Authors: Patricia; Grasso
“The lasses always love their fathers,” Percy MacArthur agreed.
“Hello, Uncle Percy,” Rob greeted him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I do hope Aunt Sheena fares well.”
“Everyone is fine,” he said.
Rob kissed her father-in-law’s cheek, saying, “Good day, Yer Grace.”
“I am now yer father too and want ye to call me Da,” Magnus told her. “How’s that first granddaughter of mine?”
“She’s growin’ bigger every day,” Rob said, blushing, sliding her hand to her belly. “Gabby says I’m double the size I should be.”
“Gavin will be verra pleased by the news,” Duke Magnus said.
Rob smiled and would have spoken, but a voice behind them drew their attention.
“Hello, darling.”
“Great Bruce’s ghost, ’tis Henry,” Rob cried, whirling around. She threw herself into his arms. “What are ye doin’ here?”
“I’m acting as one of Elizabeth’s emissaries,” Henry answered. “Roger Debrett is here too, but he’s gone off to explore a few possible business ventures in town.”
“Roger Debrett, ye say?” Rob echoed. “Would Lord Roger put a good word for Dubh in with the king? Ye knew my brother eloped with Isabelle?”
“I’d hardly call what Dubh did an elopement,” Henry said dryly. “However, I’d do just about anything for you, darling, and will discuss this matter with Roger as soon as he returns.” He grinned at her and observed, “I see that marriage to Inverary has put a happy glow on those pretty cheeks of yours.”
When the three older men cleared their throats, Rob finally remembered she wasn’t alone. She flicked an embarrassed, apologetic smile at them and made the introductions. “This is Henry Talbot, the Marquess of Ludlow. Uncle Richard’s brother-in-law. We became close friends in England. Henry, these are my father-in-law, the Duke of Argyll, my own father, the Earl of Dunridge, and my uncle, the Earl of Weem.”
The three Highland lairds shook hands with the Marquess of Ludlow. All three knew exactly how close the marquess had been with Rob, but no one mentioned it.
“Ye know, Henry, returnin’ to the Highlands wasna as disastrous as I had believed,” Rob told him. She blushed, adding, “Come February, I’m goin’ to be a mother.”
Henry smiled, genuinely happy for her. “Since you’re not pining away for love of me as I had hoped, I’ll share my news with you. I wed your Irish cousin, Shana, who arrived at your uncle’s last spring for an extended visit.”
“Ye married my cousin?” Rob cried in surprise, her pride injured. “Why, my trail to Scotland hadna even cooled, and the dust hadna covered my tracks.”
Henry flicked a helpless glance at the three older men who were smiling at his predicament. “I didn’t marry for love,” he added hastily. “The lady needed a husband’s protection for political reasons.” He winked at her, asking, “How about that Samhuinn kiss I never got?”
Rob cast him a flirtatious smile. Married her cousin, had he? Well, she was about to give him a teasing taste of what could never be his. Regardless of her relatives’ presence, Rob entwined her arms around his neck, pulled his handsome face down to meet her, and claimed his lips in a sweetly tantalizing kiss.
“Get yer paws off my wife.” The voice belonged to Gordon.
Rob leaped away from Henry and turned to her husband. Her angry husband. With his golf bag slung over his right shoulder, Gordon stood two feet away and glared with murderous intent at them.
Wearing a sardonic smile. Henry faced his former rival and asked, “What’s wrong with a little welcoming kiss between such intimate friends?”
“Fuck ye and the horse ye rode in on,” Gordon snapped, echoing the words the other man had once spoken to him.
“I arrived in one of my brother-in-law’s ships,” Henry replied, his smile broadening. “’Tis faster than a horse.”
Recognizing the dangerous glint in her husband’s eyes, Rob placed herself between the two men. She flicked a silent plea at her watching relatives. No help there. The three Highland lairds were grinning at the scene unfolding in front of them.
“Gordy, yer makin’ a public spectacle of us,” Rob said. “Everyone is watchin’.”
“Perhaps the startlin’ sight of my pregnant wife lettin’ this Sassenach paw her shocks them,” Gordon replied.
