Page 23 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

“Aye,” he said finally, his voice gruff, and moved forward to perform those tweaks.

“I still don’t know why ye think you and yer men need to wear Scottish dress,” Mildrede commented as she watched him work.

“Because if de Buci forced my mother’s maid to tell him what she knew, he and his men will be looking for an English lady and her two soldiers traveling with Scots. Not a Scottish lady and her men.”

Rory had just knelt to straighten her pleats, but leapt up in horror at her words. “Ye told her about de Buci?”

Elysande’s eyes widened slightly at his reaction, but then she patted his arm soothingly. “Aye, but ’tis fine. Did you not see the portrait of our king in the great room where we ate last night? Mildrede is a loyal subject who would not see our king murdered either. She is more than happy to help us now she knows the importance of our mission.”

“Aye,” Mildrede said firmly. “Why our king is a saint. Much better than his father, Edward II, or that Mortimer, who basically ruled and bankrupted the treasury while our king was a child. Only Satan’s henchmen would wish to see our king and his son dead so they could place his brother on the throne. Nay, we do not need that happening.”

Rory had some difficulty with anyone calling Edward III a saint. He knew the man had done some good things, like an overhaul of the government and such, and unlike his father he wasn’t trying to take over Scotland. At the moment. But that was only because he had his hands full with France.

Still, the woman seemed sincere in her loyalty to her king. Besides, with the roads unpassable there was no worry that she could send a messenger to de Buci to betray them for coin, and he intended they would leave the moment the roads were passable, so he supposed it mattered little if she knew.

Sighing, he merely nodded and turned his attention back to straightening the plaid, and quickly had the skirts fixed.

“I need a pin to clasp the top,” he muttered after pulling the material up and around her throat. “If we pin it here, ye can leave the remainder to lie, or pull it up o’er yer head like a cloak hood.”

“I have a pin,” Mildrede said, and rushed from the room.

“You are upset that I told Mildrede,” Elysande said quietly once they were alone.

Rory grimaced, but acknowledged, “Well, s’truth I’d rather ye had no’. She likes her coin, the alewife. Do ye no’ recall the ridiculous sum she demanded to let us sleep in the stable?”

“Aye. I remember. But ’twas only because you are Scottish,” she said defensively.

Rory frowned at the words. “What’s that to do with—”

“You said yourself that the people here do not like the Scottish. They see you as the source of all their hardships. Why, English children are raised being told to behave or the Scots will drop from the trees and get them.”

“Were ye told that as a child?” he asked with dismay.

“Nay, of course not. My mother was Scottish. She said we are a strong, brave people determined to hold on to our independence.”

Rory smiled, liking the way she included herself as a Scot despite being half-English.

“The point is,” Elysande continued firmly, “Mildrede is naturally afraid of Scots. Still, she was too kind to see us out in the cold on such a horrible night even though we are naturally something of an enemy. So, she let us stay, but made you pay a lot so that she could salve her conscience and keep her neighbors from thinking poorly of her by being able to claim, rightfully so, that she had made us pay dearly just to sleep in the stable.”

Rory stared at her silently, thinking she was the sweetest, most naive woman he’d ever met.

“Besides, she gave us food to break our fast with for no charge. She let me use her kitchen to make my liniment and helped me with it, and is including a fine meal tonight too to make up for it now she knows everything.”

“The liniment,” Rory said now, latching on to that bit and letting the rest go. “Ye were careful with the wolfsbane? ’Tis—”

“Poisonous,” she finished for him with amusement. “Aye. I know. I was most careful in the handling of it and in the amount used.”

Rory nodded, and then asked, “Is it working?”

“Aye. I am feeling much better. Numb most places, which feels odd, but . . .” She shrugged fatalistically.

“’Tis better than the pain,” he finished the unspoken thought for her.

“Aye,” she whispered, and then glanced past him to the door when it swung open.

“Here. You can use this one,” Mildrede announced bustling into the room and holding out a fine cameo brooch.

“Oh, nay, Mildrede,” Elysande protested. “’Tis too fine. I cannot take that.”

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