Chapter 10
KEIR ENTERED CASTLE Caladh by himself, leaving Logan to help the stable boy unsaddle and groom their horses.
His first thought was to find the maid he’d flustered the week before.
He needed to apologize for throwing an assortment of flower vases across the stone foyer floor and leaving the mess for her to clean up.
He found her carrying an armful of dirty linens out of his sister Rory’s room.
He bowed deeply, and offered a dimpled smile along with a sweet apology.
“Elspeth? I must beg ye fer forgiveness.”
His smile faded and a look of true contrition fell over his countenance.
“I let me temper get the best o’ me.
I hope ye dinnae have too much bother cleanin’ up the pottery.”
The maid’s wide-set eyes went wider and a reddening blush crept up from her neck to her cheeks.
“’Twas no trouble, sir.”
She curtsied twice and clutched the linens tighter against her bosom.
“Thank ye fer yer kind words.”
The blush deepened and she curtsied again.
“I shall tell Cook ye’re back and bring ye somethin’ to yer room.”
“Thank ye, Elspeth, but that won’t be necessary.
I can wait fer the mid-day meal.”
Elspeth nodded, backed up a few steps, hesitated and then scurried off as if in a race.
Keir watched her go, thinking how dissimilar she was to Anabel, and wondering if there was some way to put Elspeth’s gentle spirit into haughty Anabel.
He passed Jack’s empty room and Logan’s, ignoring the stares of his ancestors from their portraits on the walls, before entering his own large suite.
The fireplace was clean of ash and several dry logs were piled ready for his return.
The room was chilly, but it didn’t bother him; he’d light the fire later.
He noticed the vases had been removed.
He could imagine his father ordering Elspeth to collect them all.
It made him chuckle.
But it also made him sad.
His mother had been a relentless gardener and required the servants to keep most of the castle’s thirty rooms filled with flowers as the seasons allowed.
In her honor, his father continued the tradition.
The momentary thought stabbed his heart with fresh grief.
Apparently, after his temper tantrum, the Laird of Castle Caladh had ordered his room to be stripped of fragile urns.
Keir gathered some clean clothes and headed to the pond beyond the stables.
The sun was out, but the pond, though shallow, had not heated up enough to lure his sister here.
He had the cool water to himself and could bathe in relative seclusion if his brothers didn’t join him.
He swam about, noting the musky scent of wood anemones and the unpleasant smell of the celandine flowers.
Perhaps he might send a bouquet of those to Anabel MacLeod.
Would she get the intimation? He hated the thought of her, but now that he was home, he’d have to face his father as well as the consequences of the choice he needed to make.
There were two disparate paths.
He paddled around slowly, thinking, and ignoring the growing iciness of the water.
If he decided to marry the lass … och, he could not envision the union, imagining such a future was too bitter.
To be harnessed to a mule for the rest of his life seemed a hefty price to pay for peace with his father.
And yet, if he didn’t marry her, there’d be dishonor, humiliation, and, most likely, banishment.
Could he leave Caladh forever?
America.
The thought came to him along with the troublesome feeling he’d had when that word was spoken by the lad.
He could see El clearly in his mind, standing in the wagon, holding a dress to his flat chest.
He couldn’t meet the boy’s blue eyes.
There was something about El … no, he wouldn’t dwell on that puzzling feeling now.
The chill of the water as he floated around had worked its way nigh into his bones.
He wished he’d lit that fire in his room; he was going to need it.
“Hello, don’t mind me.
Just picking flowers.”
It was his sister, Rory.
Only ten months older, Rory held a special place in his heart.
Whereas his oldest sisters, Fenella and Elsie, had mothered him as a child, Rory had been his playmate.
The younger boys, Logan and Jack, were tag-alongs and nuisances.
“Join me.
I don’t mind.”
Keir stood up.
The water came up to his waist, the cloudy silt he’d stirred up shielded the part that would have made any other lady of the realm swoon.
Rory laughed.
“Ye’re a fool, Keir McKelvey.
I’ll nay be yer plaything to dunk and splash.”
“Fine, then, Rory.
Turn yer heid.
I best be wearin’ a kilt when we have the talk I’m expectin’ ye’ll gi’ me.
I can see ye’ve got somethin’ on yer mind.”
“Aye, the cèilidh.”
