“I…I don’t know,” Glenna said and glanced toward her wardrobe. “She has so many beautiful clothes. I could see if anything is missing.”
“Do so. Then you may retire for the evening.” The king looked at Harriet pointedly, but said nothing to Tavish’s stricken mother. “I shall return to the hall and seek to restore some semblance of order. Until court tomorrow, Roscraig is solely under my command—none shall be permitted to leave.” The king swept from the chamber, and the guards dragged Tavish after him.
Glenna saw the grief and fury on his face. What must he have done this evening, in searching for Audrey?
The guard left behind held up the torch and gestured to the closed doors of Audrey’s wardrobe. Glenna opened it gingerly, unreasonably afraid that something or someone might jump out at her. Audrey’s gowns were in disarray, but Glenna pulled each one out as she remembered it: the gown she’d arrived in, the one from the first feast, the kirtle she was wearing the night Muir brought her the trunk from Edinburgh…
Glenna paused for a moment, and then pawed through the remaining gowns. She swallowed and then turned her head to look about the room; there was the small leather trunk in a corner, but it was open and clearly empty.
Glenna turned her face up to the stern-looking guard. “There is one gown missing, that I can call to mind,” Glenna said in a strangled voice.
“Can you describe it, miss?” the man asked politely.
“Aye. It was ivory and blue, with a silk cape.” She paused to swallow. “It was to be her wedding gown.”
* * * *
The door closed behind Tavish, and he stood alone in the chamber he had shared with Glenna Douglas. He hadn’t been inside it for any appreciable length of time in two days, and the room had a dusty, abandoned feel.
He looked down at his mud-encrusted clothing, turned his palms up to see the stained lines, scars, and scratches. Dirty hands. The hands of a peasant. He turned hesitantly to look around the room, seeing evidence of Glenna’s presence: the gown she’d worn earlier, her comb; the smell of freshly applied violet water. He’d invaded her home with the arrogant notion that he would simply assume his role as laird here, run things according to his will. And now here he stood, covered in filth, having ruined his life, Mam’s, Glenna’s…Audrey’s.
He would be put to death for Audrey’s disappearance. Hanged, like the common thief he was.
A crisp knock sounded at the door before it swung inward and a pair of maids entered, carrying a round copper bathing tub between them. Two more servants followed, bearing buckets in each hand like human scales. The sound of water being poured into the tub was like thunder. They left without comment, and before the door shut completely, Tavish saw the profile of the king’s guard in the corridor.
He was already a prisoner.
There was likely hope that he’d drown himself.
He numbly peeled off his clothes, leaving them in a sodden heap on the hearth, and then stepped into the steaming water. He sat, his knees bent up near his chest, and looked at the swirling brown infecting the clear water, the rivulets of dirt running from his skin. In his mind’s eye, he saw the blood-soaked mattress of Audrey’s chamber.
It couldn’t be her blood.
Tavish didn’t know for how long he sat in the tub, but when the door opened again and Glenna entered the room, her eyes went wide.
“Tavish,” she whispered, closing the door then walking quickly to the side of the tub. “What are you doing?” She knelt and dipped her fingers into the water. “It’s ice cold. Here.”
She took up the cloth and cake of soap and lathered it, quickly scrubbing his back and arms, chest, and neck. He shook himself from his stupor and took the cloth from her, finishing his body and then bent his neck so that Glenna could pour dippers full of the cold water over his head while he cleaned his hair. She fetched his robe and held it up before her as he stood and then stepped out of the tub.
“I’ll get a towel for your hair,” she said, turning away.
He sat on the edge of the bed, and she stepped between his knees, draping the toweling over his hair and starting to rub it dry. Tavish reached up and seized one of her wrists with his hands. Glenna stilled and let the towel fall away, sliding her palms around the back of his neck and drawing his face against her abdomen. How he had misjudged this woman upon his arrival.
“How is your father?” His voice creaked.
