“I must go to prepare for the evening meal.” Blair made to step around Hardi but paused. She went onto her toes and strained her neck to kiss the corner of his mouth. Hardi’s arms longed to wrap around her, but he knew if he did, they would never leave the storeroom. He settled for giving her waist a squeeze. Blair slipped away, and Hardi waited several minutes before he left.
Fourteen
“Meet me in the scriptorium when ye’re done,” Blair whispered as she passed Hardi on the way out of Mass the following morning. As soon as the last hymn ended and the priests retired to the sacristy, Blair followed them. She rapidly explained her request that she and Hardi be allowed to work there since they needed somewhere properly chaperoned—after all, who better to keep people from kissing than an observing monk—but would afford them privacy as Laird Cameron learned to read and write.
Blair already sat at an enormous table as a monk worked in a corner, barely glancing at Hardi as he entered. Hardi eased onto the bench beside Blair and looked at the books set out before them. He felt just as intimidated by the sight as he had the day before, when she pulled the three tomes from her satchel.
“We’ll start with a primer today. I’m sorry that the stories are for a child just beginning his education, but the lessons will serve our purpose.” Blair opened the book, and before Hardi could consider whether the book embarrassed him, Blair began reading. She sounded out each letter as she moved from word to word, then she instructed Hardi to read along with her as she once again sounded out each word. They continued the process until they were halfway through the primer. When Blair felt confident that Hardi could piece together the words, she asked him to read a page on his own. Hardi’s rapid progress impressed them both, and he pointed out that he was recognizing certain words, making it easier to read. However, there was an impediment to Hardi’s continued reading.
“I am learning to read these words, but I dinna ken what any of them mean,” Hardi rubbed his temple.
“I ken. I dinna have time to teach ye Latin in a moon, but I can get ye started,” Blair assured him, even though her stomach churned knowing it had taken her years to understand Latin. “If most contracts and documents werenae written in Latin, I would teach ye Scots first. I want ye to read missives like the one from the king, so nay one can fool ye again.”
“I want the same thing, but it seems impossible nae only in a moon but in time to keep ma clan safe. I dinna want to sign something I dinna understand, trusting that the clan council isnae leading me astray.”
“Like the tax levies and yer betrothal contract,” Blair said.
“I amnae reading aught that looks like a betrothal contract if it involves Una or the Donald’s daughter. I canna marry them. Nae when I ken they arenae aught like ye. They arenae who’s right for me or ma clan. They arenae ye.” Hardi’s words spilled forth, but each one was heartfelt. Blair turned wide eyes toward him. Hardi’s broad shoulder had brushed hers throughout the time they sat together on the narrow bench, but when she shifted to look at him, his shoulder grazed her breast. They froze. Blair and Hardi glanced back at the priest, both relieved that the old man was stooped over his work, his back toward them. “Blair, I amnae asking ye to marry me. Nae yet because I canna. I ken the king believes I will go forward with an alliance to the Macquaries, but I willna nae matter happens between us. I dinna want to force ye or rush ye either. I still have a wee longer here, and we will continue to work together. I want ye to have time to decide if ye think we suit.”
Blair nodded, still too dumbfounded by Hardi’s declaration. It was what she wanted, she just hadn’t imagined it would ever come, or at least not so soon. When he took hold of her icy hands and rubbed them between his, a brief thought of how he always radiated heat skidded across her mind before she returned her focus to their conversation.
“If ye decide ye would like to move forward with a betrothal and marriage, I will speak to the king.” Hardi glanced away as Blair watched his cheeks turn pink, then red. “But I canna court ye in earnest without asking yer da’s permission to marry ye. I canna ask him without sending a missive—one I must ask ye to write.”
Blair reached out her hand to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. She lowered her voice, so only Hardi could hear. “I will gladly help ye. Dinna ever be embarrassed aboot aught in front of me, Hardi. If we marry, I will stand by yer side through everything, good and bad. I admire ye more than I think ye understand.”
