Tamed by a Highlander Read online

  Mairi was not sure which of the two she wanted to hit harder. Connor, for being such a cad that other men should fret over her honor, or Henry, for being a fool and provoking Connor to knock out a few of his teeth. Connor might be born of royal blood, but he fought like a Highlander. Smaller Lord Oxford would not stand a chance.

  Connor’s slow smile was anything but genial, but at least he didn’t strike him. “We share a common goal then, Oxford. As fer my reputation, if I entertained every piece of gossip I’ve heard in my service to the king, I would have to arrest ye fer being in league with Covenanters.”

  Oxford made a sputtering sound beside her but Mairi did not spare him a second glance. Instead, she turned her frigid gaze on Connor. Damn him, what was he doing? He was going to ruin everything. If Oxford did know of any members of the prohibited Presbyterian religion, he would never tell her now.

  “Really, Captain, I expected better from ye. Whatever ye heard about Lord Oxford is untrue.”

  “Ye defend him then?”

  She hesitated, not because she trusted Oxford completely, but because Connor’s rigid tone told her that if she said she did, he would walk away from her and never look back. But that was what she wanted, what she needed, was it not?

  “I do,” she said, raising her chin with resolve.

  He didn’t move. He seemed not to breathe for a moment while his eyes went hard on her. Then, “Verra well.” He turned without another word to either of them and strode toward the gate.

  Mairi watched him go. Some small, forgotten part of her wanting to call him back.

  “He cares for you.”

  She looked up, remembering Lord Oxford. “Nae,” she said, and slipped her hand into the crook of Henry’s elbow, letting him lead her back to the Banqueting Hall. “He cares fer England.”

  Lord, Mairi did not want to discuss him. Her knees still felt weak from his words. Ye meant everything to me. He used to tell her every day that he loved her. That he wanted to wed her, and die in her arms. None of it meant anything to him and neither did she.

  “His eyes are always on you. It is clear that he—”

  “I really should get out of these wet clothes.” She stopped him before he said something she did not wish to hear. “I must look like a wet sewer rat.”

  He looked down at her and seemed to melt in his boots. “You are a vision, Miss MacGregor.”

  Mairi smiled. Mayhap, she could find happiness with someone else. Mayhap another man could love her even more than Connor had. “My lord, ye are more than generous with yer compliments.”

  “Henry.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “And my veneration is the least I can offer you in exchange for your company.”

  Hell, but he was sweet. Almost sickeningly so, but better, at least, than Captain Grant’s fallacious responses.

  She looked toward the gate one last time.

  Ye meant everything to me. How could ye not know that?

  She had thought she knew. But she had been wrong.

  Chapter Six

  The Troubadour was crowded with soldiers who had returned to England for James’s coronation and found the palace halls a bit too refined for their liking.

  Laughter rang out from the tables around him, but Connor did not join in the merriment. Why the hell had he danced with her? Tried to speak civilly to her? Oxford, he answered himself miserably. And it had nothing to do with her father. Satan’s balls, he could deceive himself no longer. He was jealous. Worse, he had convinced himself that she might not revile him as she claimed. That mayhap she was also jealous of his attention toward the fairer sex. Pathetic. She was not only completely over him, but she had moved on toward different pastures. And why shouldn’t she? Hell, why shouldn’t he for that matter? But an Englishman? A Protestant? He hated to admit it, but it pricked him hard that Mairi had defended Oxford. How well did she know him that she would stand by his character when it was put to question? How much time had they spent together before Connor had returned to Whitehall?

  Why hadn’t he bothered to do a bit more investigating into the earl and his son in the years he’d served Charles? He knew it was hasty to accuse the man of being in league with Covenanters, but it was better than punching Oxford’s teeth into the back of his head.

