The King's Mistress Read Online Free

munching weevils when he broke his fast, he said, “As you lust, my lady. Please direct me to the abbey.”
     
    The moment she closed the door on their unexpected visitor, Genny collapsed against it, tears springing to her eyes.
    Why on earth had she blurted that her parents were dead? Now the earl would learn the truth; she’d be evicted, and with nowhere to go…
    Saint Bride and Columba preserve us.
    “Oh dear God, Gen!” Her sister rushed to her side. “I thought I’d faint when I heard his voice.”
    “ You? I nearly expired on the threshold. Who, pray tell, is that man?” She’d never seen anyone so tall, so broad of shoulder or so muscled of limb in all her days. And the way he studied her with those pitch-black eyes! A dozen times she’d readied to scream, certain he was about to snatch her up by the hair and declare her an imposter. Certain, that was, until he began teasing her. As if she’d kiss her sheep good-bye. Well, mayhap Ol’ Duffy. She did cherish her old ram, stiff-legged and grumpy as he’d grown.
    Greer wrung her hands. “’Twas Sir Britt MacKinnon, Captain of the King’s Guard. I can’t believe he’s here. What are we going to do, Genny?”
    “I’ve yet had time to think. Have yet to get over our good fortune that he did not think to question who I was.” Or over her shock that she’d actually taunted so obviously lethal a man.
    Greer cocked her head in question. “Why would he? We look alike.”
    “But knowing that we do, wouldn’t he have asked to whom he spoke?” In response, Greer twisted the wide silver band she wore on her right index finger to cover a scar—a sure sign she’d done something wrong or was about to lie—then turned away. As she began rearranging the dandelions in the bowl, a painful realization finally dawned. “You never told them about me.”
    “Well…”
    Her throat growing tight, Genny examined her work-worn hands. Her nails were ragged. Firm calluses crossed her palms. She looked down. Her simple tunic was stained at the knees, and her boots water-marked from her morning chores. All was as it always had been and would likely always be. “You’re ashamed of me.”
    Her sister gasped. “Oh no , never think that. ’Tis just that when I arrived in Edinburgh, I was introduced simply as Greer Armstrong. For the first time in my life, I was no longer the other Armstrong lass, no longer one half of a matched pair. People didn’t say, ‘Which one are you?’ as they greeted me. They simply accepted me…for me.” Greer had the decency to duck her chin, then murmured, “’Tis all.”
    ’Tis all?
    Having spent the last year and a half talking of little else but Greer to anyone who would listen, Genny could only stare at her mirror image.
    “Gen, I cannot go with him.”
    “ Hush! I need to think.” Think about MacKinnon and the fact that her sister, whom she cherished beyond all else, had kept her very existence a secret from her new and influential friends.
    “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
    Seeing fresh tears coursing down Greer’s cheeks, Genny cursed under her breath. Now was not the time for either of them to be wallowing in self-pity like sows in mud.
    She opened her arms, and Greer, sobbing, fell into them. “Hush, now. I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”
    At least she’d garnered them time by pleading for another day and then sending MacKinnon off to the distant abbey, in the opposite direction from which they’d be running. They could get to Annan in two days’ time, but what if there wasn’t an Ireland-bound ship waiting? They might have days to wait, and MacKinnon didn’t strike her as a man easily thwarted. Better mounted, he could easily catch up with them, at which time all hell would rain down on their heads.
    Her sister needed more time. Aye, and her admission might well have provided it.
    She took her sister by the shoulders and gently pushed her toward the ladder leading to the sleeping