MacAdam's Lass Read online

  “There’s a lot o’ catchin’ up and not much green left,” she said smartly. “Ye can’t do it, Highlander.”

  She filled Muir’s tankard and handed it back, and he saluted her with it. “Watch me.”

  As much as she wanted to resist, she couldn’t help but steal a glance as he lined up his shot at the tee.

  Why watching Drew swing a stick at a wee ball held her interest, she didn’t know. ’Twas only a silly sport, after all, a silly sport played by uncouth ruffians.

  Yet there was something about that particular uncouth ruffian that made her breath catch, something that made it nearly impossible to look away.

  There was nothing terribly remarkable about the Highlander’s physique. He wasn’t particularly tall or short, fat or thin. He didn’t have the enormous shoulders of a caber-tosser or the agility of an acrobat.

  But his concentration was astounding, and there was controlled strength and a sensual grace in his swing that made it seem he commanded the flight of the ball from the moment he addressed it on the grass.

  Watching him was like watching a master swordsman do battle, Josselin realized. The intensity of his focus, the balance of his body, the elegance of his movement, the power of his stroke…

  ’Twas breathtaking. Observing such perfect form made her heart pound as if she were watching an expert dueler wield a blade, and her face flamed with mortification as she realized she was staring.

  Drew MacAdam had a gift. There was no denying it. Too bad he couldn’t count.

  He was already up to his self-destructive tricks again. No sooner had Muir downed his prize beer for the previous hole than Drew began making outrageous claims about the next one.

  “Nobody can make it in six!” someone spat.

  “It has never been done,” another verified.

  “I can, and I will,” Drew stated.

  He didn’t.

  He made it in seven. But Muir took nine.

  Josselin frowned in amazement. Drew seemed a damned fine golfer. So why was he intentionally making bets he knew he’d lose?

  When he came trotting up to fill Muir’s tankard a second time, several other thirsty spectators joined him.

  She pulled Drew aside and whispered, “What game are ye playin’ at?”

  He smiled. “’Tis called golf, lass. I thought ye knew that.”

  “Ye know what I mean.” She took the tankard and filled it again. “Ye could easily outplay Muir. Why are ye teasin’ him like a cat dabblin’ with a mouse?”

  “Teasin’ him? Maybe ye hadn’t noticed,” he told her, tossing four pence on the counter as he left, “but I’m the one payin’ for the beers.”

  The game moved on to the next hole, and the combatants became distant specks on the rolling rise. But Josselin could tell by the sound of the crowd that Drew was making another unbelievable claim, and once again the drunken fools were falling for it.

  Suddenly the truth struck her like a bolt of lightning.

  Drew was getting Campbell Muir drunk. The Highlander might be losing his wagers on the individual holes, but his overall score was improving, while Muir’s was getting steadily worse.

  The sly devil was cheating!

  She was prepared this time when he raced up to the beer wagon just before the last hole.

  “I know what ye’re up to, Highlander,” she said, ignoring Muir’s tankard and folding her arms, “and I won’t be a party to it.”

  “What are ye talkin’ about?” he asked.

  “Ye’re tryin’ to get Muir drunk.”

  “He plays much worse when he’s drunk,” he admitted.

  “Well, I won’t take part in such cheatin’.”

  “Cheatin’?” He chortled. “And where were ye when Muir’s hound was tryin’ to bite me off at the knees?”

  “That’s…different.”

  He shook his head. “Be a good lass and fill Muir’s tankard.”

  She lifted her chin in refusal.

  In the distance came Muir’s drunken cry of, “Where’s my pint, MacAdam?”

  Drew wiggled his brows at her, his pale blue eyes all innocence.

  Giving him a glare that would frost fire, Josselin muttered a curse, snatched the tankard, filled it, and shoved it back into his hand.

  He flipped her a bawbee to pay for it, which she caught in mid-air. Before she could give him change, he nodded his head in farewell.

  “I’ll be back for another after the game,” he called back.

  She stuffed the coin into her purse. “Ye’ll need it,” she yelled. “I hear beer is good for drownin’ one’s sorrows.”

