tripped over the rug. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. You love him. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Ailsa didn’t trust herself to answer.

  “Some people throw that word around very freely. Others—like you, perhaps—use it too sparingly.”

  “I’ve told him.”

  The duchess looked surprised. “Oh. And what did he say?”

  “Nothing. It was at the height of our escapade with Mr. Rurik. Perhaps Nik thinks it was the excitement of the moment or— I dinnae know. All I know is that since we’ve returned, he’s made certain we’re never alone.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t grab him by the ear and make him talk to you.” The duchess gave Ailsa a cool look. “You have never struck me as shy.”

  “I’m nae shy, but I’m nae going to beg. If he wished to be with me, if he loved me, he would tell me so.”

  The duchess gave a disbelieving snort. “Pah, you are such an innocent!”

  Ailsa didn’t reply. Her heart was in shreds and the man she loved was getting ready to ride away. “I’m at a loss, Your Grace.”

  “You shouldn’t be. He loves you, too.”

  Ailsa’s heart tripped. “Did he say something, or—”

  “Nyet. Not yet.” The duchess pursed her lips. “As much as I think you would be good for my Nik, he must realize that for himself and be willing to pay the cost. For now, he is too hurt by Rurik’s defection to think about anything with logic. Nik will need time.” They were almost at the foyer, so the duchess stopped and patted Ailsa’s hand. “I must ask for your patience.”

  “Of course, but patience for what?”

  “You will see. When the time comes, one or the other of you will know it, and break the silence.”

  “It will nae matter. He will be in Oxenburg and I will be here.”

  “For now.” The duchess slipped her arm free of Ailsa’s and, cane thumping, made her way into the foyer, where MacGill was handing Lord Apraksin his hat and gloves.

  A thousand questions on her lips, Ailsa followed. “Your Grace, please. I dinnae understand.”

  The duchess took Apraksin’s arm. “You will,” she promised.

  “But Your Grace, I dinnae . . . That is, I never—”

  “Oh, I’m sure you did.”

  Lord Apraksin choked, although no words passed his lips.

  “Your Grace?” MacGill opened the door and the duchess and Lord Apraksin went out onto the portico. Coatless, Ailsa followed, crossing her arms to protect herself from the icy wind.

  The duchess paused on the first step, her gaze on her grandson, where he spoke to one of the outriders guarding the last coach. She looked back at Ailsa and announced, “I will write.”

  “Thank you. That’s verrah kind of you.” I think.

  “You will write back.”

  Oh? At the duchess’s raised eyebrow, Ailsa hurried to say, “Of course.”

  “Good.” She waved her hand. “Go back inside where it’s warm. And do not worry. I will watch over him for you.”

  Ailsa
nodded and with one last, lingering look at the coach door where Nik had just disappeared, she hurried back to the house.

  Inside she stood shivering, but it wasn’t just the cold that held her in its icy grip. It was also the sound of the coaches as they rattled down the drive, carrying away the only man she’d ever love.

  Chapter 25

  Max Romanovin leaned back in his large gilt chair, ignoring the creak of the antique legs. “If I must wait one minute longer for my supper, I will hit someone.” He sent his brother a thoughtful look. “It will most likely be you.”

  Nik didn’t look up from the letter he’d been writing. “Neither of you were invited here, so you will understand why I do not care if you get your supper or not.”

  His youngest brother Wulf had been absently paging through a sheaf of papers stacked on the corner of the desk, but now he shoved them aside. “This is why we have come, Max and I. You have been like a bear with a sore paw since you returned from Scotland.”

  “I’m busy. That is all.” Nik sent them a stern look. “We should all be so employed.”

  Max’s gaze narrowed. “You know we work hard.”

  Nik did know it. Max oversaw Oxenburg’s vast armies, while Wulf served as their cultural minister and was always in the middle of a vast array of events and restorations. Their other brother, Alexsey, was with his beloved wife in the southern reaches of the country, overseeing the construction of a new school for the Romany children so beloved by their grandmother. All three of his brothers worked hard and added much to the quality of life of their subjects. A twinge of guilt hit Nik.

