Chapter Two
Seven days earlier
Stirling Castle
Elizabeth Hay shivered involuntarily as she stared at the deer brought to bay in the colorful forest on the large tapestry adorning an entire wall of the queen’s chamber.
“That is not you.”
“Nay,” Elizabeth agreed. “My tale is captured on an entirely different tapestry. I’m in the one depicting the harried old sow, chased down and speared by a drunken pack of dirty Highlanders for my future husband’s amusement.”
Elizabeth turned and faced Queen Margaret, sitting with Clare Seton, one of the ladies-in-waiting.
The queen smiled. “I don’t believe I’ve seen that one.”
She nodded. “I’m not surprised. They only bring it out on special occasions. Don’t want to frighten any of the maidens unnecessarily.”
Elizabeth strode to the window, breathing in the damp air. Below, rain-soaked cotters from the nearby farms were already carting in food for the upcoming wedding feast.
“You may be allowing your imagination to run a little wild, my friend,” the queen observed. “This is a rather dark vision of the future.”
“A future that I’m desperate to avoid.”
“Elizabeth, we’ve been through this.”
“I know.”
“Macpherson is a Highlander, as you say, but the man is acting quite honorably.”
“An honorable act that I have no wish to be any part of,” Elizabeth said flatly, trying to keep her temper in check.
Five years ago, she’d been ready. But where was he then? At eighteen, she was fresh-faced and eager, dreaming of the man she’d been promised to all her life. Innocent, believing in the power of love, she’d expected him to arrive and they’d wed and he’d take her to his castle in the Highlands. Trusting in life and the man who was to be her future husband, she had no fears, no insecurities. The future was an oyster with a precious pearl, ready for her to pluck.
But Elizabeth had dreamed of a man who never came for her. Year after year, her hopes faded. Doubt took root. Rumors reached her about her intended’s legendary exploits . . . and a lass or two in every port. Sailing the seas, raiding rich towns, living the life of adventure. He was the Black Cat of Benmore. Terror of the German Sea.
Somewhere along those years, she stopped waiting and locked her foolish dreams deep within her. Time passed and Elizabeth traveled with her father, helping him with his work and learning his art of building. As a widower and a well-known and respected architect, Ambrose Hay made his home wherever his current building project took him. Together, they’d lived and worked in the courts of Europe. For Elizabeth, knowledge became a passion. Free of the burden of a future that depended on a husband, she developed a new life. A life that was hers.
In the end, Elizabeth learned not to want him. She wouldn’t have him. She couldn’t imagine giving up her life to be a mere laird’s wife in a pile of stones in the Highlands. Without this marriage, she’d continue to travel with her father across the world. This was the future she wanted now.
But suddenly the Highlander had decided it was time. He’d come to Stirling, expecting her to be that naïve eighteen-year-old. Ready for him. Grateful for him. Ha!
Earlier that morning, she’d had a long and exhausting discussion with her father on this same topic. A month ago, the two of them had a future in place. He was commissioned to start a palace in France next June and he was taking her with him. This week, Ambrose Hay wouldn’t hear of calling off the wedding. A contract needed to be honored. The family’s name was at stake. Time didn’t negate their responsibility.
Frustrated, she’d left her father with his plans and models piled high around him, and turned to her friend for solace. During their year here in Stirling, residing in the castle while her father worked on the renovations, Elizabeth had become a companion and confidante to the queen.
“Stop your pacing and come sit with us.”
Elizabeth wished she could take the queen’s suggestion, but she was too agitated.
Clare Seton looked up from her sewing. “You can’t deny that Macpherson has made an effort.”
Elizabeth glared at her. Whose friend was she? They all seemed in awe of the late-comer. Traitors.
“What do you mean?” the queen asked.
“The Highlander’s squire came to the castle asking for Elizabeth again this morning,”
“Again?” Margaret asked. “What did he want?”
“The messages, twice yesterday and once this morning, were the same. The laird wishes to meet with her. But she won’t even send back an answer.”
“Why won’t you meet with him?” the queen asked, turning to Elizabeth.
“Because I know what he wants.”
Margaret raised one eyebrow inquiringly. “And that is?”
Elizabeth had already explained the difference the years had wrought in her, but her friend’s romantic nature would not budge. A chance at love transcended time and disappointment.
Queen Margaret had been a pawn herself in an arranged marriage, and she now lived in permanent estrangement from her husband. The queen knew firsthand the cold reality of the marriage business. If anyone should be able to understand Elizabeth’s dilemma, Margaret should. But she didn’t because she lived on the possibility of romance.
Elizabeth needed a different approach. “Macpherson and I have never met. He simply wants to see me and appraise me as he would any property he was about to acquire.”
“You could do the same,” the queen suggested. “Perhaps you’ll find out he’s more than just the wild and uncouth Highlander you imagine.”
Too late. Elizabeth didn’t want to find anything positive about the man or this union. The mere thought of being shipped off to Benmore Castle to live among people she didn’t know made her shudder. The idea of marriage no longer held any romance. She wanted to keep the life she had now. She wanted to go to France with her father.
Clare stopped sewing and laid her work in her lap. Even before Clare opened her mouth, Elizabeth realized she might have to kill her.
“The word already circulating around the castle is that he’s quite handsome,” Clare offered.
“And he’s a pirate,” the queen added with barely concealed enthusiasm. “That alone speaks of a life of adventure and excitement. A real man. And I understand he’s wealthy.”
