“She does not annoy me,” the laird said, and reaching down, he lifted Fiona up into his arms. “She is my daughter, madame.”
“I don’t like her, Da,” Fiona whispered to her father. “I will be very angry if you want to marry her.”
“Mistress Grant has a husband, Fiona,” her father reassured her.
“Then why is she clinging to you and showing you her tits?” Fiona demanded.
“Fiona, Mistress Grant’s gown is the height of fashion and I am quite jealous,” Alix said in an effort to smooth things over. She saw the laird was close to laughter, and so was she. Poor Eufemia Grant looked so outraged, for Fiona’s whispers were quite plainly understood.
“Your daughter’s manners lack gentility and delicacy, my lord,” Eufemia Grant said and, turning, she stalked away.
Malcolm Scott chuckled, unable to restrain his amusement. Alix was caught up in a frenzy of giggles. Neither could help themselves. Fiona looked between them, and deciding that they were not angry at her, grinned.
“Praise God and his Blessed Mother that the woman didn’t speak French,” the laird said. “Fiona told Mistress Grant she was ugly.”
“She is,” Fiona said. “And she smelled beneath all that perfume she had bathed herself in, Da. She obviously does not wash regularly like Alix and like me. I did not like her. Why was she hanging on Da that way?”
“She is part of Queen Marie’s household,” Alix told the girl. “I think she was just attempting to make your father feel welcome.”
“Precisely!” the laird agreed.
“I did not like her,” Fiona repeated.
It was at that moment the queen returned, escorted by a handsome gentleman. “My lord, have you met Adam Hepburn? Adam, this is the Laird of Dunglais, Malcolm Scott.”
Adam Hepburn was a tall, big-boned man with rich auburn hair and light eyes that seemed to waver between green and blue. He held out his hand to the laird, shook it, then smiled at Alix and Fiona. “And who are these two fair ladies?” he asked.
“My daughter, Fiona,” the laird said, “and Mistress Alix Givet, who is her companion.”
“Mistress Givet is my kinswoman of Anjou’s goddaughter,” Queen Marie said.
“And how did an English queen’s godchild end up in Scotland?” the Hepburn lord asked, curious.
“I will tell you the story later, my lord,” Queen Marie murmured.
“Have you seen the battlements yet?” Adam Hepburn asked Malcolm Scott.
“Nay,” the laird answered.
“Tomorrow,” the queen said quietly. “The laird’s visit should be considered social, my lord. I do not wish to draw the attention of others to its real purpose.”
“Forgive me, madame,” Adam Hepburn quickly replied. “I am as anxious as you to hear his opinion. I forget that even here at Ravenscraig we are not entirely safe from prying eyes and sharp ears.”
The queen smiled a tender smile at the Hepburn. “Always be here to watch over me, my lord,” she said quietly.
Malcolm Scott caught Alix’s eye. He saw the faintly surprised look upon her face. “Tell me,” he said, turning the subject, “is the captain of your guard aware of his wife’s nature, madame? Forgive me, but I am not used to being approached so boldly.”
Adam Hepburn laughed heartily. “I believe Eufemia Grant has feline blood in her veins. She seems to stalk naturally. So far she hasn’t caused a scandal, and so far her husband hasn’t killed her.”
The laird joined in his laughter. “He probably will have to eventually,” he remarked. “She quite put my little daughter out.”
“Eufemia doesn’t like women of any age,” Adam Hepburn said.
“My lords,” the queen gently admonished them. “David Grant is most loyal.”
A group of children suddenly entered the hall and came to where the queen stood. The eldest of them was a handsome young boy between nine and ten with an olive complexion, dark hair, and fine dark eyes. It was obvious who he was.
“Jamie!” the queen said, and she curtsied, as did Alix and Fiona. The two gentlemen bowed to the young king.
