A Perfect Knight For Love (40 page)

There was a basket atop the table beside her, and she dug into it greedily, munching on a hard oatcake Maves had brought for her last night. According to the maid, Amalie should be suffering every ill effect over the babe, and would need hot tisanes nightly and these cakes in the morn to still illness. But no. Not Amalie. She’d never felt better, and had the health to show for it.

She wondered what was keeping Thayne. Surely even if a troop of English soldiers had arrived, they would be housed and fed, and then sent about their way without any ill will. Scotland wasn’t at war with England. In fact, Thayne had remarked just a sennight ago that the Scottish parliament might be absorbed into the one in London, giving them even more voice in politics. Not that she cared, but Mary Margaret MacKennah had still to be pacified, and it would behoove the girl if her Scottish background wasn’t an issue. It took the patience of a saint just to sponsor her. Amalie didn’t think the governess or dancing tutor they’d hired from Edinburgh were having any luck with the girl, either. She’d almost been ready to accompany Mary Margaret herself, but then fate had intervened with this baby.

Amalie folded her hands about her belly, cupping the small swell, and loving the warmth that seemed to emanate from about her heart. It didn’t truly matter what gender the babe was. She was happy. And she knew Thayne was but teasing. He’d better be.

The door opened again, the sound loud in the stillness, and Thayne walked back in. She couldn’t tell what look he was giving her as he walked toward her, but something about him seemed different. He reached the other side of the table and just stood there, looking across and down at her, with a guarded expression she couldn’t decipher.

“What . . . is it?”

“Apparently, we have a visitor. From the south. An Englishman of some renown and status. I was informed that his title goes all the way back to the Battle of Agincourt, when his forebear was knighted for bravery during the Hundred Years War.”

Her heart stuttered. And she knew. He didn’t even have to finish.

Father is here.

“Yes, my dearest duchess, I can see by your face that you know. The Earl of Ellincourt has arrived. By ship. He awaits us now. Why does the man spout his lineage to me? Do I go about telling anyone my forebear was awarded a baronetcy by King David the Norman? Well? And do I add that the earldom was awarded by King Robert the Bruce? And the dukedom? That title goes back to our first Stewart king! I doona’ add my ancestry to an introduction.”

“You have no need, darling. You have a presence that announces it for you.”

“Truly?”

“Oh . . . my . . . yes.”

He cleared his throat, and rubbed at his chest. “Oh. Well, there’s that. Does he na’ also have a presence?”

“He’s not much taller than me.”

“Poor fellow. I do see his issue. He’s a runt. He’ll na’ find the chairs in my chieftain room of much consolation, will he?”

Amalie giggled. She couldn’t help it. Her father always had a large ego. He was in for a true surprise. Especially if he sat in one of Thayne’s elder’s chairs.

“We’d best see to getting you into your finery, then. And I’ve got to don my Chieftain
feileadh-breacan.
I sent a message that it might be some time afore we meet as my duchess needs time to prepare. I also summoned your maid; the one that talks too much. The earl won’t go unattended. I’ve sent for Angus and the other elders to entertain him. I’ve also ordered a keg or two opened.”

“Thayne! It’s not yet dawn!”

“What Scot can resist a good mead? And what Sassenach can resist a challenge from a Scot? If I doona’ miss my guess, we’ll have verra mellow visitors afore long.”

“Visitors?”

“The earl’s brought along a troop of English dragoons. He didn’t ken if they’d be needed or na’, but he believes in preparing for the worst. He came as quickly as he could in answer to a missive from his beloved but naughty daughter. That would be you. Apparently, you disappeared during a trip to London and he’s had men scouring the island for you. He’s arrived here now to aid in the release of his new son-by-law, that he dinna’ ken he had. That would be me. He’s ready to take up the matter of my kidnapping and extortion, since last he heard I was being held for ransom by a heathen clan, which would be the MacKennahs. Good thing I managed to escape some weeks past, with as long as it’s taken him to mount a rescue.”

“Oh.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Oh? Is that all you have to say? Is na’ a confession due here?”

“I told you I was his daughter.”

“You also said you lied. Remember?”

Amalie leaned forward. “Not about this. I lied about being the governess. Do we have to do this all over again?”

“You still love me? You would na’ lie about that?” he asked.

Amalie stood and unwound the tartan blanket before stepping from it and approaching him. She put both hands on his lower arms and slid them all the way to his shoulders before moving right against him.

“Oh yes.”

His arms went about her, hugging her into him. “And you truly are an heiress?”

She nodded.

“With a large dowry?”

Amalie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re playing with a hurting, MacGowan,” she warned him.

“How large?”

“Thayne MacGowan!”

He grinned and lifted her. “Just teasing, my love. I’m thinking it’ll take a bit of time getting used to.”

“It won’t change things between us, will it?”

Thayne was already heading toward the bed. “It might help with making the Palazzo livable, since Wynneth took everything but the walls back to France with her.”

“You’d best be joshing. We’ll leave it as is. Empty. This keep is the proper abode for a MacGowan chieftain. And well you know it.”

“Aye, love. I was joshing. I also feel a bit stewed over just how much my luck has changed since catching you.”

“Yes . . . that was a good catch, wasn’t it?” Amalie nuzzled into his neck, making the words indistinct.

“Aye. And I’m willing to tempt fate a mite further. Do you think your father might be amenable to taking a passenger with him when he leaves?”

“A passenger?”

“Mary Margaret. You have a better idea of being rid of her?”

They were at the bed. And Thayne had a good idea of what he was doing to her senses as he set her atop the mattress and started pulling his clothing off.

“Aren’t we supposed to be preparing to meet my father?” She managed to get the sentence out before he kissed her, taking her breath and then her senses.

“Later. Much, much later. He’s being well entertained by my Honor Guard and the elders, and the best mead this side of Hadrian’s Wall, and I’m being better entertained by my wife. My loving, beautiful, amazing, wealth—”

“Don’t say it,” she warned, lightly running her hands over his chest, bared now and golden in the dawn glow.

“Verra well. I’ll na’ tease. Just yet, anyway. Do you always win?”

“Oh . . . yes,” she replied.

And it was true. She did.

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Copyright © 2012 by Jacquelyn Ivie Goforth

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