The Magnificent Rogue Page 2

  Elizabeth shook her head. “He’s too clever for them. You took him at Craighdhu?”

  Percy shook his head. “Edinburgh. Craighdhu would have been impossible. Those barbarian clansmen of his would not have been amenable to seeing their chief in chains. His Majesty, your kinsman James, however, was all too eager to turn a blind eye while I removed an irritating thorn from his side.”

  “How impossible?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “How impossible is it to break Craighdhu’s defenses?”

  “Perhaps not entirely impossible.” His lips twisted. “If attacked by a fleet the size of the armada Philip of Spain is building to put to sea against Your Majesty.”

  “That strong …” The news did not seem to displease the Queen. “No weakness?”

  “Craighdhu is an island off the western coast of Scotland. I understand it’s a barren, dark place of mountains and mists. The castle is well fortified and has only one harbor that can be broached from the sea. That port is extremely well guarded.” He paused. “May I ask if there’s a reason why we should be concerned about the strength of his lordship’s holdings?”

  Elizabeth didn’t appear to hear him. “What manner of man is he?”

  “Deadly.”

  She waved an impatient hand. “I have no problem with that. A man who is lacking in dangerous qualities is no man at all. What other impressions can you give me?”

  God’s blood, what did she want from him now? More than a year ago she had demanded and received the most detailed report on the scoundrel he had ever compiled for her. He had been ordered to bring her many such secret reports on various gentlemen during the past three years, but something about the earl of Craighdhu had caught her interest. He could not understand her obsession with this Scot. Robert MacDarren held no power in James’s court in Scotland, nor in Elizabeth’s in England. Of course, the possibility existed that his pirating of Spanish ships had won her approval. Elizabeth had always expressed a fondness toward her buccaneers, but Robert MacDarren did not fly under her flag.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  He tried to ignore his own dislike of the fellow and give her what she wanted. “Intelligent.”

  “Brilliant,” she corrected.

  He inclined his head. “Perhaps.”

  “Don’t quibble. He took four of Philip’s galleons in six months.”

  “Which may mean he has excellent warrior instincts. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s—”

  “Brilliant,” she reiterated.

  “May I remind Your Majesty, he also took one of your ships?”

  “I believe he had a purpose in that.”

  “Gold.”

  She gazed at him thoughtfully. “He’s raised your hackles. You bristle when you speak of him. Why?”

  Percy hesitated. “He … annoys me.”

  She was silent, waiting.

  “I do not like these wild Highlanders.”

  “Particularly this wild Highlander?”

  “He’s nothing but an outlandish rogue,” he burst out. “He has the tongue of a viper, no respect for any authority but his own, and … he laughs too much.”

  She raised her brow. “Laughs?”

  “He finds humor in the most inappropriate subjects.”

  “Such as?”

  He was not about to confess how MacDarren had mocked the turned-up toes of his fashionable puce-colored shoes. “Anything that is out of his realm of barbarism,” he said tartly.

  “Why won’t you …” She trailed off, studying him for a moment, her gaze traveling from his scarlet-feathered velvet cap to the white doublet puffed to almost feminine fullness at his hips and then down to his fine purple hose and silver-embroidered garters. She suddenly chuckled. “He made fun of your attire?”

  He flushed. Elizabeth’s instinct was uncanny, and she never hesitated to tear aside barriers best left intact. “I did not say that.”

  “But a brilliant man who has been left without weapons would probe until he found a suitable one.”

  “Are you saying you find my attire—”

  “Entirely suitable,” she said soothingly. “You’re the envy of all my courtiers, and I like a bit of gaud. But as you say, a man of MacDarren’s barbarian upbringing would not appreciate the niceties of court dress.” She changed the subject. “He was alone when you took him?”

  “A chief of a clan is seldom alone. The clan demands a henchman to accompany the chief at all times for his protection. We were forced to take his cousin, Gavin Gordon, as well.” He shrugged. “The man was surprisingly inadequate at his duty. My captain of the guard said it was MacDarren who was forced to protect both himself and the henchman. Gordon was wounded in the fray.”

