“I’ll miss sleeping with ye,” he whispered in her ear to make her blush.
But that was not all he would miss. For the first time in his life, Alex was close to making a fool of himself over a woman.
He was escaping just in time.
CHAPTER 18
After checking on Rosebud and Buttercup, Alex paid for a bed and a bath at the tavern. An hour later, he was on his way to Holyrood Palace. He tried to pry his mind away from Glynis and focus his thoughts on his meeting with the regent. But he felt on edge, as if he had left Glynis in the hands of pirates instead of her sweet aunt.
Fortunately, Alex was at his best when acting on his instincts. If Connor wanted someone who would plan it all out ahead of time like a chess game, he should have sent Ian or come himself. Alex’s goal was clear: reassure the Crown that his clan did not support the rebellion, while avoiding any specific commitment to fight the rebels.
As for his personal business, he’d lost interest in Sabine’s gift, whatever it was. Still, it had been foolish to arrive on the very last day of July and risk missing her. He had slowed his pace to spend a couple more nights with Glynis.
Ach, he hardly knew himself. And now, he felt irritable that Glynis had made no fuss when he left her. What had he expected? That Glynis would weep and beg for him to stay? There was no point in that.
The guards at the palace gate were MacKenzies, with whom his clan had no current feud, so they let him pass with no difficulty. At the entrance to the palace building, Alex found the Scottish court guarded by Frenchmen. This annoyed him, though he should have expected it. The new regent had spent little time in Scotland and spoke neither Scots nor Gaelic. According to the tavern keeper, the regent had brought a huge entourage with him from France, including jugglers, for God’s sake.
“Your weapons,” one of the guards said to him in French.
As Alex unstrapped his claymore, he scanned the crowded hall. Sabine had mentioned in her letter that D’Arcy, a French nobleman Alex had fought with in France, was here with the French contingent. Since both D’Arcy and Sabine knew the regent well, he hoped to get advice from one of them before his audience.
“Those as well,” the guard said, pointing at the dirks that hung from Alex’s belt.
Alex removed them, since he had no choice if he wanted to go inside.
“Your name and your business?” one of the other guards demanded.
“I am Alexander MacDonald of Sleat.”
Before he could state his business, the guards began shouting. “
In an instant, two dozen guards surrounded him with their swords drawn.
From the guards’ excited shouts as they dragged him up the stairs, Alex gathered that they thought he was Alexander MacDonald of Dunivaig and the Glens, who was one of the rebel chieftains. Apparently they didn’t know that half the warriors in the Western Isles were named Alexander or Donald after former Lords of the Isles.
Alex suspected he would have his audience with the regent sooner than expected.
The guards led him through double doors into an elaborately decorated parlor—painted pink, no less. Inside, courtiers and ladies dressed in silks hovered around a man in an ornate chair who had the beard and shrewd blue eyes of a Stewart. So this must be John Stewart, who was the Duke of Albany, the current regent, and third in line to the throne after the two royal babes.
When the two guards holding Alex’s arms attempted to toss him onto the floor at the regent’s feet, Alex knocked their heads together and let them fall. He glared over his shoulder at the other guards before dropping to his knee.
“Your Grace,” Alex said in French. “Your men have mistaken me for a rebel leader because the fools don’t know one damned MacDonald clan from another.”
Albany raised his eyebrows. Whether it was in admiration for his perfect French or because he had called Albany’s guards fools, Alex didn’t much care.
“And which MacDonald are you?”
“I am Alexander MacDonald of Sleat,” Alex said. “And if ye don’t mind a bit of advice, I suggest ye replace your French guards with men who know who is your enemy and who is not.”
“That is no easy task,” Albany said, touching the fingertips of his hands together as he glared at Alex, “even for someone who can distinguish one MacDonald from another.”
Touche.
“You will forgive us our vigilance against traitors,” Albany bit out. “A group of MacIains just arrived to report that the rebels have laid siege to Mingary Castle and lain waste to all the surrounding lands.”
“My clan had no part in this attack,” Alex said.
“I would prefer to hear that from your chieftain.” Albany stood and began pacing in front of Alex. “I assume he is here with you in Edinburgh, as ordered?”
“I am our chieftain’s cousin,” Alex said. “I’ve come in his stead to assure you—”
“I am not assured.” The regent stopped pacing and fixed his piercing blue eyes on Alex. “I summoned your chieftain, not his cousin.”
“He would have come himself, but he was badly injured at the time he became chieftain and has not yet fully recovered,” Alex said, knowing that a partial truth was always more credible than a complete lie.
“Or he is laying siege to Mingary Castle with the other rebels.” Albany’s face was growing red. “I will not
