The Red Drifter of the Sea (Pirates of the Isles #3) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,130
least the next hour as the Latin service carried on. Elizabeth understood the Mass thanks to her cousin Deirdre Fraser, or rather now Deirdre Sinclair. Elizabeth’s mind flashed to the recent struggle her cousin faced as she reunited with her husband Magnus after a seven-year separation. Her aunt and uncle’s choice to keep Deirdre hidden from her husband simply because they didn’t think the Sinclairs were an advantageous enough match, and the resulting scandal, still humiliated the other Fraser clan members at court. She admired Deirdre’s husband Magnus’s pledge to remain faithful despite not knowing if he’d ever see Deirdre again.
Elizabeth suddenly snapped her attention; while everyone else intoned the twelfth—or was it thirteenth—amen of the Mass, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She had the strongest feeling that someone was watching her. Her eyes scanned to her right, where her parents sat further down the pew. Her mother and father had their heads bowed and eyes closed. While she was convinced her mother was in devout prayer, she wondered if her father had fallen asleep during the Mass. Again. With nothing seeming out of the ordinary and no one visibly paying attention to her, her eyes swung to the left. She took in the king and queen as they kneeled together at their prie-dieu. The queen’s lips moved as she recited the liturgy in silence. The king was as still as a statue. Years of leading warriors showed, both in his stature and his ability to control his body into absolute stillness. Elizabeth peered past the royal couple and found herself looking into the astute hazel eyes of Edward Bruce, Lord of Badenoch and Lochaber. His gaze gave her the sense that he peered into her thoughts, as though he were assessing her. She tried to keep her face neutral as heat surged up her neck. She prayed her face didn’t redden as much as her neck must have, but at a twenty-one, she still hadn’t mastered how to control her blushing. Her nape burned like it was on fire. She canted her head slightly before looking up at the crucifix hanging over the altar. She closed her eyes and tried to invoke the image of the Lord that usually centered her when her mind wandered during Mass.
A Spy at the Highland Court BOOK 1.5 SNEAK PEEK
A Companion to the Series
Dedric Hage watched as the English king continued his royal rage as courtiers and advisors eased away from their irate sovereign. His Majesty’s face was mottled with red splotches that only accentuated his fair complexion, and spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as his rant amplified. King Edward stalked about the chamber on the long legs that earned him the moniker “Longshanks.”
“I don’t give a bloody damn who oversaw the attack. It failed!” He railed against the last advisor who tried to reassure him that the recent loss was not the end of his campaign against the Scots. “Failure is failure. That usurper believes he’s gotten the upper hand, and he will continue worming his way further into England now that he thinks he has outsmarted me. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
King Edward muttered his final comments as he sank back into the engraved and carved chair that sat on a dais. His bile spewed the king retreated into his own thoughts as the rest of the chamber was left wondering what to do next.
Dedric had seen this pattern countless times over the course of his life. He was all too familiar with the king’s mercurial temper and unpredictable outbursts, but he also knew Edward was one of the best strategists and logisticians to have every lived. While he might not like the man, he respected him. At times. Ric watched as the king scanned the crowd, assessing each knight present until his eyes settled on rich, who wished he could melt into the curtains and watch the people in the gardens below.
“Sir Dedric, approach.”
A Wallflower at the Highland Court BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK
The din of music and loud conversation–along with the pervasive odor of too many unwashed or over-perfumed bodies crowded into Stirling Castle’s Great Hall–gave Maude Sutherland a pounding headache. As she observed the dancers from her position at the side of the chamber, part of her envied the other ladies-in-waiting who twirled with ease and confidence, but mostly she wished for nothing more than the blessed silence of her chamber. While Maude propped up the