A Hellion at the Highland Court: A Rags to Riches Highlander Romance

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance; Historical Romance; Ancient World Romance; Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander; Tudor Romance

Synopsis

Always a bridesmaid, never a bride…

For more than a decade, Laurel Ross has been a lady-in-waiting at Robert the Bruce’s royal court, a place where money is power. Laurel is the fourth out of five daughters, and the only one unwed. While Laurel isn’t exactly a pauper, her father, the Earl of Ross, has already paid four large dowries. Sent to court to find a husband, Laurel’s once youthful hope has turned to bitterness as one friend after another marriest. Her viperous tongue has earned her the title of “hellion”. Will any man accept a bride who comes with such a small dowry?

Every man is guilty of all the good he didn’t do…

Guilt is slowly eating away at Brodie Campbell. When Brodie’s betrothed unexpectedly, Brodie’s guilt doesn’t come from the woman’s untimely death. It comes from the relief he feels that he’s no longer bound to her. Brodie isn’t interested in a biddable and mild bride. Intrigued by the fiery Laurel Ross, Brodie wonders if this shrew can ever be tamed. Armed with wealth and charm, Brodie welcomes the challenge. Will this spitfire relent long enough to find love with a man who tests her patience?

When a wager puts their lives in peril, Brodie and Laurel discover trust is earned, not given. 

If you love a steamy rags-to-riches romance, then you’re sure to enjoy Celeste Barclay’s sizzling new Highlander romance, A Hellion at the Highland Court.

Welcome to Robert the Bruce’s Highland Court, where the ladies in waiting are a mixture of fire and ice. The Highland Ladies, the STEAMY spin off series from Celeste Barclay’s The Clan Sinclair series, returns to the Medieval royal court for love and intrigue.

Release date: December 30, 2020

Publisher: Oliver Heber Books

Print pages: 412

Sample

Chapter 1

 

“That’s thievery, my lady!” The irate merchant glared at Lady Laurel Ross as she turned her nose up at a bolt of wool.

“It’s thievery to pretend this is your finest Highland wool,” Laurel mocked. They stood in the market just outside Stirling Castle. Laurel had experienced the same negotiations countless times over her decade-long tenure as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth de Burgh. A daughter of the laird of Clan Ross, Laurel had never been anyone’s fool, and she didn’t intend to become one now. “You will not convince me that Clan Ross produced such quality, mercer.”

“But I swear to you it is,” the portly middle-aged man asserted. “Have I not sold you other lengths of the finest-quality fabric?” Laurel watched as beads of sweat dotted the merchant’s forehead. She’d haggled with him a few months prior, and she knew he wasn’t speaking a falsehood that he’d sold her well-made material in the past. However, what lay before her most certainly hadn’t been produced by any spinner on her father’s lands.

“So why now do you try to pass this off to me? I paid you well the last time. Yet you still insist this is fine Highland wool. It is not. And you think me a fool to boot,” Laurel argued. “I shall take my business elsewhere, and I shall warn all hither and thither that you are a schemer and a knave, mercer.” Laurel narrowed her eyes at the man, irritated that he insisted on an exorbitant price. She wasn’t opposed to buying the wool, but she would do so at the price she named. “The price of my silence is five shillings per yard and not a penny more.”

“But—but—that’s thievery, my lady,” the perspiring merchant repeated, stammering.

“So you’ve said. Make your choice now, or I—” A voice that in equal parts relieved her and made her wary interrupted Laurel.

“What trouble are you causing the mon, sister?” Montgomery Ross asked as he wrapped his arm around his younger sister’s shoulders.

“My lord,” came the response. The merchant’s eyes widened to unbelievable proportions as he took in the Ross plaid wrapped around Monty’s waist and pinned over his shoulder.

“Aye. You have the right of it now,” Laurel said as she shifted the attention back to her negotiations. She wished to be through with her purchase, so she could speak to her newly arrived brother in private. “What shall it be? Five shillings a yard, or my crowing from the rooftops?”

“How many yards did you say you wanted at five shillings apiece, my lady?” the rotund merchant conceded.

“Eight, if you please,” Laurel sniffed. She would make certain the man understood she wouldn’t have the wool pulled over her eyes, literally or figuratively.

“As you wish.” The wool merchant set about cutting the length Laurel requested while she turned to look at her brother. The man’s aggrieved sigh made Laurel’s lips twitch. Monty’s coppery hair matched her reddish-blonde tresses, but while she considered her features unremarkable, Monty’s visage was a work of art. While he had the build and power of any trained warrior, his face was almost too pretty for a man. She supposed it suited his character.

“How did you know it wasn’t any of ours? You haven’t been home in years,” Monty whispered.

Laurel ran her finger along the edge of the freshly sheared wool and turned over a corner. Threads poked through that would soon unravel. While it wasn’t well spun, it would serve her purposes. “Shona and her daughters would never make such errors and send this to market.”

“That is true, and Mother would have an apoplexy if she knew someone was trying to pass this off as ours. What made the mon think you wouldn’t ken?”

“Did you not see his reaction when you walked up? He didn’t know I was a Ross. I never wear our colors while I’m at court. The last time I wore one of our plaids was the last time I visited Balnagown three years ago.”

“Visited?” Monty cocked an eyebrow.

“You know it hasn’t been home since Myrna convinced Mother and Father to send me here.” Laurel swallowed a lump in her throat she was certain was easily the size of her fist. She’d arrived in Stirling nearly eleven years earlier as an unwilling lady-in-waiting. Her younger sister had strategically suggested that becoming an attendant at Robert the Bruce’s royal court would improve Laurel’s chances for finding a husband. The strategy had been to remove Laurel as potential competition to marry Padraig Munro, since both families wished for an alliance. Myrna fancied herself the next Lady Munro and had gone to extreme lengths to enact her plan, making their parents banish Laurel to the depraved wilds of court and attempting to ruin the marriage the king decreed between Padraig and Cairren Kennedy, a former lady-in-waiting.

