she hoped the answer was no. Immediately, she scolded herself. She had known Jamie as a young squire, an awkward lout of fourteen, new to court, new to everything. He had made her laugh, then, and when he did, she forgot to worry about pleasing the queen or perfecting the steps of the Pavanne.
When he made her laugh, just being Mary was enough.
But nine years had passed since then. She knew how to please the queen and dance the Pavanne, and she knew many men infinitely preferable to this rough-edged Borderer. He interested her not in the least.
Though he had grown much taller and his brown eyes twinkled.
“No wife,” he said. “Do you think it’s time I married?”
She turned her back and started toward the low building that must house the kitchen. “I don’t think of you at all, Jamie.” And she hadn’t. Not in years. “But if I did, I would think that you’ve not married because no woman would have you.”
He gave quick instructions to the men to care for her horse and belongings then fell into step beside her, impossible to ignore.
“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