  He rubbed his forehead that was beginning to ache, downed his whiskey, then called for more. He had no claim on Mairi anymore, nor did he want one. She was still the same stubborn wench he had left when she was five and ten, believing that he’d deceived her… betrayed her. He thought of the women who had shared his bed in the last three years. Was he supposed to wait around for Mairi to decide if she could ever want him again? Hell, wasn’t four years of waiting for her to forgive him enough? Betrayed his arse! It was she who had deceived him! Promising to be his wife, bear his bairns, live with him and laugh with him while they grew old together—and then banishing him from her life in a cold, uncompromising letter just six months after he’d left. Of course, he’d fought for her, foolishly holding out hope that she would come to her senses and realize that what they had was meant to be. He’d loved her since he could remember, before she began following him whenever he and her brother would wonder off on their childhood adventures. Aye, Connor had complained to have her tagging along, but he hadn’t truly minded. She had a saucy mouth on her before she lost her first tooth and took her punishments as courageously as any lad when the three of them were caught stealing chickens from auld John MacKinnon. He remembered the first time he kissed her. He was twelve summers, she only nine. They laughed afterward, as if some unseen winged creature had wandered into their bellies and tickled them from the inside. No other kiss in his adult life had ever made him feel that same way.

  He slammed his cup down on the table. If she wanted Oxford then he hoped they would be very damned happy together. There was nothing he could—or would—do about it. He certainly couldn’t beat a guest of the king into a senseless bloody pulp—even a ruffled powder puff of a man whose smirk reeked of arrogance when he’d brought up Connor’s past.

  “Captain!” Young Edward Willingham slipped into the chair beside him. “Drinking without us?”

  “What ails ye, Connor?” Richard Drummond straddled the seat on the other side of the table. “Ye’ve been brooding about since our return to Whitehall.”

  Connor smiled at them. They were more than his lieutenant and cornet. They were his friends, Drummond, fighting at his side when Connor had taken up finding out who was behind the Rye House Plot to kill Charles and James two years ago. Edward had joined his troupe only eight months ago and had attached himself to Connor’s side ever since. Still, he would not tell them about Mairi. What he needed to do was put her out of his mind once and for all and concentrate on more important matters.

  “I grow restless here also, Captain,” Edward agreed, though Connor hadn’t spoken. “It is too peaceful. The people are too damned polite.”

  “Peace is fleeting, Edward,” Connor told him, and looked around the softly lit tavern. “The Dutch massacre at St. Christopher’s Abbey is proof of that. But as taxing as being here is, we must remain.” They couldn’t return to Glencoe when Prince William sat at the king’s table each night sharing wine and word with him. Connor was not just the king’s captain, but his kin as well. He would drive Mairi from his thoughts and do what he’d been trained to do. Protect the throne. “Though there is peace at present, I fear ’twill not last. Use yer free time to try and gain information on anything pertaining to the Dutch, the Duke of Monmouth, or even William of Orange. Report anything ye find to me.”

  “Can we begin tomorrow?” Richard asked him, catching the wrist of a pretty blonde serving wench and pulling her into his lap. She giggled at something he whispered into the crook of her neck.

  Connor downed another cup of whiskey and looked away as a pang of desire shot through him. Hell, it had been a long time since he’d kissed the warm flesh of a woman’s throat. There had been plenty of lasses in Glencoe eager to
offer themselves to him, but he’d been there to protect them, not bed them. He cursed inwardly, meeting the sultry gaze of a woman standing in the shadows, close to the door. A lady of the night, here to give a man pleasure for nothing but a few shillings. He considered. And why the hell shouldn’t he? What man with any sense in his head would grieve over something long dead?

  He smiled at the woman near the door who wanted nothing more than to make him happy for the night. She stepped out of the shadows. She was lovely, with chestnut hair piled atop her head and dainty ringlets cascading over her forehead. Her eyes were just as dark and held the promise of sexual delights meant to make any man forget what truly ailed him. He pushed out of his chair with a brief word to his men that he would see them in the morning, and met her halfway.

  “Good evening, lass.”

  She sized him up with the kind of satisfied, hooded gaze a cat might aim at a delicious morsel of food.

  “Captain.” She nodded, eyeing his coat. “Might I interest you in a walk? Some place less…” She lifted her fingers to his chest and traced the buttons of his coat. “… crowded?”