Arriving alone had terrified Laurel, her father having sent a contingent of warriors with her but no family. She’d felt abandoned, and even though she’d made a home for herself at court, she still felt the same as she had when she was five-and-ten years old. Monty grimaced, then offered Laurel a sheepish frown before lifting the newly cut and rolled wool from the merchant’s stall. Laurel paid the man with a self-satisfied smile and a cocked eyebrow. She narrowed her eyes at the smaller man as she leaned forward and whispered, “You’d do well to remember that while I may be a lady, I barter like a Lombard, you crooked-nosed knave.”

The merchant could do little more than stand and blink rapidly as Laurel straightened. He wasn’t wont to argue with the noblewoman any more than he had, but he chafed at the insult. She might have been right that his claims were ridiculous, and he was classless, but the comment smarted. However, he was used to Laurel’s ruthless business acumen and viperous tongue. He chided himself for his foolishness, and Laurel cast a smug gaze over the vendor before turning to walk alongside Monty.

“How have you fared since last I was here, Laurel?” Monty asked.

“The same as always,” Laurel demurred.

“Miserable,” Monty responded.

“Not miserable so much as fed up. But I may as well pick out my burial plot since I shall be here till the end.”

“Still prone to exaggeration. The Highlands haven’t left you.”

“But I’ve left them far behind,” Laurel muttered. She’d had the same internal battle countless times. She longed for the wide open, rugged land where she’d grown up, but she didn’t wish to return to a family that rarely thought of her. Her brother was the only member of her clan who she saw with any regularity besides the guards assigned to her detail for years on end and her loyal maid. She sympathized with the men trapped at Stirling Castle, but her arguments that she didn’t need her clansmen fell on deaf ears with her father. It was the only condition he set for her while she resided at court. Besides ensuring she was protected when she left the castle, her parents cared not what happened. They’d abandoned their hope of her making a suitable match, just as they’d abandoned her.

“Then why not snag yourself a Highlander at court and return,” Monty suggested with a shrug.

“Would that it be so easy to escape Sodom and Gomorrah,” Laurel snapped. “Who wants the penniless lady-in-waiting?”

“You are hardly a pauper, Laurel,” Monty disagreed.

“Have you brought the chests of coin and silver for my dowry then?” Laurel countered. Her initial excitement at her brother’s arrival had rapidly turned into wariness. She turned a withering glare on Monty. “Och, dinna mind me and ma Highland exaggeration, brother. There’s nae chests of aught for me.” Laurel adopted an accent she’d rarely used in her time at court. She’d lost her brogue within a day of arriving when she realized she faced little but condemnation from the Queen’s other ladies, who mostly hailed from the Lowlands.

“That’s not true, Laurel,” Monty hedged, but Laurel’s intensifying glare made him stop. They’d reached the gates of Stirling Castle, so Laurel reached for the fabric Monty still carried. But he refused to relinquish it before he made amends. “Will you dine with me this eve? Will the queen allow it?”

“Aye. I can dine with you,” Laurel agreed with a jerky nod. She always longed for the familiarity and comfort of Monty’s visits, but it was more a longing for what she wished could be, rather than what existed. She knew she wouldn’t be through the first course before she wished to escape. Monty only served as a reminder that she was only a Ross in name since she had so little knowledge of what happened day-to-day at Balnagown. She drew the fabric from Monty’s arms and strained to kiss his cheek. “Is Donnan with you?”

Monty recoiled before narrowing his eyes at Laurel. “You know that he is. I never travel without my second.”

Laurel shook her head with a resigned frown. “You know I consider him as much my brother as I do you. When will you believe I don’t care?” Laurel didn’t wait for her brother’s response, instead turning toward the keep’s entrance and disappearing.

 

Chapter 2

 

Laurel hurried through the passageways until she reached her chamber. She kept an eye out for the other ladies, not wanting anyone to see she carried the fabric herself. It wasn’t unusual for a lady-in-waiting to order fabric from a vendor, but it wasn’t often that they left the market with it themselves. Most women would have their purchases delivered, but Laurel hadn’t the coin to offer a page, nor did she want to make her guardsmen carry it. It wasn’t often that she purchased goods at the market, but she enjoyed browsing. She’d parted with her hard-earned coins that morning because she needed a hardier gown for the approaching winter months. The one she’d worn for the last five years was nearly threadbare, and she’d repurposed it as many times as she could. Since she shopped that day, she’d foregone the veil and plain kirtle she usually wore when she attempted to blend into the crowd. Her gown that day was hardly up to courtly standards, but it was finer than what she donned when she went to sell her Opus Angelicanum and embroidery. She was one of few Scottish women who knew how to stitch the intricate style so highly sought in England and Europe.

Laurel slipped through the door of her chamber, relieved that once again she didn’t have a roommate. She supposed there were a few perks to being one of the most senior ladies-in-waiting in the queen’s entourage. The last person to share her chamber had been Madeline MacLeod over the summer. The royal couple had summoned the former nun-in-training to court just before she was to take her final vows. Encountering Madeline in the passageway had been one of the greatest shocks Laurel had ever experienced. They’d once been friends of a sort. Madeline was the former ringleader of Queen Elizabeth’s attendants, and she’d risen to that position through manipulation and intimidation. Laurel arrived at court only months after Madeline, and she found a kindred spirit in some ways. Madeline’s haughtiness matched Laurel’s bitterness. When Laurel let slip a well-guarded secret about Monty, Madeline seized the opportunity to force Laurel’s support as Madeline ran roughshod over various members of court, most conspicuously Madeline’s future sister-by-marriage, Maude Sutherland.