He heard her intake of breath through her nostrils, felt it against his skin. “He is awake. Your mother is with him now, entertaining him with stories of the guests. I think it is good for both of them.”
Tavish rubbed his face against the softness of her gown, closed his eyes and breathed in her scent.
“There was a gown missing from Miss Keane’s wardrobe,” Glenna said. “The wedding gown sent from Edinburgh.”
Tavish pulled away and looked up at her as the meaning of that slowly sank in.
“I know you didn’t hurt her,” Glenna said.
“If they hang me,” Tavish began.
She gripped the sides of his face. “You mustn’t say such a thing.”
He reached up and took hold of her wrists. “If they hang me,” he repeated slowly, “there is a chest in the cave. It contains a significant amount of gold and silver. I want you to have it. To care for yourself and Mam.”
“Tavish—”
“Bring several bags with you to the cave,” he interrupted firmly. “You shan’t be able to carry the chest. It should be enough to sustain you both for a long time.”
“We don’t know—”
“Promise me,” he demanded, looking into her eyes, deeply shadowed by the firelight behind her. “Promise me, Glenna, that you will do this. You must take care of each other.”
The silence draped around them like a mourning cloak. “I promise,” she whispered.
“I would have married you,” he said, releasing one of her wrists to touch her cheek. “I was going to ask the king for permission after he approved my inheritance.”
She stiffened slightly. “After you had secured the Tower for yourself?”
“No,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “After I claimed a title making me worthy to offer for your hand. After I could give you what you deserve: your home, your father’s home. In a way that no one could ever try to take it from you again. When I was finally good enough for you.” He stood from the bed, bringing his hands to her face now. “I love you, Glenna. I’ve loved you almost since the moment I arrived at Roscraig.”
She met his kiss equally, smoothing her hands inside his wet, heavy robe to slide over his ribs to his back. She pulled away from his mouth slowly, with little licks of her tongue.
“Then love me as I have wanted you to,” she said against his mouth.
His body ached for her, and he groaned deep in his throat. “I cannot. For the sake of your future.”
“You are my future,” she said, reaching down to take hold of him, and his resolve wobbled.
His raised his face and closed his eyes. “Glenna, you don’t know what will happen.”
“I know what will happen tonight,” she said, releasing him and stepping back. She raised her hand to her opposite shoulder and slid her gown down. Her thin underdress glowed in the light of the fire, the prominences of her breasts showing in dark relief. She came back to him and pushed his robe away, kissing his chest. “Obey your lady, Cameron.” She reached down and cupped him, squeezed him.
* * * *
He seized her, pulled her to his naked body, running his hands over her back to grip her buttocks and lift her to him. Glenna clutched Tavish’s shoulders as he picked her up against him and turned her toward the bed. He sat her down on the edge, and she scrambled backward as he raised one knee to the mattress, his manhood pointing heavily toward her. Her underdress had bunched beneath her and she let her legs fall
open, brazenly revealing her nakedness.
Tavish pursued her, his gaze hungrily taking in what she was showing him. He leaned over her on one arm, his other hand going immediately to her cleft, testing her, teasing her. She hummed with desire.
“Take off the gown,” he said.
Glenna fell onto her back and shimmied out of the fine linen underdress, leaving her arms over her head on the mattress as Tavish brought his mouth to her breast and his fingers primed her. She could feel her time coming already, and she lifted her hips in a silent demand for him.
She felt it then, the hot tip of him, and then she reached down to grasp his firm buttocks, urging him closer, pulling him into her body slowly, relishing the slick discomfort as he displaced her flesh with his own. She expected pain, but the sensation was not unpleasant. In fact, the deeper he pressed, the fuller she became, the higher her climax wound deep in her abdomen. It seemed to go on for a wonderful eternity, this initial claiming. And when he was finally seated fully inside her and began to withdraw, she began to pulse with this new level of eroticism between them.
