Mad for the Plaid (39 page)

Max replied, “Wulf and I came to see why Nik has been so ill-tempered.”

“
Da
, we are done with it,” Wulf said.

“I see.” She cocked an eyebrow at Nik. “Is this about your Scottish lass?”

Wulf and Max exchanged surprised looks. “Who?” Wulf asked.

“I should have known there was a woman involved.” Max turned his chair to face his oldest brother more squarely. “Tell us.”

“There's nothing to tell,” Nik said firmly.

“I met her,” Tata Natasha offered. “She can fire a pistol like a Hessian sharpshooter.”

“Murian would like her, then,” Max said, looking far too interested in Nik's personal business.

Tata nodded. “This woman can ride a horse, too, like a Mongolian warrior.”

“Impressive,” Wulf murmured. “She sounds like a paragon.”

“
Nyet
. Sadly, she is not the best hostess. Her housekeeping . . . Pah. She will need training, once she comes here.”

Nik scowled. “She is not coming here.”

“Why not?” Wulf asked.

“Nik, you must tell us more about this woman,” Max demanded.

“
Nyet
.”

“He will not tell you, but I will,” Tata Natasha finished her drink and peered into the empty glass with a disgusted look.

Nik tried not to let his teeth grind too audibly.
Wonderful. Just what I wished to do; hear about Ailsa as if I did not remember every lush, haunting inch of her; as if I do not hear her voice in my head all the time; as if I do not sleep, because when I do, I dream of her in ways that leave my heart aching all the worse.

“Let me see. What more can I tell you?” Tata Natasha leaned back in her chair. “She is a beautiful woman, this Lady Ailsa. She is tall and willowy, with flowing black hair, and as graceful as a swan—”

“What?”
Nik threw his pen on the desk, ink splattering over his letter. “Bloody hell, don't you even
remember
her? She is neither tall nor willowy, nor is she particularly graceful. And you know damned well her hair isn't black, but dark blond.”

Tata peered now at the ceiling, her face scrunched as if in thought. “Blond hair? Are you certain?”

“You know damn well I remember her hair color.”

“Hmm. You may be right. I do remember this: she is very domestic and mild-mannered, like a sheep. She does nothing but knit, knit, knit—”

“For the love of—” Nik shoved himself back from the desk with such force, his chair almost overturned. “Drivel! All of it.”

“Oh?” Tata held out her glass.

Wulf came to refill it, this time much more generously.

“
Da
,” Nik bit out. “Lady Ailsa is stubborn and
furiously independent, and she's far more spirited than a pathetic sheep!”

Max and Wulf both looked so amused that Nik wondered if perhaps the snowdrift fight might have been a better idea. The way he felt now, he would not have lost.

Tata Natasha nodded thoughtfully. “She has the pride of caesars. And the nose of one, too.”

“She's also ridiculously hopeful, a romantic at heart, and too tenderhearted to ever face the bloody creatures who live here at court,” Nik finished in a brutal tone.

“She sounds charming,” Max said.

“I would like to meet her,” Wulf said.

“You never will,” Nik said shortly. He eyed his brothers with profound dislike. “Go to supper. Now.”

“First we must find out why this formidable woman is not here,” Max said. “Tata Natasha, I suppose you know the answer to that, too.”

“Nik fears having such a tender flower living here, exposed to the intricacies of court. He believes they will overwhelm her and turn her into a hardened shrill.”

“I never said ‘hardened shrill,' ” Nik protested.

Tata shrugged. “You used other words, but the intent was the same.” She sipped her vodka. “I must admit, the court presents challenges. It can be brutal and disheartening, even to me, and I am quite used to such things.”

“It has affected us all and we were raised to deal with such,” Nik said stiffly. “I would not have Ailsa changed.”

“It is true that all courts are filled with wolves in
wolves' clothing,” Tata agreed. “Just yesterday, Count Gorchakov visited me. He brought some honey after I said my throat was sore from the dry weather. I had to excuse myself from the room for a moment to fetch my shawl, and when I returned, I caught the lout going through the papers on my desk.”

