“Ah, Mary, a cruel taunt for an old friend.”
She swept him with her eyes. Strong, good looking, though she would never tell him so. “I spoke in haste. When you want a wife, I’m sure you’ll find one.”
Oliver Sinclair certainly had.
A smile, edged with sadness, flickered across his face. “Ah, Mary, I hope you are right.”
“I’ve no time to waste with you. I must speak to the cook.” She swept into the kitchen and shut the door.
And found herself in a dark, windowless storage cellar.
Outside, she heard laughter.
Wee Mary Betoun was just as he remembered her, Jamie thought, laughing at the door she had closed in his face.
Only one thing was different.
Something, or someone, had hurt her.
She was a woman who needed to laugh again. And he was just the man who could make her do it.
He pushed open the door to the cellar. “Lost?”
Inside the dark storage area, she faced him, pouting in furious frustration, small and fierce as a warbler, reminding him of the young maiden he’d stolen a kiss from all those years ago. Yet now, eyes flashing, hands on her hips, she looked all woman. And vexed.
She swept out the door and past him. “You might have told me that this was not the kitchen!”
“And miss the laugh?” He motioned to the left. “Up the stairs.”
She looked up and muttered. “Comment puis-je…?” Her question faded and a frown creased her brow.
She was right to worry. It was no royal palace, but this Border castle had five towers, four cellars, stables and mews, and acres of forest surrounding it. Without his help, Mary would barely find her way before the queen arrived.
She turned pleading eyes to him. “In five days, all must be parfait.”
“Nothing is ever perfect.” He had learned that lesson. And how to make the best of every situation.
And he was definitely going to make the very best of Mary’s unexpected return to his life. In fact, he might have the perfect plan. “I’ll help you, but I need your help, too.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How?”
“First, do not order me about like a page.”
Her cheeks turned the most beautiful shade of rose. He couldn’t hold back a smile.
“S’il vous plait,” she said. “I mean, please.”
“I know what it means.” Did she think he spoke no French? Clearly her disdain of the Borders had not changed. “Second, I would ask you to prepare me to be a man that a maid might wed.”
Her eyes widened. “You want to marry? Who?”
“Anyone!” Not the truth, but all he would say for now. “If I’m not to be rejected out of hand, I must prepare.”
“Has a woman refused you?”
He smiled. “I am hoping to forestall that.”
“Well, if she asks my opinion, I’ll tell her the truth.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, Mary. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
She glanced toward the nearest tower. He had kept the castle in good repair and collected the queen’s rents, but without his help, Mary would scarcely be able to find local serving girls in five days, let alone train them to serve a queen.
She faced him again. “Can you dance?”
Better not to admit all or he’d have no excuse for her to teach him. “I have not been much at court. There must be new dances.”
“Sing?”
“No.”
“Recite verse?”
“No.”
“Distinguish a claret from a malvery or a procras?”
“One of them is drinkable.”
“Five days?” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Begin with the kind of man you would want to marry.”
There was the sadness in her eyes again. The look that said she had found the man and lost him.
Still, she did not speak.
He clung to his smile and shrugged. “The queen has high standards. And it’s a large castle.”
Her pout returned. “Your blackmail is as blatant as a reiver’s.”
“Don’t worry, Wee Mary. Say yes and in the end, we’ll both have what we want.”
And what he wanted was to know what Wee Mary Betoun wanted—in a husband.
Mary studied Jamie’s face, wondering what he was plotting. “You used to tease me.” Unmercifully. “Do you do so now?”
“No,” he said without a smile.
A breeze shoved a cloud across the sun and in the shifting light of the courtyard, he looked as if he were thinking of someone. It must be how she looked when she thought of Oliver.
Who was she, this woman Jamie cared for? Jealousy pinched her.
“Well?” Jamie held out his hands, presenting himself for her approval. “What must I change?”
She cleared her throat, finding her heart was beating faster. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” The grin again. “Then I am perfect as I am.” He folded his arms, as if the matter were settled.
“No!” She could not let him think that. “You are most assuredly not parfait. “
“Then what do I need to change?”
Suddenly, she could think of nothing about him that needed changing.
Mary stared at him, nursing her temper back to life. “Even if I teach you dancing and poetry, women will not find you attractive.”
If she had thought he would be dismayed by that, she was mistaken. “Why not?”
“Your eyes, for example. Women prefer blue eyes.”
“Do they now?” He crossed his eyes as if he were trying to see them.
A giggle escaped before she could stop it. “Well, some do.”
“Do you?” No laughter now. Just his brown eyes, holding hers.
She hesitated. She had pined for Johnnie Brunson’s blue eyes once. Then she had preferred Oliver Sinclair’s greenish ones. Right now, brown seemed infinitely preferable. Jamie’s eyes held at once a twinkle and a smolder, as if he were looking at her and thinking…
Goodness. What was he thinking?
Quickly, she glanced away. “I suppose some women like brown eyes.”
Her words restored his smile, but she could not let his smug expression stand. “But you are too tall! That, I can do nothing about!”
“Too tall?” He bent his neck to meet her