Kill or Be Kilt (3 page)

Something moved out of the corner of his eye.

Elizabeth smoothed down her skirts and walked quietly into the brush. When she returned to the glade, she stood on the other side of the fire, gazing into the glowing embers as if they told a secret. He didn't think she saw him sitting there until she stepped around the flames and approached him.

“Isn't one of the guards supposed to relieve you? You've been keeping watch for hours.”

“I did nae want to wake them. Besides, I'm nae able to sleep. What are ye doing up and about?” When she gestured to the trees, he added, “Why can ye nae sleep? Is the ground too uncomfortable for your liking?” He had a difficult time keeping the sarcasm from his voice because he knew the women were disappointed they didn't make it to the inn this eve. Heaven forbid the lasses had to sleep in the open air.

“No. If you must know, I was thinking about Uncle Walter,” she replied in a clipped tone.

“Why donna ye sit?” he asked in a gentle voice. He didn't mean to cause her more pain. When she hesitated and couldn't meet his eyes again, he decided he wasn't giving her the opportunity to retreat. Leaning slightly forward, Ian lengthened his plaid from the back of his kilt and spread it on the ground beside him. “I may bark, but I give ye my word that I will nae bite ye. If ye can nae sleep, sit.” He patted his hand on the plaid.

“Thank you, Laird Munro.” Elizabeth lowered herself to the ground and fixed her skirts.

“My apologies ye're distraught this eve. As I told ye before, Mildmay was a good man.”

She turned her head to the side, using her hand to shield her eyes from him. He had a feeling she was guarding her tears, especially when her voice became unsteady. “One would think I'd be able to cope with death by now—Mother, Father, Uncle Walter.”

“'Tis foolish to think anyone can prepare for losing someone, especially when 'tis unexpected. But if I were ye, I'd be more distraught over having to ride with Lady Grace the entire way to England.”

A laugh escaped her. “Are you attempting to make me feel better?”

Ian shrugged. “I donna know. Is it working?”

“Perhaps.”

The firelight cast Elizabeth in an angelic glow, and her smile warmed him in the cool night air.

“It's so peaceful and quiet out here at night.”

“Ye have noticed Lady Grace is sleeping, eh?”

“There is truth to that.” She hesitated. “It will be good to be home again, even under unpleasant circumstances.”

“Ye donna favor living in the Highlands?”

“I didn't mean to offend you. Scotland is beautiful, and I enjoy Ruairi's home very much.”

He lifted a brow. “'Tis your home too.”

“Of course.”

* * *

Elizabeth wasn't about to tell Ian that her brother-in-law's castle never quite felt like home. There was only one location where she'd spent countless hours with her mother and father under the same roof, and that was where she grew up. That was the place that was truly home. She hadn't intended for the conversation to become awkward and decided to change the subject.

“May I ask you something?”

“Aye.”

“Why isn't the captain of your guard traveling with us…with you?”

He chuckled in response. “He stays behind with my men to guard Munro lands in my absence. I can nae leave my clan and lands unprotected.”

“I understand, but what about your safety?”

“Now lass, ye would nae be questioning my prowess on the battlefield, would ye?” When she took a sharp intake of breath, he smiled, and she realized he was jesting. “Many men will nae approach or engage me because of my looks. Ye witnessed that nae long ago with the Sutherland guard. Sometimes being nae fair of face has its advantages.”

“I believe true beauty comes from within, and I don't think men stay away from you because you
think
you are not a comely man. I'm certain their behavior has more to do with the fact that you're the size of a mountain.” Brushing her skirts, Elizabeth wiped off imaginary dirt. “How many days will you be staying with us before you and my brothers-in-law attend court?”

“I donna know. It depends on when we arrive, a few days mayhap.”

“Have you been to court before?”

“Aye, more times than I care to count.” There was strong censure in his tone.

“I've never had the chance. Grace attended a few times, and then we moved to Scotland.”

“Ye're nae missing anything. In truth, 'tis nay place for a young lass.”

“Then I guess I'm in luck because I'm eighteen now.” When a questioning expression crossed his face, she quickly rose. She wasn't certain what provoked her sudden flare of temper, but between Uncle Walter, Grace, and the unexplained emotions raging within her about Ian, her voice became laced with sarcasm. “It's getting late and past the bedtime for a young lass.”