Hardi turned his face into Blair’s palm and kissed it before leaning forward to brush a kiss against her lips. The clearing of a throat made them smile, ending the kiss before it began. They spent the rest of the morning reading as Hardi attempted more complex words. Before they began his mathematics lesson, Blair drafted the missive Hardi dictated asking Laird Hamish Sutherland for permission to court and marry his younger daughter. He explained his interest in Blair, making it her turn to blush, and what he could offer her in return for her hand.
* * *
The next fortnight passed in a cozy routine that brought Hardi and Blair a happiness they hadn’t expected. Tucked away for most of the day in the scriptorium, they poured over books. Hardi absorbed his lessons with a single-minded focus that convinced Blair that Hardi would be an indomitable leader. Duty forced Blair to spend an hour or two in the queen’s solar each afternoon, but she ensconced herself in a window embrasure with her embroidery, her face turned toward the light and away from the other ladies. She made it obvious that she wasn’t interested in socializing unless it was with Arabella and Laurel. It surprised her to see how magnanimous and even kind Laurel could be, but she still had a wickedly sharp tongue that she pointed at anyone who tried to pry into Blair’s whereabouts. While neither Arabella nor Laurel were privy to what kept Blair away from the other courtiers, they both suspected it had something to do with Hardi. Neither asked.
As for Hardi, he spent the time in the lists or meeting with delegates from other clans as he negotiated potential trade agreements. Before the end of the first week, Blair introduced Hardi to the rudimentary rules of Latin, and he began memorizing how to conjugate basic verbs. He asked Blair to assist him with several contracts, and it created an opportunity for him to use the Latin he was gradually absorbing.
Hardi enjoyed their routine, looking forward to the hours tucked away with Blair. She told him children’s riddles in Latin that became easier as the fortnight progressed. He realized she still had the wickedly dry sense of humor that she’d had when they were younger. But he discovered she’d developed a fear of heights after a particularly treacherous journey through the Cairngorms the second spring after she’d arrived at court. He also learned that she loved to swim; her cousin Mairghread had encouraged her try deeper water while she visited Castle Dunbeath. Both the Sinclairs and Sutherlands lived along the North Sea, so only the hardiest of swimmers dared enter the water even during the warmest summer day. She reminded him of her most prized possession: a figurine Hamish carved for each of his children and his wife. It depicted their family standing arm-in-arm. He’d given the wood carvings to his family the day before Lachlan rode into his first battle.
Blair enjoyed telling Hardi stories about the years since he’d finished his fostering, and she was reminded of what an attentive listener he was when anyone spoke of something that held importance to them. She asked what felt like myriad questions about the time between his return to Tor Castle and when his brother died. She never brought up the brief years between losing Dougal and becoming laird. A great melancholy entered his eyes when he mentioned losing his brother, and it was clear to Blair that the grief of losing Dougal was still fresh. Coupled with losing his uncle and cousins, Blair wondered how Hardi hadn’t crumpled under the weight of sadness. She commented on his fortitude, and he offered self-deprecating humor in return. They returned to the ease they’d shared when they were younger and Hardi joined her before the fire in the Great Hall. They often sat together, their little fingers linked as they read and
talked.
In the evenings, Blair sat with the other ladies-in-waiting, listening to their chatter as they shared gossip and speculation about which widow or matron was carrying on an affair with various courtiers and visitors. Blair joined in only to keep from turning attention toward her, but she looked forward to when the music began and she could partner with Hardi. Neither enjoyed watching the other dance with different partners, but they trusted one another. Blair had seen the possessive glares her brother-by-marriage had given men who approached Maude, but she understood his reasoning. Maude’s endowments meant men often made inappropriate advances, and Kieran strove to protect her. But Hardi encouraged her to continue partnering with those who approached, assuring her that he understood she enjoyed dancing and didn’t want to keep her from participating just because they were courting. They hadn’t shared that information with anyone, so Blair agreed only to keep up appearances. Hardi danced with a handful of women each evening to keep his interest in Blair from becoming too obvious, but more often than not, he found a spot along the wall to observe or returned to his table to sit among his men.
