Delight (8 page)

S
cotland was a world away from the Spanish
Main.

Douglas stood several hours later in the predawn darkness on the pebble-strewn shore of Loch Dunmoral. Thunder resonated overhead in the heavens like an echo of divine laughter. Rain struck his rough-hewn face.

The pirates had played a joke on their captain.

Actually, it was meant to be a tribute.

They had taken the castle rowboat in the loch and lovingly converted it into a fu
ll-rigged minia
ture version of Douglas
'
s last sloop, the
Delight,
which had been wrecked on the coast of Cuba during his final raid.

Phelps, the ship
'
s carpenter, had even mounted a topsail and prow carved into the shape of a black fire-breathing dragon. The reflections of
tiny brass cannons gleamed upon the darkened water.

Douglas enjoyed approximately fifteen seconds of nostalgia before panic set in. "And how the hell am I supposed to explain this to the princess?
"
he shouted. "What will the gentle folk of the glen think to see a pirate ship sailing the peaceful waters of their loch?"

The loch, in fact, was anything but peaceful, rain slashing the surface. A rising wind churned the water into powerful waves that pounded the shore. It took an hour for Douglas and Dainty to row to the small tidal island where they hoped to catch Neacail's men taking shelter from the storm.

They found only a few stones, a bird carcass, a merlin
'
s nest.

"We will try again tomorrow,
"
he said grimly as he brought the outrageous rowboat back to shore. "Perhaps they have gone out raiding.
'
Tis almost light now. The last thing we need is for the princess to see her host sailing a pirate ship under her window.
"

The princess slept all day in her tower, guarded by her gargoyle of a governess. She slept through the thunder and lightning. She slept in innocence, oblivious to the black atmosphere that surrounded her.

Douglas pa
ced, cursing the storm that pre
vented him from searching the outlying heath and hills. Rain gushed from the cannon spouts, muddying roads and overflowing rivers. He did not know this wild land he lorded over, but he would learn.

He went to bed that night without seeing Rowena once. Yet h
e felt an odd contentment, know
ing she lay protected within the tower, safe from the elements that battered the stone castle.

Safe in the lair of a dragon and not the white knight with a broken leg she undoubtedly dreamed of and deserved.

N
eacail of Glengalda stood by the fireplace of the tower bedchamber. He had remembered the hidden passage inside the castle he hoped to claim.

He watched the woman who slept in the bed only steps from where he stood.

A few hours earlier he had been watching the tall man, his enemy, brave the storm to pace the parapets. The man had stolen what belonged to Neacail, he'd tried to kill him, and he would pay. The pain of the pistol wound in Neacail's arm strengthened his hatred.

Neacail was the rightful heir to Dunmoral, or so his whoring mother had confessed to the priest on her deathbed last summer. She
'
d sworn that the former earl
'
s nephew was Neacail
'
s father, and any fool could see a family resemblance.

There were no papers to prove this. The former earl and his nephew were both dead. Yet Neacail had always known he had been born to privilege.

Six months ago Neacail had carried his blood claim to the Scottish Court of Session. The judge had laughed in his face.

"Perhaps the papers proving your nobility were burned at your birth," the judge had suggested with a sneer.

A week later Neacail had burned the judge
'
s country house to the ground, not caring that the magistrate
'
s bedridden sister was trapped within.

He
'
d watched her beat at the window like a caged bird. There was pleasure in that, and a lesson to those who laughed at him.

He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his torn saffron shirt. His deep-set eyes smoldered with thwarted ambition. His arm ached, but that weakness would not stop him.

He would sleep tonight in a cave like an animal. He would awaken amidst men who smelled like swine when he should be living in this castle like a lord.

Neacail had worked as a servant once in the castle scullery years ago. He had learned a few of the secret passages that others had forgotten, thinking such knowledge might prove useful.

He was not a fool though. He had not entered the castle to be caught. He had a grander plan.

The people of Dunmoral would pay first for branding him a fugitive.

Then the stranger who had stolen Neacail
'
s birthright and those he hoped to protect would suffer.

He gazed across the room at the woman who slept so peacefully in her bed. The storm did not seem to disturb her. Neacail wondered whether she would waken if he touched her.

He touched the lace-edged chemise that lay across her bed instead. "Pretty,
"
he said quietly.
"
And clean.
"
He took one of the silken stockings that had fallen to the floor. He would use it to bandage the arm.

She stirred, flinging a hand across her face. Neacail had never seen such a woman in his life. Did she belong to his enemy? Where had she come from?

He backed away from the bed into the passageway beside the fireplace. The next time he visited he would leave a gift.