Ian flew to his feet. For such a large man, he moved faster than she would've expected. He loomed over her and grabbed her arm to stay her. “Wait. That's nae what I meant.”

There was a heavy silence.

“Then what did you mean?” When he didn't respond and released his grip, she met his gaze. “Have a pleasant evening, Laird Munro.” She turned on her heel and did not look back. As she walked away, she almost laughed at the irony. That's what she should've done years ago. At least now she was determined to leave the past where it belonged.

She was traveling home to England, and that's where her future lie.

London, England

Elizabeth sat in lonely silence in the carriage across from Fagan and Grace. Her brother-in-law rubbed his thumb back and forth over her sister's fingers, and neither one spoke. Elizabeth hadn't even realized they'd arrived at the manor house until Fagan stepped down from the coach. He extended his hand for Grace, but she hesitated and gazed at Elizabeth.

“You haven't said a word since we left Uncle Walter's grave. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” said Elizabeth in a solemn tone. “Your husband is waiting.”

“Fagan can wait. You know that you can talk to me about anything. We're sisters.” Grace continued to study her. “I do recognize that seeing Uncle Walter's grave wasn't easy for any of us, but it's not good to keep your feelings locked away. We're here for you. We're all here for each other. That's what family is for.”

Elizabeth made no attempt to mask her foul mood when a pain squeezed her heart at the mention of Uncle Walter. In truth, she didn't want to talk because her sense of loss was now beyond tears. She felt numb, inside and out. Since her sister wasn't moving her buttocks from the seat, Elizabeth leaned forward and grasped Fagan's hand. When she stepped out of the carriage, she smiled her thanks and walked to the front door without them.

Scadbury Manor was a pleasing sight with its drawbridge, gatehouse, walled gardens, and cobblestone courtyard. The Walsinghams had occupied the moated residence since 1424—at least until Ravenna had moved the remaining family to Scotland. Located on the eastern edge of Chislehurst, the manor had eight bedchambers that overlooked the valley of the River Cray, and Elizabeth welcomed the change of venue. Furthermore, even though there were no armed guards walking the walls as she'd been used to, she felt safe being back at home.

She opened the heavy, wooden door of the house she grew up in. A similar feeling had washed over her yesterday when she'd reached for the same latch, once again returning to her childhood residence. She felt as if whatever was missing from her life was instantly filled with a sense of peace and familiarity.

Ravenna, Ruairi, Kat, Torquil, and Ian sat in the great hall as Elizabeth gave pause at the entry. She could only imagine what her mother and father would've said about all the kilted men sitting around the family table waiting to sup. And God only knew what her parents would've thought about two of their daughters marrying these burly Highlanders.

Ravenna stood and approached Elizabeth. “How are you?”

“I'm weary.” Elizabeth smiled blandly. “Pray excuse me. I think I'll just retire to my chamber early.” She started to turn away when her sister stayed her.

“I will hear nothing of it. Mary is the only one who is napping. You'll come and take your place at the table with the rest of the family. We need each other now more than ever.”

Grace and Fagan made their way into the hall, and Grace stopped in her tracks. “Is there something wrong?”

Ravenna's eyes narrowed. “No. Elizabeth was just taking her seat.”

With no voice in the matter, Elizabeth approached the table and stood behind the only seat left, which was next to Ian. Her fingers wrapped around the top of the chair, and she didn't move. Though she implored silent help from Ravenna, her sister didn't pay her any heed and started talking with Ruairi.

Ian stood. “My apologies. I should've pulled out the chair for ye. Thank ye for reminding me of my manners, Lady Elizabeth.”

For God's sake, she didn't want the man to pull out her bloody chair. She wanted him to leave enough distance between them so he didn't muddy her thoughts. Against her better judgment, she sat at the table when she wanted nothing more than to stop the incessant chatter around her. Was it too much to ask to be left alone?

Ravenna held a wine goblet in the air as the servants stood back with trays of food in hand. “I'd like for us to reflect and give pause to remember two great men who graced our lives, Lord Francis Walsingham and Lord Walter Mildmay. May our father and our uncle, who was a second father to us, be gazing down at us now with our dear mother with smiles on their faces and love in their hearts…for they are all sorely missed.”