Laurel opened her chest and lifted several kirtles out of the way before retrieving the Opus Anglicanum collar that was her current project. She hid the just-purchased woolen fabric in her chest and moved to the window seat. She would have a couple of hours to finish the collar’s intricate pattern and slip back to the market before the evening meal to sell her own fine embroidery. She considered how many times over the years she’d made this same clandestine dash, and how often she felt the secret satisfaction of seeing women at court wearing her creations, none of them the wiser that Laurel made them. She rued having to be in trade, but with no allowance coming from her father anymore, she had no other coin. Her father had ceased her allowance nearly five years earlier, around the time Madeline first left court, arguing that he was saving the allowance for her dowry. As the fourth of five daughters, and the only unmarried one, there was little left for her dowry.

Laurel’s father was the Earl of Ross, so they were hardly a poor clan. Her father had spent an exorbitant amount on the dowries of her first three sisters due to the alliances their marriages made; her younger sister Myrna’s dowry had been incentive for the groom to take her. As a result, her father was overly cautious about spending needlessly. He considered the monies he paid for her chamber and the food she ate, along with her maid and guardsmen, to be enough to sustain her. He refused to consider the expenses Laurel faced to be properly attired as a member of the queen’s court. Ever resourceful, Laurel had put to good use the hours upon hours of tedious stitching her mother insisted she practice.

Unbeknownst to all but a few, Laurel was her own dressmaker. She cut and sewed every garment she owned, often changing hems, cuffs, and collars, or adding and removing ribbons or other notions to make her older gowns appear brand new. She earned her money from selling her needlework, along with several prête-à-porter gowns. These ready-made kirtles enabled Laurel to clothe herself fashionably and to afford the various extravagances the other ladies indulged in.

Laurel discovered early on that to stand out at court in any way invited ridicule and gossip. Even though she and Madeline had struck up a friendship of sorts, Laurel wasn’t free from Madeline’s judgement and scathing comments. Madeline learned that Laurel’s tongue was just as sharp as her mind, so they rarely crossed swords. But when they did, the other ladies were quick to repeat all that they heard. The price of peace and her family’s reputation meant Laurel did what she could to blend in. It only added to the bitterness she clung to as a buoy against the consuming sadness she’d experienced when she left home. The court knew Laurel for her shrewishness; ironically, many considered her shallow for her style and what appeared to be an ever-new rotation of gowns. Only Madeline and Cairren knew the lengths she went to for her clothing.

At five shillings a yard, that was forty shillings, or two pounds. That’s a far sight better than spending ten pounds or more on a gown. I have plenty of thread to last me at least three kirtles, nae considering what I have for the embellishments. If I can have the gown made within the next sennight, then I can cut down ma old one. I can make what’s salvageable into smocks for the children at the almshouse, and the rest can be rags for ma courses. I’ll need to add fur cuffs and a hem to the new gown to keep the wool from fraying. At least it’s sturdy.

Laurel examined her work as the late morning sun flooded her chamber. She sat beside the window embrasure to see her stitches, but she’d sewn the same pattern so many times, she was positive she could do it while she was half asleep. She was fairly certain she had done so more than once. She needed the income she would earn from the three gowns she had stashed away at the bottom of her wardrobe and the embroidery she’d finished the night before. The money would pay for the gowns she needed for Christmas and Hogmanay. She still had several months, but she knew the merchants would increase their prices.

I shall look for Simon to sell the cuffs to this time. Samuel’s got a loose tongue that he flaps far too often. He nearly told Sarah Anne that the handkerchief she was buying came from me. The smarmy bitch is worse than Madeline ever was. Who could have known? How am I going to get the three kirtles to the haberdasher without crumpling them horribly? Why do I keep doing this? Two fit in ma satchel without too much concern, but three has it bulging at the seams. After all this time, ye’d think I would learn. That’s how Cairren found out in the first place.

Let me finish this before the midday meal, then I’ll join the other ladies in the queen’s solar until she retires during the prince’s midafternoon sleep. I can slip out to the market then and be back before dusk. Monty is likely with the men anyway, so I willna need to avoid ma guards. I can be back in time to dress for the evening meal. Right then, lass.

Laurel may have rid herself of her Highland burr when she spoke aloud, but in her mind, she would forever be a Highlander.

*   *   *

I’m going to bluidy well murder this wretch. I swear, if he tries to haggle me down one more penny, I shall reach across the counter, snatch him by his scruffy collar, and shake him till his teeth fall loose.

Laurel gritted her teeth as she listened to the condescending prattle the haberdasher spewed as he spoke to Laurel as though she were a peasant. She wore her plainest kirtle and covered her hair as though she were a matron, a veil hanging to her chin to disguise her face. She was careful not to sound like a lady, but not so much that she might accidentally sound like a Highlander. Like courtiers, the residents and merchants of Stirling would perceive being a Highlander as worse than being a Lowland peasant. For all that the non-Highlanders claimed Stirling was the gateway to the Highlands, it was far more like the Lowlands. And that included believing all Highlanders were savages. She knew her brother’s arrival that morning had sparked the merchant’s acquiescence as much from the plaid he sported as his towering height and brawny arms. The massive two-handed broadsword he carried only fueled the notion that Highlanders were savages bent on running men through.

Drawing herself back to the present, Laurel nodded as the man droned on and on about how he could only accept the best-quality craftsmanship since ladies from court frequented his shop. It was the same monotonous routine each time she came. Drawing herself up to her full height, she raised her hand and shook her head.

