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Authors: Elizabeth Holcombe
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portrayed.
He took one step forward closer to the queen. Sabine held her breath and dug her nails into the arms of the chair.
Monsieur Le Canard whispered urgently, “And, so, I travel from—”
“Wheesht!” Niall whispered back. He closed his eyes for the span of a gnat’s age, before opening them and centering his stare on Sabine.
“Oh, to find peace,” he said, his words slow, determined. He stepped forward arms open. “Oh, to find peace, where death haunts me not! ’Tis best my blade—” He reached down, the movement so quick Sabine barely noticed, and pulled his knife into view.
The entire assemblage gasped in horror.
Niall held the blade aloft. Sabine wondered how anyone could be so blatantly stupid.
“’Tis best my blade stills my heart,” he said.
Someone’s blade will still this fool’s heart. Sabine glanced at the agog faces surrounding her.
“What beguiles my spirit to live, to soar?” Niall asked the air. Then he thrust his free hand inside his doublet and pulled out Sabine’s sac . He cut a direct path to her with his steady blue gaze. “What beguiles my spirit to live?…to soar? But this key I return…uh…as I’ve found the door.”
She could barely find the strength to move, then stared into the eyes of the Highland fox. He smiled at her and bowed, low before his queen. Before her .
Applause drowned out Sabine’s confusion and dizziness.
“Enchanting! Delightful!” the queen proclaimed.
Sabine was not relieved. She took a deep breath but could not steady herself. The wine. No food. Not good.
Niall continued to bow.
“We are most amused,” Mary said. “Rise.”
Niall stood upright. Sabine tried to watch his every move. He concealed his knife back in the brocade wrapped about his calf.
The queen regarded Niall curiously. Then she smiled. “We are not familiar with your work, good player. ’Twould please us to know you.” She waved a hand toward Niall’s mask. “Would you be so kind…?”
“ Non, ” Sabine whispered. Inside her head took a nasty spin. She grabbed the arms of her chair.
He bowed slightly and reached up and grasped the bottom of his mask with his strong thumb and forefinger.
“Aye, Yer Majesty. ’Twould be an honor,” he said.
No one is that bold or foolhardy. No one but this savage Highlander.
“Sweet Sainte Giles,” Sabine breathed, closing her eyes. “Help us .”
And the goodly Saint shoved her backward into darkness.
chapter 4
Deep in the Royal Lair
N iall stared down at Sabine. His purpose for being in Holyrood Palace was suddenly replaced with concern for her.
He stood with the others: ladies-in-waiting, attendants, men in fancy doublets, women in gowns worth as much as a half-dozen cattle. They stared down at Sabine crumpled on the floor beside her chair. Her mask still covered the top of her face, and she looked like a conquered bird, forever a part of the earth.
She had imbibed too much spirit. He could smell it on her.
The prospect of marrying Campbell too much for her to bear sober.
He swore he caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes before she was so quickly introduced to this finely waxed Scots pine floor.
The queen remained calmly seated, her gaze on Sabine, and on the bored fop beside her who yawned and waved his goblet for more wine. The many elite who had come to this party stood behind Niall, wrapped in hushed whispers, no doubt perturbed that their masque had been disrupted by one fainting lass. Perchance they were used to two or three fainters in one evening.
Niall knelt beside her and gently removed her mask. She never looked lovelier than this moment in unwonted sleep and not insulting him to his face.
“What is this disruption?” a familiar voice shouted. A shadow soon fell over Niall. He looked up, over Sabine, through the holes in his mask.
Campbell stood over them like a dark menace. His eyes narrowed behind the raven’s mask he wore. Mask or no mask, Niall knew that bloody scourge anywhere.
He took one step forward closer to the queen. Sabine held her breath and dug her nails into the arms of the chair.
Monsieur Le Canard whispered urgently, “And, so, I travel from—”
“Wheesht!” Niall whispered back. He closed his eyes for the span of a gnat’s age, before opening them and centering his stare on Sabine.
“Oh, to find peace,” he said, his words slow, determined. He stepped forward arms open. “Oh, to find peace, where death haunts me not! ’Tis best my blade—” He reached down, the movement so quick Sabine barely noticed, and pulled his knife into view.
The entire assemblage gasped in horror.
Niall held the blade aloft. Sabine wondered how anyone could be so blatantly stupid.
“’Tis best my blade stills my heart,” he said.
Someone’s blade will still this fool’s heart. Sabine glanced at the agog faces surrounding her.
“What beguiles my spirit to live, to soar?” Niall asked the air. Then he thrust his free hand inside his doublet and pulled out Sabine’s sac . He cut a direct path to her with his steady blue gaze. “What beguiles my spirit to live?…to soar? But this key I return…uh…as I’ve found the door.”
She could barely find the strength to move, then stared into the eyes of the Highland fox. He smiled at her and bowed, low before his queen. Before her .
Applause drowned out Sabine’s confusion and dizziness.
“Enchanting! Delightful!” the queen proclaimed.
Sabine was not relieved. She took a deep breath but could not steady herself. The wine. No food. Not good.
Niall continued to bow.
“We are most amused,” Mary said. “Rise.”
Niall stood upright. Sabine tried to watch his every move. He concealed his knife back in the brocade wrapped about his calf.
The queen regarded Niall curiously. Then she smiled. “We are not familiar with your work, good player. ’Twould please us to know you.” She waved a hand toward Niall’s mask. “Would you be so kind…?”
“ Non, ” Sabine whispered. Inside her head took a nasty spin. She grabbed the arms of her chair.
He bowed slightly and reached up and grasped the bottom of his mask with his strong thumb and forefinger.
“Aye, Yer Majesty. ’Twould be an honor,” he said.
No one is that bold or foolhardy. No one but this savage Highlander.
“Sweet Sainte Giles,” Sabine breathed, closing her eyes. “Help us .”
And the goodly Saint shoved her backward into darkness.
chapter 4
Deep in the Royal Lair
N iall stared down at Sabine. His purpose for being in Holyrood Palace was suddenly replaced with concern for her.
He stood with the others: ladies-in-waiting, attendants, men in fancy doublets, women in gowns worth as much as a half-dozen cattle. They stared down at Sabine crumpled on the floor beside her chair. Her mask still covered the top of her face, and she looked like a conquered bird, forever a part of the earth.
She had imbibed too much spirit. He could smell it on her.
The prospect of marrying Campbell too much for her to bear sober.
He swore he caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes before she was so quickly introduced to this finely waxed Scots pine floor.
The queen remained calmly seated, her gaze on Sabine, and on the bored fop beside her who yawned and waved his goblet for more wine. The many elite who had come to this party stood behind Niall, wrapped in hushed whispers, no doubt perturbed that their masque had been disrupted by one fainting lass. Perchance they were used to two or three fainters in one evening.
Niall knelt beside her and gently removed her mask. She never looked lovelier than this moment in unwonted sleep and not insulting him to his face.
“What is this disruption?” a familiar voice shouted. A shadow soon fell over Niall. He looked up, over Sabine, through the holes in his mask.
Campbell stood over them like a dark menace. His eyes narrowed behind the raven’s mask he wore. Mask or no mask, Niall knew that bloody scourge anywhere.
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