  “Oh, I won’t be drownin’ my sorrows, love,” he promised. “’Twill be a victory pint.”

  Victorious or not, she didn’t intend to loiter around to serve him beer, nor would she give him his change. The extra coin would be a gratuity for having to put up with his roguery.

  Besides, she had much more important things to think about than who won a silly golf game. Tomorrow she was going to her appointment with Philipe at Musselburgh. After two weeks of patient waiting, Josselin would finally receive an official introduction to the queen and the Four Maries. Tonight she’d make sure that she had a bath, the beer wagon was in order, and all thoughts of that troublesome Highlander were as far from her head as possible.

  Chapter 14

  Will shrank in his boots. Kate Campbell’s scowl could do that to a man. Even bold Angus and upright Alasdair were shuffling their feet and hanging their heads in the face of Kate’s wrath.

  “Ye let her do what?” Kate demanded, untying her brewster’s apron and smacking it across the tavern counter.

  Fortunately, ’twas after hours, so no one else would witness Kate hauling the three of them over the coals. Will supposed they deserved her sharp tongue-lashing. Not only had they let Jossy go to Edinburgh on her own, but they’d lied to Kate about it, telling her the lass was off visiting some long-lost cousin. They’d never dreamed Josselin would decide to remain in Edinburgh.

  ’Twas inevitable that Kate would eventually find out. Sure enough, though the three fathers had managed to keep Jossy’s missive secret for over a week, Kate had finally seen through their deception, forced them to surrender the note, and was now demanding an explanation.

  Will swallowed hard and tried to sound reasonable. “The lass is the same age as Mary, after all.”

  “Ye mean the queen,” Kate bit out, “who has the Scots army at her beck and call to defend her everywhere she goes?”

  Will reddened.

  Kate narrowed her eyes. “That Mary?”

  He shuffled his feet. “Ye don’t understand. I couldn’t tell her nay. ’Twouldn’t have been honorable.”

  “Honorable?”

  “Aye,” Will said, straightening with pride. “She won the fight, fair and square.”

  “Fight?”

  Will winced. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned that.

  “Fight?” Kate shouted, making the candle beside her flicker wildly.

  Will realized he was too deep in the mud to claw his way out. He might as well admit the truth.

  “Aye,” he said. “Listen, Kate, I know ye wanted to make a proper lass out o’ Jossy, but I couldn’t let her grow up helpless like her ma. So I taught her how to use a blade.” He added, “But she only sparred once a week.”

  After an uncomfortable silence, Angus grumbled, “Twice.”

  Will raised a surprised brow.

  “Ye, too?” Kate asked, incredulous.

  Angus kicked at the floor. “The lass has a natural talent. ’Tis a shame to waste.”

  “A shame,” Kate said in disgust. “And what about ye, Alasdair? What did ye teach our young lass?”

  “Readin’. Writin’. Sums.” He cleared his throat and murmured, “And duelin’. But only after her other studies were done.”

  Kate planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Ye know, I’d knock your three heads together if I thought ye had half a brain among ye.” />
  Will frowned, but he knew Kate was right to be upset. The three of them had unwittingly fed Jossy’s hunger for war until she was obsessed with it. Now, because of them, she might have come to harm.

  “Read it again, Alasdair,” Kate commanded, stabbing a finger at the missive clutched in his hand.

  He read, “Dear Kate and Da’s, It is with great pride that I send you the happy news that I have entered into the service of the queen. I cannot say more, but if you wish to send me correspondence, I am staying at The White Hart Inn in Edinburgh. Yours faithfully, Josselin.”

  “The service o’ the queen,” Kate repeated, turning an accusing gaze on Will. “And ye said she was dressed as a lad, aye?”

  He slowly nodded.

  Kate’s shoulders drooped, a gesture far more terrifying than her accusing finger. “Ye old fools,” she growled. “Don’t ye know what she’s done?”

  They frowned.

  “What do ye think?” Kate sighed. “She’s joined the queen’s army.”