“Enough. I haven’t the time nor the patience to continue listening to the same prattle you repeat every time I come to sell a gown. You know I am an expert seamstress, and you know the ladies who purchase these gowns pay ridiculous prices for them. You don’t need to examine every stitch as though I intend to cheat you. Pay me the fair price, and we can be done.” Laurel drew in a breath and looked down, waiting for the real negotiations to begin. The haberdasher would offer an insultingly low price, and she would counter with an absurdly high one. They would go back and forth, Laurel collecting the gowns and pretending to leave, and finally the man would relent to the price Laurel always wanted.

“I don’t think I shall buy any more from you.”

Laurel slowly raised her eyes to meet the man’s face, completely unprepared for this turn of events. She swallowed as she reined in her temper. Taller than the average woman, Laurel stood nose-to-nose with this merchant, unlike the one she’d towered over that morning. The veil obscured her expression, but her tone was quite clear. “You shall regret that. My sister is a maid to a fine lady at court. I shall tell Mary aboot this, and she shall tell her lady, and her lady will tell everyone. You shall be out of business before the sun sets.”

“No, I won’t,” the man sniffed. “I don’t believe you have a sister who is a maid. If you did, then why aren’t you employed in the castle as well? Why not be a seamstress for one of those high-and-mighty ladies you boast aboot?”

“Because I don’t need to wait on anyone else. I sew and sell as I please. And right now, it pleases me to leave and take my gowns with me.” Laurel folded the kirtles and moved to place them in her satchel before she paused. “By the by, my sister’s employer is Lady Laurel Ross. Are you familiar with her?”

“The Shrew of Stirling?” The merchant took a step back as he alternated nodding and shaking his head. Laurel stifled her grimace, hating the moniker. She knew she’d earned it, but she’d dulled her sniping and criticizing over the past five years, and she wished she could redeem herself enough that no one continued to call her the Shrew of Stirling. But she wouldn’t hold her breath.

“Aye, that be the one,” Laurel nodded. If she had to live with the infamy, she would use it to her advantage.

“You wished for sixty pounds.” The shop owner nodded several times before pulling forth a chest that rattled with coins inside. “You shall rob me blind, but it’s better than Lady Laurel showing up on my stoop or ruining my business.”

“That it is, mercer. And it’s hardly a plight to cry aboot when you ken you’ll make twice, if not thrice, that when you sell them. It is I who should bemoan being swindled. In fact, I think this shall be the last time we do business. I prefer Duncan four shops down. He barely speaks and pays without question. Aye, that is who I shall take my gowns to henceforth.”

“Nay!” The man’s already-ruddy face turned scarlet, and Laurel knew she was now in the sole position of power to negotiate. No merchant who traded with her could afford to lose her business; all realized that she never tossed out empty threats. “I—I—will give you eighty pounds for the gowns, if you will return.”

“One hundred, and I will consider it,” Laurel closed the satchel, then crossed her arms. It was an obscene amount for a seamstress, but Laurel knew from experience that the man would sell her gowns for forty pounds apiece. She frequented the stores dressed befitting her status to keep an eye on the patrons and the prices the salesmen requested. This would leave the shop owner with a profit, but it was far less than he desired. But one hundred pounds would ensure Laurel wouldn’t have to sew quite so much or quite so quickly to prepare for the upcoming Christmas, Hogmanay, and Epiphany expenses. As the man trembled, she lifted the satchel from the counter, but the haberdasher’s hand shot out.

“Very well.”

Laurel watched as the man opened the lid of the chest. When he attempted to use the lid to shield the coins he counted, Laurel shifted to see. She kept a running count in her head as the man stacked the coins, having given up trying to hide them from her. 

“Ah-ah.” Laurel shook her head as he made to close the lid. “You’re no dalcop, so don’t be an eejit. That’s eighty pounds, six shillings that you’ve counted out.” Laurel made a gesture for him to reopen the chest. “I made an offer, and you accepted it. Do you intend to renege? Are you little more than a gillie-wet-foot?”

“I am no swindler!”

“Then pay me the agreed-upon amount,” Laurel insisted. The door opened behind her, and several feminine voices carried to her. Laurel’s stomach tightened into a knot, recognizing them as belonging to a handful of ladies-in-waiting. She wondered why they were in town so close to the evening meal, when most of the merchants would be packing up their shops in the market. She needed to hurry if she was to make it to the other merchant.

“I have customers,” the haberdasher hissed. “Give me the gowns and take what I offer. Then be gone with you.”

Laurel didn’t budge. She knew the ladies wouldn’t recognize her, since they would never imagine Laurel would dress so plainly. Laurel waited, but the man didn’t intend to pull out more coins. When he made to step around her, Laurel flipped open her satchel and turned to the young women.

“Ma ladies,” Laurel greeted them, infusing her natural burr back into her accent. “Ye must be from the castle,” Laurel gushed.

When the women turned toward her, their disgust at the Highlander brogue plain on their faces, she pulled the first gown from her bag. She held it up beside her, twisting it from side to side to catch the sunlight on the embellishments. She took a tentative step forward and lowered her chin.

“I canna say the three kirtles I have are so fine as what ye wear,” Laurel demurred, despite recognizing two of her own creations in the group. “But I am newly a widow, and I must sell ma wares to feed ma weans.”

Laurel didn’t flinch when the haberdasher released a stream of curses that made the young women titter. She felt no remorse for her scheme. If the man hadn’t attempted to shortchange her, assuming she didn’t know how to count as high as one hundred pounds, she wouldn’t have taken such delight in the tale she was spinning.

“The mon here quoted me a price, then tried to fool me by nae paying what we agreed upon. Is that how they be here in Stirling?”

“Nay,” Lady Sarah Anne Hay stepped forward, wearing one of Laurel’s designs. As the leader of the younger ladies-in-waiting, Laurel had known she would insist upon being the first one to inspect the gown. “The stitching is quite fine.”

Laurel bobbed a shallow curtsy. “Thank ye, ma lady.”