She turned and sat square atop a mound of buttercups and started talking.
“I’m sure they won’t be servin’ bannocks and brose puddin’ at the Beldorneys’ castle.
’Twill be a feast of finer things and we’re to go a day early.
Ye ken already, I suspect, that we’ve been invited to a spring cèilidh, along with the McDoons, the Campbells, the Stewarts, and … the MacLeods.
Ye’ll be dancin’ all night with yer intended.”
She laughed, her back still turned to him.
“’Tis naught to laugh aboot.
There’s a McDoon lad I could bribe to run off with that arrogant Anabel.
What think ye o’ that?”
Rory rose and brushed off her skirt.
“Dylan McDoon, I suppose ye mean? He’s been moonin’ over Anabel since summer last.
But she’s betrothed, dear brother, to the finest man in Scotland, who’ll be gettin’ a fine settlement as well.
’Tis a waste o’ yer time to be dislikin’ her.
’Tis almost as big a commitment as loving someone, and it carries none of the benefits.”
“Och.
The benefits.
Ye mean Laird McKelvey will be receivin’ a particular pasture from Clan MacLeod.”
Rory tilted her head at Keir.
“Aye, our father will benefit, fer sure, but as the oldest male, ye’ll be Laird of the Castle upon his passin’.”
Keir shook his head.
“I’ve heard o’ lands as green as our hills … across the sea.”
He saw the look she gave him.
“Aw … dinnae fash.
I’ll nae leave ye.”
He finished dressing.
A smirk took over Rory’s face.
“Ye havnae heard, then? ’Tis I who’ll be leavin’ these hills and this castle.
Our Elsie has convinced her husband’s brother, Rennie Carlyle, to wed me … and quickly too.”
Keir, who started to smile, instead puckered his face in anger.
“Quickly?”
“Aye, and ye’ve no right to be angered.
I’ve saved the last of the dowry our mum brought to Castle Caladh.
She too was with child when she wed our father.
’Tis true love so ye’ll nay be blamin’ me … and I wish ye the same, should ye give Anabel a chance.”
Keir clenched his teeth.
If his three sisters got to choose their mates, why could not he?
***
CAPTAIN LUXBURY REMOVED his hat and bowed low enough to touch the rug with it.
“M’lady, I’ve returned and the Baroness has informed me that you are in need of an experienced dance partner.
I would be honored to teach you.”
Eleanor would have heaved a sigh of disdain at the thought of having to dance with Bernard, but since Lady Beth had grossly undereducated her, she needed the lessons.
She was excited to learn and it was that excitement that brought a smile to her face and reddened her cheeks.
“Thank you, Bernard.
I’ll admit I am intrigued to try.
As a child I used to love to watch the carriages full of women wearing glorious gowns come to Ingledew.
And then we’d spy from under the tables set up behind the musicians.
The swish of skirts and the clink of swords was fascinating. I never understood how so many people could float around the ballroom and not bump into each other.”
She set down the book she’d been reading and stood up.
“Hannah, you must learn too.”
Luxbury looked confused until he saw Hannah sitting at a desk on the other side of the study, a quill in her hand hovering over a paper full of the alphabet letters she’d been practicing.
He covered the snarl with a cough at seeing they weren’t alone.
“Oh, quite, yes of course.
I’ll teach you both the steps and tomorrow we shall do it to music.
The Baroness has sent for one of the musicians to come by tomorrow afternoon.”
He smiled, closed-lipped, and set his hat on one of the chairs.
The afternoon was surprisingly pleasant and both girls laughed almost continuously.
Luxbury divided his time unevenly between them, claiming that though Eleanor was a quick study, he’d be remiss in his duties if he didn’t give the princess extra attention.
Eleanor scolded him for calling her a princess, but Hannah reminded her that the Baroness was going to introduce her as such.
It was a while later when, half out of breath and giggling over how ungainly Hannah was, the three of them collapsed into chairs the very moment that the Baroness glided into the room.
“How are your students doing, Bernard?”
The Baroness signaled for a servant to enter and set a tray of drinks on the side table.
The captain hopped back up onto his feet and bowed.
“My lady, they are most fortunate to be swift of mind and fleet of foot.
They will dance expertly at your ball with effortless coordination.”