  Bloody hell, what is wrong with me that I attack my own brothers? The concern in their gaze made him feel even worse. He threw down his pen and raked his hand through his hair. “Da, you all work hard.”

  “We do,” Max agreed. “Look at us now, staying with you here in the winter palace, away from our homes and loved ones.”

  “I was wrong. It’s just . . . I’m tired, that is all.”

  “You’ve been ‘tired’ for five months now,” Wulf said. “Are you still angry about Rurik’s defection?”

  “I have made my peace with it.” It still hurt, but his sadness was overshadowed by a bigger loss. Ailsa.

  Even thinking her name made his chest ache, his legs feel heavy, as if moving were a chore. He’d known he’d yearn for her, but he hadn’t expected this hollowness of spirit. He didn’t care about anything anymore. Not one damn thing. It was a wonder he got his work done at all. He did, but only because keeping himself busy and forcing himself to think about something other than Ailsa was how he made it through the long, dark days.

  Wulf perched on the edge of Nik’s desk, his leg swinging gently. “So, what has turned you into such a bear, if it is not Rurik?”

  Nik wondered if he should tell them. Tell them what? That I made the right decision, but didn’t realize how much it would cost? And yet, knowing it was—and still is—the right decision, I am damned to accept it?

  And even that did not explain the depths of his emptiness. He picked up his pen and bent over the letter he’d been trying to write. “Whatever it is, the two of you harping at me will solve nothing. Go to supper. I will join you later, if I finish this correspondence.”

  Max looked at Wulf. “We tried. He is too stubborn to listen.”

  “Perhaps we should take him out into the snow and cool his temper there. I saw a particularly deep drift by the garden wall.”

  “That would work.” Max cracked his knuckles and then dusted them on his shirt.

  Nik looked up from his letter and eyed his brothers with caution. Surely they wouldn’t. But they would, and he knew it. “I will not go easily.”

  Wulf grinned. “Do not challenge us, brother.” Less broad than his brothers, he made up for it with lightning-fast quickness. “It will be cleansing.”

  “I’ll take both of you down,” Nik warned.

  Max didn’t look impressed. “We came to you in peace, offering to help you find your way free of your ill humor, and you’ve done nothing but bark at us.”

  “The negotiations with the tsar are still ongoing. I’ve many things to see to right now.”

  “Your short temper has nothing to do with that,” Wulf said. “Something bothers you, but you will not tell us. It’s as if you’re ill but don’t wish to admit it.”

  “Who is ill?” Tata Natasha came through the open doors, her cane muffled by the thick rug. Dressed in her habitual black, she eyed her three grandsons, who’d all hurriedly risen to their feet at her entrance. “I’ve several purges in the trunk in my bedchamber. Shall I send a servant to fetch one?”

  “Good God, nyet.” Wulf backed away a few steps.

  “Purging is good for the soul.” Tata Natasha tottered to the chair closest to the fire and sat down, leaning her cane against her knee. “I will have vodka,” she announced.

  Max glanced at Nik, who shook his head.

  “Nyet,” Nik said. “The doctor—”

  “—is a fool, and I do not countenance fools.” She eyed first Max, and then Wulf. She nodded to her youngest grandson. “You. Bring me vodka.”

  “You’re not supposed to—”

  “Either bring me vodka or I will come to your house and stay the rest of the winter. All of it.”

  His mouth opened and then closed. Finally, he said in a slightly frantic voice, “We have a new baby. You do not like babies, for they scream and cry.”

  “That would annoy me, true, so I would be in a foul mood. But I would stay anyway.”

  Wulf sent a desperate look at Max and Nik.

  Nik growled, “Bloody hell, give her some vodka. If we refuse her, she will just get one of the footmen to do it anyway.”

  Looking relieved, Wulf made his way to the small table by the window where the decanter and glasses sat. He poured a small amount into a glass and brought it to his grandmother.

