Unlacing the Lady in Waiting. Amanda McCabe
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Unlacing the Lady in Waiting
Amanda McCabe
Scotland, 1561
Lady Helen Frasier thought Highlanders were barbaric—until she shared an intimate encounter with her betrothed, James McKerrigan. Though their families were enemies, the Highland lord roused a surprising passion in Helen. Then she was chosen to become a lady in waiting to the queen, and their engagement was broken.
Now, Helen has returned to Scotland and her jilted lover, who has vowed to take revenge and claim his promised bride….
Author Note
As a history enthusiast (to say the least; my less-nice friends call me a history geek!) I’ve long been fascinated by the complex and tragic life of Mary Queen of Scots, and I was so happy to have the chance to use her as a secondary character in Unlacing the Lady in Waiting. I knew quite a bit about her later life in English captivity, but not much about her early days back in Scotland after years in France. I also loved getting to use Scotland as a setting for the first time (but not the last! Look for a full-length novel in the near future, where we glimpse Helen and James as a married couple…).
If you’d like to read more about the period, here are a few sources I enjoyed:
—John Guy, The True Life of Mary Stewart, Queen of Scotland (2004)
—Roderick Graham, Mary Queen of Scots: An Accidental Tragedy (2009)
—Antonia Fraser, Mary Queen of Scots (1969)
—JS Richardson, The Abbey and Palace of Holyroodhouse (1978) (plus the guidebook to Holyrood now available at the palace, the photos were invaluable!)
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter One
Scotland, 1559
“Lady Helen! Where are you? You know we can find you…”
Lady Helen Frasier ran faster along the garden path, one hand holding up the hem of her new white brocade gown. She clapped her hand hard over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. Despite her dismal mood that day, it gave her great pleasure to evade her attendants. They wouldn’t find her—she would make sure of that.
She ducked into the narrow entrance of the maze, and the high, prickly green walls of the hedges closed in around her. She couldn’t hear the calls of her maids any longer, or the noise from the house as her father’s servants prepared for the banquet. She couldn’t even hear the faint rush of the sea just beyond the estate’s high walls.
She could only hear the sound of her own breath as she gasped for air in her stiff, embroidered bodice, and the crunch of her shoes on the gravel pathway. The pale gray sky arched over her head, full of shifting clouds that promised rain later, rain that would surely ruin her father’s plans for torch-lit dancing in the garden.
Helen didn’t care if the whole cursed party was ruined, if the house fell down and the garden drowned. She never wanted tonight to come. She never wanted to leave this maze at all.
Stopping to catch her breath, she pressed her hand to the stiff bodice over her abdomen, feeling the pearl beadwork press into her palm. The wind felt colder now, and bit through her thin gold tissue sleeves and over her bare shoulders. This was the finest gown she had ever worn, and usually she would revel in the fine fabric and stylish cut. It had come all the way from France, as had the garden designer and the cook who labored now in the kitchens to prepare the sumptuous banquet.
She hated the new gown today. She wanted to rip it off.
But she just took in another breath, as deep as she could, and shook back the heavy length of loose auburn hair from her shoulders. She was alone now; they couldn’t find her. This maze was her own world, where she wasn’t forced to say or do anything she didn’t want.
In her dreamworld, she didn’t have to marry any blasted McKerrigan.
Helen leaned her palms on her knees, bending over to let the sudden sick feeling pass. The brocade skirt slid against her palms. She closed her eyes tightly, but the memory of what happened a few days ago wouldn’t be dismissed.
She heard her father’s stern voice again as he told her she would marry the son of their old family enemies the McKerrigans, felt again the cold panic that washed over her, drowning her. She saw his bearded face turn scarlet at her protests.
“None of us want this match, girl!” he had shouted as she burst into tears. “For a Frasier to wed a McKerrigan—it’s an abomination. But if we’re to survive it must be done. So cease your wailing!”
And she felt again his slap across her face, knocking her to the side.
All her life she had been told the McKerrigans were wicked barbarians, nothing but cattle thieves and murderers, the enemies of the Lowland Frasiers for decades. And now, for reasons she could not fathom, she was to marry one.
All her girlish dreams of dances and masques, of romance and splendor, were dying in the face of a bleak future with a crude McKerrigan. She had spent all her life at the mercy of her father’s cold will, feeling alone in his house, alone in the world. Now she would be alone in the home of a McKerrigan. When would she ever be herself? When would she ever have her own life?
Helen pushed herself upright again, stiffening her shoulders, swallowing her tears. Very well—if the McKerrigans insisted on having her, she would make them very sorry. She would be the worst wife ever. She would find a way to make her own life even if she was trapped with them.
She heard the faint echo of a shout from behind the maze, and abruptly she remembered where she was and that time was growing short. Her betrothal banquet was only a few hours away, flying closer with every minute. Soon she would have to go back to the house or her father would be furious.
But not yet. Please to God, not yet!
She picked up her skirts and ran again. She hurtled around corners, scarcely knowing what she was looking for. She only wanted to go faster and faster, and never be found again.
She skidded around another corner—and ran into a solid, strong mass.
Helen cried out in shock and felt herself tumbling back toward the hard ground. Her feet in their fine new velvet shoes slid out from beneath her. She reached out blindly, grabbing for something, anything, but she snatched only cold air.
A hard arm looped around her waist and caught her just as her feet swept away from her. She was lifted up and up and braced against a muscled chest.
A man’s muscled chest. The rush of fear from the fall and from the sudden realization that she was not alone in the maze made her heart pound and her head spin in dizzy fear. She struggled within the arms that bound her, kicking out at him through her skirts and twisting wildly.
She opened her mouth to scream, but one arm released her waist and a long-fingered, callused hand clamped over her mouth.
“Minx!” a man’s rough voice hissed in her ear. She felt the warm breath on her cheek and it made her shiver. “Cease your wriggling and I’ll put you down.”
She heard the drawled vowels of a Highland accent, hoarse and strained. This wasn’t one of her father’s servants! Was he a kidnapper, seeking a rich ransom? A murderer and rapist, as she had heard all Highland Scots were?
She twisted harder in his iron grip, and tried to bite his hand.
“Don