“Such a gown would easily sell for fifty pounds,” Lady Sarah Anne said as she fingered the material. “How many did you say you have?”

“Three, ma lady.” Laurel laid the gown over her forearm as she pulled out the next one to several oohs and ahhs. The gown was finer than the first one she’d shown the group. She watched as several women ran their fingers over the velvet and whispered to one another. When she felt the excitement crescendo, she presented her pièce de résistance. The satin and velvet gown was a deep amethyst hue with Opus Anglicanum along the hem and train of the skirts, and embroidery covered the bodice. This was the gown that merited the price she’d demanded.

“This is exquisite,” Lady Margaret Hay, Sarah Anne’s older sister, murmured. “Even Lady Laurel doesn’t have something so fine.”

Of course she doesnae. She sells any gown this extravagant. To this day, I dinna understand how nay one realizes that they see me in the same five kirtles season after season, year after year. All I do is change out the ribbons and laces. I suppose the different embroidered patterns helps. But still. Daft lot they are.

“I shall take them,” Sarah Anne announced.

“Them, ma lady?” Laurel infused surprise and uncertainty into her voice. 

“Aye. One hundred and sixty pounds is what I’m willing to pay for the three,” Sarah Anne announced. Laurel’s stomach flipped in excitement. She knew the amount was more than most serfs saw in a lifetime, and it was more than any of her clansmen were used to seeing. But the Hays had a long-standing reputation at court, and it was rarely for the better. Sarah Anne and Margaret’s uncle had once tried to abduct Deirdre Fraser to carry out a proposed betrothal. Deirdre’s husband, Magnus Sinclair, had ridden to her rescue, and Archibald Hay died for his scheming. It had been a scandal that rocked the court not long after Laurel arrived. 

Sarah Anne loosened a pouch of coins from her girdle and handed it over to Laurel, who shook it and weighed it in her palm. She pulled the strings apart and peered into the small sack. Just as she suspected, there was far more than the amount Sarah Anne offered.

“Are ye certain, ma lady? That is a small fortune ye’re offering me,” Laurel said.

Ignoring Laurel’s questions, Sarah Anne squinted at Laurel, as though she would try to see through Laurel’s veil. The material was so thick that it was difficult for Laurel to see through it at times, but it completely obscured her features. “Have you more such as these?” Sarah Anne asked.

“Nae at the moment, ma lady. But I can,” Laurel hedged.

Sarah Anne nodded twice before reaching for the gowns, which she dumped in her sister’s outstretched arms. Laurel couldn’t help but think how similar Sarah Anne and Margaret’s relationship was to how Myrna had once treated Laurel herself. But Laurel wasn’t interested in observing the sisters or continuing a conversation. She dropped into a deep but purposely wobbly curtsy and slipped from the shop without looking back.

This will last me through autumn. It’ll last me through winter and into the new year if I’m frugal.

The relief that washed over Laurel was nearly palpable. She’d been growing desperate as of late. She’d had plenty of trade, but many of the merchants who frequented Stirling only came in the summer months. The leaves were beginning to change, and Laurel feared she wouldn’t have enough stashed away before she was forced to rely on merchants such as the haberdasher, a Stirling resident. Just as she had that morning, she hurried back to her chamber where her maid, Ina, helped her prepare for the evening meal. Laurel knew Ina was aware of Laurel’s sewing, since the woman had seen Laurel’s handiwork appear on her own gowns countless times, but they agreed via mutual silence never to discuss it.

Ina Ross had known Laurel since she was a babe and chose to remain her maid, even after Laird Ross offered Ina the chance to return to Balnagown. Laurel tried to show Ina her gratitude, but it still surprised Laurel that she had remained after the way Laurel treated everyone upon her arrival at court. While she supposed Ina’s loyalty was grounded in pity, Laurel accepted the only reliable link she had to the Highlands. With a last glance in the looking glass, Laurel squeezed Ina’s hand before making her way to the Great Hall.

 

Chapter 3

 

Laurel smiled warmly at Donnan, the man who sat across from her and beside Monty. Donnan and Monty had been inseparable since they were children, so it surprised no one when Monty named his fellow warrior as his second-in-command. Laurel’s gaze shifted to Monty before returning to Donnan, then gave both men a warning glance when their shoulders brushed against one another. As the meal progressed, Laurel enjoyed the banter between Monty and Donnan, and she recognized the ease with which they teased. But when they both reached for the same chalice, and their hands overlapped for a moment too long, Laurel shot them a speaking glare before her eyes darted to the other men at the table.

Laurel had discovered Monty and Donnan together when she was thirteen, and they were eighteen. She’d been out for a ride, telling her guards that she would easily catch up to her brother, who she’d seen leave with Donnan. To this day, she counted her blessings that she’d ridden into the woods on her own. She’d spied them in a passionate kiss that made her yank her horse to a stop. The animal reared and threw her. The couple broke apart and raced to help Laurel, but all she could do was stare at them until air finally filled her lungs again. They helped her to her feet before exchanging a private glance. Laurel still remembered the conversation they’d had.

“Dinna act surprised,” Laurel tsked. Monty and Donnan stared down at the young Laurel, who shook her head and patted both young men on the chest. “We have three married sisters, Monty. I’ve walked through the Great Hall at night. I ken what happens between couples.”

“Laurel,” Monty gasped. 

“Dinna fash, Monty. Though I would recommend ye each pay a little more attention to the lasses if ye wish to keep everyone else fooled. I only reined in Teine because I thought to leave without interrupting. I suppose he didna appreciate that,” Laurel said as she patted her chestnut gelding, aptly name Fire for his coat.

“Ye ken?” Donnan asked, his face ashen, and his voice trembling.

