If you’re a Scottish historical fan, you shouldn’t miss reading Sandy Blair‘s books, especially The King’s Mistress. If you treasure the feel of Scotland when you read, when you meet characters, when you become engrossed in a story, you’ll want to pick this book up very soon.
Geneen is the plain, sensible sister, who now has to counteract her twin’s huge, national faux pas – carrying King Alexander’s child, Scotland’s heir. Plans made to become the playful, full-of-life Greer, Gen meets the newest wrinkle to make sure those plans go awry – Britt MacKinnon, the King’s captain of the guard.
The spark of attraction for this woman confuses Britt. He never liked her when she cavorted around Edinburgh Castle. But now there’s something different about her, and he’s going to discover what it is. Thus begins their dance of attraction to romance and ultimately love, all enjoyed amid danger and fear.
Summary:
The long way home could be the shortest road to ruin.
The king of Scotland is in a snit. Which means Britt MacKinnon, proud captain of the king’s guard, has an onerous task: fetch Alexander’s favorite paramour back to the royal bed—now. Never mind that the crown should be about the business of getting a legitimate heir. Especially since England’s Edward I would love nothing more than to seize an empty Scottish throne.
When the handsome soldier appears on her doorstep, Geneen Armstrong has to think quickly. Her twin lies abed in her cottage, pregnant with the king’s bastard. If the barren queen learns the truth, the foolish girl’s life won’t be worth a farthing.
She must somehow transform her graceless, plain-spoken self into her vivacious, talented sister. Then, after the court is convinced she carries no child, use her herbal knowledge to sour the king’s taste for her sister’s company—for good.
By the time Britt realizes this unusually articulate, ungodly stubborn woman is the wrong woman, tendrils of attraction have already tightened into a bond. A bond that will be tested when the king’s unexpected death puts Scotland’s very destiny at stake—and unleashes an ever-tangling web of court intrigues, secrets…and lies.
Now see exactly what Gen is up against and her motivation to make all right with her world…
The moment the 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 will learn the truth; she’ll 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, prey 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 is, until he began teasing her. As if she’d kiss her sheep goodbye. 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 of 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 loft. “Greer, pack as quickly as you can for both of us. I’ll saddle the horses.”
In the kitchen Genny removed a loose brick above their domed inglenook. She slipped her hand into her secret kist and pulled out the leather pouch containing all the coins she had in the world, the majority of which were only coppers and brass.
Dear Lord, what she wouldn’t give for another day, so she might barter the wool and grain she’d been hording. She counted the coins. There was barely enough for a single passage to Ireland and mayhap a year’s bed and board should their aunt have fallen on hard times. Or be dead.
“Gen?”
She turned to find Greer standing in the doorway, two satchels at her feet. “What’s wrong?”
Spinning her ring, Greer looked at the floor. “I want to go to England. We’ve not seen auntie since we were bairns. She could be dead now for all we ken.”
“She’s not dead. The family would have sent word.” At least she hoped they would have.
“But what if a missive has yet to reach us? We’ll be adrift in a land we know naught about.”
“Greer, we know naught of England either and if MacKinnon is the man I suspect him to be, he’d cross the border without hesitation then leave no stone unturned until he lays hands on what he came for. Namely, you.”
Tired of the arguing, still upset that her sister obviously hadn’t missed her as much as she’d missed Greer, Genny grasped her twin by the arms. “Are you certain you told no one about me?”
Shrinking back, Greer nodded like a woodpecker. “Aye, I’m certain.”
“Very well then.” She released her sister and blew out a puff of air. “We can make Langford by gloaming. From there ‘tis an easy road to Annan from which you can take a ship to Dublin.”
Genny marched toward the back door. Behind her, Greer shouted, “Wait! You said you’d come with me. You promised!”
She’d always thought of Greer, who could memorize dances and mile-long ballads with ease, to be the brighter twin, but she was now really beginning to wonder. “Aye, but that was before I learned we no longer had months to prepare but only hours.”
“But what of you?”
“I’m taking your place, Greer. I’m going with MacKinnon to Edinburgh.”
“What? But you can’t. You know nothing of court. You sound like a crow when you sing. You can’t dance.” She waved a frantic hand that took in Genny from head to foot. “And just look at you, Gen. You can don one of my gowns, but you’ll not be making a silk purse out of a sow’s—”
“Ouch! Look here, mistress! I’m not the one who spread my legs like some common slut for a man I knew could never marry me, but I am the only one who can get you out of this appalling situation.”
Her sister, blanching, staggered back as if slapped. “You call me a slut knowing we love each other?”
“You love him? Prove it! Cease fighting me at every turn and protect his babe by teaching me on the way to Annan all that I need to know to pass for you.”
So I might survive long enough to bleed my courses before Queen, God and country and prove beyond any doubt that you, dear sister, are not with child before running like a terrified hare for home.
God help me.