  She wasted no time on coy formalities. Good. He didn’t want to talk or think. He wanted to get the hell out of there with her before he changed his mind. He coiled his arm around her slim waist and led her toward the exit.

  “Ah, in a rush are you?” She looked up at him as they neared the door and smiled at his dimpled response. “I hope not too much.”

  Connor hoped not either, though he had to admit the likelihood of his “quickness” seemed quite high thanks to thinking on Mairi all damned day. He didn’t think she would appreciate his agreeing with her, so he laughed softly. The way his father, the once infamous rogue of the Highlands, might have laughed at such a preposterous assumption.

  “You’re extraordinarily handsome, Captain Grant.”

  He slid his gaze to her, but it wasn’t the lusty anticipation in her eyes that made him close his arm tighter around her. He dipped his mouth to her ear and whispered against it. “We’re at a disadvantage, lass. Ye know my name and I don’t know yers.”

  She realized her error immediately. Connor had to give her that much. As he suspected, her body went stiff and her smile faded. She tried to pull away but he held her closer, walking her out the door. Someone had sent her to seduce him. Who? Why? He was going to find out.

  He stepped out of the tavern and straight into an oncoming fist.

  Connor almost went down. Almost. He shook off the effects of the blow, rolled his jaw, and gaped at Colin before he snatched him by the throat. The lass broke away and disappeared down the dark street while Connor turned himself and Mairi’s brother dangling from his fist and shoved him hard against the wall.

  “What the hell did ye do that fer, Colin?”

  Mairi’s brother barely struggled against the hand cutting off his air. His eyes burned with anger and defiance. Likely, the fool would fall unconscious before he showed weakness. He would make a fine soldier.

  “I told ye what yer reputation in the bedchamber did to my sister, ye heartless bastard. Ye would flaunt yer dalliances in her face?” Finally, Colin thrashed out to land a knee in his guts. He missed when Connor gave him a rigorous shake.

  “Ye’re not my keeper, pup.” Connor moved closer until his nose almost touched Colin’s. “Yer sister is not my bloody wife.”

  “Thank the saints fer that,” Colin warned in a low growl. “Else I would have sunk my sword into ye long ago.”

  Connor had the urge to grin at such boldness in the face of a certain arse beating. He didn’t want to hurt the lad and he surely didn’t want to release him and find a dagger in his side for his trouble. “I’m going to let ye go. If ye swing that fist at me again, I’ll kick ye all the way back to the palace.”

  “I’m eager to see ye try that.”

  Connor smacked him in the side of the head with his free hand, not too hard, just brisk enough to hopefully knock a little caution into him. “What the hell are ye doing here anyway?” he asked, releasing him and sweeping his eyes to the direction the chestnut-haired lass had taken.

  Colin glared but did not move to strike him. The smack to the head had worked. “The king sent me to fetch ye. He’s invited us to his table in the Stone Gallery fer the remainder of courses.”

  Connor turned back to him. “Why?”

  “He invited us, Connor. I didna’ ask him why.”

  Us, as in whom, precisely, Connor wanted to ask him, but didn’t.

  “Who was the woman?” Colin asked instead, pulling Connor’s thoughts from where he preferred them not to be.

  “I don’t know, but she knew me.”

  “Interesting.”

  They continued on toward Whitehall in silence. Neither one noticing the bulky figure receding into the shadows.

  Chapter Seven

  Mairi sat in the Stone Gallery at King James’s table waiting for the two seats opposite her to be filled. She found no comfort in the luxuriously cushioned chair beneath her rump and little distraction unwittingly offered by Claire’s whispered conversation with her husband beside her. Even Graham’s tender smile did nothing to calm her nerves. She pushed away the cup of wine that had been set before her. After her earlier encounter with Connor in the Pebble Court, she knew she would need all the wits she possessed. Lord, he had moved so close to her. Would she have let him kiss her if he tried?

  She breathed steadily and smiled at the king’s wife, who sat watching her.