Max's expression turned grim. “Where were the footmen?”

“On other errands.”

“Tata!” Nik groaned. “You know better. I will have a word with the count.”

“Be gentle, for I hit him in the shin with my cane. He is limping still.”

Max chuckled.

Nik sent his brother a hard look. “It is only funny because we are used to it. Gorchakov bears watching, as does Lady Naryshkins, who has been corresponding secretly with the Russians, while Baron Yusopov has fallen into the clutches of a young mistress with ties to the Prussians, and . . . Bloody hell, we live in a hornets' nest of intrigue and mistrust!”

“True.” Tata Natasha nodded, her lace cap flapping over her ears. “All courts are this way.”

“Ours is worse,” Nik said. “We are strategically placed between giants. Everyone wishes to influence us. And thus we must fight intrigues at every turn.”

Tata looked at Max. “Was that your stomach growling?”

He nodded. “I'm starving. Supper was to be served a half hour ago, but this one”—he nodded toward Nik—“would not come.”

“Then go eat,” she said. “And take Wulf with you.”

Max stood. “Aren't you coming?”

She shook her head. “I've a letter to write.”

“Fine. Come, Wulf. I believe Tata Natasha has this well in hand. And if that is so, then I wish to leave at first light and return home.”

“I will do the same.” Wulf stopped by Tata Natasha's chair to press a kiss to her hand. “See what you can do for the Hopeless One. He is miserable when he's unhappy.”

“So I've noticed,” she said drily. She gave her grandson's hand a squeeze and then waved him to the door. “I will join you once I finish my letter.”

As soon as they were gone, Tata Natasha leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Thank God they have left. Talk, talk, talk is all they do.”

Nik prudently didn't answer.

She continued, “Your brothers may worry about you, but I know you are fine. A little thinner since we returned, perhaps. And your eyes—it is obvious you are not sleeping well. You are a bit pale, too. But other than that, I see no difference.”

“Thank you,” he said drily. “You said you had a letter to write?”

“
Da
. It will not take long.” She reached into the pockets of her skirts and pulled out a folded missive. “Do you have an extra pen? I must answer this.”

“Shall I bring you paper, too?”

“I will not be able to answer this letter without it.”

He found a fresh piece of paper and then took it, along with his best pen and a small pot of ink, to where
she sat. He pulled the side table forward and placed the supplies upon it. “There.”

“Thank you.” She unfolded the letter and spread it out.

He glimpsed the handwriting, and froze, his heart giving an odd flip. “That's from Ailsa.” His voice cracked the words as if he were throwing stones against a wall. He reached for the letter—

Tata Natasha snatched it up and held it to her chest. “You may not see this. It was not written to you.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but better sense took over. She was right. Whatever was in the letter, he would be better off not knowing about it. He thought far too much about Ailsa as it was, and reading a note in her handwriting would only make things worse.

Though it cost him dearly, he returned to his desk and randomly sorted papers, trying not to stare at the missive.

Tata watched him for a moment before she placed the letter back on the table, smoothed out the crumpled paper, and began reading.

Nik picked up his pen, irritatingly aware of the way Tata's lips silently moved as she read.

The clock sitting by the window ticked loudly.

Somewhere in the distance, a door opened and closed.

Nik stared with unseeing eyes at the letter that rested before him. He cleared his throat. “Has . . . has she written to you before?”

“Every week or so. And every week I write her back.”

“It would take three weeks—”

“Special couriers,” Tata said shortly. She picked up the pen and dipped it in the ink.

“Why does she write?”

“She seeks advice.”

“From you?”

Tata couldn't have looked more surprised. “Why would she not ask me? I have a lot of advice to give!”

“Yes, but . . . advice about what?”

“That, too, is none of your business.” Tata bent over the table and began to write. “You do your work; I'll do mine.”

Seething, but unwilling to seem any more interested in Ailsa than he'd already been betrayed into doing, Nik tried to focus on his work.
But why would Ailsa write to Tata Natasha? Lady Edana is right there, at Castle Leod. Surely Ailsa would ask advice from her own grandmother first.