“Then he’ll have no trouble choosing a suitable wife,” Elizabeth responded, looking from one to the other. “He can find a woman of beauty and charm. Someone with a gentle temperament. An eighteen-year-old who would be submissive to his every whim . . . when he’s not out robbing defenseless merchant ships. Anyone, so long as I am not that woman.”
She couldn’t care less what he wanted. She didn’t want to know what kind of wife he sought. She wished he’d just go away.
“Come now,” Margaret said gently. “If you feel that way, meet with him and tell him just that. Tell him you release him of his responsibility.”
She couldn’t. She’d never openly defy her father. Never bring dishonor to the family name. The Highlander would have to back away from the marriage.
Elizabeth wrung her hands and started pacing the room, unable to understand the panic clutching at her when she thought of actually meeting with the man and making such a request. Would he agree? Could she convince him? What would happen if he refused?
He had to be an arrogant blackguard. She’d heard the rumors. Alexander Macpherson was, by all reports, handsome and even charming. He’d been in Stirling only two days, and already there’d been talk of the man’s great height, the intense blue eyes, the smile that made a lass forget her own name. He was accustomed to having his own way with women. He took what he wanted, and he wanted this marriage. Why else would he come here now? He would never agree.
“I can’t,” she cried out with a plaintive look at the queen. “If only for my father’s honor, I can’t be the one who breaks this contract. But I don’t want to go through with this wedding.”
She paced the chamber, feeling as trapped as the deer in the tapestry. Each time she passed a window, she stopped and looked out at the workers, the walls, and the mist-enshrouded mountains beyond. The rain had been falling for two days, from the moment Macpherson arrived. Queen Margaret and Clare had their heads together, and they were whispering steadily.
“Elizabeth,” the queen said finally. “Let’s be clear on this. You want the Highlander to back out of this contract.”
“That’s it, Your Highness.”
“But you understand that it’s crucial for both of you to emerge from this with your honor intact,” the queen continued. “Whatever happens, you don’t want to start any rumors that might tarnish your reputation or his.”
The situation was impossible. She forced herself to take a full breath. Tarnishing her reputation was not an answer. Her father’s honor mattered. She felt helpless about what to do. Clare and the queen quietly exchanged a few more words.
Clare was the one who spoke up. “Perhaps we can play to the Highlander’s personal sense of honor.”
A last shred of hope. Perhaps he had a sense of honor. Would he listen to her plea? She doubted it. She couldn’t risk it.
“What if Macpherson believed your affections already lay with another man?” the queen suggested. “Nothing scandalous. But what if he thought you’re in love?”
“But I’m not. How could I conjure such a person out of thin air? And how would I make him believe such a thing?”
“We’ll change places,” Clare said.
It was impossible. Clare Seton was the queen’s lady-in-waiting and betrothed to Sir Robert Johnstone, a wealthy Lowlander. People knew her. Her family was well-connected at court.
“You’re certain that Macpherson has never laid eyes on you?” the queen asked.
“Never,” Elizabeth replied. She hadn’t gone anywhere in public since the day he’d arrived in Stirling. Desperate, she looked on in anticipation as the two women exchanged a conspiratorial look.
“This afternoon, I’m to meet with Sir Robert,” Clare told her, “at Cambuskenneth Abbey.”
Elizabeth knew her friend was to be married at summer’s end. It was a love match, to be sure, and hardly the same situation as she was facing. She waited, not liking where this conversation was going.
“I think the plan is brilliant, Clare,” Queen Margaret said, picking up the thread. She turned back to Elizabeth. “You will go and meet the Highlander where he’s staying, introducing yourself as Clare Seton. While you’re there, you will weave tales of anguish. You’ll tell him that ‘Elizabeth’ has stolen your betrothed.”
“That won’t do,” Elizabeth cried, understanding the game they were trying to arrange.
“Time is pressing, and Clare’s plan is what we have.”
The queen paused and glared at her, making sure Elizabeth was paying attention. “You will accompany the laird down to the abbey. Hearing your tale of woe, he’ll deny that romance because she belongs to him. You will tell him his eyes will prove her words true. That Elizabeth is in anguish over the upcoming wedding. She is meeting with her paramour this very hour at the abbey across the river.”
“No!”
“Hush.” The queen tsked her to silence. “At the abbey, Clare—pretending to be you—will be waiting with Sir Robert. When the Highlander sees ‘Elizabeth’ with the man she loves, he will be overcome and release her—er, you—from the engagement.”
“But none of that is true.”
The queen rolled her eyes. “Help us here. Help us rescue you.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. This had to be the most ridiculous plan she’d ever heard. It would never work.
“When they reach the abbey,” Queen Margaret said to Clare, “I expect you to be putting on a tragic show of love and loss.”
“I can do that,” Clare said.
“But I can’t,” Elizabeth blurted out. “This is far too complicated.”
“Why? What can go wrong?” the queen asked.
A thousand things, she thought. “Macpherson is a warrior. This is certain to bruise his honor, and we don’t know how he’ll respond. What if he decides to approach them? Engage Sir Robert in a fight? What do I do if—?”
“I’ll make sure my own guards will be there to keep anything from getting out of hand,” Margaret told her. “That is not a worry. But for this plan to work, you must do your part. Before he even sees them, you must convince Macpherson to take pity on ‘Elizabeth Hay’ and back away from this marriage. You’ll need to do the lion’s share of the work at the tavern and along the way.”
So she must pretend to be someone else. Lie about a non-existent liaison. Fool this man with a ruse he might see through in a moment.
This was a hopeless plan. Elizabeth was in real trouble.