“Last night while ye were washing up, I heard that the queen relies on him for advice.” Niall leaned closer. “In fact, they say she has taken the Douglas to her bed.”
Sileas turned to stare at him. “But the king is hardly cold in his grave.”
“Aye, and she carries the dead king’s child,” Niall said in a low voice. “All the same, they say the queen is quite taken with the Douglas—and that the Douglas is quite taken with the notion of ruling Scotland.”
They had reached the entrance to the King’s House, where they were met by another set of guards, who directed them to wait inside the hall until they were called.
Sileas was immediately glad she wore an English-style gown, which was high-waisted and closer fitting than her everyday gowns, since all the women wore them. Hers, however, was simpler and far more modest than the ones the other women were wearing. Although there was a sprinkling of Highlanders dressed in saffron linen shirts and plaids, most of the men in the hall also wore English clothes.
Sileas crossed the room, drawn by the spectacular view through the windows on the opposite side of the hall. When she reached the windows and looked down, it appeared that the King’s House had been built on the very edge of the sheer cliffs.
“Ye can see for miles from here. Ach, that looks like Ben Lomond,” Niall said, pointing.
“I believe it is.” They both turned at the sound of a light, feminine voice behind them.
If the woman hadn’t spoken to them in English, Sileas would have thought she was looking at a faerie queen. She had hair the color of moonbeams and sparkles in her headdress, which framed a face with lovely, delicate features. A rose-colored gown with a silvery sheen floated about her—except for the tight-fitting bodice, which had a square neck that revealed the tops of small, perfect breasts.
Faerie or no, Niall was staring with his jaw hanging open, as if enchanted.
“You are new to Court, or I would know you,” the woman said with a bright smile at Niall.
Either Niall was too enthralled to speak or his English was failing him. Sileas’s English was poorer than his, but she managed to say, “We have just arrived.”
“Ah, you are Highlanders.” The woman let her eyes drift over Niall again. “In truth, I knew by your size—and that wild handsomeness—that you were a Highlander.”
Niall swelled like a toad at the blatant flattery.
“Welcome to Stirling,” the woman said. “My name is Lady Philippa Boynton.”
“Have ye been in Stirling long yourself?” Sileas asked, wondering if she could truly be having the bad luck to be meeting the woman Ian had wished to marry.
“Not long this time,” the woman said, turning her sparkling eyes on Sileas. “These days, I spend more time in London, but I have been to Stirling many times.”
“Were ye here at the castle five years ago?” Sileas asked in a tight voice.
The woman gave a laugh that made Sileas think of tiny bells. “Why yes, I believe I was. I stayed here for several months about that time. How did you guess?”
Ach, it was her—the woman Ian had wished to marry.
The memory of that night came back sharply—the rough ground beneath her, the chill in the air, the night sky above her. But most of all, she remembered the wistfulness in Ian’s voice as he spoke about a lady with a tinkling laugh and the grace of a faerie—and a beauty so enchanting that a young man who was not ready to marry would decide he was.
Ian had failed to mention that Philippa was English. If he had been willing to tell his father and chieftain he wished to wed an English lady, then Ian must have wanted her very badly indeed.
The faerie woman was looking at Sileas as if she were waiting for a response. Sileas had no recollection of the question, so she shook her head and let Lady Philippa believe she had not understood her English.
Sileas was relieved when a young man in English livery interrupted them.
“Her Highness the Queen will see you now,” he said, giving Sileas a slight bow. “I’ll escort you to her private parlor.”
Sileas nodded to Lady Philippa and took Niall’s arm. As they followed the servant across the room, Niall stared at Lady Philippa over his shoulder.
The servant took them through an arched doorway, then stopped at the base of a circular stairs. “Only the lady is invited.”
“She goes nowhere without me,” Niall said.
“The audience will be in the queen’s private apartments,” the man said. “The queen and her ladies’ privacy must be respected.”
Sileas tugged Niall to the side. “It will be all women in the queen’s apartments, so there’s nothing for ye to fret about.”
Niall didn’t look as though he liked it, but he didn’t argue when she gave him a bright smile and picked up her skirts to follow the servant up the stairs.
A short time later, Sileas found herself in the queen’s bedchamber. Several ladies lounged on couches or on silk and brocade pillows on the floor, while the queen herself sat in a high-backed chair with her surprisingly tiny feet propped up on a stool and a ratlike dog in her lap. She was a buxom woman with beady eyes that matched her dog’s and heavy, glittering rings on every plump finger.
Standing next to her, with a hand resting on the back of her chair, was a darkly handsome man of about Ian’s age, with a well-groomed beard and hard eyes. Judging from his fine clothes and the way he held himself, Sileas