“I figured out there was something different between ye years ago, but I didna understand it until Sorcha married. She actually likes her husband, so I’ve seen how they look at one another. I’ve seen ye two looking at each other the same way when ye think nay one is watching,” Laurel explained. “This just confirmed it.”

“And ye arenae running for the hills?” Donnan pressed.

Laurel shrugged. “At least two of ma siblings are happy. Morag and Sileas despise their husbands.” Laurel shrugged again. “Mayhap one day I’ll be as lucky as ye two.” She nudged her chin in the men’s direction.

“But, Laurel, ye canna say aught,” Monty pressed.

“Who would I tell? I dinna want either of ye stoned or burned or run through. Monty, I like ye most of the time, but I like Donnan all the time. I’d rather neither of ye die,” Laurel said philosophically. Both men gawked at her, their initial panic over.

“Do ye think anyone else kens?” Donnan asked.

“Nay. At least nae that I ken. But ye’re bluidy lucky I convinced Andrew and Alex nae to ride out with me. Ye canna be doing this so close to the keep. Canna ye go on patrol together?”

Donnan and Monty looked at one another again, both releasing deep sighs. Monty pulled his sister into his embrace and kissed her crown. “Can ye truly keep this a secret, Laurel? Can ye truly be all right with this?”

Laurel pulled away from Monty and smiled. “I dinna understand it, and I dinna want to ken how it—” Laurel pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. “Works. But I told ye, I’m glad that ye’re happy. If it’s with Donnan, then that must be what God planned.”

“Most would say we are unnatural,” Donnan mused quietly.

“And most are miserable with their husband or wife,” Laurel countered. “But Monty, what—what will ye do when ye must marry?”

Laurel watched as both men’s faces transformed into matching expressions of despondency. Monty shook his head and closed his eyes. “I have little choice that it will happen one day. But I shall wait as long as I can.”

“Just be careful,” Laurel warned.

Laurel inhaled deeply as she looked up from the food she’d been picking at while she remembered discovering the secret that could ruin her clan. It was a secret that she’d let slip once in a roundabout way. And it had been to the worst person possible: Madeline MacLeod. It had been the piece of information that Madeline suspended over Laurel’s head to coerce her into anything. Madeline threatened to expose Monty, so Laurel felt compelled to do whatever Madeline dictated. She’d never felt more relief than when Madeline’s brother, Laird Kieran MacLeod, dragged her out of the Great Hall while she spewed curses at him. When Kieran relegated Madeline to a priory known as the “island of old women,” Laurel had finally felt free. She and Madeline never mentioned Monty and Donnan’s secret during Madeline’s brief return to court that summer.

But as Laurel watched the two warriors, she wondered if anyone else suspected their relationship. They were still breathing, so she assumed they’d learned to be discreet at Balnagown. At court, if they were circumspect and perhaps added a woman into their liaison, few would speak out unless pressed. Still, Laurel could not help worrying about the couple.

“Which tavern are you off to this eve?” Laurel asked softly. She prayed her brother didn’t name The Merry Widow, the most notorious alehouse in Stirling, so named for all the women from court who conducted their dalliances there. It was also the one where Monty and Donnan would draw the most attention. Both men were charming and exceedingly handsome, making women flock to them. They avoided committing to any liaisons, often pretending to pass out drunk in the main room rather than retire to a chamber with a woman.

“The Crosspool Tavern,” Monty responded. Laurel breathed a silent sigh of relief. Monty named the most respectable inn within the town limits. It was a lively establishment, and while wenches were available to entertain men, they weren’t as aggressive as at The Merry Widow, The Picked Over Plum, and The Wolf and Sheep. Monty, Donnan, and the other Ross men could drink in peace. Those who sought company would find it, but when Monty and Donnan didn’t, no one would consider it odd.

“Would you care to join us?” Donnan asked with a grin. Just before Laurel left Balnagown for Stirling, the men discovered her in the stables consoling herself with a jug of whisky. They thought to teach her a lesson about the dangers of the potent uisge beatha, or water of life, but it had been Laurel who taught her brother and his lover a lesson. She’d been fall-down drunk by that night, but she’d also woken with a clear head and calm stomach, while Monty and Donnan could barely face the day well after the noon meal. The men also discovered she had a ribald sense of humor when intoxicated.

“I shall have to pass,” Laurel said with a pretend scowl.

“Then we shall have to have a round or ten on your behalf,” Monty chuckled.

“You do that, and I’ll look for you in the lists in the morn,” Laurel taunted. “Neither sword will be up for much.” Snickers from down the table told the trio that the other Ross warriors understood Laurel’s innuendo, even if they didn’t understand what it meant between Monty and Donnan.

“My wee sister has a devilish tongue,” Monty grinned.

“Only a fool makes the same mistake ten times over, and I believe you’re at nine,” Laurel said archly. “Then again, you can’t teach an auld dog new tricks.”

“I have a few tricks that serve me just fine.” Monty waggled his eyebrows, to which Laurel rolled her eyes.

“Aye, and they’re naught but tuppenny-ha’penny,” Laurel snorted. Monty’s scowl turned real as the other men howled with laughter. Donnan may have grinned to not stand out, but his eyes darted nervously between Monty and Laurel. She’d insulted Monty’s manhood, or at least what he could do with it, in front of a score of Ross warriors. 

“You’d do well to learn a trick or two, sister. You might catch a husband,” Monty snarled. Laurel’s eyes narrowed, knowing she and her brother had both gone too far, but only Monty’s barb held truth.

“If it pays well,” Laurel mockingly shrugged. “Then neither you nor Father would need to spare me another coin. I could die of the clap before either of you have to pay a dowry.” The table sat in stunned silence as Laurel spoke in even tones, no hint of jest in her voice. She locked eyes with Monty and stared. 

“That isn’t what I meant,” Monty muttered.

