Kill or Be Kilt (23 page)

“Yes.”

The door closed, and Elizabeth paused, needing to make certain both men had departed.

“Elizabeth, what are ye doing?” asked Ian. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair.

Her eyes widened in panic, and she placed her finger over her lips to silence him. When she pointed to the second floor, Ian stood. She had no idea if Lord Kinghorne had taken his leave with Mister Condell, or if he still lurked above. Not knowing made her tremble with fear.

She lifted her skirts, unsheathing her dagger, as she gestured for Ian to remove his sword. As soon as she placed one foot on the steps, he pushed her back.

“Ye stay here, and donna move,” he whispered. “Do ye understand?” When she gave him a look of agreement, he climbed the stairs without her and gazed around at the top. “Lass, there is nay one here.”

“Oh, thank heavens.” Her breathing was labored. “I can't believe what I just heard! Mister Condell and Lord Kinghorne are going to kill the men in the king's circle.”

Ian descended the stairs and sheathed his weapon. “Lass, what are ye talking about?”

“Did you know that Ravenna or Grace—one of them—is a spy?” When an expression crossed his face that wasn't one of surprise, she added, “You knew. You're supposed to be my husband. Is there ever going to be a time when I can trust you?”

“'Twas nae my place to tell ye. Ruairi was to have—”

“Ruairi knew? Of course. Ravenna's the spy. Why should I even be surprised?” she asked dryly. She lifted her skirts and secured her blade under her dress. “Not only did I find out at court that my uncle and father were spies, but then I learn my uncle had killed my sister's betrothed. If that wasn't bad enough, now I discover that Mister Condell murdered my uncle. And let's not forget the fact that Ravenna
is
a spy.”

Elizabeth knew she must have sounded like a lunatic, but she was so beside herself that she couldn't think straight. “Is there anything else you'd like to tell me, Laird Munro? Perhaps something about Grace? Oh, and let's not forget about Katherine. Is Kat a spy too?”

“Elizabeth, calm down.”

“That's very easy for you to say,” she snapped. “You didn't find out that
you
come from a family of spies.”

He reached out and rubbed her arm. “Ravenna has been retired from service for years, ever since she wed Ruairi. I'm willing to talk with ye about this, but right now, I have to ask ye to repeat what ye said.”

She cast him a disgusted look. “Which part?”

“Condell. Why would ye say that he murdered your uncle?”

“Because I heard him confess when he and Lord Kinghorne were plotting to kill the rest of the council.”

Ian, Fagan, and Ruairi couldn't believe what Elizabeth had told them as they stood in Ruairi's room at the inn. Ian knew he despised that damn Condell for a reason. Now that he thought on the matter, he wasn't too fond of Kinghorne either.

Although Condell was from Spain, Kinghorne was an Englishman who wasn't loyal to England. Any man who would betray his own country had no morals. And that was another reason Ian was proud to be a Scot. Of course Highlanders fought and warred with neighboring clans, but every Scot had one thing in common.

They hated the English.

“What are we going to do?” asked Elizabeth. She sat at the table and tapped her fingers on her thigh, her face clouding with uneasiness.

Ruairi pulled out the other chair and sat beside her. “
We?
Ye are going to do naught.”

“That…that…bastard killed my uncle! Are you going to tell me my sister would've sat idle while the actor and the earl were plotting to kill more members of the council?”

“Being that ye're Grace's sister, I can nae say I'm surprised to hear ye curse, but having had similar conversations with my own wife, I'm telling ye this now. Ye are going to do naught,” said Fagan. “Ye are nae going to win this battle with us, lass. Ye have three Highlanders standing in your way.”

She looked at him imploringly. “Please, Ian.”

He frowned. “My answer is still nay, lass. Condell and Kinghorne have killed men and nae thought twice about it. What makes ye think they will nae kill ye?”

“We have to do something. The task falls on our shoulders. We can't let anyone else be hurt. We—or someone—must stop them.”

Ian grabbed Elizabeth's arm and pulled her to her feet. “Seek your bed. Ruairi, Fagan, and I will discuss what we'll do. This is nay place for ye to be, lass.”

She placed her hands on her hips and scowled. “No place for me to be? You were telling me only a few hours ago my place was by your side. Perhaps you should sleep on the matter and mull over your thoughts.” Elizabeth swung open the door and shut it in their faces.

Ian sighed. “Do ye think I should go after her?”

“Nay,” said Ruairi and Fagan at the same time.

“Let her cool her ire,” said Fagan. “The lass reminds me so much of Grace. If ye try to talk with her now, ye will lose your head or worse.”

“I suppose ye're right. Do ye have any ideas about Condell and Kinghorne?”

Ruairi dragged the table over by the bed, and Fagan moved the two chairs. Lifting the lid to his trunk, Ruairi pulled out his flask. “Let's have a wee dram and devise something clever.”