He thought about this for a while.
Lady Edana didn't seem particularly capable. Tata Natasha has lived a much bigger life. Given the choice, I'd rather speak to Tata Natasha, too.

The mystery solved, he tried to keep from staring at the letter his grandmother was now writing. He'd just dipped his pen into his inkwell when Tata Natasha gave a frustrated sigh.

“A pack of drunk monks must have developed the English language, for that is the only way to explain the many discrepancies. The spelling—pah!”

“It is not an easy language to write,” he agreed.

“It is frustrating.” She tapped a finger on her paper.
“How does one spell ‘convenience,' as in ‘marriage of convenience'?”

He blinked. “Why do you need to spell that?”

“I cannot tell you. It would betray a confidence. C-o-n-v-” She frowned. “ ‘I' or ‘e'—which is next?”

Bloody hell.
He absently spelled the word for her.

“Thank you,” she muttered, carefully writing it. The room was silent except for the sound of her pen scratching the paper.

Nik tried to still the ache that was beginning to press on his chest.
Perhaps Tata Natasha is writing about a marriage here at court.
That was a possibility. Idle gossip and nothing more. Two such marriages had occurred in the last four months.

Yes, that is it.
Satisfied, he pulled the letter he'd been working on a bit closer, and had just written a sentence when Tata paused again.

“Does ‘danger' have an ‘e' or an ‘a' before the ‘r'? I can never remember.”

“ ‘E.' ”

She wrote it and then squinted at the word. “It looks wrong, but I will take your word for it.”

Danger?
Bloody hell, is something amiss?

After several long moments, he was relieved when Tata put down her pen and picked up the letter, waving it gently so that the ink might set. “I think it is ready. Let me read through it one more time.” As she held it up, she read it to herself, her voice low so that only a few, faint phrases could be heard. “. . . despair no more . . . marriage of convenience . . . archaic . . . shoot someone
if you must . . . trapped like a rabbit in a snare . . . seventy-five is too old a man for such a young—” She frowned. “Nik, for ‘maiden,' is it ‘ai' or ‘ia'?”

“That's it.” He threw down his pen and stood. “What in the
hell
are you writing? Has something happened to Ailsa? Perhaps you should go to her at Castle Leod—”

“Oh, she's no longer at Castle Leod. She hasn't been for some time now.” Tata Natasha folded the letter. “She is in Edinburgh.”

His heart went cold. “This marriage of convenience? And—and this seventy-five-year-old—what is that about?”

“You can see that all the way from your desk? You have very good eyes, Nikki. No wonder you're such an accurate shot.”

“Tata. The
letter
.”

“I am not going to tell you more. You left her, remember? It was your decision.”

“I left her to keep her from coming here, and becoming a part of all this.”

Tata Natasha shrugged. “And now she will never be a part of it. Or a part of you.”

Nik had to unclench his teeth to answer. “Ailsa was raised in a castle in the remote reaches of a wilderness. She's had very few dealings with the real world. She's . . . good. Honest. Kind.”

“But she is not weak.”

“
Nyet
. But she
is
tenderhearted. She's never been hurt by betrayals, or dealt with people feigning to be friends in order to get something, or—or—men who would pretend to bring her honey for her sore throat,
only to try and steal something.” He shook his head. “I couldn't bring her here. It would change her. Hurt her.”

“You care for her.”

“Of course I care for her! If I didn't, I'd have brought her here and let the world steal away her very soul. I could not do it.”

“You will not need to. She will be facing the rigors and treachery of court soon enough.”

“Is Edinburgh's court so bad? And is—” His throat tightened. “Is that why you mentioned a marriage of convenience? To a seventy-five-year-old man? Is that what's happened?” Somehow, he was no longer at his desk, but standing before Tata Natasha, his voice raised and demanding.

Tata shrugged. “She is not your concern. You have as much as told her so. You can do nothing about what happens to her now . . .”