Everyone held up their drinks and took a sip in response, except for the men, who finished the contents of what was left in their goblets in a single swallow. As one servant replenished the empty drinks, two others placed platters of meats, breads, and cheeses on the table. Ruairi grabbed a piece of bread and placed it on Ravenna's plate.

“Nay time is ever good when we lose one of our own, but we're glad to have ye lasses along on the long journey,” said Ruairi.

Elizabeth thought she heard Ian grunt beside her, but she dared not look in the man's direction.

“Since we'll be staying with Aunt Mary for a few weeks at Apethorpe Hall, when you're finished at court, you should come and see Uncle Walter's lands,” said Ravenna. “They're magnificent, and the estate is one of the finest in Northamptonshire. Queen Elizabeth owned Apethorpe Hall at one time, and Uncle Walter and Aunt Mary have been known to entertain King James there on occasion.”

Elizabeth felt her empty goblet being gently removed from her fingers and was startled when Ian poured something into it from a flask.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He returned the goblet without a word. She stared at the contents for a moment and then studied him intently. His face was a mask of stone, and he was paying attention to the conversation at the table. As she was about to look away, he met her eyes and scowled. Leaning back in his chair, he gazed at her as though she'd had the nerve to question his manhood.

* * *

Ian tapped his finger on the table in front of Elizabeth's goblet. “I want ye to drink that.” When she gave him a look as though he'd gone mad, he slid his chair closer and lowered his voice. “I know how ye feel. Drink.”

“But what is that?”

He lifted a brow and was taken aback that a woman wouldn't immediately heed his command. “Do ye always question everything? And they wondered why I stayed on Munro lands and ne'er crossed the border for as long as I had.”

“Pardon?”

“God's teeth, lass. Drink up.” She picked up the goblet and swirled the contents like he'd asked her to swallow muddied water. She took a small sip and crinkled her nose. “Och, aye. I should've known ye'd drink like an English lass.”

She huffed. “Well, how am I supposed to drink—whatever this is—if no one has ever shown me how?” When he grabbed her goblet and downed the contents in one swig, her mouth dropped opened.

“Now that is how ye're supposed to drink, lass.”

“That's not wine. What is that?”

“
Uisge beatha.
”

“And that's Gaelic for…?”

“Water of life.” He pulled out his flask and filled her goblet again. “Would ye like to try again? But I have to warn ye, ye'll need to drink like a Scot this time. Good
uisge beatha
is nae to be wasted on the bloody English
.
” When he said the words in his best English accent, Elizabeth's mouth trembled with the need to smile.

“But you do remember that I am English, Laird Munro.”

“Aye, how could I forget?”

To his amazement, Elizabeth lifted the drink to her lips and tossed back the contents in a single swig. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and for an instant she was frozen. She placed her fingers to her mouth, facing him with a pained expression.

“I'm afraid that's simply dreadful.”

“'Tis an acquired taste.”

“Why, pray tell, did you want me to drink that?”

He softened his voice. “If ye donna release the pain ye suffer for the loss of your uncle—well, let me just say nay good will come of it. I've lost some of my closest friends and kin in battle and had more than enough experience with death. If ye donna want to talk, then let
uisge beatha
ease your pain.”

“And how is that supposed to help, exactly?”

“The drink will dull the pain ye feel, and if it does nae, ye can always count on it to put hair on your chest.” He smiled when she glanced down at her bosom.

Elizabeth pushed the goblet in front of him. “I'm afraid you don't have nearly enough ‘water of life' in your flask to ease my pain, Laird Munro, but you may pour me another if you're so inclined.”

Ian had no intention of encouraging or rekindling the ridiculous fancy that Elizabeth had held for him in the past, but he couldn't sit and watch her suffer from the affliction of losing her uncle any longer. As he poured the fiery liquid, he noticed Ruairi watching him from the other end of the table.

“
Mòran taing
.”
Thank you very much.
Ruairi mouthed the words without actually speaking, and Ian returned a quick nod.

Elizabeth grabbed the goblet and swallowed the contents, tapping her fingers on the table. “I thought it would be better going down the second time, but I assure you that it wasn't.”

“Usually after the fourth, ye donna notice the burn anymore.”

He was about to pour her another when she placed her hand over the top of the rim. “Oh, I'm afraid there will not be a fourth time.”