“Easy, lad,” Iain MacArthur warned. “I ken that yer jealous, but I willna allow ye to speak disparagingly of my daughter.”
Rob snapped her head around to stare at her father. Could it possibly be true? Did her husband care enough about her to be jealous? No, that couldn’t be. He would have professed his love for her long before this.
“Henry is yer cousin-by-marriage,” Rob informed her husband.
“I dinna ken.”
“He married my Irish cousin, Shana.”
At that, Henry nodded at his former rival and offered his hand in friendship. Finally, Gordon relaxed and accepted it.
“We’ll be takin’ our leave now,” Iain MacArthur spoke up.
“Are ye leavin’ Edinburgh today?” Rob asked, giving her father a hug.
“No, we’ll pass the night at Campbell Mansion,” Duke Magnus answered. “We’ll be leavin’ in the mornin’.”
“I wish we were goin’ with ye,” Rob said, casting her husband a pleading look. She wanted to be away from court and the dangers waitin’ to grab her.
“Jamie willna delay us long,” Gordon assured her. “He knows I want my heir born at Inverary.”
Rob kissed her father good-bye. Standing between her husband and her former suitor, she forlornly watched the three Highland lairds walk toward the palace’s stable yard to get their horses.
“So, did ye bring yer wife to Edinburgh with ye?” Gordon asked.
“Ah, my bride’s having a difficult time adjusting to the married life,” Henry replied. “I left her temper cooling in the Tower.”
“Ye locked her in the Tower of London?” Rob cried in horrified surprise.
“Well, I tried lockin’ her in her chamber,” Henry defended himself, “but she escaped out the window. I wasted a whole day and a night searching for her.”
Gordon slapped the other man’s back in easy camaraderie, saying, “Ye know, cousin, the lasses can be a royal pain in the arse.”
Rob opened her mouth to scold both men but heard someone calling her husband. She turned to see Mungo MacKinnon advancing on them, and a shiver of dislike for the man rippled down her spine.
“Gordy, are ye ready?” Mungo called.
“We’re golfin’ with the king,” Gordon told Henry. “Join us, and I’ll share my clubs with ye.”
Henry nodded in agreement. “’Tis better than waitin’ the extra day to see him.”
“How well do ye golf?” Gordon asked.
“I’ve never golfed in my life,” Henry answered.
Gordon grinned. “Good, the king will love ye.” When he turned to Rob, his expression softened. “And what will ye do while I’m gone, angel?”
“I’m plannin’ on sewin’ baby clothes with that fabric we bought,” she answered.
“Be certain ye take a long nap,” Gordon answered, leaning close to plant a chaste kiss on her lips. “I dinna want ye yawnin’ in the king’s face tonight.”
“I’ll try to control myself,” Rob said with a smile. She watched the three of them walk away and then headed for her chamber lest one of her husband’s former mistresses corner her and ruin her good mood.
* * *
“Bring me the gown,” Rob called, strapping her last resort onto her left leg.
Gabby hurried across the chamber and helped her mistress don the forest-green and gold brocaded gown. After fastening the tiny back buttons, she said, “Turn around, Lady Rob . . . Och, yer beauty will shame all the other ladies.”
“I doubt that,” Rob replied with a rueful smile. She glanced at her bare hands and added, “Please fetch me the green gloves.”
“I canna find them,” Gabby answered. “Where did ye put them?”
“In the chest.”
“There are na any gloves in yer chest.”
That’s odd, Rob thought. She crossed the chamber to her wooden chest, dropped to her knees, and opened its lid. Several pairs of gloves should have been lying on top of the pile of clothing.
Sticking her hand down deep, Rob searched for the lacy gloves but only managed to produce a chemise. She tossed it over her shoulder, and the search began in earnest.
Rob grabbed the top layer of stockings and garters and tossed them into a pile on the floor behind her. Next came her chemises and nightshifts. Those went flying over her shoulder too.
Each passing moment brought a rising swell of panic within her breast. She was positive she’d carefully placed her fingerless gloves on top of the heap in her chest. Where could they be? She couldn’t sup with the king unless she wore those gloves to cover her deformity. Perhaps she’d accidentally placed them in her husband’s chest.