* * *

Elizabeth couldn't sleep. How could she when her uncle's murderer was walking around without a care in the world? She punched the lumps out of her pillow as she pictured Mister Condell's face. The thought of that man's touch made her stomach sour.

There was a light tap on the door. “Elizabeth…”

Perhaps Ian had come to apologize for shooing her off. If he was going to be her husband, he should. They were supposed to be as one. She lifted the latch to find him standing there, and her senses were immediately engulfed with the smell of sweet whisky on his breath.

“I saw the light under your door. Can ye nae sleep?”

“No.”

“May I come in?”

She gestured him in and closed the door behind him. In no mood to be concerned about propriety, she climbed back in bed, covering herself with a blanket. “Are you going to sit, or are you going to stand there and stare?”

He chuckled. “I was going to stare at ye for a while, but I'll sit.” He sat on the bed and sighed. “I know ye only want to help, but I can nae let ye place yourself in danger, lass.”

“So why are you here, my laird? You and my brothers-in-law made it perfectly clear that I'm to do nothing.” When he was about to speak, she asked, “How would you feel if someone you loved was murdered and you knew who the killer was? Uncle Walter was like a father to me. How can I do nothing?” Her voice sounded unnatural. “I want Mister Condell to pay for what he's done.”

“And he will. I swear on my honor if ye give me
your
word that ye will nae put yourself in harm's way.”

She hesitated, thinking how she could persuade him to change his mind.

“Elizabeth…” When she still didn't answer, Ian said her name again.

“I heard you. I'm not happy with this, but I give you my word.”

He gave her a roguish grin. “I also came for another reason.”

“And what is that, may I ask?”

“I've come to ravish ye.”

A giggle escaped her. “Laird Munro, you're evidently into your cups and don't know what you're saying. What happened to us not sharing a bed until after we're wed, eh?”

He looked deep in thought. “I realized your words made a lot of sense, especially when I sought my own bed and found it without ye in it.” Before she knew what he was about, he had removed his boots, pulled off his tunic with one hand, and…

Laird Munro was naked.

His brawny chest was covered with tawny hair, and at that moment, she could no longer argue. Elizabeth silently cursed, realizing she was weak. She longed to touch him.

He lay down beside her with his arm resting casually on his bent leg, looking as though he was a gift from God. He arched his eyebrows mischievously and cast an irresistible grin.

Elizabeth's mouth was suddenly dry. “Although I am quite flattered by your efforts, there are more pressing matters that we need to discuss.”

He gave her a smile that sent her pulse racing. “Lass, we can speak about anything ye want on the morrow. But this eve, ye are mine.” His eyes were full of promises, and then he winked at her.

Perhaps the man was right, and this was what they both needed.

Ian pulled back the blankets and tugged on her nightrail. “I think one of us is wearing too much clothing.”

She stilled his hand. “Stop.”

“Is it too soon? I'll cease. Does your body ache?”

“Does my…no. I just don't want you to think of me as some type of harlot.”

He rolled onto his side, his expression holding a savage inner fire. “A harlot? Ye're going to be my wife.” Desire pooled in his eyes, and his maleness became increasingly evident.

Slowly, he raised his hand and fingered a lock of her hair. “Ye are beautiful.”

Elizabeth couldn't speak. She could only gaze into Ian's eyes. She loved this side of him—the kindness, the desire, and the passion. This was the man she had grown so fond of and who had captured her heart from the beginning.

She threw herself into his arms, and he brought his lips down to hers. Her calm was shattered by the hunger of his kisses. His firm mouth demanded a response, one that she was more than willing to give. She was shocked at her own delight in his touch.

His lips seared a path down her neck, her shoulders.

She laced her fingers in his hair, pulling him close. His gentle touch sent currents of desire through her.

She felt the thrill of his arousal, and when he moved his thigh between her legs, the glorious heat nearly caused her to swoon. He pulled back slightly and ran his exploring fingers over her curves. Her skin tingled wherever he touched her, and shivers of pleasure slid up her arms and down her spine.

Elizabeth placed her hand on his rock-hard chest and brushed the tawny hairs. His gaze slowly dropped from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts. Her nightrail crept up to her thighs as she moved closer to him. He pulled the fabric upward over her belly, her chest. His tongue caressed her sensitive nipples, her breasts surging from his touch. He continued to tantalize the buds, which had swollen to the fullest.

When Ian's strong hand seared a path down her abdomen and to her leg, she thought she would come undone. He explored her thighs and then moved up.

He paused to kiss her, whispering his love for each part of her body. The stroking of his fingers sent pleasure jolts through her. Completely aroused now, she drew herself closer.

His body moved partially to uncover hers. “I want to see all of ye.”

She wiggled her way out of her nightrail and tossed it to the floor. As he lay her back down, she moaned softly. Her breasts tingled against his hard chest.