“Aye. You’d rather I capture a husband by crook or by hook to get a bride price for me. Either way, I wouldn’t be a Ross anymore. We all long for the day.” Glances darted back and forth between the siblings as the men at the table shifted uncomfortably. Laurel only spoke aloud what had been whispered about her, but it was entirely different for it to come from the lady herself. Laurel glanced down at her trencher and realized they’d made it to the third course before she wished Monty hadn’t arrived. They’d remained on civil terms longer than she expected.

“Mother and our sisters would never speak that way,” Monty glowered. “You’ve been at court too long. But I suppose when you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.”

Laurel’s eyes widened as she stood from her seat, casting a glance at Donnan, who sat in shocked silence. “And yet you wish me to be a bitch in heat. There’s more than one way to make a scandal in this family,” Laurel warned.

“Laurel,” Monty rose too. But he was at a loss for words, since he could see his sister no longer threw out an empty threat. He realized, as he saw the depth of pain in Laurel’s eyes for the first time, that she hadn’t exaggerated how miserable she was at court. She’d been his favorite sister when they were growing up, but he’d scoffed at her bitterness when their parents forced her to live at court. He thought she’d accepted her life, since she’d mellowed over the past few years. But he saw now that Laurel was reaching a point of desperation, and he didn’t doubt she would cause a scandal to be sent away. And he suspected she would do it of such epic proportions that their family would never welcome her back at Balnagown either.

“Dinna fash, brother. I’m nay one’s problem but ma own,” Laurel said as she stepped over the bench. She moved toward the doors of the Great Hall, but a page stopped her.

“Lady Laurel, the king and queen request you join them in their antechamber,” the young boy informed Laurel.

“Now?” She glanced over the boy’s head to see the royal couple was no longer on the dais.

“Aye, my lady,” the page said before turning away. Laurel drew in a deep breath before making her way back across the Great Hall, having no choice but to pass her clansmen. She didn’t cast her eyes in their direction, and she ignored Monty as he called out to her.

“Where are you going?” Monty asked as he fell into step alongside her. “Your chamber is in the other direction.”

“I told ye, dinna fash, brother,” Laurel muttered.

“Laurel, please,” Monty begged.

“The king and queen have summoned me. Go away.”

“Both of them? Do they do that often?” Monty wondered.

“Do you fear this shall be the scandal? That I’ll insult our monarch? Or perhaps you think I should practice those tricks in a maynage?” Laurel snapped quietly. “One partner would be enough for me. I’m not the one who needs two.”

“That’s not fair,” Monty whispered.

“Welcome to life at court, Montgomery. None of it is fair. Go away,” Laurel ordered. But it was too late. They were already at the doors to the antechamber, and a guard opened it for them. The king and queen looked in their direction.

“Join us, Montgomery,” King Robert commanded. The siblings entered and showed their deference to the Bruce and Queen Elizabeth with a curtsy and bow. The tension crackled between them, but they were accustomed to hiding their thoughts and feelings. Their expressions appeared relaxed while neither felt that way.

“It is well timed that your brother attends court, Lady Laurel,” King Robert addressed her. “This shall save me sending a messenger. Lady Laurel, how long have you been in service to my wife?”

Laurel swallowed but kept her gaze upon the king. Queen Elizabeth knew exactly how long Laurel had been one of her ladies-in-waiting, as did the king. But he would force her to admit to her prolonged tenure.

“Eleven years, Your Majesty,” Laurel spoke clearly.

“That is how long Elizabeth Fraser was at court. Of course, she arrived as a child with her parents. Her service to the queen did not span that entire time,” King Robert mused. Laurel didn’t need the king’s observations to make her feel like a crone. “You are the queen’s most senior lady-in-waiting, Lady Laurel.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Laurel responded after there was a lull.

“I shall come to the point, Lady Laurel,” King Robert announced. “The time is overdue for you to marry. Your friends have wed, and yet you remain. I understand your unsubstantial dowry is part of the cause.” King Robert left unsaid what all four knew—Laurel’s temperament and reputation were the other cause. “None of the younger ladies may marry until you do.”

“Your Majesty?” Laurel glanced between King Robert and Queen Elizabeth. “I must marry, so the others might, too?”

“Aye. Yours will be the next wedding. Once you are married, the other ladies may move forward with their courtships,” Queen Elizabeth spoke up. Laurel felt as though the air that entered her nose lost its way to her lungs. Her heart thudded behind her breastbone and spots danced at the corners of her eyes.

“Who do you wish me to marry, Your Majesty?” Laurel struggled with each word.

“I do not have a groom chosen. Since Montgomery is here, I thought to leave the task to him,” King Robert said dismissively.

Queen Elizabeth stepped forward, concerned by Laurel’s wan pallor. Laurel’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. When the queen reached for Laurel’s hands, Laurel realized they’d gone ice cold. Just like the rest of her, just like her heart. They would marry her off in haste to a man desperate enough to take a bride who came with little investment. She wondered what manner of man he would be. Anger and fear waged a tug-of-war within her chest.

“I will ensure it is a mon who will treat you kindly, Laurel. It won’t be a mon who will abuse you or only look upon you to bear him sons,” Queen Elizabeth pledged quietly.

“Thank you,” Laurel mumbled.

“Perhaps you wish to retire,” Queen Elizabeth suggested.

“Yes, please, Your Grace,” Laurel whispered. She dipped into another low curtsy before backing away. She didn’t look at Monty before turning to the door, but she sensed he followed her again. Once they were in the passageway, Monty grasped her elbow and pulled her to a stop. She swung around, ready to bare her teeth, but when her older brother’s arms opened to her, she fell against his chest. She sobbed for every failed dream she’d had over the past decade, for every mistake she’d made along the way, and for the fear that consumed her.