Ian chuckled. “Aye, but ye did nae say anything about a third.”

Her gentle laugh tinkled through the air as she studied her hands. “I truly must thank you for a much needed distraction. And I never thanked you for offering me comfort when the messenger came about Uncle Walter's passing.”

“'Twas my pleasure, lass.” Ian meant his words.

She reached out and touched his arm and then pulled back as if her hand was aflame. “Laird Munro, I don't want there to be awkwardness between us. Please accept my apologies for the past. I was only fifteen. I—”

“Lady Elizabeth, all is forgotten. There is nay need for apologies. Now that ye're older, wiser, I'm certain your opinion has changed. Now ye can take your place among the other lasses and run at the sight of me.”

* * *

And therein lay the problem. Elizabeth wasn't certain her feelings toward the man had changed at all, especially because she felt a warm tingling all over her body. Ian drove her completely mad when he said words like that. Granted, he was a brawny man, but he was always kind. Any woman who ran away from him because of his daunting appearance was a fool. Laird Ian Munro was a great man. She'd always believed that and hadn't altered her views now.

She gazed down to see that part of his kilt had separated, exposing his thigh. Her eyes boldly roamed over his body, and she had a strong urge to reach out and touch him again. He was hard, firm. She also remembered that from being crushed in his embrace. Oh, yes. His body was solid as a rock. She closed her eyes for a moment. What was wrong with her? She felt as if she'd lost her mind.

Elizabeth stood, pausing when she became light-headed. “Pray excuse me, everyone. I'll be retiring now.” She felt Ravenna's eyes studying her, passing judgment, but Elizabeth wasn't about to sit next to Ian any longer without having any wits about her. As she made her way out of the great hall, unsteady on her feet, Ruairi grunted.

“Ye've gone and done it now, Munro. I do believe my sister-in-law is in her cups.”

Elizabeth knew better than to acknowledge the truth of that matter. She made her way to the study when she more than likely should've gone to bed. As she closed the door behind her, she took a deep breath.

The room smelled of leather and wood, reminding her of her father. She smiled when the bright sunlight came through the window and reflected from the blades of his eight daggers that hung on the wall. She took that as a sign that her father was still watching over her. As she ran the tips of her fingers along the spine of the leather-bound journals on the shelf, she realized his influence was the reason that she could be found in the library more often than not.

His desk sat in front of a large window, and she rubbed her hand over the smooth, wooden surface. She sat in his chair, wondering how many times her father and Uncle Walter had met within these walls. A memory came to mind of being scolded with her sisters in this very room. In those days, Grace and Ravenna had been in trouble most of the time. Fortunately for Elizabeth and Kat, they had been too young to get into the kind of mischief that their sisters had. Then again, Grace was always causing enough trouble for them all.

Ian was right. His “water of life” had dulled her senses. The pain she felt hadn't entirely disappeared, but it was bearable. She laid her head back on the chair, trying to clear the haze. She'd close her eyes if only for a brief time.

“Wake up!”

Elizabeth was jolted awake and placed her hand over her racing heart. “What is it?” She rubbed her hands over her face. “For heaven's sake, what's the matter with you?”

“What's the matter with
me
?” Grace placed her hands on her hips. “You've been in here for most of the night. Time to seek your bed, Sister.”

“Do ye want me to carry her?” asked Fagan.

Elizabeth hadn't noticed her brother-in-law, and she stood. “There's no need to carry me, Fagan. I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own accord.”

“Are ye sure about that, lass?”

“I assume you do remember how to find your chamber,” said Grace in a clipped tone.

Elizabeth stumbled to the door. “I only grew up in this house,” she said under her breath.

She climbed the darkened stairs. Even though she wasn't sure of the time of night, she supposed everyone else had sought their beds. Making her way down the hall to her bedchamber, she passed the family portraits that hung on the wall. She could feel her father's gaze upon her and briefly pondered what he would've thought about all the Highlanders sleeping under his roof.

Hearing the soft click of a latch, she stopped. A door opened, and Ian emerged from his chamber. The way the candle was flickering from his room made him look ethereal, unreal in the dim light. His long, red hair was tangled, and his tunic was half pulled out of his kilt. His feet were bare, and she almost chuckled at his disheveled appearance.