“Do ye still wish to touch me?” he asked, his voice low and alluring.

“Yes.”

He took her hand and guided it to himself. Her fingers encircled him, and he moved his body against her. When he reached between her thighs, opening her legs and then inserting his finger, she gasped in sweet agony.

“Ye are so wet for me.”

Her desire for him overrode all sense of reason. He recognized her need and entered her in a single thrust, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through her. It was a raw act of possession. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his chest heaved. She surrendered to his masterful seduction, her eager response matching his.

When they were roused to the peak of desire, he pulled back and gazed into her eyes. With another heavy thrust, she arched her back and couldn't control the outcry of delight and the feeling of satisfaction Ian left within her as he spilled his seed.

Elizabeth looked up, and her heart lurched madly. When he collapsed on top of her, she could feel his heart pounding against her own. He rolled onto his side as she lay panting. They shared a smile, and both burst out laughing because his breath was as labored as hers.

“God's teeth, lass, are ye trying to kill me?”

She giggled in response and ran her fingernails up and down his arm. “That was very enjoyable.”

“For me as well.” He gathered her into his arms and held her snugly against him.

Elizabeth had never dreamed Ian's hands would be so warm, so tender. She was astonished at the fulfillment she felt. She allowed her thoughts to emerge from their hidden depths, and looking back, she knew Ian was never the battle-hardened warrior everyone made him out to be.

She lay in the drowsy warmth of her bed, thinking of the days to come.

* * *

Ian and Ruairi stood in front of the large, wooden doors to the king's private study, knowing at least one member of the king's inner circle wasn't happy with them. After insisting they needed to speak with King James on a matter of grave importance, they had finally managed to convince the king's secretary to grant them an audience.

“Are ye sure about this?” asked Ian.

“If anything is in our favor, 'tis that Ravenna is my wife and her uncle was Mildmay. For now, that's all we have.”

“Aye, but for some reason, that does nae make me feel any better.”

The king's secretary opened the door. “The king will see you now.”

Ian and Ruairi entered the room and passed a large window on the left that overlooked the king's private gardens. Ian stole a quick glance, and there were so many colored blooms that the ground looked like a rainbow of flowers. When he noticed the fine paintings displayed on the walls, he whispered to Ruairi, “Did ye take notice of the walls? They look like yours, naught but scenes of death and battle.”

“The king has good taste. I'm sure he would appreciate my tapestries.”

As they approached King James, he was sitting behind a large desk in front of a stone fireplace. His brown hair was combed back, and a large chain hung around his shoulders over his silk doublet. There was a tall man, about as old as Ian, gazing over the king's shoulder at something on the desk. When both men looked up, Ian and Ruairi gave their liege a low bow.

“Your Majesty.”

“Rise. I heard you mention my paintings. Do you favor Mantegna?”

“My apologies, but I donna know of whom you speak,” said Ruairi.

The king stood and walked over to one of the canvases. “These paintings are a series of nine called the
Triumphs of Caesar
. This one depicts a military procession celebrating the victory of Julius Caesar in the Gallic Wars. They're my favorite collection.” He resumed his position behind the desk and gestured for Ian and Ruairi to sit. “This is Lord Tullibardine.”

“My lord, I believe your daughters are acquainted with my sister-in-law,” said Ruairi.

“Ah, yes. They've told me about Lady Elizabeth.” The man rounded the desk and sat in a chair beside Ruairi.

“My apologies we couldn't meet sooner, gentlemen. I'm sure you're aware there are more pressing matters that require my attention,” said the king in a scolding tone. “Nevertheless, Mildmay was my trusted friend. If Lady Elizabeth wants for anything, be sure to let my man know.”

“Thank ye, Your Majesty,” said Ruairi.

“My secretary tells me that you couldn't wait for an audience on the morrow because of a matter of
grave
importance. What can I do for you Laird Sutherland and Laird Munro?” asked the king in a dry tone.

Ruairi shifted in the chair. “We have information regarding members of the Privy Council.”

“Go on.” The king leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “You have my undivided attention.”

The way he said the words made Ian wonder if he talked to all his subjects that way or just the Highland lairds. It was no secret the Scots were nothing more than savages by the king's standards.

“There are two men responsible for murdering the men of your council and Lord Mildmay.”

“Are you going to make me ask you, Laird Sutherland, or are you going to tell me?”

“Condell and Lord Kinghorne.”

There was a heavy silence, and then the king sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the desk. “Mister Condell? The actor playing Henry VIII at the Globe Theatre?” He cast a speculative gaze at Lord Tullibardine and then chuckled. “I find that highly unlikely. He has been my guest.”

“He said ye favored his performances and had given him leave to certain parts of the palace,” said Ian.

“Yes, he was walking the same path, so to speak, as King Henry for his role at the theatre.” He sat forward. “And Lord Kinghorne you say?”