She would be so surprised.

10

T
he next morning, Mrs. MacVittie brought Gemma a burgundy leather book with gilt-edged pages.
"I
found this last night and thought of your brother. It contains the memoirs of a Scottish viscount who lived at the court of Louis the Fourteenth.
"

Gemma glanced around the empty courtyard.
"
Thank you so much, Mrs. MacVittie. Douglas needs all the help he can get. Will this book explain how we should behave in the princess
'
s presence?
"

"
It should help, although some of the confessions are rather
risqué
. I thought the descriptions of a royal feast might be enlightening.
"

"
A feast?"

"
Well, you must have a banquet to welcome the princess.
'
Tis expected, even in the most remote
regions such as ours. Royalty has been honored with feasts since ancient times.
"

Gemma bit her lip. "I see."

"You do have a cook in the castle, don
'
t you?"

Gemma hesitated. The only cook to speak of was Frances, who'd owned a thriving brothel on a pirate stronghold. What Frances lacked in culinary skills she made up for in her determination to better herself.

"We have a cook,
"
Gemma said firmly.

Mrs. MacVittie nodded.
"
Good. There
'
s a menu in the book she might use as a reference. Now I don
'
t mean to be unkind, my dear, but you and your brother
'
s men ought to peruse these pages yourselves to pick up the wee hint or two on deportment. You
'
d not want to offend your royal visitor.
"

Gemma swallowed, hugging the book to her heart. She would do
anything
to please her brother.
"
Oh, no, ma'am. We wouldn
'
t.
"

H
ildegarde was standing outside Douglas
'
s door when he opened it the next morning. He stifled a swear word at the sight of her.

"Good morning to you, madam,
"
he said.

"
I am on my way to the kitchen to deliver the royal breakfast requests to the cook.
"

"I shall do that, madam,
"
he responded, thinking that Hildegarde and Frances might be too alike for their own good.

"
If 'tis not too much trouble."

"
'
Tis no trouble at all," he said.

She nodded.
"
On Sundays, we will take toast and blackcurrant jelly. Coffee and chocolate should be served at every meal.
"

"I understand."

"
On Mondays we will have calf
'
s-foot jelly and toast. Tuesday is for toast and jelly a la Russe. On Wednesdays you have a choice of serving either ox-foot or orange jelly. We enjoy elderflower jelly on Thursdays."

Douglas sighed.
"
With toast?
"

"With toast.
"

"Friday?" Douglas said.

"Friday is for quince jelly."

"Saturdays, madam?"

"On Saturdays we have an assortment of the above.
"
She smiled at him.
"
Do you know what day it is?"

"
'
Tis Saturday,
"
he said heavily.

"
It might also be a good idea to display the princess
'
s personal pennant in the great hall,
"
Hildegarde concluded. "I hope this will not put you to any trouble.
"

"Anything to please the princess," he said grimly.

A
few minutes later the princess's personal advisor cornered Douglas in the kitchen. The man was preparing to leave the castle, clearly eager to be gone so he could finish his military business and be back at Rowena's side.

Douglas listened to the man tell him in no uncertain terms that the princess must be protected. He made it clear he did not approve of leaving Rowena and Hildegarde alone.

"I will not let them take one step beyond the drawbridge unescorted,
"
Douglas promised.

Frederic left without another word.

"
'
Twill not be easy to entertain that woman,
"
Frances predicted.

Douglas sighed. "Do we have a good store of jellies?"

"
Aye,
"
Frances said in surprise.
"
Why?
"

"
A well-fed woman is easier to entertain,
"
he said. "Or at least
'
tis so in my experience."

P
ale shafts of morning sunlight penetrated the high windows of the hall and illuminated the heraldic panels on the wall. A fire burned low in the huge hooded fireplace. Douglas felt a stab of anticipation as he watched the tall princess walk across the floor.

Daylight flattered her classical features, playing up the purity he had begun to believe he must have imagined. It also emphasized the intelligence in her eyes.

She looked straight at him. Astonished, he realized she was assessing him in the same forthright manner one would assess a horse at market. He wondered if he should show her his teeth and paw the floor with his right foot.

"You slept well, Your Highness?
"
he asked dryly
as he rose to escort her to the dais for a late breakfast.

"Yes, thank you.
"
She sat at the elaborately laid table, studying the damask cloth and china. "And you, my lord?"

"
Never better,
"
he lied, looking over his shoulder.

He couldn
'
t believe his luck. They were alone. Hildegarde the governess was probably sneaking a bottle of schnapps. The rest of the castle
'
s inhabitants were obeying Douglas
'
s strict orders to stay out of trouble.