“Mm,”
she smiled, “I feel as though I’ve had a hand in that Frenchman’s story, Cendrillon.
Consider me your fairy godmother, Nora.”
Eleanor frowned, then quietly thanked the servant who handed her a glass of fruited water.
“You don’t know the story?”
Both girls shook their heads.
The Baroness took a seat.
“There was a poor unfortunate orphan, much like you—beautiful and kind—who, with help from fairies, went to a ball, met a prince, and fell in love.”
“Oh, the French,”
Bernard hissed.
“I’ve not heard this tale, but fairies … well, that sounds more Scottish than French.”
The Baroness raised a brow, but went on.
“Cendrillon, or Cinderella in English, left the ball without the prince knowing her name.
She lost a slipper there, though, and the prince charged around the country looking for the girl whose foot would fit it.
Oh, it’s a lovely story.
I used to read it to my daughter when she was little.”
She stared off at the shelves on the far wall where dozens of books were displayed.
Eleanor sat straight and wiggled her toes in her shoes.
The story appealed to her and she realized she’d been picturing Keir as the prince, then suddenly her stomach soured as she caught Bernard eying her like a cat watches a mouse.
“Guests will be arriving this Saturday.”
The Baroness reached over and patted Eleanor’s free hand.
“There will be lads and lasses your age, Nora, but most will be older.
If all goes well,”
she glanced at the captain, “we shall send word to our contacts in London.”
There was nothing ominous in her voice, but Eleanor knew what sending word meant.
There’d be poison for Queen Charlotte, a period of mourning, and then she, Princess Nora, would be introduced to the King.
Her stomach did another flip flop.
***
HANNAH POKED HER head out of the room, expecting to see a horde of servants if not a herd of elephants, which was what she’d exclaimed to Eleanor must be tramping through the halls.
Her cheeks were still high, having risen like bread dough with their laughter, when she caught sight of three handsome Highlanders following three footmen laden with baggage through the passageway.
She recognized two of the men in kilts.
Her cheeks lost their puffiness when her jaw dropped.
Her mouth formed a silent O, but it was too late not to be noticed.
Her sudden appearance drew their attention.
The tallest one, Keir, put a finger to his lips.
Logan glanced at her and gave her an imperceptible nod, but the third man, obviously a McKelvey brother in the same tartan colors, stopped following the footmen and stepped toward her.
“Greetings.
May I have the pleasure of introducin’ ourselves to ye? I’m the youngest of the McKelvey clan.
Jack McKelvey at yer service.”
He laid a hand on his heart and bent at the waist.
Hannah, with one hand clutching the outer door latch and the other making shooing motions behind her back in the hopes that Eleanor would stay out of sight, gave the young Jack a lop-sided smile.
He was obviously closer to her age and not as handsome as his brothers, but there was a mischievous look about him.
“And these be me wayward older brothers, Keir and Logan.”
“Our pleasure,”
said Logan.
“Indeed,”
echoed Keir.
Hannah gave a hurried nod and hoped her body blocked the view into the room.
“This way, m’lords,”
one of the servants indicated the room across the hall and disappeared inside.
Keir and Logan stood, hands on hips, and waited for Jack.
“May I ask yer name?”
Jack grinned.
“H-Hannah.”
She glanced from Jack to Logan in the hope that he would do something. He did.
Logan linked his arm in Jack’s and said, “Excuse us, lass, me brother is a wee bit anxious as it’s his first ball.
There’ll be proper introductions at dinner.”
Hannah lowered her eyes as Logan pulled Jack away and into their room.
She could hear Jack protesting under his breath that it wasn’t his first ball.
Keir stepped a few inches closer and whispered to Hannah, “Good job, lad.
Ye look far and away more fetchin’ than I’d have ever thought possible.
Ye fooled me baby brother.”
Then his face fell into a more serious attitude.
“Ye should be stayin’ in the attic … so … is the special guest ye’re tasked with watchin’ … stayin’ in there?”
His eyes roamed up and over her head and he looked into the room.
Hannah pulled the latch and closed the door. “She is,”
she whispered back.
“And the other lad? El? Where might I find him?”
“I … I haven’t seen him of late.
Mrs.
Perkins found him out.
Took the dress.
It was good he wore the breeches underneath.”
She gave a nervous laugh.
“Perhaps he beds in the stable.
