Page 27 of Wild Hearts

Shannon stepped forward. This was an opportunity she wasn't going to miss. Bothwell was almost a legend, and he was here, right under her own roof. Cousin to the King, James Stewart, he held more titles and land than any other peer of the realm. He owned three castles, as well as houses in almost every border town, though everything was heavily mortgaged because of his extravagance. Not always in favor with the King, he was somewhat of a black sheep, having spent time in prison for indebtedness, and had stood trial a few years back for practicing witchcraft. At the moment he was riding high in the King's favor, his titles and offices restored to him.

Shannon sank down before him, showing an expanse of bosom and slanting an upward glance at him. "Shannon, my Lord Bothwell."

"The jewel of Ireland," he said, smiling.

"Damascus, my Lord Bothwell." She swept gracefully before him.

"The oldest city known to civilization," he returned.

"Venetia, my Lord. Bothwell," she said softly.

"The most beautiful city on earth," he replied.

"Alexandria, my Lord Bothwell," she said with pride.

"A city I have never visited but hope to," he said with gravity.

"Tabrizia, my Lord Bothwell." The fifth girl in the room sank down before him.

"The capital of Persia," he said, looking deeply into the violet eyes.

Paris was startled, although he didn't allow it-to show on his face. Why in hell's name hadn't she told him her name was Tabrizia? Named for a city like the rest of them proved she was a Cockburn. Devious bitch! Wasn't it just like a woman to be secretive and sly! She'd been ready to gloat over her victory, too, by God. One day he'd make her beg to let her stay with him. He vowed it! Then they'd see which one of them did the gloating!

"By God, you are truly a rogue, never to have mentioned such lovely creatures! I'd no idea there were so many or that they were so beautiful," said Bothwell.

"Beautiful, perhaps, to any but a brother. To me they can be right little bitches." Paris laughed, looking directly into Tabrizia's eyes.

The girls sat in a circle surrounding Bothwell. Each knew she had a duty to allay his suspicions. He was without doubt the most powerful earl in the land since his Cousin, the King, had moved to England, and although be had always been their brother's ally in the past, he could have Paris arrested and incarcerated in Edinburgh Castle if the whim took him.

He was a powerfully built man. His black eyebrows met over piercing eyes as they roamed from one girl to the other.

Shannon offered, "Let me help you with your boots, milord. They are wet, and I always think a man puts comfort before any other pleasure."

"Not always." He grinned, taking the opportunity to have a good look down the front of her gown as she bent before him.

Damascus shuddered; he was far to masculine and sensual.

Shannon licked her lips over him.

Alexandria, always ready for a practical joke, whispered to him, "He does have a woman upstairs in one of the towers."

Bothwell cocked an eyebrow at her.

Venetia said, "He keeps her in the White Tower, well away from the rest of us."

He sat forward.

Before the girls goaded him into a search, Tabrizia confided to him, "It's his wife, do you want her?"

"Wife?" He wrinkled his nose. "Had one once; never cared for them!"

The girls giggled at his wicked humor. Again and again Bothwell's eyes came to rest on Tabrizia. More often than he looked at the others, Paris thought, trying to conceal his anger. In the last five minutes he'd managed to tickle her chin, pull one of her curls and hold her hand for a moment as she handed him a wine cup.

Alexander sat glowering at Bothwell, ready to do battle if his fingers strayed too far.

Paris-called, "Alex, I have an errand for you."

The boy came over to Paris, his eyes filled with resentment against their visitor.

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