The Cameron guards arrived at the evening meal early each night to secure seats that wouldn’t force them to socialize with courtiers. They chose tables with fellow Highlanders, who were happy to share mugs of ale and a dram or two of whisky but knew how to mind their own business. More than once, this meant they shared a table with the MacMillans, but Hardi kept the conversation flowing by asking questions rather than answering them. When he was able, he discussed with his guards what they observed in the lists or heard among the guards. Every man knew, even if they never admitted it, that men gossiped just as much as women.
It was gossip that eventually put an end to Blair and Hardi’s idyllic arrangement. Blair watched as a group of newer ladies-in-waiting tittered as they glanced at her during the evening meal. Blair sat between Arabella and Laurel, listening to them complain about the extra two hours of prayer they’d been forced to endure because Queen Elizabeth felt compelled to both thank and implore God to watch over her unborn child. When it was impossible for the three women to ignore the attention from the other group, Laurel explained. “Blair, there’s been talk aboot you and Laird Cameron slipping away together. When we went on our morning walk today, those ladies,” she flashed a glance at the younger ladies, “overhead two priests walking ahead of them.”
Blair’s stomach sank. She was certain where this story led, and she felt embarrassed on Hardi’s behalf. She didn’t consider what the rumors meant for her reputation. She worried what disparaging remarks were being made about Hardi needing tutoring—from a woman.
Arabella picked up the story. “Apparently, the monks were discussing how kind and patient you are to be teaching a mon as old as Laird Cameron to read and write. I don’t know if it was the monks who said it or the ladies exaggerating, but they implied Laird Cameron was slow to learn, and that’s why he hadn’t been able to as a child. They suggested he isn’t very smart.”
Blair squinted at the ladies who chose that moment to approach. The word “smart” reminded her of how self-conscious Hardi had been in the beginning. Her temper rose; she feared the rumors would make Hardi unwilling to continue his studies. Every protective instinct she had rose to the surface, prepared to the gut the women if they said the wrong thing.
“We’ve seen you watching Laird Cameron each night, and now we ken why,” the lady in the middle gushed. Blair could tell she had a vindictive streak much like Madeline MacLeod had. It had made Madeline the de facto leader of the attendants, and no one wanted to be caught in her sights. Blair was not about to let an upstart, this newly arrived woman, make her the brunt of any jokes.
“I’m surprised you can see anything so far below the salt,” Blair mused before taking a bite of lamb, reminding the women of their low rank. The three women lifted their chins in unison, but before any of them spoke, Blair continued. “If you last long enough, one day you might earn a place at our table. You can see far more in the Great Hall when you can see the salt.”
“Your warm breath on my food is making it taste foul,” Laurel quipped. “You may go now.” The disdain in her tone only added to the insult of being dismissed. Laurel, Blair, and Arabella picked up their conversation as if they’d never noticed the other ladies. Forced to retreat, the younger ladies-in-waiting slinked back to their seats, but Blair didn’t miss their venomous glares.
Fifteen
Hardi sat on the same side of the table as Henry, which gave them a clear view of Blair’s table even if she had her back to them. Henry elbowed Daniel on his right and his guard on his left before laughing raucously. The MacMillans and Camerons watched as the trio of smirking women approached Blair. They witnessed their smug miens evaporate at whatever Blair and her friends said.
“It appears little Blair is having a rather heated tête-a-tête with those women.” Danial observed. He leaned past Henry and the guard to see Hardi. “That’s French for a head-to-head.”
The only head-to-head Hardi was interested in was bashing the MacMillan brothers’ together. He’d been informed of the rumors when Henry and Daniel arrived at the table, crowing about how Hardi sang nursery rhymes all day. He’d shrugged and turned back to his men, refusing to engage. However, Hardi was forced to leave the table when Henry and Daniel stood. He was certain they were headed to Blair, and he wouldn’t leave her to handle the situation on her own. Henry and Daniel rounded Blair’s table and took the spots that had been vacated by the three ladies-in-waiting only moments ago. She sensed Hardi was behind her, but she commanded herself not to look over her shoulder.
“Hiding behind a woman’s skirt, Cameron,” Henry directed his first jab at Hardi.
“Ye might fit behind them, but I’m a wee too big,” Hardi smirked, pointing out the obvious differences in their physiques. The people further down each side of the table turned to stare and listen.
