Grayson saw a man’s harsh face. He looked frantic, cursing, yelling, but then he was kissing Mary, who was every bit as tall as he was, and though she wasn’t crying, Grayson felt a great sadness and, oddly, a sort of tragic acceptance. He saw Mary’s amber eyes follow Bothwell as he galloped away, three soldiers with him.
Grayson thought again,
But what is it you want me to do, Mary?
He heard a bitter, distant chant in his head.
Kill the monster who accused James of Darnley’s murder and paid to kill his own son.
His own son? You mean the Earl of Lennox, Darnley’s father?
Aye, his obsession with power knew no bounds. He was vile, evil.
Mary, you honestly believe the Earl of Lennox murdered his own son?
He didn’t pay the coin to the man who strangled his son and left him in Kirk o’ Field, but he knew who did and said nothing. He wanted me to be blamed and James.
But why?
Lennox knew Henry was too weak, too unprincipled, so after I birthed James, Lennox knew my child held all the promise he desired. Lennox believed Henry would go mad with syphilis and die with it, so he had no more use for him. Ah, but Lennox lives on—
The warm, sweet air turned viciously cold against his face, like a sharp slap without substance.
He walks the halls of my palace like he is the master. He sits at his ease in my supper room, remembering, smiling at what he achieved. He came to torment me, to taunt me. Kill Lennox, Grayson, and find my babes.
Grayson heard Cibalto yell, “Grayson! Come back!”
But he didn’t want to come back. There was so much to ask her, so much—but she was gone, leaving only a hint of lemon in the air. Grayson slowly opened his eyes and said, “Mary wants me to kill Lennox and find her babes.”
Cibalto stared at him. Then he began wringing his hands, and his words bulleted out. “She means me, since Lennox is long dead. It’s just as the curse said. I read it to you, the bit of paper Mary wrote I found in a crack in the stairs. She meant me to find it and be afraid.When the night bleeds red onto the moon, the betrayer will choke on his own blood.I hear the words at night when I want to sleep, over and over. Grayson, I have done nothing wrong! Nothing!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Saturday morning
The house was quiet. George and Lise Marie had taken the three children to shop on the Royal Mile. Young Agnes and the housemaid, Alana, had left to buy fresh vegetables, and Young Angus was helping Luther, the stable boy, clean out the horse stalls.
“We’re finally alone,” Miranda said, smiling hugely. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.
Grayson felt the weight of Mary’s damnable curse fall from his shoulders. Miranda filled his heart with her warmth, her beautiful, vibrant being. Grayson pulled her tightly against him, felt love and lust flood him. He stroked his hands through her loose hair, so thick and soft, and blessed the fates for bringing her into his life.
“It’s been too long,” he said into her mouth. He undressed her slowly, then stepped back to marvel at the perfection of her, long and slender, beautifully made, and all his. He walked her to the bed and gently lifted her, placing her on her back. His eyes never left her face as he undressed.
“Ah, you’re a splendid man, Grayson,” she said, and opened her arms to him. Between kisses, she said, “Remind me to tell you what P.C. said about you this morning.”
After both of them lay replete, feeling drained and just excellent, and when Grayson could finally talk, he said, “What did P.C. say?”
Miranda, still panting, stared up at his face in the bright morning light. “How can you even think after earth-quaking my world, much less ask a question?”
He kissed her, came up on his elbows over her. “I’m a superior being, love, surely you know that.”
She punched his elbows, bringing him flat on top of her. She squeezed him, leaned up, and lightly bit his earlobe. “P.C. allowed even though you weren’t Mr. Straithmore, she’d come to believe she could count on you, particularly after you found Brady, the future ninth Baron Worsley, and thus, you would suffice for a papa. I just stared at her, and then the little minx skipped away.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Do you mean P.C. is proposing to me?”
Miranda nipped his chin, stroked her hands down his back. “Mayhap she’s proposing for me, Grayson.”
He looked thoughtful. “There is much to consider here. P.C. will someday be a future baroness, which will make you a baroness’s mother, and that’s nothing to be sneezed at. I suppose that would place you high enough on the social ladder for me to consider, what with me being the nephew of an earl and all.”
