Page 2 of Keeping Kate
Dismissed,Alec thought.
The valet approached, gloved hand extended first to Alec, then Jack. He dropped a gold guinea into each man’s palm. “For your trouble,” he murmured haughtily.
Staring at the insulting payment, Alec felt himself flush to the roots of his golden-brown hair. He and Jack were not hired performers. They had been invited at the request of the king’s secretary to demonstrate Highland sword technique in honor of the queen’s birthday. Many in the court, Alec was told, were curious to learn more about the Highland natives of Scotland, given the reports of the country’s stunning beauty—and perhaps the amusing claim to the throne of its so-called king over the water.
Alec spun on his heel, turning his back to the king, which he well knew was not done. He strode to the center of the room to retrieve his weapons while Jack followed. Shoving his dirk into the sheath at his belt, Alec fumed in silence.
“Between the journey and waiting here in London for the royal summons,” Jack muttered, “we’ve spent over a fortnight, not to mention our own coin, on this silly task.”
Glancing at his cousin without reply, Alec snatched up his sword.
Certainly, he had other matters that needed his attention. Three weeks ago, Alec had been reviewing lists of confiscated weapons at Fort William for General Wade when the general had received a letter about the queen’s birthday and had asked him to travel to London to display Highland fighting skills at court. Wade thought Alec the logical choice since he had been tutored by an uncle who had written a training manual on the subject. In turn, Alec had brought Jack MacDonald, his cousin, equally trained, to act as his opponent in the mock contest.
In London, waiting upon the royal summons, Jack dove happily into life at court while Alec—by nature keen on solitude—strolled alone through the streets and court gardens and tended to correspondence generated by his position as a lawyer for the Highland company in which he was also a captain. The volume of work made it all too clear that he should be in Scotland, not cooling his heels in England.
But now the display was over, and he and Jack were free to go. Glancing up, he saw the crowd dispersing, laughing, chattering. The Highland performers—for they were no more than that to these people—were no longer of interest.
But the beauty in tartan and damask remained close by, fluttering an ivory fan and murmuring with the older lady. Alec saw her glance his way more than once. That gaze—charming, coy, silver-gray, entrancing—struck him like a spark.
He gave his attention to attaching the scabbard to his belt. Jack picked up Alec’s red military coat and captain’s sash, but he refused them. He felt obstinate. If the sight of his Highland gear made Whigs and Londoners uncomfortable, so be it. Let them squirm and wonder about rebellion. He disliked the arrogance and complacency here.
While Jack bundled their things and tucked them under his arm, Alec glanced up. “Who is that lass there—do you know her?”
“That lovely creature? I wish I knew. I heard that she and her aunt are here from Scotland to petition the king on behalf of Jacobite widows who are entitled to pensions following the deaths of their husbands. The executions of their husbands,” he added. “She’ll be a Highland lady, I would guess, but I did not hear her name or her clan. Though I do fancy a mystery. Perhaps I will try to find out more.” His cousin smiled and looked speculatively at the girl.
She glanced their way again, frowned at Jack, and looked straight at Alec. Her gaze was like an arrow straight to his heart.
“Och, lad,” Jack said. “You have caught her eye. The handsome officer wins—the Highland rogue is not to her taste.”
“Huh,” Alec murmured skeptically. “It is surprising to see Jacobite ladies here at court. A wonder they were not turned away.”
“The king favors their petition, they say, because championing widows is a respectable cause—and the girl is a beauty. What her Highland kinsmen do in the north may be overlooked so long as a Highland jewel graces these halls.”
“So we hope. The plaid is rarely seen at court. She could be taken for a spy if she were not so—” He stopped, looking up as the girl turned toward him.
“So completely charming? I agree.”
The women picked up their voluminous court skirts and crossed the floor toward the swordsmen. Alec stood with his broadsword hilt clutched in his hand, steel point touching the floor. His heart pounded like a hammer. Beside him, Jack said something about gathering their belongings at the inn, paying their stable bill, leaving the city. Then he too fell silent.
All grace and magic, the young woman came toward him. Not tall, but slender and elegant, she rested slim hands upon wide swaying skirts the color of rich cream. The tartan shawl caught at her elbows was patterned in light blue, lavender, green. Enchanting. A choker of pearls wrapped thrice around her long, elegant throat, and a crystal pendant twinkling on a silver chain rode above a lush bosom made demure by a translucent mantle of lace.
Alec stood still and drank in the sight of her: heart-shaped face, flawless skin, rosy lips, a slightly upturned nose, and extraordinary eyes of light gray. Her hair, deep gold touched with copper, was caught up and tucked beneath a lacy cap. Without the excess powder, paint, and over-decoration of other women in court, she was a vision of simplicity, grace, and natural beauty.
“My God,” Jack breathed. “A fairy queen.”
Alec nodded in silence. She sparkled. He hardly noticed her companion, who was a small woman swallowed in black silk. As the women approached, he inclined his head respectfully to the other lady. Then his gaze met the girl’s and held it.
She tilted her head in silent acknowledgment and moved past him, just an arm’s length away. Her skirts brushed over his feet. He could have touched her smooth hand.
“Sir,” she said with a nod to Alec, then to Jack. “And sir. Thank you. I quite enjoyed your skill and the reminder of home.” Without waiting for an answer, she glided past like stolen sunlight.
He felt different suddenly. He felt changed, as if her incandescence had begun to dissolve shadows that had surrounded him for years. Motionless, he watched her depart through a side door opened by a pageboy, the little woman in black rushing after her.
Exhaling forcefully, Alec scabbarded his sword with a swift push. Never had he felt such a headlong rush of attraction, a veritable physical force sweeping through him, head to toe. He had not even felt its like for the woman he loved, gone two years now.
The delicate, mysterious Scottish beauty had sent chills clear through him. He still felt the resonance. And he needed to master it quick, gather his wits, move on.
Beside him, Jack, uncharacteristically silent, looked dumbstruck. “I have just seen the wee queen of all the fairies. I am in love.”