“Do it,” she commanded in a whisper. “Tavish, do it.” She slowly pumped her hips until he matched her rhythm with a groan.
And then he was thrusting into her with urgency, deep and slow and firm, his breaths rushing over her as she panted. Glenna cried out as her world narrowed to the explosion of their point of connection. She clung to him as her body pulsed, and in a moment, his guttural cry was near her ear and he stilled, throbbing against her own fading vibration, and she knew his seed filled her. She cried out again.
Tavish rolled to his side, pulling her with him, and she offered her mouth to him as tears slid from her eyes.
“I love you,” she whispered against his skin. “I love you, Tavish.”
“I swear to you,” he said, cupping her breast in a caress, moving against her body again, “I will keep you safe. And I will love you for all eternity. That is my vow.”
And as he began proving that to her once again, Glenna believed him.
Chapter 20
Tavish watched the sun rise alone. Glenna had left him in the night, with his blessing, to sit with her father. Tavish had attempted to accompany her, hoping to speak to his mother as well as Iain Douglas, but the king’s soldiers thwarted him, adhering strictly to the boundaries James had committed him to.
And so he found himself alone at the window, dressed in his sturdy merchant’s clothing, watching the hazy sky lighten behind its thick blanket of smothering clouds. There would be no sun today, and that was just as well. The beach below, the courtyard, was empty. The soldiers were finished searching. Only a lone mast on the Forth, so far in the distance as to perhaps be an illusion of waves to the untrained eye, betrayed any sign of human movement.
A tray was delivered to the room, along with a message that the king required his presence in the hall in one hour. Tavish felt little hunger, but he sat at the small table with the smell of Glenna’s violets around him and consumed the meal, reading and re-reading the document detailing his inheritance delivered to him by Lucan Montague what seemed years ago now.
When the soldier opened the door and stood there without word, Tavish rose from his chair, folded the proclamation neatly, and tucked it inside his vest. He walked to the bed where his belt and sword lay and carefully donned them. He paused to look at the soldier, whose expression was openly hostile.
“Was any sign of Miss Keane found in the night?”
“Shut up,” the soldier sneered. “For a ha’cup o’ drink, I’d sliver yer gullet an’ spare the overs th’ trooble o’ ye. Get on,” he commanded, gesturing with his head.
Tavish walked from the room and descended the steps flanked by soldiers. He could hear the murmurs in the hall before the doorway came in sight. Apparently everyone else had already been gathered.
Tavish would be walked into their midst as if he were already convicted.
The hall had been transformed in the night. His finely turned trestle was horizontal before the hearth now, and James sat in the center, the portrait of the Annesley family over his head. Several of the dining chairs and benches were arranged before it with a space in the center serving as an aisle of sorts, and the seats were filled by the highest ranking nobles in attendance. Niall Keane had also been granted a seat on the right, next to the smug presence of Vaughn Hargrave. His mistress spy stood behind him, gripping the back of his chair, her face ashen within her full, close snood, her eyes dark hollows.
Seeing her in the full light of day solidified Tavish’s belief—it was her Tavish had seen coming from Audrey’s room that morning. And he was prepared to swear to it.
Mam and Glenna sat on the left. His ever-composed princess, her back straight, her hair finely coiffed, her black-and-saffron-plaid kirtle simple and elegant amidst the heavy brocades and gaudy silks. She stared toward the window with her chin lifted. She was the most beautiful woman in the room, by far, and pride filled Tavish; that woman—that lady—loved him. She had loved him last night, at his lowest, just as he was.
Tavish was determined to make her proud.
The rest of the attendees were left to stand to either side of the hall, and as the guards’ tromping footfalls rang out, those seated rose. Tavish was marched before the king, and then the soldiers fell away to flank the sides of the room.
Tavish dropped briefly to one knee. “My liege.”