  Angus and Alasdair scoffed in disbelief, but Will knew Kate was probably right. It had always been Jossy’s dream to fight in battle like her mother. ’Twas only a matter of time before she pursued that dream.

  Still, Will didn’t think Kate could blame them entirely. They’d done what they thought was right.

  “Well, at least she’s well-trained,” he told Kate. “At least she won’t go into battle unprepared like her ma.”

  “Lilliard?” Kate said with a humorless chuckle. “Her ma didn’t die from lack o’ trainin’. She died from lack o’ judgment. From what I can see, ’tis a flaw she’s passed on to her daughter, and a flaw ye’ve done nothin’ to fix.”

  Will considered her words. Jossy had always been impulsive, a lass of action, not words, and she tended to overestimate her strength, her reach, her endurance, and her capacity for patience. Was it possible? Had she done so rash a thing as to use her disguise to earn her a spot in the ranks of the Scottish army?

  ’Twas a sobering thought.

  Of course, she’d be found out eventually. A beauty like Josselin couldn’t pose as a lad forever. But what if she got herself into trouble and came to harm before anyone was the wiser?

  Will shivered at the vivid memory of the poor, pale corpse they’d found so many years ago on the battlefield, the maid with the same fair face and honey hair as her daughter.

  Dear God, what had he done?

  “Ye’re a sorry lot,” Kate scolded. “But ye’re goin’ to fix this. In the mornin’, the three o’ ye are goin’ to set off for Edinburgh.” She dug several silver coins out of the till. “Ye’ll go to The White Hart and settle up her account. Then, I don’t care if ye have to drag her, kickin’ and screamin’, but ye’re goin’ to bring her back home. Do ye understand?”

  All three of them nodded. The lass would be as angry as a cornered kitten when they showed up to haul her back to Selkirk. But Will knew Jossy’s temper, as fierce as ’twas, was no match for Kate’s.

  Chapter 15

  The sun dawned bright on the links at Musselburgh. The game wouldn’t begin for another half hour, but Josselin wanted to be prepared. This was a championship match. Only the best would be invited to play. Philipe had told her that the queen, who was a devotee of the game, wished to see how skilled the local players were, and this match had been secretly arranged for her benefit.

  Indeed, ’twas the promise of this meeting that had convinced Josselin to sign the document for Philipe that first day. She would be introduced to Mary and her court. ’Twould be a day she’d never forget.

  Her hands trembled as she counted out the stacks of coins she kept ready for change. This was her chance to repair the bad first impression she’d given the queen, and she didn’t want to make any mistakes.

  She smoothed her skirts and tucked stray wisps of her hair under her freshly washed white linen coif, then took a deep breath and stared off across the green. ’Twas a fine day to be outdoors. The grass was jeweled with dew, and the fluffy clouds that outlined the crags of Ard-thir Suidhe in sharp relief promised to temper the warm September sun. The sea was calm, the wind was gentle, and she could already see a lone golfer in the distance, practicing his swing at the edge of the rough.

  She narrowed her eyes. Something about the man’s stance, his stature, the fluidity of his swing…

  “Nae,” she whispered.

  It couldn’t be. Not here. Not at Musselburgh, where the queen would be arriving any moment. Not when Josselin had to be at her best, unperturbed by the perturbing winks of a cocksure Highlander.

  This was not going to happen. She had to get rid of him.

  “Hey!” she yelled.

  Her voice was as jarring to the quiet morn as a dog barking in the middle of church. But he didn’t seem to hear her.

  “Hey!” she tried again.

  Nothing.

  Then, to make matters worse, she began to hear the faint conversations of groups of golfers and spectators arriving at the course.

  “MacAdam!” she tried.

  Nothing.

  “Drew!”

  He calmly swung his club, waited to see where his ball landed, and finally turned toward her expectantly. He’d heard her all along. The cad had just chosen to ignore her.

  “Come here!” She motioned to him.

  With an intentionally languid stride, the Highlander made his way to the beer wagon.

  “What the hell are ye doin’ here?” she demanded.

  He lowered one brow. “Weren’t ye callin’ me?”