He frowned. Pirates staying out of trouble was a contradiction in terms. What were the rascals up to?

Rowena was staring at the assortment of pots and platters on the table. She looked bemused. Douglas realized she was probably waiting for him to serve her. He thought she must be impressed that he had managed to find her favorite foods.

"Toast and jelly, Your Highness?
"
he asked. "We have blackcurrant, calf
'
s and ox-foot, jelly a la Russe, elderflower, orange, and quince.
"

She was quiet for a moment.
"
Do you always eat this much toast and jelly, my lord?
"

"
Don
'
t you?
"
he asked in surprise.

"No,
"
she said.
"
I hate toast and jelly. Hildegarde likes them though.
"

"
What about the coffee and hot chocolate?
"
he demanded.

Rowena grinned.
"
What about them?
"

He grinned back, his large hand hovering over the two polished silver pots on the table.
"
Which would you prefer?
"

"
Chocolate, please.
"
She studied the hammer-
beamed ceiling with an expert
'
s eye. "Fifteenth century?
"

Douglas examined the silver pot in his hand.
"
I wouldn
'
t think so.
'
Tis in rare good condition if it is."

Rowena bit her lip.
"
I meant the castle keep, actually. The ceiling moldings.
"

He gave her an indulgent smile.
"
I knew that, Your Highness. Yes, 'tis fifteenth century." Or thirteenth or fourteenth. Damned, if he could remember Dunmoral
'
s history. He put down the pot, suddenly realizing that danger lurked in the simplest question. He would have to take his own advice to be on guard against his invented background. A simple question about even the latrines could show him to be a liar. Or a lunatic.

"
Do you live in a fifteenth-century castle in Hartzburg?
"
he asked cautiously.

Rowena looked suddenly distressed. Douglas wondered if he'd asked something appallingly stupid. Didn't they have castles in Hartzburg? Did they live on caves? Matthew, he was sure, would know such a thing.

"I have been exiled to the pink summer palace in the forest,
"
she said quietly.
"
The castle proper is under siege by rebels."

"Besieged? By rebels?
"
Douglas, who didn't have a political bone in his body, was indignant at the thought.
"
In your homeland?
"

Rowena smiled in gratitude at his genuine display of outrage. "That isn't the worst of it, my lord.
"

"There is more?
"

"The rebels are holding Papa a virtual prisoner. He can keep them at bay for five months before he will be forced to surrender. They
'
re threatening to behead him if their demands aren't met.
"

"
That's—that
'
s—
"

"—treason.
"

"Yes, treason and intolerable.
"
Douglas might rank with the world
'
s greatest sinners, but even he possessed a certain sense of order.
"
Why hasn't someone gone in and thrashed the bast—the bad men?
"

Rowena looked at him, her brow raised.
"I share your feelings exactly," she said. "I have tried to roust the rebels and failed. I refuse to sacrifice any more of my loyal young subjects. Some of the boys who want to fight are barely twelve years old. All our able-bodied men are dead or wounded.
"
She paused. "Or they have betrayed me and thrown their allegiance to the other side.
"

"I'm sorry to hear that,
"
Douglas said with a frown, surprised to find he meant it.

"Papa
'
s enemies have an army of mercenaries and seasoned soldiers,
"
Rowena said.
"
I simply
didn
'
t have the talent or leadership ability to muster up enough force on my own."

"
The situation needs a warrior, not a woman," Douglas said forcefully.

"I
'
ve done what I can.
"
Rowena sipped her chocolate.
"
You
have heard of the Peace of West
phalia?"

"Hasn
'
t everyone?
"
Douglas said.

"Then you will recall that while France gained sovereign power over certain territories, Hartzburg kept her independence."

Douglas was silent. Not only could he not recall it, he didn
'
t know what the devil the woman was talking about.

"
France and the Emperor were fighting over us,
"
Rowena added.

"Well, so would I," Douglas stated.

She frowned.
"
We cherish our independence, my lord.
"

"
As indeed you should." His frown deepened. "I seem to recall hearing that you have three older brothers. Perhaps
'
tis not my place to ask, but why is a helpless woman defending a castle and trying to rescue her father?
"

"I
do not consider myself helpless, my lord.
"

Douglas studied her face, hiding a smile. "Defenseless then—but only in the physical sense."

"Your question is valid,
"
she said ruefully. "My eldest brother Prince Erich has mysteriously vanished during a hunt. Rupert is in the Mediterranean on a merchant expedition. He was unexpectedly waylaid last spring.
"