  She scowled at the glass. “I asked for a drink, not a sip.”

  “Start with this.” He pushed the glass into her hand.

  She took a small drink, peering over the edge of her glass at her grandsons. “So. Why are you two here?”

  Max replied, “Wulf and I came to see why Nik has been so ill-tempered.”

  “Da, we are done with it,” Wulf said.

  “I see.” She cocked an eyebrow at Nik. “Is this about your Scottish lass?”

  Wulf and Max exchanged surprised looks. “Who?” Wulf asked.

  “I should have known there was a woman involved.” Max turned his chair to face his oldest brother more squarely. “Tell us.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Nik said firmly.

  “I met her,” Tata Natasha offered. “She can fire a pistol like a Hessian sharpshooter.”

  “Murian would like her, then,” Max said, looking far too interested in Nik’s personal business.

  Tata nodded. “This woman can ride a horse, too, like a Mongolian warrior.”

  “Impressive,” Wulf murmured. “She sounds like a paragon.”

  “Nyet. Sadly, she is not the best hostess. Her housekeeping . . . Pah. She will need training, once she comes here.”

  Nik scowled. “She is not coming here.”

  “Why not?” Wulf asked.

  “Nik, you must tell us more about this woman,” Max demanded.

  “Nyet.”

  “He will not tell you, but I will,” Tata Natasha finished her drink and peered into the empty glass with a disgusted look.

  Nik tried not to let his teeth grind too audibly. Wonderful. Just what I wished to do; hear about Ailsa as if I did not remember every lush, haunting inch of her; as if I do not hear her voice in my head all the time; as if I do not sleep, because when I do, I dream of her in ways that leave my heart aching all the worse.

  “Let me see. What more can I tell you?” Tata Natasha leaned back in her chair. “She is a beautiful woman, this Lady Ailsa. She is tall and willowy, with flowing black hair, and as graceful as a swan—”

/>   “What?” Nik threw his pen on the desk, ink splattering over his letter. “Bloody hell, don’t you even remember her? She is neither tall nor willowy, nor is she particularly graceful. And you know damned well her hair isn’t black, but dark blond.”

  Tata peered now at the ceiling, her face scrunched as if in thought. “Blond hair? Are you certain?”

  “You know damn well I remember her hair color.”

  “Hmm. You may be right. I do remember this: she is very domestic and mild-mannered, like a sheep. She does nothing but knit, knit, knit—”

  “For the love of—” Nik shoved himself back from the desk with such force, his chair almost overturned. “Drivel! All of it.”

  “Oh?” Tata held out her glass.

  Wulf came to refill it, this time much more generously.

  “Da,” Nik bit out. “Lady Ailsa is stubborn and furiously independent, and she’s far more spirited than a pathetic sheep!”

  Max and Wulf both looked so amused that Nik wondered if perhaps the snowdrift fight might have been a better idea. The way he felt now, he would not have lost.

  Tata Natasha nodded thoughtfully. “She has the pride of caesars. And the nose of one, too.”

  “She’s also ridiculously hopeful, a romantic at heart, and too tenderhearted to ever face the bloody creatures who live here at court,” Nik finished in a brutal tone.

  “She sounds charming,” Max said.

  “I would like to meet her,” Wulf said.

  “You never will,” Nik said shortly. He eyed his brothers with profound dislike. “Go to supper. Now.”

  “First we must find out why this formidable woman is not here,” Max said. “Tata Natasha, I suppose you know the answer to that, too.”

  “Nik fears having such a tender flower living here, exposed to the intricacies of court. He believes they will overwhelm her and turn her into a hardened shrill.”

  “I never said ‘hardened shrill,’ ” Nik protested.

  Tata shrugged. “You used other words, but the intent was the same.” She sipped her vodka. “I must admit, the court presents challenges. It can be brutal and disheartening, even to me, and I am quite used to such things.”

  “It has affected us all and we were raised to deal with such,” Nik said stiffly. “I would not have Ailsa changed.”