The King's Mistress Read Online Free PDF Page B

back to her. “But bear in mind, MacKinnon knows this land and I do not. I’ll need time to track him. But most importantly, your husband has spies here and is doubtless aware of your current state of discontent. Before you can send your missive saying you think yourself to be with child, you must convince your court that you believe yourself to be so. You must appear happy and perhaps thoughtful—as if harboring a delightful secret—mayhap even act queasy in the morning, if you are to be believed and to remain blameless in Armstrong and MacKinnon’s disappearances.”
    Yes, she could do this. What a wondrous plan.
    Her nemesis would be dealt with in quiet fashion, while she remained safe and had time and opportunity to fulfill her destiny as Queen Consort of Scotland.
    With her heart lighter than it had been in months, Yolande rose on tiptoes and kissed Anton’s scruffy cheek. “Bless you and God’s speed, my dear, dear friend.”

  “ A cottie stool cannot stand on two legs. ” ~ Old Scottish Proverb
    Chapter Five
    Annan, Scotland
    “No, no, no. Lady Campbell is Sir Lyle Ross sister’s sister-by-marriage, not his brother’s, and Lady Fraser is his cousin.” Greer huffed, then tugged on the woven girdle at Genny’s waist. “And you wear this lower…thus.”
    Genny frowned at the ornate silver-and-black rope riding low on her hips. “But now the girdle will fall as I walk.”
    Rolling her eyes, her sister took a step back. “You shan’t be tromping through fields in Edinburgh, Gen, but gliding across wooden floors. The girdle will stay put. And stop fiddling with that necklace. You’ll break it.”
    “’Tis heavy.” Genny pushed up the cold jet crucifix suspended on large silver beads—doubtless a gift from the king—to relieve the pressure on the back of her neck. A weighty price, even for her deception.
    “Aye, and most valuable, so do take care,” Greer growled and held out the delicate leather slippers she’d pulled from her satchel. “Now put these on, and we’re done.”
    Genny snatched the foolish-looking pointy-toed shoes from her sister’s hands and settled on a three-legged cottie stool, the only seating in the stable’s storeroom. Seeking a night’s shelter for Greer in the nearby Bruce stronghold had been out of the question. Several within would have recognized her.
    The air in the stable might hang heavy with the scents of moldering hay and dung, but no one would see them, and for two pence the smithy’s mistress had provided a coarse but clean blanket to place upon the rush pallet nestled in the corner, a pitcher of fresh water, a few slivers of mutton and a loaf of brown bread.
    Greer, looking about, muttered under her breath, “How far we have fallen.”
    “It could be worse.” Genny wiggled her cramped toes, surprised to learn her sister’s feet were apparently a tad smaller than her own.
    Her sister snorted in derisive fashion and turned to stare out the chest-high window carved into the barn’s plastered wall. After a moment she murmured, “You’ll find no friends at court.”
    Genny frowned. “But what of the ladies Campbell and Fraser?” The French ladies at court likely kept to themselves, but surely the Scotswomen—
    “They were welcoming when I first arrived, before Alexander took notice of me. Then they grew distant and more so with each passing month.”
    “I see.” Apparently her sister’s life at court hadn’t been a bed of flower petals any more than her life in Buddle had been. At least none at court would expect her to share confidences with them.
    No one, that was, save the king. How she, an imposter, would deal with the philanderer she had yet to fathom, but deal with him she would. Aye, this deplorable situation her sister found herself in had more than one author.
    Noticing the shadows had lengthened, Genny reluctantly rose. “I fear I must take my leave for Buddle. MacKinnon may decide to return early to check on you.”
    “He shan’t.