Rob attacked Gordon’s wooden chest with a vengeance. Every article of clothing it contained ended in the heap on the floor behind her.
“My lady, what are ye doin’?” Gabby asked.
“I need those gloves,” Rob cried. “I canna wear the black ones because they dinna match this gown and will only bring attention to my hand.”
Rob leaped to her feet and went for her gowns. She shook each one out vigorously and then tossed it onto the floor.
Gordon’s pranking me, Rob decided. When he returned to their chamber that morning to fetch his golf clubs, he’d hidden her gloves. But where?
Breathing heavily from her exertions, Rob raced across the chamber to the bed. She dropped to her knees, yanked the bottom edge of the coverlet up, and peered beneath the bed.
“Fetch me a candle,” she ordered. “’Tis dark under here.”
“Are ye ready?” Rob heard her husband call as the door swung open. She lifted her head in time to catch his surprised expression as he surveyed the shambles in the chamber.
“God’s balls, what happened?” Gordon demanded.
“I canna find my gloves,” she answered. “Do ye know where they are?”
Rob watched him flick his hand at Gabby, who immediately left the chamber, and then asked, “Do ye think someone stole them while we were out today?”
“Get off yer knees,” Gordon ordered, crossing the chamber to tower above her.
“Aboot what are ye angry? I’m the one whose property’s been stolen.”
“This chamber looks like the north wind swept through it.” Gordon gently but forcibly lifted her to her feet, saying, “Ye dinna need those gloves.”
“The king will see Old Clootie’s mark if I dinna wear them,” Rob replied, nervously rubbing a finger back and forth across her birth stain, her desperation apparent in her voice and her expression.
“Ye dinna carry Old Clootie’s mark,” Gordon insisted, reaching for the black gloves she’d worn that day. He held them up in front other face, saying, “Like a crippled man, ye’ve made these gloves a crutch, and I regret givin’ them to ye.” He marched across the chamber and tossed the gloves into the hearth’s fire.
“Great Bruce’s ghost,” Rob exclaimed, feeling weak-legged as if he’d struck her with the blunt end of a claymore. She plopped down on the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands.
Oh, God, she thought in a panic. Her husband would force her to attend the king. Once he’d seen her deformity, Jamie would send her to that scaffold outside Edinburgh Castle, and the babe she carried would die with her.
“Angel, listen to me.” Gordon knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. When she gazed at him, he said, “I only purchased those gloves because I was tryin’ to win yer favor. No one will think less of ye because ye carry a pretty birthmark on yer hand.”
“But King James believes in —”
“Jamie is superstitious only in theory,” Gordon interrupted her. “Yer the Marchioness of Inverary and soon-to-be the mother of my heir. He willna say a word against ye. With me by yer side, ye need fear no man — not even a king. Accept yerself for who ye are, and everyone else will accept ye.”
When I accepted myself, everyone else accepted me, Rob recalled the advice Aunt Keely had given her that long ago day in Devereux House’s great hall.
“I do love ye with all of my heart,” Rob vowed, throwing herself into his arms.
With his arms encircling her protectively, Gordon planted a kiss on the ebony crown other head and said, “I know ye do, angel.”
He didn’t return her love, Rob decided in the next instant, her heart breaking with that painful knowledge. Though she was carrying his child, her husband refused to profess any love for her. Did he harbor any tender feelings for her? Did he feel the emotions but fear the words as her father had suggested? If only she knew what he felt, perhaps she could live without the words.
Gordon tilted her chin up and smiled, asking, “Now, are ye ready to meet the king?”
Setting her heartache aside for the moment, Rob managed a faint smile and answered, “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”
“That’s my angel,” Gordon said, and planted a chaste kiss on her lips.
When they left their chamber, Gordon guided Rob down a long corridor that led to the northern section of the palace where the royal apartments were located. They passed the apartments of the late Lord Darnley, the king’s father, and walked until they reached an audience room. From there, a stairway led to the king’s private audience chamber, and at the head of the spiral staircase was the king’s supper room.