It is only I who …”
she bit her lip “who pretends to be a woman and tends the … the princess.”
Keir’s forehead filled with wrinkles.
“Hubert said ye worked in the kitchen.
Ye tend her? With her dressin’? That can’t be proper.
Did she not bring her own maid?”
Hannah realized her mistake and still whispering said, “Oh, yes, yes, m’lord.
I meant I am employed as a companion … when I’m not helping the cook.”
She thought of what she might do to remain in character and yet, since Keir thought she was a lad, to remind him of that.
She pressed her thumb against the knuckles of the other hand and cracked them.
No proper lady would indulge in that habit.
Keir’s forehead smoothed out and he gave Hannah a light punch on the shoulder part of the puffed sleeve of her dress.
“I’ll talk wi’ ye later, Pascoe.
And tell El I’ll find him later.”
He turned and marched into the room across the hall as the three footmen came out.
They gave her slight head bows as they passed her.
She waited a moment then slipped back into the room, closing the door tightly.
“Eleanor, Eleanor, you’ll never guess.
The McKelvey brothers are across the hall.”
Eleanor nodded.
“I thought that might be why you waved me back.
I couldn’t hear what you said to them.”
Hannah sat on the bed and recounted the brief conversation, but Eleanor, who was pacing, wanted to know more.
“How did he look?”
“Handsome, more handsome since he was cleanly shaven.”
“And he wants to see me?”
“Yes, in the stables.
I told him you sleep there and that the housekeeper thinks you’re a lad.
You’ll have to sneak out wearing the old shirt and breeches.”
“Unless he recognizes me when we meet at dinner tonight.”
Eleanor thought a moment.
“Oh, Hannah, why did you tell him that? What if he says something to the housekeeper? Mrs.
Perkins knows we’re girls.
She’s assisted in our baths.”
Hannah shook her head.
“I’m sorry.
Keeping everything straight has gotten as confusing as the lacemaking Lady Beth was having us do.”
“Deception,”
Eleanor sighed, “I fear we cannot perceive its consequences.”
Hannah perked up at the sound of another carriage.
She left the bed and went to the window.
She watched for a moment then said, “I wonder if that’s Keir McKelvey’s future bride.”
She glanced back at Eleanor who was hastening toward the window.
“Oh,”
she said, pulling the drapery aside, “she’s beautiful.”
***
LUXBURY WAS WAITING at the top of the stairs to escort Eleanor, and by default Hannah, down the grand staircase.
Thirty people were mingling in the Great Vestibule, waiting for the entrance of the Baron and Baroness’s special guest.
The gentlemen were nicely dressed, most in kilts, and the ladies were decked out in what were probably their second-best dresses, saving their fancier gowns for the next night when there’d be an orchestra for the ball and twice as many guests.
Hubert stood near his father with Fenella on his arm.
Behind them the McDoons and the Stewarts speculated on the guest of honor’s parentage.
Throughout the festive greeting room other small conversation groups had formed.
Lampstands flickered along the walls and the two large chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling had been set ablaze from the balconies.
The scent of candle wax mixed with ladies’ perfume.
Footmen were stationed at the doors and the hosts, the Baroness in a saffron yellow gown and her husband twitching and itching in an ancient wool kilt, laughed merrily with the Campbells before pulling their son and Fenella into the conversation.
The McKelveys stood as far from the MacLeods as possible, but Keir kept his eye on Anabel in case she started to move toward him.
He had two escape routes planned, one back up to his room and the other out to where Copper was stabled.
He wasn’t sure if the news of his engagement had reached the Beldorneys, but he was hoping it hadn’t.
Voices echoed off the stone walls and reverberated throughout the spacious room and he thought he heard his name mentioned in the din.
The volume suddenly diminished by half and heads turned.
Keir followed the gaze of the woman nearest him.
He saw the Englishman first.
His redcoat struck a nerve and not just with him.
Most of the men made gruff sounds or spat out derogatory epithets.
But their wives and daughters hushed them and soon all heads turned toward the staircase.
Keir spotted Hannah on Luxbury’s right arm, but the other woman, this mysterious heir unapparent, was on the captain’s left and back a step.
Jack nudged Keir.
“Look, brother.
There’s the lass I met this mornin’.
Is she the secret princess?”