  Hoping to fill her thoughts with something other than the night ahead, she looked around her. The Gallery was magnificent, hung with thick silver and crimson brocade, dividing three apartments. Wreaths of flowers and leaves enclosed the dining area, filling her nostrils with their sweet fragrance. The long table where she sat with the other guests was bathed in warm golden light from an enormous stone hearth carved with stags and horses. But she didn’t want to be here. Connor had avoided sitting at her table since he’d returned to Whitehall, but that was about to change. She did not think she could get through four more courses looking at him, hearing his voice, his rich, contagious laughter. She missed the way he used to laugh.

  “You are eager to return to your admirer, Miss MacGregor.”

  Pulling her eyes away from the entrance, Mairi turned to the king and offered him a polite smile. “I have no admirer here, Yer Majesty.” She was still uncomfortable speaking directly to the leader of the three kingdoms and dipped her eyes to her lap.

  “Ah, my dear, you have more than you realize.” James turned to his petite wife, sitting to his right. The two shared a subtle look between them, proving they had discussed her previously. “Why do you think you are slighted here?”

  “Because I am Catholic.”

  “True, but take heart.” The king’s dark eyes softened on her when she looked up again. “That poor opinion will soon be changed now that I am king.”

  Mairi smiled and wondered how he meant to do it. Her smile faded though, along with her thoughts, when she spotted Connor and Colin approaching the table.

  “Pardon our tardy arrival, Yer Majesty,” Connor offered with a reverential bow while he took his seat across from her. He spared her a brief, uninterested glance from behind a lock of hair that fell over his cheek as he sat.

  “Thank you for joining us, Captain.”

  Thankfully, the queen’s soft voice drew Mairi’s attention to her. She was a wee thing, half the size and clearly half the age of her husband. Without a trace of guile in her large sable eyes, or a thread of superiority to mar the beauty of her thick Italian accent, she made all feel welcome. Mairi liked her.

  “We haven’t had a chance yet to meet properly,” Mary of Modena continued. “Your uncle, the king’s high admiral, has sent us word of your service to the previous king, has he not, my lord?” Her husband nodded and covered her thin fingers with his great paw. “We hope you will serve the new throne with the same dedication.”

  Mairi’s eyes settled over him,
waiting for his reply. He had been dedicated for certain, leaving all that he loved for a Protestant. She did not doubt he would double his years to serve a Catholic. Unless, of course he had turned traitor on his faith.

  “ ’Tis my honor, My Queen.”

  Mairi looked away and caught the dark look William of Orange cast at Connor. She did not like the Dutch prince. In the years since she had taken up arms against her enemies, she had learned much about where schemes and whispers originated. For an instant, she wished she could go to Connor and tell him all she knew. He was not a king or a prince. He was the law, captain in the king’s Royal Army. He sure as hell looked the part to perfection. Mayhap he could do something more than she to stop the men who had betrayed their original beliefs. Nae, she could never tell him without revealing what she’d been doing for the last six years. Other than that, she had no reason to ever speak to him again.

  “We are glad to hear it.” Again, the queen spoke for her husband, demonstrating to Mairi that despite her stature, she was no dormouse. “Were you caught in the downpour, Captain?”

  “Aye, I fear I was.”

  Mairi did not need to look at him to know he smiled while he spoke. But she looked anyway, damn her.

  “Fergive my appearance.” His dimples flashed while he ran his fingers through his damp, golden locks to clear it away from his face. “I didn’t—”

  “You are forgiven,” the queen granted, sounding just a little breathless. Not enough for her husband to take notice, or if he did, he made no show of it. But Mairi heard it. She recognized it and hated herself for feeling it too. “The rains are late this year. We are pleased that they finally begin, lest the crops suffer.”

  “Aye, but they ended too quickly.”

  Thankfully, the conversation moved away from Captain Grant and on to more pressing matters involving the kingdom.

  Mairi gave the remainder of her attention for the next quarter of an hour to her supper. She listened to the conversations going on around her, inclining her ear in the directions of those that piqued her interest. When the king addressed Prince William, she stopped chewing.