“Laurel, I don’t take this duty lightly. I will do my best to find you an honorable mon to marry,” Monty said as he held his trembling sister. “If I can’t, then I will smuggle you away. I’ll take you wherever you wish to go, and I will make sure you are safe.”

“There’s nowhere to take me, Monty. The king decreed I will marry, so I shall. It matters not to whom, so find someone, and you can leave. Have done with it and return home to inform Mother and Father I am no longer their problem,” Laurel said as she pulled away.

“Why do you insist upon saying you’re our problem or that we don’t want you?” Monty demanded.

“I’ve been a lady-in-waiting for ten Christmases, Monty. Of those, I’ve been at Balnagown for two. Besides my guards and Ina, no Ross has ever been here for Christmas. When Father arrives here, it’s often days before he seeks me out. He refuses to do more than pay for my chamber and food. What does he think I wear after five years of no allowance? I haven’t been to Balnagown in three years, and then the last time was only for a fortnight when Sorcha died.” A fresh round of tears began when Laurel thought of the sister who’d been born between Monty and Laurel, who had died giving birth to a stillborn daughter. Laurel had returned to her clan for the impending birth and left in deep mourning. 

“How do you have such fine clothes, Laurel?” Monty’s brow furrowed. “Are you doing what I suggested? Is that how you have fine clothes? If you’re not a maiden, you must tell me.”

Laurel jerked away from Monty and crossed her arms. “It’s far worse than that, Monty.” Her laugh was hollow as she watched her brother’s horror. “I’m in trade.”

“What?” Monty stammered.

“There are at least a dozen women in the Great Hall at this very moment wearing gowns I made. I’m a seamstress. I sell gowns that I make and embroider, so I have the coin to pay for all the ridiculous and unessential items I’m expected to have here. I wear the same gowns for years on end, changing the embroidery, ribbons, and embellishments. But they’re still the same pieces of material, taken apart and refashioned. Who do you think pays for the gifts I give my guards and Ina at Epiphany? Who do you think buys the extra mugs of whisky and ale for the men at Beltane? Who ensures Ina has clothes that aren’t threadbare after eleven years of service here? Who pays for my soaps? Who pays for the wool for my stockings or the linen for my chemises? My jewels? All paste. Before I realized I could sell the clothes I made, I sold my jewels.”

“But why didn’t you ask Father for more, explain to him why you needed an allowance?” Monty asked.

“You really must think I’m addlepated if you think I didn’t ask—beg—for at least what I needed for the others. I’ve asked through missives. I’ve asked when he’s been here. I’ve asked you to ask him!”

“But I didn’t know you were going without proper clothes. Are you making a gown to sell from that wool you bought today?” Monty wondered.

“No. I need that for myself. My sturdiest gown is wearing too thin for another winter. I have fur trim I’ve been saving that I can use to hide the wool’s flaws.”

“Why did you go to that vendor? Why not buy better quality?” 

“Because I can’t afford better, Monty. Do you not understand? I sneaked out of the keep this afternoon and went back into town. I wear my oldest and plainest clothes and cover my hair and face with a veil when I go to sell my wares. I sold three yards of needlework and three gowns today. If I’m careful, the money will last until the new year. I won’t have to sell aught else, but I also can’t buy aught other than essentials. I must save most of it for Ina and the men.”

“Father pays your guards and your maid,” Monty reminded her.

“And forces them to remain prisoner here. They are away from their families for all the holidays. The men have no chance to marry while they’re assigned to me. Ina has stayed out of pity. What Father pays the men won’t even shod a horse.”

“I didn’t know, Laurel.” Monty shook his head and put his hand over his heart when Laurel cast a loathing glare at him. “Truly.”

“You see the ledgers. You’ve been here enough times to understand what life is like here.”

“Aye. I have, to both. Father has been very frugal, but Laurel, there is a dowry for you. I promise. I don’t know why Father has refused your requests for essentials, but I know he has put aside the allowance he used to send. It’s part of the dowry.”

“If the dowry is so healthy, then why hasn’t he found me a husband? Why hasn’t he told me, so I might pursue a marriage in good conscience?” Laurel shook her head. “It matters not. You’re stuck with the Shrew of Stirling to marry off in the next fortnight, or however briefly you’re here. If anyone wanted me, they would have asked Father already.”

“Then what do you want to do, Laurel? Where do you want me to take you?”

“Where is there to go? A convent? I doubt Uncle Hamish and Aunt Amelia will swing the doors open wide for me after the way I treated Maude,” Laurel pointed out. Her aunt was her father’s sister, but the families hadn’t been close while the cousins grew up. And Laurel was already miserable and bitter when Maude and her sister Blair arrived at court. Laurel had begrudged the sisters their relationship and how often their father and their brother, Lachlan, visited. She’d been just as unkind as Madeline and Cairstine Grant had. But both Madeline and Cairstine had mended their ways and were happily married. 

“Do you wish to be a nun?”

“Hardly,” Laurel snorted. She’d barely noticed that they’d started walking until they stood outside her chamber door. “I’m sorry this duty has fallen at your feet.”

“Laurel, stop.” Monty embraced her again. “I don’t begrudge the king’s decision that I find you a husband. I don’t appreciate being rushed, but I would like to see you settled and happy.”

“I’m sorry aboot what I said earlier,” Laurel confessed.

“I’m sorry too,” Monty said with a kiss to his sister’s forehead. “Will you be all right?”

“I always am,” Laurel shrugged as she opened her chamber door. “Goodnight, Monty.”

“Sleep well, Laurel.”

She doubted she would, but she appreciated the sentiment. She donned her nightgown and climbed into bed to say her prayers. The day had been too eventful for her, so despite her fears that her mind wouldn’t settle, Laurel was soon asleep.