A Hellion at the Highland Court (The Highland Ladies #9) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,1

an alliance. Myrna fancied herself the next Lady Munro and had gone to extreme lengths to enact her plan, making their parents banish Laurel to the depraved wilds of court and attempting to ruin the marriage the king decreed between Padraig and Cairren Kennedy, a former lady-in-waiting.

Arriving alone had terrified Laurel, her father having sent a contingent of warriors with her but no family. She’d felt abandoned, and even though she’d made a home for herself at court, she still felt the same as she had when she was five-and-ten years old. Monty grimaced, then offered Laurel a sheepish frown before lifting the newly cut and rolled wool from the merchant’s stall. Laurel paid the man with a self-satisfied smile and a cocked eyebrow. She narrowed her eyes at the smaller man as she leaned forward and whispered, “You’d do well to remember that while I may be a lady, I barter like a Lombard, you crooked-nosed knave.”

The merchant could do little more than stand and blink rapidly as Laurel straightened. He wasn’t wont to argue with the noblewoman any more than he had, but he chafed at the insult. She might have been right that his claims were ridiculous, and he was classless, but the comment smarted. However, he was used to Laurel’s ruthless business acumen and viperous tongue. He chided himself for his foolishness, and Laurel cast a smug gaze over the vendor before turning to walk alongside Monty.

“How have you fared since last I was here, Laurel?” Monty asked.

“The same as always,” Laurel demurred.

“Miserable,” Monty responded.

“Not miserable so much as fed up. But I may as well pick out my burial plot since I shall be here till the end.”

“Still prone to exaggeration. The Highlands haven’t left you.”

“But I’ve left them far behind,” Laurel muttered. She’d had the same internal battle countless times. She longed for the wide open, rugged land where she’d grown up, but she didn’t wish to return to a family that rarely thought of her. Her brother was the only member of her clan who she saw with any regularity besides the guards assigned to her detail for years on end and her loyal maid. She sympathized with the men trapped at Stirling Castle, but her arguments that she didn’t need her clansmen fell on deaf ears with her father. It was the only condition he set for her while she resided at court. Besides ensuring she was protected when she left the castle, her parents cared not what happened. They’d abandoned their hope of her making a suitable match, just as they’d abandoned her.

“Then why not snag yourself a Highlander at court and return,” Monty suggested with a shrug.

“Would that it be so easy to escape Sodom and Gomorrah,” Laurel snapped. “Who wants the penniless lady-in-waiting?”

“You are hardly a pauper, Laurel,” Monty disagreed.

“Have you brought the chests of coin and silver for my dowry then?” Laurel countered. Her initial excitement at her brother’s arrival had rapidly turned into wariness. She turned a withering glare on Monty. “Och, dinna mind me and ma Highland exaggeration, brother. There’s nae chests of aught for me.” Laurel adopted an accent she’d rarely used in her time at court. She’d lost her brogue within a day of arriving when she realized she faced little but condemnation from the Queen’s other ladies, who mostly hailed from the Lowlands.

“That’s not true, Laurel,” Monty hedged, but Laurel’s intensifying glare made him stop. They’d reached the gates of Stirling Castle, so Laurel reached for the fabric Monty still carried. But he refused to relinquish it before he made amends. “Will you dine with me this eve? Will the queen allow it?”

“Aye. I can dine with you,” Laurel agreed with a jerky nod. She always longed for the familiarity and comfort of Monty’s visits, but it was more a longing for what she wished could be, rather than what existed. She knew she wouldn’t be through the first course before she wished to escape. Monty only served as a reminder that she was only a Ross in name since she had so little knowledge of what happened day-to-day at Balnagown. She drew the fabric from Monty’s arms and strained to kiss his cheek. “Is Donnan with you?”

Monty recoiled before narrowing his eyes at Laurel. “You know that he is. I never travel without my second.”

Laurel shook her head with a resigned frown. “You know I consider him as much my brother as I do you. When will you believe I don’t care?”