advocates, she said, "I've ridden far today and have need of rest. So if you would excuse us, gentlemen . . ."
"O' course, o' course." Henry grinned, and like a mad Greek chorus the other men grinned too. "Ye two young folks go on now t' MacKenzie Manor. "Tis a beautiful place, Yer Highness, and I know m'lord will make ye feel at home there."
The old men nodded encouragingly at Robert, behaving as if Clarice were his last chance of salvation.
When in fact she was his last chance for revenge on the enemy who had stripped him of honor and of friendship.
Sweet, glorious revenge.
Chapter Six
The hungry wolf and the wee lamb might lie down together, but the lamb had best sleep with one eye open.
— The Old Men of Freya Crags
Millicent rode beside Princess Clarice and her brother down the curving, hilly road to MacKenzie Manor and watched with mute contentment as the princess sparred with Robert.
"Lord Hepburn." Princess Clarice held her spirited stallion to a walk without seeming effort, a lively, pretty woman dressed with the kind of dash to which Millicent could never aspire. "I understand you have been home from the Peninsula for but a short time. Tell me, where did your travels take you?"
The day was still and almost warm, the breeze blowing hints of spring into their faces. Dust puffed beneath the horses' hooves. Millicent's hack was perfect for a lady, amiable and spiritless, not at all like the princess's Blaize or Robert's giant golden gelding, Helios. But of course, Millicent was no horsewoman. Not like Princess Clarice.
And, of course, Robert rode Helios like a man born to the saddle. "My regiment was stationed in northern Portugal."
Princess Clarice raised her eyebrows at Millicent as if sharing amusement at his taciturnity. Turning back to him, she asked, "Is that where you spent all your time?"
Millicent strained to hear the answer. When Robert had returned from the Peninsula, she almost hadn't recognized him. The charming, debonair young rake had given way to a man with bleak, lifeless eyes who watched the world with weary recognition and never let down his guard. She had tried to talk to him about his years in the army, but he politely changed the subject, asking her about the events in Freya Crags with every semblance of interest, when in fact she feared he cared for nothing.
"I roamed a great deal of the countryside," he said.
Which was no answer at all. Millicent shrank in disappointment.
Princess Clarice didn't appear noticeably discouraged. A small smile played around her lips, the kind of smile pretty women wore because they knew they were irresistible.
Millicent knew she herself was quite resistible. Witness her unhappy debut, as well as the years spent at parties conversing with elderly ladies in need of company. And witness, also, the years of desperate longing for Corey MacGown, the earl of Tardew, a man who barely knew her name.
Yet when Robert looked at Princess Clarice, something stirred in his face. Millicent was only a spinster, but she recognized interest when she saw it, and the beginnings of an unwilling thaw.
Now she watched with fascination as Princess Clarice again prodded at Robert. "My lord, I'm sure your adventures on the Peninsula were always heroic and your travels fascinating."
Millicent thought the princess was flattering him.
Princess Clarice continued. "Perhaps tonight you could regale us with your tales. What you did, who you saw . . . where you went."
With a shrewdness that boded ill for the princess and her queries, Robert said, "Perhaps you're asking because your kingdom is in that part of the world. Are you a princess of Portugal? Or Andalusia? Or Baminia? Or Serephinia? Or —"
With a laugh Princess Clarice held up a protesting hand. "I know and am related to most of the royal families all over Europe. I confess, I did wonder what you could tell me of them."
"You're very discreet about your own background." Robert sounded pleasant, but Millicent
"O' course, o' course." Henry grinned, and like a mad Greek chorus the other men grinned too. "Ye two young folks go on now t' MacKenzie Manor. "Tis a beautiful place, Yer Highness, and I know m'lord will make ye feel at home there."
The old men nodded encouragingly at Robert, behaving as if Clarice were his last chance of salvation.
When in fact she was his last chance for revenge on the enemy who had stripped him of honor and of friendship.
Sweet, glorious revenge.
Chapter Six
The hungry wolf and the wee lamb might lie down together, but the lamb had best sleep with one eye open.
— The Old Men of Freya Crags
Millicent rode beside Princess Clarice and her brother down the curving, hilly road to MacKenzie Manor and watched with mute contentment as the princess sparred with Robert.
"Lord Hepburn." Princess Clarice held her spirited stallion to a walk without seeming effort, a lively, pretty woman dressed with the kind of dash to which Millicent could never aspire. "I understand you have been home from the Peninsula for but a short time. Tell me, where did your travels take you?"
The day was still and almost warm, the breeze blowing hints of spring into their faces. Dust puffed beneath the horses' hooves. Millicent's hack was perfect for a lady, amiable and spiritless, not at all like the princess's Blaize or Robert's giant golden gelding, Helios. But of course, Millicent was no horsewoman. Not like Princess Clarice.
And, of course, Robert rode Helios like a man born to the saddle. "My regiment was stationed in northern Portugal."
Princess Clarice raised her eyebrows at Millicent as if sharing amusement at his taciturnity. Turning back to him, she asked, "Is that where you spent all your time?"
Millicent strained to hear the answer. When Robert had returned from the Peninsula, she almost hadn't recognized him. The charming, debonair young rake had given way to a man with bleak, lifeless eyes who watched the world with weary recognition and never let down his guard. She had tried to talk to him about his years in the army, but he politely changed the subject, asking her about the events in Freya Crags with every semblance of interest, when in fact she feared he cared for nothing.
"I roamed a great deal of the countryside," he said.
Which was no answer at all. Millicent shrank in disappointment.
Princess Clarice didn't appear noticeably discouraged. A small smile played around her lips, the kind of smile pretty women wore because they knew they were irresistible.
Millicent knew she herself was quite resistible. Witness her unhappy debut, as well as the years spent at parties conversing with elderly ladies in need of company. And witness, also, the years of desperate longing for Corey MacGown, the earl of Tardew, a man who barely knew her name.
Yet when Robert looked at Princess Clarice, something stirred in his face. Millicent was only a spinster, but she recognized interest when she saw it, and the beginnings of an unwilling thaw.
Now she watched with fascination as Princess Clarice again prodded at Robert. "My lord, I'm sure your adventures on the Peninsula were always heroic and your travels fascinating."
Millicent thought the princess was flattering him.
Princess Clarice continued. "Perhaps tonight you could regale us with your tales. What you did, who you saw . . . where you went."
With a shrewdness that boded ill for the princess and her queries, Robert said, "Perhaps you're asking because your kingdom is in that part of the world. Are you a princess of Portugal? Or Andalusia? Or Baminia? Or Serephinia? Or —"
With a laugh Princess Clarice held up a protesting hand. "I know and am related to most of the royal families all over Europe. I confess, I did wonder what you could tell me of them."
"You're very discreet about your own background." Robert sounded pleasant, but Millicent
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