Not able to goad Hardi, Henry turned his attention to Blair. “Now we know where you’ve been hiding away in your love nest.”
“With monks surrounding us? I can’t think of anyone less likely to create an atmosphere for kissing than a priest,” Blair sighed with boredom.
“Perhaps there hasn’t been time since Cameron is still learning to count. Do you even ken how many days you’ve been here, Cameron? Has Lady Blair taught you that many numbers?” Daniel crossed his arms.
“I’m certain he can count how many times you’ve been turned away from The Picked Over Plum,” Blair muttered, but she ensured her voice carried. She’d taken on the mantle to defend Hardi, and she was prepared to go into battle. “Unfortunate you haven’t learned not to have your pockets picked at the Wolf and Sheep so many times that you can’t even afford a withered plum.”
Daniel blinked rapidly, uncertain what to say as people chuckled and elbowed one another. Blair tossed back her hair and cocked an eyebrow at Henry, daring him to say something. He refused to look at her, keeping his eyes on Hardi.
“I never took you for a dimwit, but you need Lady Blair to fight your battles now,” Henry goaded.
“I’m proud to have Lady Blair defend me. She’s more intelligent than either ye or me,” Hardi shrugged.
“I can understand a woman being more intelligent than you, but none of them will be smarter than me,” Henry argued.
“That’s not how it seemed last year with Lady Bevan,” Blair stated, her eyes locked with Henry’s. “It seems she left you cowering in a corner after the tongue lashing you received. Seemed that was the only thing she wanted to use her tongue for by the time she was through with you. As I recall, she laid bare all your shortcomings.” More laughter ensued from those who crowded closer to hear. Diners from the tables around them leaning.
Lady Bevan had been a notorious widow at court who’d had brief encounters with Kieran and both Gordon twins. The queen ordered her married off to an old man when Lady Bevan erred and tried to seduce the king where the queen could overhear. Early the
previous spring, Lady Bevan and Henry were caught in a spat that echoed through the passageways outside the matrons’ chamber.
“Bitch,” Henry grumbled.
“Bastard,” Blair smiled. It was a poorly kept secret that Lady MacMillan had been handfasted, against her father’s wishes to a warrior who died in battle; she was then hurriedly married off to Laird MacMillan. When Henry arrived as a healthy, squalling bairn, there was no claiming he was premature. Laird MacMillan claimed Henry as his son, but it was Daniel who was the laird’s true firstborn son.
“It’s a pathetic mon who needs a woman to speak for him,” Henry returned to taunting Hardi.
“And it’s a fool who can’t remember no mon lives forever, and no alliance is written in stone,” Hardi raised both eyebrows. The Camerons were a larger and more prosperous clan than the MacMillans. The latter needed the alliance far more than the Camerons, depending on them to buy the MacMillans’ grain.”
“Pride goeth before the fall. That explains why you’re missing so many teeth. That or you keep your mouth in foul places that rot your teeth,” Blair observed as she peered under her lashes at Henry.
“I can only imagine what your mouth has been around lately,” Daniel hissed. There was a collective gasp. It was one thing for Blair to point out commonly known gossip about a man, but it was entirely different for a man to besmirch a lady’s reputation. Hardi looked down at Blair, giving her the opportunity to defend herself even though he wanted to run Daniel through. He knew Blair could hold her own, and he wouldn’t belittle her by making it appear she couldn’t.
“It is a wee mon,” Blair held up her thumb and forefinger a small distance apart. “Who must insult a lady to win an argument. Have I said aught that is a lie? But you must make up stories aboot me to make you feel bigger. You would ridicule a mon brave enough to recognize he needs help and is willing to seek and accept it, kenning what others might say. You look down your nose at a mon with the strength to weather the insults and taunts because he’s dedicated to being the best leader he can for his clan. You belittle a mon never groomed to be laird because he didn’t have everything handed to him like some. He has worked for everything, including learning after that opportunity was taken from him. You two are the weak ones. You have naught to offer anyone, so you try to make yourself look better by bringing others down to your level. The problem with that is cream will always rise to the top while shite sinks to the bottom.”
A Saint at the Highland Court: The Highland Ladies Book Six Page 10