Heaven and the Heather by Elizabeth Holcombe Page A

table.
    Sabine sank into it, grateful to be off of her feet, grateful to have the chance to put some food in her hollow belly. The Italian raised one dark brow as he poured her a generous glass of wine from a cobalt glass carafe. She glanced beyond the table, to the area before the queen’s empty throne where servants hastily set up the props for this evening’s entertainment.
    She mused at what could be grand and strange entertainment if that Niall MacGregor and his tousle-haired ami joined the comédie under monsieur Le Canard’s direction. She doubted those Highlanders could follow much direction. Such would be their mistake. Niall and his friend surely would spend this night in the gaol.
    “Tell me what you know of this Scotland, signorina .”
    Sabine lifted the goblet and took a sip. She sat it down thoughtfully.
    “ Signore Rizzio, I know nothing of Scotland beyond the boundary of this palace. ’Tis not in my capacity to wonder on such things.” That was as much of a lie as she could concoct. She was wont to wonder and wonder since she had met Niall.
    Rizzio smiled, his tiny, dark mustache spreading across his upper lip like a woolly caterpillar. “Certainly Her Majesty has organized travels of her kingdom.”
    “I’m not privy to such, signore .” Sabine took another sip of wine, and glanced about the great hall expecting turmoil to arrive at any minute. Niall MacGregor would step onto the stage before the queen and her lavish court and hang himself. Even a master of l’arte de comèdie as was monsieur Le Canard could not transform a Highland beast. Was that what she had truly wanted? The Highlander’s imprisonment or death?
    The wine tumbled her thoughts. Where was the food?
    “You look pale, my darling. I am most worried,” LOrd Campbell said startling her.
    Sabine wrenched her gaze upward. The goblet almost slipped from her fingers.
    “M’lord,” she managed, shakily placing the goblet on the table. “ Bonsoir. ”
    He wore a black mask, feathered to look like a raven. His cruel mouth and pointed chin were clearly visible beneath it. Sabine had no trouble recognizing him.
    “ Bonsoir to you, my darling.”
    Her belly roiled at the endearment.
    She offered him her hand. Let the farce continue. Her mind had been so occupied with Niall MacGregor that she had forgotten the reason for her being in the garden in the first place. Was there no escape from this man who was now pressing his dry lips against the back of her hand? She pulled her hand away. Lord Campbell sat down and took up her goblet.
    “ Signore ,” Rizzio said, “I would be most happy to pour you a fresh glass of wine as I’m certain signorina Sabine has not finished what I have poured her.”
    Campbell slammed his fist on the table. The plates rattled and the goblets toppled spilling the wine onto the dark wood, puddles spreading out like blood.
    He leaned forward. The pointed feathers of his mask thrust toward the ceiling, glistening in the candlelight. His eyes, ringed by glossy black feathers, narrowed at the Italian.
    “That masque suits you very well, Rat-zzio . ’Tis so very odd that Her Majesty would allow you in her court, joining those of us who have legitimate influence. You are an anomaly here, a freakish royal pet. So, presume not to tell me how to behave with my intended.”
    Mortified by his behavior, Sabine tried to rise from her place to leave. Campbell rose as well.
    “A delightful idea, my darling,” he said. “Her Majesty requested that you and I join her for the evening’s entertainment. Afterwards, I will publicly announce our betrothal.”
    “You would dare marry one who is not as perfect as yourself?” she asked raising her right hand from her lap. Lord Campbell could not help but stare.
    He reached out and wrapped his long fingers about her arm. In one painful squeeze he pulled her from the sympathetic gaze of Davide Rizzio, her only ally in court. Campbell seemed to know this very well.
    “Some