  “But he lives?”

  “He lost a good deal of blood, but he’s on the mend.”

  “Good. We may be able to use him.”

  “For what?”

  “Even rogues have loyalties, and from what you’ve reported, the earl is prone to be as extravagant with his friends as he is with his enemies.” She stood up with a flurry of amber velvet skirts and adjusted the stiff pleated ruff that framed her throat. “As we shall soon see. Let’s get to it. You shall accompany me to the Tower.”

  “Now?” His eyes widened in surprise. “But it is nearly midnight, Your Majesty.”

  “All the better. I do not want my visit to be shouted from every street corner in London. Go tell them to summon my barge.”

  “Would not tomorrow do as well?”

  “No, it would not,” she snapped. “Thanks to your laggardness, time has almost run out. Do as I bade you.”

  Percy’s lids lowered to hide his anger. By God, it went against the grain to stand here and take her abuse. Queen or not, she was only a woman, and her behavior in this matter went entirely beyond the bounds of reason. First, he had been insulted by that impudent rogue, and now he was being accused of laggardness. What was he supposed to have done? Gone sailing after that barbarian while he raided Spanish galleons?

  He took a deep breath and then said through clenched teeth, “Immediately, Your Majesty.” He bowed low and backed from the room.

  By all that was holy, the man was growing pompous. Elizabeth watched the door close behind Percy before she strolled over to the window to stare out into the darkness. But though a fop and a trifle above his station, Percy was evidently no fool. He had gotten her MacDarren!

  She glanced back at the document on her desk and felt the muscles in her back and shoulders tense. It was there, waiting for her signature. Dear God, was there no way out?

  She knew the answer.

  But she did not have to face it yet. In spite of the pleadings of those bloodthirsty leeches in Parliament, she would not give in.

  Not yet.

  Not before she set her plans in motion.

  How had it come to this? she thought wearily. She had only wished to protect and guard, but lies had a habit of begetting lies until the entire world seemed webbed with falsehood.

  She tore her gaze away from the document and immediately felt better. There was no way for her to win that battle. Her coming confrontation with MacDarren was much more to her liking. From what she had heard he was a man worthy of her steel, and there was nothing she liked better than proving to a clever man how much more clever a woman could be.

  She turned away from the window and moved briskly toward her dressing room. “Margaret! My cloak.”

  “I failed you.” Gavin glanced gloomily around the small cell and then looked at Robert, who was on the other cot across the room. “We would not be here if I had done my duty.”

  Robert yawned. “You’re entirely right. You’re an abysmal henchman. You handle a sword as if it were a broomstick and are as clumsy as a pregnant sea lion.”

  Gavin wrinkled his nose. “The rest is true enough, but I resent being compared to a sea lion. Besides, how could a lion be pregnant? It would have to be a lioness to—You’re not listening.”

 
“I’m listening. You were berating yourself for putting us in this predicament. Go on, I’m sure it’s very good for you.”

  “It’s true, you know. I should never have been the one to accompany you. Jock wouldn’t have let you be taken.”

  “We were outnumbered.”

  “You’ve been outnumbered before. If I hadn’t been wounded, you would have managed to get away.”

  “Gavin.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re boring me. I agree you’re a terrible henchman, but you’ve always had one saving grace. You were never a bore.”

  “Just a jester in your hall,” Gavin said glumly. “You should have left me at—My God, it’s hot in here.” He sniffed. “And it smells.”

  “That’s probably me.” Robert sniffed. “No, I believe it’s you.”

  Gavin sat up in his cot and swung his legs to the floor. “Next you’ll say I smell like a sea lion too.”

  “I’ve never gotten close enough to one to smell its scent.”

  “I have.” Gavin’s face suddenly lit up with eagerness as he remembered that golden day. “Once I camped out on the barrens and watched them. They were frightened at first, and then they got used to me and let me come close.”