The crier behind the king stepped forward and held a parchment before him. “Hear ye, all present. Our sovereign laird James, Majesty of the realm of all Scotland and her holdings, does so order and commence his court to hear the challenges both for and again’ Tavish Cameron, merchant of Edinburgh, and Iain Douglas of Tower Roscraig and his daughter; as well as the grievance of Master Niall Keane. All without claim shall hold their peace until such time as their testimony is requested.” The crier retreated behind the king, his hands behind his back.
James leaned forward, one forearm braced against the table, his other hand gripping the arm of his chair. “Master Cameron, I initially made this journey to judge the veracity of your claim upon Tower Roscraig against that held for the past thirty years by Iain Douglas. To be precise, a claim of inheritance, word of which was delivered to you—so you assert—in Edinburgh by one Sir Lucan Montague, knight of the English crown.”
Tavish nodded. “Aye, my liege.”
“While I was prepared to see evidence of your claim, recent events have reordered the purpose of this court. A charge has been brought against you that, if should be found true, would render your claim on Roscraig moot. And so I shall hear testimony to that allegation at the first.” James turned the ruddy side of his face away from Tavish’s view to look at Niall Keane. “Master Keane, say your peace.”
The rotund merchant rose, his hands visibly shaking, his normally florid face gray and paunchy. His eyes were swollen and red, his lips devoid of color. Tavish’s heart pained for the man.
“My liege,” Niall Keane began. “I have done business alongside Master Cameron since the death of his—well, what he would have all believe now was his stepfather. He and my…my beautiful daughter, Audrey, were childhood companions. When he received word of his inheritance, a betrothal between them was discussed, and I sent—” He broke off for a moment, appeared to struggle with the words. “I sent my beloved only child to be in his care at Roscraig until the arrangement was settled.
“But he never honored it,” Niall rasped, glaring venom at Tavish. “Instead he took a lover to sate his wicked appetites right under Audrey’s very nose—that woman there,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Glenna. “And when my daughter demanded he hold to his word, he murdered her!”
The crowd gasped, and low chatter broke out in the echoing hall.
“Silence,” the crier demanded.
“Where is she, you bastard?” Niall Keane shouted through the commotion.
“Silence!” the crier barked.
As the noise dwindled, James looked to Tavish. “Do you take exception to this charge, Master Cameron?”
“Indeed, I do, my liege,” Tavish said. “The first of what Master Keane has spoken is true: Miss Keane and I have long been friends, and the idea of a betrothal was alluded to. But she arrived at Roscraig without my summons, and although I was without formal obligation to her, it was assumed that we would announce our agreement upon your arrival.”
“You changed your mind, did you?” the king asked bluntly.
“Miss Keane and I both became less enthused at the prospect of a union between us,” Tavish admitted. “Audrey does not care for the Tower’s remoteness. She misses the city, and her father.” Tavish looked at the merchant with all the sympathy and sorrow he felt. “She doesn’t love me, Niall—not as a woman loves a husband. But she wanted to make you happy.”
Master Keane’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Wasn’t it enough that you humiliated her with that…that guttersnipe imposter?”
The crowd gasped, prompting the crier to call for order once again.
“That’s right,” Niall Keane declared. “That lady was born of servants. Her father is no better than a squatter at Roscraig, who was run out of his own clan.”
“Guard your tongue against such slander, Master Keane,” the king warned in a low voice. “Lest you have your own charges brought against you.”
“What do I care for that now?” Niall demanded, turning fully to the king. “What do I care for anything now if my beloved Audrey is gone? Everything I’ve ever done…” His words deteriorated into sobs, and he collapsed on his chair.
The king looked to his sergeant at arms. “What of the search last night?” he said. Tavish knew the king had already been appraised, but the facts must be presented before all parties.
“Nothing out of the ordinary was discovered, my liege,” the man said, as he stepped forward and placed on the king’s table a torn, dingy square of cloth that had at one time perhaps been white. “Only this kerchief, caught on a branch. By the looks of it, it is quite old and has been out of doors for some time.”
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