Page 28 of Beguiled
Captain Sinclair wasn’t to be so easily put off, though. “I’m afraid that won’t do,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Will it, Lord Murdo?”
“No, indeed,” Murdo agreed gravely. “The King speaks, and we obey. He wishes you to attend, Mr. Lauriston—now Captain Sinclair and I must see that it happens.”
“Or rather, Lord Murdo must,” the captain said apologetically. “I am already taking care of several other of the King’s personal favours that evening. But Lord Murdo here will see you are all kitted out if you require highland dress—we would not wish you to be uncomfortable, Mr. Lauriston—and he will escort you there in his personal carriage, won’t you, Lord Murdo?”
“Like Mr. Lauriston’s own fairy godmother,” Murdo agreed dryly, and the captain chuckled.
“There is no need for that,” David protested. “If it came to it, I have formal evening clothes, but I truly have another engagement—”
“My good fellow, it will not do for you to reject the King’s kindness,” Murdo interrupted him. “If Captain Sinclair hasn’t convinced you, let me try. Come and I’ll buy you an ale and set about persuading you to accept the King’s invitation. Will you join us, Sinclair?”
The captain sighed. “I wish I could, but I’m to ride straight to Dalkeith after this. Can I leave you to take care of things with our new friend?”
“Consider it done,” Murdo replied.
“Then I’ll away. Mr. Lauriston.” Sinclair clapped David on the shoulder. “It was a pleasure to meet you, sir. Pray, do not disappoint the King on Friday evening. He remembers these incidents, you know.” He gave one last bright grin, turned on his heel and hurried away.
“That sounded like a threat,” David murmured, watching the departing captain’s uniformed back.
“No,” Murdo replied in an amused voice. “He merely means that the King can become emotional when he feels let down, and it’s tedious for those closest to him, like the good captain. You’re perfectly at liberty not to attend if you truly don’t wish to.” He paused, then added more seriously, “But I hope you will come. It will brighten a very dull occasion for me.”
David glanced up at that. An unfamiliar expression on Murdo’s face made something in his chest shift and alter, a cliff edge crumbling into the sea. He couldn’t find words to respond and had to look away. It was a relief when Murdo spoke again, his tone lighter.
“Let’s go and have that ale. The tavern we went to last time—is it near your rooms?”
David glanced back at Murdo. His expression had changed. Now he was smiling again, his dark gaze promising.
That was easier. Better.
“Yes,” David said. “Very near. I’ll show you.”
The same innkeeper welcomed them into the tavern. He found them a pair of stools, which they pulled up to the scarred wooden bar. There were no free tables today. The tavern was swollen with visitors to the city for the King’s visit. They ordered ale and two plates of mutton stew.
It seemed that standing idly around at Holyrood Palace had been oddly hungry work—David polished off his stew quickly and gulped down the ale, agreeing to another tankard when Murdo suggested it.
Murdo told him tales of the King and his entourage while they ate and drank. Of the King’s emotional nature and of his sometimes childish petulance. Of the foibles of his closest advisers. He spoke of who was truly influential and who was merely tolerated. He spoke about the King’s adoration of his garish, frowsy mistress, Lady Conyngham, and of their absurd antics, often conducted in front of the lady’s well-rewarded husband and children.
“You are shocked,” Murdo observed, considering David’s expression.
David realised his brows were indeed drawn together in a disapproving frown.
“Well, it is shocking, is it not?” he said. “When you think of the power and riches vested in such a man while ordinary people struggle and starve. Look at what he’s spent on his pleasure palace in Brighton.”
“I agree, it’s appalling,” Murdo said. “But even so, I would love to show it to you. In the banqueting room there’s a chandelier that hangs from the claws of a great dragon. It’s magnificent.”
“It’s a shocking waste,” David said, even as he tried to picture that chandelier.
“Yes, it is,” Murdo agreed, capturing David’s gaze with his own. “But extraordinary nonetheless. Should we knock it down now because it ought never to have been built?”
“Perhaps we should.”
“Says the man who stepped forward and stopped the King falling over today. Knowing full well what a profligate wastrel he is.”
“He looked poorly,” David said defensively. “I saw him sway and acted without thinking. I would have done the same for anyone.”
“I know you would,” Murdo said and smiled.
David didn’t much like his actions being examined so closely. He cast around for a change of subject. “Tell me about Captain Sinclair,” he said after a moment. “Is he a favourite of the King?”