  “Really? You never told me.”

  “It was when I was a boy.” He frowned, trying to remember. He and Robert, who was five years older, had grown up together on Craighdhu. He had trailed behind him all over the island, and they had shared a multitude of experiences. That day had been so special to Gavin that surely he would have told Robert about it. “It must have been when you were in Spain.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Gavin couldn’t see Robert’s expression in the dim cell, but he heard the sudden reserve in Robert’s tone that hadn’t been there before. He had blundered again. He knew Robert didn’t like to talk about that time. He wasn’t usually so stupid; it must be this damn fever. “Well, anyway, I know I don’t smell like a sea lion.”

  “I’ll accept your word on it. Are you thirsty?”

  “A little.” More than a little in truth, but he didn’t know if he had the strength to get up and fetch water from the pitcher on the table across the room, and he didn’t want to ask Robert for anything more. He had done too much already. He had cared for Gavin as if he were a helpless bairn on the long journey from Edinburgh, binding his wound, bathing his head when the fever struck.

  “Lie back down. I’ll get you some water.”

  “No, I can—”

  Robert was already moving. Gavin watched as he poured water from the pitcher into a goblet.

  “Why did you take me to sea with you this time instead of Jock?”

  “You wanted to come.”

  “I thought I did. All those stories of gold and glory …”

  “Well, there was gold aplenty.” Robert brought the goblet to Gavin. “But no glory.”

  Gavin drank thirstily. “I didn’t like the blood. I didn’t think there would be so much of it.”

  “You can’t take ships without shedding blood, and Craighdhu needs the gold.”

  Gavin knew that was true. Craighdhu was not fertile enough to feed her people, and Robert had done only what was necessary.

  He took another drink. “Are they going to hang us, Robert?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  “You heard Montgrave. The queen wants to see me.”

  “I told you that you shouldn’t have raided her ship.”

  “I doubt if that’s why we’re occupying this cell. Everyone knows Montgrave handles the queen’s more confidential assignments.”

  “Then why?”

  “I have a few ideas. More water?”

  Gavin shook his head.

  “Then lie down again.” Robert gently pushed him back and covered him with the blanket.

  He had never known Robert could be gentle until he had fallen ill, Gavin thought. No, that was not true. He could dimly remember that gentleness when they were younger. But since Robert had been back from Spain, he had known only the hard, mocking man they called Black Robert of Craighdhu. The chief who distanced himself from everyone and let no one come too close, the leader who dealt in blood and force as easily as he executed the decisions of the clan. Not like himself, Gavin thought ruefully, remembering how he had hung his head over the rail and been sick after his first battle.

  Robert sat back down on his own cot and leaned against the wall. He didn’t seem worried, but then Robert seldom showed his feelings. Gavin had watched him sit that way a hundred times, outwardly at ease but drawing silence and strength around him like a cloak of power.

  Gavin said, “If she does intend to hang us—”

  “Then we’ll find a way to escape.”

  “You’ll have to go without me.”

  “No.”

  Gavin had known that would be his answer, but he felt honor-bound to pursue it. “I’m not strong enough to be any good to you.”

  “You’re stronger than you think.” Robert’s tone was final, and Gavin felt a tiny rush of relief. It was all very well to offer to sacrifice your life, but it was infinitely better to have that offer refused. Not that he had expected anything else. Gavin belonged to Craighdhu, and to Robert that meant he must be protected against all enemies. Besides, why should he be worried? Robert would manage to get them out of here. Robert was more clever than anyone he knew. If it became necessary, he would find a way to escape. and take Gavin with him.

  “You’re probably right.” Gavin’s tone became light as he settled himself into a more comfortable position. “I’ve always found I rise splendidly to any occasion.”

  “That doesn’t involve blood,” Robert added dryly.

  “Well, then you’ll just have to think of some way to get us out of here that meets that condition, won’t you?”

