Page 4 of Kilty Until Proven Innocent
Brigit’s head jerked up. “I’m no’ smirking!”
“Yes, you are.”
This small antechamber was one the Queen herself used when meeting with her ladies…but today ‘twas just two of her Angels; Brigit and the Lady Avaline. Since Avaline hadn’t looked up from her own embroidery, Brigit decided Her Majesty was speaking to her.
With a huff, she stabbed her needle into the linen to keep it secured, then tossed it into her lap. “Fine, perhaps Iamsmirking.”
The Queen, of course, smirked in response. Likely because she’d been right. “Is there a new gentleman in your life?”
“A new ruffian, more likely,” snorted Avaline quietly, scarred face still bent over her embroidery. “Brigit’s tastes dinnae run towardgentlemen.”
Since ‘twas true, Brigit grinned and stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. “Naenewgentlemen—or ruffians.”
The Queen, who seemed a bit desperate for distraction—and she certainly would be, what with the recent news—nodded wisely. “The same old ones, hmm?”
Chuckling as she was expected to chuckle, Brigit reflected on the Queen’s speech, and how, even after all these years in Scone, the woman’s English tones still shone through. Still, the King had made a fine choice in his spouse, and the marriage had helped to unite Scotland.
Knowing what was expected of her, Brigit said nothing, but dropped one eyelid in an exaggerated wink which caused Her Majesty to chuckle, thank goodness.
“Did you hear that, Avaline?” the Queen mused, pulling another scroll toward her across the small writing desk before her. “You might take a lesson from Brigit.”
“A lesson in what, Yer Majesty?” the stately and somber former-novice asked, attention still on her sewing. “Revelry? Debauchery? Sin?”
“Fun, Ava!” burst out Brigit, well used to her partner’s morality sermons. “Fun!”
The other woman just hummed. Finally, she lifted her gaze, straightened her shoulders, and turned her embroidery toward the other two women in the room. “We were no’ put on this earth forfun.”
Eying her partner’s embroidery—it seemed to be a depiction of St. Stephen’s martyring, complete with gushes of blood from the arrow wounds and an expression of near-ecstasy on the poor bastard’s face—Brigit murmured, “Well,yewerenae.”
She glanced down at the tiny penisesshe’dbeen working on. Far more interesting, far more fun.
As a general rule, penisesweremore fun than martyrdom.
Although, in her years working with Avaline, Brigit had learned someveryinteresting martyrdom stories. Some of which involved penises.
Lady Avaline Klyne had been born to wealth and privilege, a younger daughter of a prominent family. Although her father had secured a marriage contract for her, young Avaline had opted to join the church. With her schooling and devout religious opinions, she would’ve been perfect as a nun.
But somewhere along the way, she’d been horrible scarred by fire, then wound up as a Queen’s Angel. She’d been Brigit’s partner all these years. When Isabel had been part of their group, things had been easier, because, as a mother of an Earl, that lady could always make peace between Brigit’s coarse ways and Avaline’s judgmental nature. But now that Isabel was happily married and settled into her son’s estate, Brigit rarely saw her.
Which meant Her Majesty herself was the only one to soothe Avaline’s ruffled feathers, or Brigit’s constant boredom.
Speaking of boredom, Brigit drew on a recent subject. “Any word on the assassin, Yer Majesty? What direction are the investigations looking?”
A flash of regret crossed the Queen’s face, before she sighed and knocked the scroll in her hand against the small desk. “Naught, I am afraid.”
“Nae news?” Avaline asked, proving shewaspaying attention.
“My husband…does not trust easily,” the Queen finally said. “With the possibility of his Hunters compromised, he is not certain to whom he should turn.”
“No’allof the King’s Hunters are under suspicion, Yer Majesty,” Avaline reminded her. “Only their leader, Drummond Kennedy.”
Brigit winced at the reminder, lifting her embroidery to cover the expression.
The Queen murmured, “Yes, that is the problem.”
When Avaline hummed, the Queen continued. “My husband believed he could trust Drummond with his life—withmorethan his life. As the leader of the King’s Hunters, Drummond is trusted as much as I trustyou,my Angels. But to think he might be responsible for this attempt on His Majesty’s life…”
The Queen shook her head with something that looked like despair, and tossed down the scroll.