“Hush.”
The Baron moved a couple steps up the staircase and turned to the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you, on the arm of Captain Bernard Luxbury and attended by the lovely Anna,”
the Baroness signaled him, “er uh, Hannah … we have Princess Nora of … of Beldorney.”
He started the clapping and stepped down as Luxbury brought the ladies to the halfway point and stopped.
There were oo’s and ah’s, comments on the sea-green gown, her hair, the natural beauty of the princess, and a few lingering disparaging words for the presence of the English captain.
Keir noticed how nervous both women looked; if Pascoe, posing as Hannah, should look his way, he was ready to offer a sympathetic nod or an encouraging wink.
He couldn’t imagine being in the lad’s position, impersonating a fine lady with such aplomb.
The Baroness smoothly pushed her husband to go up and escort the princess the rest of the way.
Reluctantly he pounded up the steps, held an arm out to Eleanor, and preceded the captain and Hannah down.
As if prearranged or instinctively known, the various heads of clans filed past, bowing and making introductions.
Keir held back and observed.
The MacLeods practically elbowed their way to the front of the line.
He watched the princess as Anabel curtsied, bowed, and otherwise bobbed her way through her introduction, swishing the skirt of her scarlet gown.
He had to admit to himself that though the princess was certainly a fine-looking woman, her beauty could not compare to Anabel’s.
But this Nora was not proud or condescending in demeanor as he would expect and when Anabel walked on, Keir clearly saw Anabel’s bearing devolve into her usual unpleasantness with a smirk and a swagger.
Suddenly her beauty disappeared.
And if he read her lips correctly, she whispered to her mother an insulting opinion of the princess.
His eyes flitted back to Nora.
The woman looked toward Anabel with a most curious expression, something between pity and envy.
Then she held a hand out to the next guest, smiled and spoke a few words.
The smile changed her countenance entirely.
Keir jumped as Jack poked him.
“Come on, brother.
Logan’s already walkin’ up.
We’ll be the last to meet her.
Look, the Baroness has ushered the captain and the lass I met in to the dining room.
Perhaps one of us McKelveys can lend an arm to Princess Nora.
I dinnae mean ye, o’ course, as Anabel seems to be awaitin’ fer ye, see?”
Keir grunted.
“I’ll nay be offerin’ me arm to that nicnevin.”
He squinted his eyes at Anabel.
She raised a delicate brow at him and lifted her chin.
Keir was obliged then to give Anabel a slight nod, but he did not smile at her.
He put his hand on Jack’s back and pushed him toward the end of the greeting line, behind Logan.
Watching and listening to his brothers as they met the princess gave him time to evaluate her.
He deemed her pretty enough, but he wondered if she could bake bread, ride a horse, tend a bairn, sleep under the stars …
It was his turn.
He bowed and then, caught in her gaze and her amazing smile, he stumbled through giving his name.
“K-Keir Douglas McKelvey, at yer service, m’lady, er, Yer Highness … Yer Royal—”
“Just Nora will be fine, if I may call you Keir?”
Her voice had all the familiarity of an angel, he thought.
Hubert was right.
It was as if they’d met in Heaven before they were bairns.
“I … I’m sure ye’ll have hard enough time rememberin’ all these names, Yer Ladyship … Princess, Princess Nora.”
He bowed again, felt the perspiration bead up on his skin.
She was bonnier up close, but still was not the beauty he expected, and yet he’d rather stare at her soft features all night than contemplate the MacLeod lass for a lifetime.
“Are you not married, Keir?”
“Nay, but,”
he glanced toward the dining room and saw Logan and Jack escorting Anabel in between them.
“Och, may I take yer arm, Princess, and find ye yer seat at the banquet?”
***
ELEANOR’S HEART HAD never pounded as fast nor as hard as it did when she walked down the staircase, her skirt spilling down the stairs behind her.
She was ever so thankful for the captain’s arm to steady her.
Then the Baron, whom she’d barely had two words with since she arrived, escorted her the rest of the way.
She’d had a chance to scan the unfamiliar faces and count the few she did recognize.
Keir stood out, of course, and once she saw where he was, she didn’t look that way again.
She knew there was a third brother and her attention lingered on the young man.
Hannah had commented that he seemed as if he could be a rambunctious cousin of the Chadderton boys, though better-looking.
