Page 42 of How to Be a Scottish Mistress

“I can scarce believe it myself,” Duncan declared. “The Hammer of the Scots is dead. I’ve prayed fer this day fer as . . .” His voice dropped off and his nose wrinkled. “Lord save us, what is that smell?”

“Lady Fiona’s pet.”

Almost as if knowing he was being discussed, the dog let out a low growl. Duncan jumped back, reaching for his sword. Fiona gasped. Gavin smiled. “Calm down, Duncan. It’s a dog, not a wolf. He willnae eat ye. At least I dinnae think he will.”

“Of course he won’t,” Fiona said, crossing the chamber to stand protectively beside the dog.

As she walked past, the faint scent of lavender assaulted Gavin’s nose. It was intoxicating. He was suddenly glad he had put on his braies, since the swelling evidence of his reaction to her was starting to stiffen.

Unfortunately, he also realized Duncan was having his own reaction to the lovely Fiona. Unable to fully dress without the assistance of her maid, she had donned her linen chemise. The modest garment hung to her ankles, but the fabric was so worn it was nearly transparent in places.

Gavin’s ire rose. He didn’t like the idea of Duncan seeing so much of her. The delicate slope of her shoulders, the sensuous curve of her buttocks, the alluring shape of her long legs. He had fallen asleep with her soft, round bottom nestled against his groin, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

And woken up several times throughout the night to lay claim to that luscious body, delighted in the enthusiastic welcome he had received. The thought of another man sampling the sweetness of her charms was unimaginable, but so too was the idea of another man catching a glimpse of her body.

“The dog belongs outside, with the other hounds,” Duncan said.

“And thus I have explained that to Lady Fiona,” Gavin interjected. “Remove the animal at once.”

Duncan and Fiona turned to him in puzzlement. “Duncan,” he added with emphasis. Damn, did they honestly think he meant for Fiona to traipse outside with only that flimsy piece of cloth covering her?

Duncan reluctantly obeyed the order, getting behind the beast and literally pushing him toward the door. The dog looked none too pleased with the circumstances, but with another insistent shove from Duncan’s booted foot, he allowed himself to be taken away. Duncan’s grumbling blasphemies were easily heard all the way down the corridor.

Fiona sank down in the chair, then tilted her head up to gaze at him. He could see the speculation in her eyes. “So, the king is dead.”

“Aye.” Gavin grinned. “Long live the king.”

“Edward is rumored to be a different sort of man than his father. Less inclined to war, more inclined to indulge his many pleasures.”

“An attitude that bodes well fer Scotland.” Gavin’s eyes roamed over her face. “And ye, Fiona.”

She nodded. “Do you think I should petition him to recognize Spencer as the rightful heir to the barony and plead for the return of our lands?”

Gavin thought a moment. He was flattered that she sought his advice, but her question left him in a quandary. If the English king granted her request, there would be no reason for her to stay in Scotland with him. And while he had never expected their arrangement to be long-standing, the thought of her leaving rankled. Nay, ’twas much too soon for him to release her from her role as his mistress.

“There are certainly cases when ’tis better to settle matters of property and title by law and decree, rather than battle,” Gavin began. “But the key to asking favors from a king is all in the timing. Edward will have many important affairs to attend to, the least of which will be securing the crown upon his head.”

“I know you are right. Now is not the time for me to be asking for favors.” She folded her arms across her chest and released a heavy sigh. “Even though my cause is true and just.”

Gavin smiled. Seeking justice for her child never failed to ignite a spark within Fiona. He admired her tenacity, her determination to protect her cub with all the ferocity she could muster. ’Twas even more miraculous when one considered the lad wasn’t even her blood kin—a fact that lifted her even higher in Gavin’s estimation.

“Yer time will come, Fiona. ’Tis best to wait until the lad is older, tougher, experienced with leadership. The king might be able to grant him his legacy, but Spencer will have to hold it on his own.”

“True.”

She seemed disappointed, yet resigned. Gavin felt a twinge of guilt, knowing his reply had been colored by his desire to keep her near. Trying to be objective, he examined the dilemma again, satisfied when he reached the same conclusion. Conscience clear, he approached her.

She might appear soft and vulnerable on the outside, but her heart had courage and spirit. Still, for all her proud boldness, she had a woman’s frailty. She could throw herself upon the mercy of a king, or any man of power, hoping and praying for fair treatment. Yet there was no recourse if she were denied. She could not pick up a weapon and solve her problems as a man would, on the field of battle. She needed others to do that for her.

She needed him.

The soft cascade of blond tresses falling down her shoulders glowed with a golden hue in the morning light. He knew that it felt as silky and fine as it looked and for a moment Gavin imagined digging his fingers through it. Rubbing it over his face and chest, pressing the strands against his nose and inhaling the fragrant scent.

She truly was lovely. And irresistible.

“Now that we’re finally alone, I can do what I’ve been waiting fer all morning.” Without another word, Gavin swept Fiona into his arms and kissed her senseless.

Fiona grasped a weed between her thumb and forefinger and pulled. It came out cleanly at the root, bits of rich soil clinging to the spidery veins. With a smile of satisfaction she shook off the excess dirt, then tossed it onto a third pile of weeds. Remaining on her knees, she shuffled down the neatly planted rows and attacked a new section.

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