  • • •

  The cell was dank, dark, and unpleasant, Elizabeth noticed, as Percy threw open the door. By the light of the candle he carried, she could barely discern two figures on cots across the room.

  “Take Gordon to another cell until we’re through with the earl,” Montgrave ordered the guard accompanying them. “Her Majesty wishes to speak to His Lordship in privacy.”

  The guard roughly pulled Gordon from his cot and pushed him toward the door.

  A curse erupted from the other cot. “Goddammit, be careful, you fool,” Robert MacDarren said sharply. “Let him walk by himself. Do you wish to open his wound?”

  The guard didn’t answer as he pushed Gavin Gordon past Elizabeth. She caught a glimpse of tousled red hair, bloodshot blue eyes, and freckles dusting a parchment-pale face. Why, he was only a boy. She doubted if he had reached his twentieth year. A strange choice to guard the man they called Black Robert.

  “On your feet,” Percy said to MacDarren as he placed the candle on the table. “Can you not see who is honoring you with her presence?”

  The dark figure on the cot didn’t move. Arrogance, Elizabeth thought. Well, she had no quarrel with arrogance. She had an abundance of that quality herself, and a touch of it in him would serve her well.

  “Leave us, Percy.” She moved forward into the cell. “Come back when I call.”

  “But, Your Majesty,” Percy protested. “It’s not safe. He will—”

  “Throttle me? Ridiculous,” she scoffed. “He may be without manners, but he’s no madman. Go.”

  Percy hesitated before stepping back and slamming shut the door.

  “Now that he’s gone, do you suppose you could bring yourself to display courtesy?” she admonished. “You do not have to prance and pose to show how brave and uncaring you are.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then MacDarren chuckled. “Good evening, Your Majesty.” He stood up and bowed. “Forgive me. I judged you incorrectly. I assumed you had a fondness for poseurs like Montgrave. Naturally, in my precarious situation I wanted only to please you.”

  She peered into the shadows but could discer
n only the white blur of his shirt and the fact that he was big, very big. “I cannot see you. Come closer.”

  “I fear I’m both disheveled and aromatic. I understand your senses are very delicate, and I would not offend you.”

  Mockery. She suppressed a flare of anger. One of the reasons she had chosen him was his lack of reverence for authority, and she could not have it both ways. However, it might be wise to remind him that authority had certain advantages. “My feelings are not so sensitive that I could not bear to witness you punished for your insolence. This tower has witnessed the breaking of stronger men than you, my lord. Now, come here and let me see you.”

  He let a moment pass before strolling forward into the pool of light.

  God’s blood, he was comely.

  She had always had a fondness for dark men. Her own dear Robin had this same Latin coloring. No doubt it was MacDarren’s Spanish mother who had given him his gypsy-black hair, the brows that slashed over deep-set dark eyes, and the skin that was more golden than tan. Unusually high cheekbones hollowed his cheeks and made his well-shaped lips appear all the more sensual in contrast. His body was tall and fit, his legs powerful and bulging with muscle in their hose, and he had moved with a sleek, animallike grace that stirred her senses. Comeliness was not necessary for her purpose, but she was pleased that he possessed it.

  “But you have no desire to break me,” he said softly. “Do you, Your Majesty? You have something else in mind.”

  She gazed at him with wariness. “You think so? That must have given you comfort, lying here in this dark cell.”

  He smiled. “It did, actually.”

  Good white teeth, she noticed, and, though charged with mockery, that smile had a certain bold charm.

  “I’m sure that disappoints you,” he continued. “Did you picture me lying here trembling in fear of your royal wrath?”

  “It would not be unheard-of in your situation.”

  He shook his head. “If you had wanted me dead, Montgrave could have accomplished that end in Edinburgh. Instead, you brought me to London at some little bother to dear Percy.”

  “More than some little bother. Two dead men, I understand.”

  “But you thought it worthwhile to forfeit their lives for your purpose.”