As she stood for the main introduction, she spotted Hubert and Fenella with the Baroness.
She gave them both a smile.
Earlier, the Baroness had brought Fenella to her room as they were getting ready.
She seemed stiff and formal and before she left, she heard her ask Hannah in a whisper where Eleanor was.
Good, she had fooled the woman who hadn’t been fooled when they posed as lads.
That, at least, was a good dose of confidence-builder—something she needed for when she would come face to face with Keir.
Anabel MacLeod was another matter.
No woman anywhere could be confident around such overwhelming beauty.
The lass had perfect features, a grace about her poise, and manners and speech to better act as princess than Eleanor.
Their introduction was short and all Eleanor could think was how lucky the girl was to be betrothed to Keir.
As Anabel walked away, Eleanor’s eyes lingered on her, and her heart fell to her toes.
What she wouldn’t give to trade places with her.
Stupid thought.
She wasn’t worthy.
Had never been valuable.
Would never be desirable.
What a sham this all was.
She’d never pull it off.
Her lungs expanded; the room swelled around her.
It passed through her mind, though, that Anabel might be a clever ally in this dangerous plot in which she was the center figure—for both sides—and was hampered by, of all people, Keir.
And there he was in her peripheral vision.
Her heart pumped harder.
She swallowed, trying not to feel the tremor of anxiety working its way through her veins.
She took her time with Jack’s introduction and especially with Logan, who should have recognized her, but didn’t.
When it was Keir’s turn, she held back her smile while he stuttered through his name.
Then she let the grin grow.
He took her gloved hand and held it as he bowed.
She glanced over his head to see Anabel scowling at her.
She returned her attention to Keir and noticed his perspiration.
He was nervous to meet her.
Could it be because he thought he might have to kill her? She thought quickly for something to say. She meant to be clever, certain there were words in her head she could craft into a reasonable statement or perhaps a question, but they disbanded before she could marshal them into any kind of order. What was left was a burning question.
“Are you married, Keir?”
She stiffened, hiding the way his serious gaze made her breath hitch.
“Nay, but,”
he glanced toward the dining room and she looked too.
Logan and Jack were escorting Anabel into the dining room.
Did that bother him? Perhaps not, because he looked at her then, a tiny dimple emerging, and asked, “Och, may I take yer arm, Princess, and find ye yer seat at the banquet?”
“Of course.”
What else could she say? She forced herself not to beam at him and took his arm.
She pressed her other hand to her chest and gasped, forcing air into her lungs.
She was short of breath and a flash of fever spread over her.
Was everyone looking at her? Her cheek muscles twitched.
Her face grew hot.
They were not near enough to the candles to feel their heat.
Was it the closeness of Keir? His touch? She might faint. She’d be exposed as the fragile English fraud who could not stand the pressure of this deception for a single evening.
“Are ye all right, Princess Nora?”
Keir’s voice cut through to her bones and curled warm around her whole body.
She looked ahead at all the guests standing behind their chairs, waiting for her to be the first one seated.
Their chattering and whispering tapered off.
The silence that replaced it seemed ominous.
But she found Hannah’s reassuring face, breathed easier, and answered Keir.
“Yes, Keir, I’m fine.”
She dropped her hand from her bosom.
“A little wine and I’ll be fine.”
The candle closest to her let off a thin ribbon of sable smoke.
Keir held her chair, bent a bit closer, and whispered, “Whatever’s meant to happen to ye, will happen to ye.”
Eleanor thought her heart might have stopped with those words.
She watched him find his seat, across from Anabel.
He didn’t look back at her.
She, as she’d been instructed by the Baroness, picked up the wine glass and immediately a footman stepped up to fill it from a glistening bottle.
Other servants, lined along the walls, also moved in to fill the goblets.
Cheery voices rose in volume again, but sounded more and more muffled to Eleanor.
The drubbing of her heart became one long hammering. She couldn’t catch her breath.
Once all the wine was served the Baron rose to make a toast.
Glasses clinked; the guests drank.
Eleanor sipped and had a difficult time swallowing.
A moment later she leaned left toward the Baroness and whispered, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
She rose and rushed toward the door as the Baroness raised her voice to assure the guests that all was well and that Princess Nora had a delicate stomach like so many of the royal household.