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J osephine had been right; Madelaine did, indeed, discreetly mention the discolored stain on the linens the following morning.

Doing exactly as she had been instructed, Josephine told the servant that it was her woman’s time and, from the look on Madelaine’s face, she had no doubt that information would wind its way back to the king.

It was just a suspicion she had.

Feeling somewhat lighter of spirit, Josephine was carefully dressed in an off-the-shoulder pale green silk that was embroidered very finely with tiny pearls. It was an exquisite dress that had Josephine turning back and forth, admiring herself in the mirror.

Her long hair had been pulled back in the front and secured on the crown of her head with a pearl clip, then the rest was braided and interwoven with strands of tiny pearls.

She stood, staring at herself in the mirror, as Madelaine brought the single braid over one shoulder and secured pearl ear bobs on each ear.

In truth, Josephine was truly amazed at the riches she wore, and she felt a little guilty that she wasn’t ripping the garments off in protest of her captivity. These were all gifts from the earl and she knew very well she should not be accepting them. But there was a method to her madness.

Better a complacent captive with a plan up her sleeve than a rebel who bears watching.

Madelaine approached her with a bottle of perfume and Josephine eyed it. “What fragrance is that?” she demanded.

Madelaine smiled. “Exotic oils from across the sea, my lady.”

Josephine took a sniff of the very strong perfume and promptly sneezed. “That will not do,” she said. “Do you have rose?”

Madelaine went back to the vanity, fumbling about the glass phials until she brought forth a small yellow bottle.

“Here!” she crowed triumphantly. “Rose, my lady!”

Josephine crooked her finger at her. “Come here, then. I want a goodly dose.”

Madelaine obliged, and Josephine felt rejuvenated by the familiar scent.

But it also reminded her of her home far way and, for a moment, she felt the beginnings of tears.

But just as quickly, she fought them off and took another look at herself in the polished bronze mirror.

It was a proud, strong woman who gazed back at her.

A worthy wife for a mercenary lord.

Squaring her shoulders and straightening, Josephine turned around to Madelaine and her busy little minions. Before she could open her mouth, Madelaine spoke.

“Sir Nicholas de Londres requests the honor of yer presence in his chamber for the morning meal, my lady,” she said. “He told me to bring ye as soon as ye were ready.”

Dear Nicholas , Josephine thought. My only friend in the inner circle . “Of course,” she said.

Madelaine escorted her from her chamber and led her down a long, stone corridor, past exquisite tapestries, and up a small flight of stairs before reaching Nicholas’ room. The servant knocked softly, gaining admittance for her mistress.

Nicholas was standing on the opposite end of the room, his beautiful young face smiling when Josephine entered the chamber. It looked as if he’d been waiting rather impatiently. On the table next to him were a variety of foods, and Josephine realized she was very hungry.

As she approached him, his eyes gazed at her in appreciation. “No woman in all of Scotland or England can hold a candle to yer beauty, Lady Josephine,” he said sincerely. “Ye belong in a castle.”

Josephine accepted the chair he held out for her. “But you left out the women in France and Spain,” she teased. “Are those women so beautiful that they make the rest of us look like dogs?”

He rolled with her humor. “Those women are as hairy as bears, and just as filthy,” he said. “I have been to Paris. Believe me when I tell ye that most of those women are pigs.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Nicholas!” she scolded softly. “Such harsh words from the tongue of an insufferable romantic. Remember that each woman is beautiful in her own way.”

He offered her a large basket filled with different types of bread. “Each man has a different concept of beauty,” he shrugged. “I would believe it safe to say that ye are every man’s idea of a true Scottish beauty.”

Josephine broke her bread and spread a thick slathering of butter on it. “My father used to say that about my mother.”

“Lady Afton?” Nicholas looked up from his plate.

She nodded and took a small bite. “He said that I resembled her greatly.”

Nicholas nodded. “Ye do.”

Josephine looked at him in astonishment. “How would you know this?”

He smiled as if he had a great secret. “Because her portrait hangs in the Family Hall.”

Josephine was stunned. Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes and her hand flew to her mouth. “My mother?”

