Delight by Jillian Hunter

Author:Jillian Hunter [Hunter, Jillian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: European Renaissance, Highlands, Princess, Nautical
Published: 1999-01-19T04:50:06+00:00

"The man claims to have taken a vow of chastity!" Rowena shouted with a snort of laughter, falling backward onto her bed. "There goes my hope of begetting any heirs in a hurry!"

Hildegarde rushed forward to close the chamber door. "Calm yourself, Highness. Vows can be broken."

"How?" Rowena demanded.

"Well, there are potions—" Hildegarde's hands flew to her face. "God, what am I saying? If the man wishes to remain chaste, 'tis a sin for us to tempt him."

The evening of the feast had arrived. The castle hummed like a beehive with secret activity. Douglas dressed for the affair with the enthusiasm of a man going to his own execution. 'Twas clear he could not keep Rowena captive much longer. She had been at Dunmoral for over a week. 'Twas also clear that the woman was not overly impressed with his image as the "Virgin Earl." She gave an evil chuckle every time she saw him.

He turned to examine his lean profile in the pier glass. "Well, how do I look?"

"Put on that quilted waistcoat, sir," Willie said from the wardrobe.

Gemma shook her head. "It might make him look fat."

Douglas frowned. His crew had indeed grown slothful in their retirement. They'd put on weight. Even he had begun to feel a wee bit sluggish in the mid-section.

A month ago he'd started to swim faithfully every morning in the bone-numbing waters of the loch. One hundred exhausting laps as if preparing to woo a princess qualified as a marathon event.

He slapped his rock-hard stomach. "A -pirate with a paunch, or the Laird of Lard? Not as long as there is breath in my body." He strapped on his sword. His golden earring winked in the candlelight.

"Ye look lovely, sir," Baldwin said in approval. "I've never seen ye look nicer."

"You look like a pirate," Gemma said, frowning.

Willie came up behind him with a flagon of scented water. "What's wrong with that?"

Gemma gazed at Douglas's reflection. "He's supposed to look like the laird. Why aren't you wearing the red high-heeled shoes we bought in Naim?"

"Because I do not wish to wobble about like a woman." He stuck his fingers into the cravat that spilled from his strong brown throat. "Who lit that fire? I'm roasting in all this lace. Willie, touch that perfume stopper to my wrist and die. I'm not smelling like a French lily for anyone. I tire of playing the twiddlepoop."

"If you won't wear the heels, then you must wear the plaid," Gemma said. "Take off your clothes again, Douglas."

"In a pig's eye," he retorted.

"Red heels are the fashion at court, Douglas."

He put on his plumed hat. It overshadowed his sun-burnished face, carving hollows beneath the angular bones. "How does this look?"

"The hat is a dead giveaway," Gemma said in exasperation. "The laird is supposed to wear a bonnet with a feather in it."

"A bonnet?" Douglas laughed at that. Then he took a pair of scrolled pistols from the dressing table and stuck them in the sash over his shoulder. "Is that better?"

Gemma stared at him.

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