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. “Il est un MacDonald!” He is a MacDonald! “Un rebelle!” A rebel!

In an instant, two dozen guards surrounded him with their swords drawn.

O shluagh. Alex briefly considered fighting his way out, but killing a few of the regent’s guards inside the royal palace probably would not serve his clan well. Still, a man couldn’t be faulted for throwing a few punches.

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.”

Touché.

“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 tolerate it! Make no mistake, the clans in the Western Isles will be brought to heel.”

“My clan has no dispute with either the Crown or the MacIains,” Alex said, wishing he had arrived before the news of this latest rebel attack.

“I need proof,” the regent said, his eyes narrow angry slits.

“If my clan were fighting, I would be with them.” Alex spread his arms out. “As ye can see, I’m here.”

“While your chieftain is at Mingary with three hundred warriors, raping and pillaging with the rest of these traitorous heathens,” Albany shouted.

“We don’t hold with rape,” Alex said, offended.

Being called traitorous heathens, however, didn’t bother him overmuch. A Highlander’s only true allegiance was to his clan, and though Highlanders were as good of Christians as anyone, they didn’t let that interfere with the old customs more than they had to.

“If your clan is not in league with the rebels, then I expect your chieftain to send warriors promptly to fight them.”

“He will as soon as he can spare the men,” Alex said. “For now, my chieftain must keep his warriors at home to protect our clan from the MacLeods, who have already stolen some of our lands, and from the pirates, who are raiding all up and down the Western Isles. In fact, Your Grace, we could use some assistance ourselves.”

Judging from the regent’s thunderous expression, he didn’t like Alex’s suggestion.

“Perhaps the MacDonalds of Sleat need a chieftain who is willing to fight for the Crown,” Albany snapped. “I’ve been told that Hugh MacDonald would do so if he were chieftain.”

Alex usually held his temper, but the regent’s veiled threat to support Hugh in a bid to take the chieftainship from Connor had it rising fast.

“We call him Hugh Dubh, Black Hugh, because of his black heart,” Alex said. “He is one of the pirates terrorizing innocent folk, and you’d be a fool to trust him.”

The courtiers observing their exchange gasped as one.

“I will use whoever and whatever I must to put down this rebellion.” Albany’s voice was soft now, but his fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white. “Tell me, does your chieftain have a son or a brother?”

“His brother is dead, and he has no son yet.” A prickle of unease began working it’s way up Alex’s spine.

“You are his closest kin?”

“I’m as close as any, after his sister in Ireland,” Alex said.

“Then we’ll have to make do with you for a hostage,” the regent said. “You shall be our guest at Edinburgh Castle until your chieftain commits his warriors to fighting the rebels.”

The urge to escape pulsed through Alex. In a flash, he knew how he would do it. He saw himself pulling his hidden blade and springing on the regent. With his dirk at Albany’s throat, he could use him to get out of the palace. From there, it would be easy to escape the city.

Alex was quick, and he was bold. He knew he could do it.

There was nothing he would hate more than to be locked in a confined space for months or years. He would rather fight a hundred battles, die a dozen ugly deaths.

And yet, a man must make the sacrifice that is needed, not the one he would choose for himself. If serving as the Crown’s hostage would buy Connor time for the clan, Alex must let them take him.

Albany waved his hand at the guards and shouted, “Seize him!”

CHAPTER 19

My, don’t ye look lovely,” Glynis’s aunt Peg said, clasping her hands together in front of her. “The gown fits ye like a glove.”

Glynis ran her hands over the soft wool. It felt strange to be wearing her mother’s clothes. Bessie, the slight, middle-aged maid, had found the trunk with her mother’s things in the attic.

“Ye are just her size,” Bessie said, as she fastened the last button at the back of Glynis’s neck. “And just as pretty.”

“My father always said how much I was like her.” And he never seemed to notice the look of irritation on her stepmother’s face when he said it.

For the first time, Glynis felt guilty, knowing how worried her father must be about her. They had always had a close bond, though their fights since she left Magnus had strained it badly.