“Aye.”

She blinked, and tears glistened on her eyelashes. “I was only two years old when she died,” she said. “My memories of her are wispy and vague, as if they were only a dream. Might I see the portrait, Nicholas?”

He hadn’t meant to make her weep. He was unprepared for her deeply emotional reaction, for he had only expected great excitement.

“Of course, my lady,” he said eagerly. “Whenever ye wish.”

She dabbed at her tears and smiled hugely. “I would like to see it now, please.

“Now?” he stammered.

“ Now ,” she said, standing.

Never argue with a woman , Nicholas thought, as he stood up and led her from the chamber.

He took her back down the corridor, heading in the direction of the royal apartments and the common areas.

Besides, he felt so bad for upsetting her that he was eager to make amends.

If seeing the portrait of her mother was her greatest desire, then he would personally fulfill it.

The Family Hall was two flights down. It was, by far, the biggest room she had ever seen, more of a corridor, really, but it was full of portraits on wood and finely woven tapestries.

The longest walls, running parallel to one another, were loaded from the high ceiling to the floor with artwork.

A gallery ran along both walls so the viewer could get a better view of the portraits towards the top of the chamber.

Josephine had never seen anything like it.

Some paintings were quite large, while still others were much smaller, and everything in between.

The hall was so large that the faint sunlight streaming in through small windows was rather insignificant in its space, and it was difficult to make out most facial features.

Nicholas led her over to one far corner.

Their footfalls were sharp in the dim light.

Even though Nicholas held her hand, she felt distinctively lonely and isolated as centuries of her relatives gazed down upon her.

It was as if she were in a roomful of people she didn’t know, with each looking at her and whispering secret observations.

Suddenly, Nicholas stopped. “Here it is,” he said quietly.

Josephine’s gaze fell across a face that brought hundreds of memories tumbling into her mind, from things her father had told her of her mother. The surge of emotion was strong as she stared at her mother’s beautiful, familiar face.

Afton was a mirror image of her daughter with her huge green eyes and distinctive features. Her hair was darker than her daughter’s, perhaps a bit browner, and it was stylishly coiffed in an elaborate veil. Her expression was serene and peaceful, radiating her kindness and gentle nature.

Josephine reached out a timid hand and drew a finger across the bottom of the painting, as if she were truly touching her mother. The more she looked, the more she realized that even more than herself, her mother resembled Justine. The two could have been twins.

A sudden peace swept over her; a peace that formed as if a missing part of her life had been found. By simply seeing her mother’s face, a part of her soul had been filled. This was the woman she had never really known but loved, and greatly missed. She turned to Nicholas with a smile.

“It is like looking at my sister,” she said.

Nicholas was relieved at her lightening mood. He glanced up to Lady Afton.

“It is easy to see where ye and Lady Justine inherited yer beauty,” he said.

Josephine stood at the portrait a few more moments. “I must have this portrait,” she said firmly. “I will ask the king. Do you think he will give it to me?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Possibly,” he said. “’Twould not hurt to ask.”

Josephine was smiling warmly at her mother’s portrait, as if remembering the private memories only shared between her and her father about her mother. No, it would not hurt to ask the king if she could have the portrait. All the more reason to behave herself, at least for the time being.

Josephine and Nicholas remained viewing the portrait for what seemed like ages. Josephine lost all track of time, because this was a reunion of sorts. A reunion between mother and daughter. But after several minutes had passed, Nicholas finally turned to her.

“Shall we return to my chamber and finish our meal?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I am not hungry any longer.”

“Then will ye allow me to show ye the castle?”

Josephine took his offered arm. “I was hoping you would.”

Josephine was soon to discover that castle life was much different from the life at Torridon.

The structure itself was different from the stronghold of Torridon.

The castle was tactically secure on the hill it sat upon, and what walls there were still afforded a view from every window.

There were two gatehouses, the main gatehouse and then a second one behind it, and even the interior of the castle was compartmentalized to keep different areas safe in case there was a breach.

The castle also covered twice the ground Torridon did, and it possessed several levels and dozens of rooms.

It was a massive place.