Page 114 of Laird of Smoke
The king seemed mollified by her words, though he modestly pulled the coverlet up to his neck.
“I’m the niece o’ the Laird o’ Dunlop and cousin to Lady Carenza,” she told him with a nod of deference.
“Lady Carenza,” the king echoed.
Naturally he’d heard of Carenza, even if he hadn’t been back in Scotland long.Her beauty and sweetness were legendary.
“I’ve been sent to request royal approval o’ Lady Carenza’s betrothal.”
She reached into her satchel and pulled out the rolled parchment.She hoped he wouldn’t notice that, according to the document, the marriage had already been accomplished.
As she expected, the king was uncomfortable enough with his misjudgment of the situation to wish to be done with her as soon as possible.
“Scribe!”he called.
“I think ye’ll be well pleased with the match, Your Grace.”
Her words made him reconsider.After all, Lady Carenza was a valuable asset when it came to clan alliances.“Who is the bridegroom?”
“Sir Hew du Lac o’ Rivenloch.”
“Rivenloch?”He stroked his chin, seeming to consider the match.But he couldn’t hide the satisfaction in his eyes.To be able to reward his most loyal clan with such a prize was propitious indeed.“Aye, that would please us.”
Thankfully, the king paid more heed to the flourish of his signature and the proximity of the hot sealing wax to his leine-clad chest than to the words on the document.
As promised, their exchange took but a few moments.He seemed relieved to be rid of her and done with the whole embarrassing ordeal.
With the first and most difficult part of her mission accomplished, Eve could rest easier.She thanked the king, curtseyed, and exited the pavilion.
Just outside, she took a moment to collect her nerves.She carefully rolled the dried, sealed parchment and tucked it into her satchel.Then she crouched to tighten the buckles on her pattens.
She rather liked the height these pattens gave her, she decided.They made her feel imposing.And powerful.Perhaps she would wear them more often.
She suddenly heard the king call out a greeting from inside his pavilion.
She blinked.She would have sworn he’d said “Adam.”
Then she chided herself.He could have as easily said Edmund or Baldwin…or Madam.Even if he had said Adam, there were probably a dozen Adams in the king’s service.
Still, it troubled her.Eyeing the guards behind her and the soldiers milling about, she slipped back around the shadowy side of the pavilion and leaned close to listen through the canvas wall.
The king was speaking.
“We hear congratulations are in order for your clan.”
The response was muffled.She placed her ear against the fabric, not an easy feat with a thick horsetail braid.
The king continued, “Your cousin Hew’s betrothal?”
“Ah.Aye, Your Grace.”
Eve froze.It was hard to be certain.The accent was more noble, less rustic.But his voice…
He asked, “Did my aunt Deirdre send word?”
Itwashim.ItwasAdam.
But “cousin Hew”?“My aunt”?Was he feigning to be a Rivenloch?Was that why he needed that medallion?