  “Not here. Here. At Musselburgh.” Her gesture encompassed the course.

  “Ah,” he said, casually laying his golf club atop the counter. “Playin’ golf.”

  She pushed his club away. “Ach, nae, ye’re not.”

  He winked. “Aye, I am.”

  “Give me your damned tankard,” she said, thrusting out her hand.

  He shook his head. “I told ye, darlin’, I don’t drink while I play.”

  “Ye’re not goin’ to play. Give me your tankard.”

  “If this is about the beer ye owe me, I’ll collect it after the game.”

  “There isn’t goin’ to be a game,” she insisted. “Ye’re goin’ to hand me your tankard. I’ll fill it with beer. And then ye’re goin’ to take your big wood sticks and wee wood balls and go home.”

  He chuckled. “Ach, lass, what is it ye have against golf?”

  “Nothin’. But this is a very important game between the local champions. Ye have no right to be—”

  “I am a local champion.”

  “What?”

  “I won the game yesterday. If ye hadn’t scampered away like a frightened rabbit, ye’d know that.”

  That came as a surprise, but he had cheated after all. Still, it didn’t change anything. She wanted him gone—before Queen Mary showed up.

  “Ye can’t play here,” she told him, handing him his club.

  “Is that so?” He wrinkled his nose doubtfully and used the head of the club to scratch his back. “And just how are ye thinkin’ to prevent me?”

  She bit the corner of her lip. A dozen options went through her head, most of them involving some form of hand-to-hand combat. But before she could suggest anything, a large group of golfers arrived on the course, and in their midst, she glimpsed Philipe.

  There was no time to battle the Highlander. She had to get rid of him now before Mary showed up.

  “Ach, very well,” she said, throwing up her arms. “Play your bloody game then. But do it over there,” she said, pointing to the furthest hole.

  He looked at her quizzically, laying his club across his shoulders and arching his back in a lazy stretch. “Ye really don’t understand golf at all, love, do ye?”

  “Nae, and one day ye can tell me all about it.” She eyed the approaching crowd. “But today ye’ve got to be on your way.”

  She leaned across the counter and pushed at his chest, which only served to amuse him.

  “If
I didn’t know better, lass, I’d say ye were plannin’ some kind o’ clandestine engagement.”

  His words startled her. ’Twas precisely what she was planning. Philipe had scrawled this location and date on the note he’d given her, the one that the Highlander had intercepted. Was that why Drew was here at this exact time and place? He’d claimed he couldn’t read, but what if that weren’t true? Had Josselin’s mission been compromised?

  His next words put her fears to rest.

  “But a tryst with the queen’s secretary himself!” he said, whistling. “What high aspirations ye have. Don’t worry, lass. I won’t get in the way o’ your courtin’.” Leaning toward her, he confided, “Though I suspect ye’ll discover I’m a far better kisser than that mincin’ twit.”

  She opened her mouth to rebuke him, then heard Philipe drawing dangerously close as he extolled the virtues of the course at Musselburgh.

  “Aye, that’s it,” she shot back, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I’ve an impendin’ tryst with Philipe. So if ye’ll leave us alone…”

  He flashed her a sly grin and made a deep, submissive bow to her before turning to wave brazenly at the approaching entourage.

  At her gasp of horror, he clasped his club to his chest and silently mouthed the words, “Far better.” Then, blessedly, he turned away and trekked back to his ball.

  Josselin blushed at the reminder, nervously tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Thankfully, Philipe seemed to be engaged in conversation with a small group of noblemen and probably hadn’t spotted Drew.

  ’Twasn’t until the entourage arrived at her beer wagon that Josselin realized with disappointment that the queen was not among them. As usual, they were all men—some nobles, some soldiers, some servants, some commoners—and everyone was thirsty.

  She filled cup after cup until one of the youths caught her eye. He looked strangely familiar. He was short and fair of face, and his hands seemed small on the tankard he handed her to fill. When he glanced up in thanks, Josselin took a second look at his wide brown eyes and glanced quickly away before the lad’s secret could get out.