An image of the fat-cheeked lad stuffing his face with sugared plums and shouting at the servants came into Finn’s mind’s eye.
“Sniveling Huntly is eleven years old and presently is in the queen’s care, so he won’t be adding you to his guard.” Janet leaned forward to rest her hand on Finn’s arm. “Besides, you can do better. You underestimate yourself and aim too low.”
“I’m a second son of a second son, with no lands of my own,” he said. “I have no prospects except to live by my sword.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Janet leaned back with a knowing smile. “A widow with a title and lands is easily within your reach.”
“If this is what ye brought me up here to discuss,” Finn said, “I’ll need something stronger than wine.”
“You’re everything a land-rich, highborn widow could want in a husband.” Janet ticked off the points with her fingers as she continued. “You’re close blood relations with three earls, and you’re a renowned warrior who could protect her lands.”
“Janet, please,” he groaned.
“Add to those qualities soulful blue eyes, a devilish smile, and a muscular physique, and I believe ye can do quite well for yourself.” With a coy smile, she added, “Not as well as I did, of course. But you could gain what you want through a well-planned marriage.”
“The only problem with your plan,” Finn said, “is that I don’t want a wife.”
He especially did not want a wife of high status. His mother never let any of them forget she had married beneath her. His brother’s wife was an ambitious schemer cut from the same cloth, except that she wrapped it in an appealing facade.
“Please tell me you’re not still pining for that horrid Curstag,” Janet said. “She was cruel to toy with ye, but it was inevitable she’d choose your brother. After all, he’s your father’s heir and you own nothing but your horse, your sword, and the clothes on your back.”
“That was a long time ago.” He’d been naïve to believe she would have him, despite his lack of prospects. He would never make that mistake again.
“Women must marry to acquire the home and position they expect in life,” Janet said, “which is why we must find ye a widow who already has the wealth and lands ye both need.”
“And have her lord it over me the rest of my life?” he said. “Nay, a night under the blankets and a few laughs is all I want from a lass.”
“Not all women are like your mother and Curstag,” Janet said.“Or me, for that matter.”
“You’re not like them,” Finn objected.
“Oh, but I am,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m just far more charming and clever in how I go about getting what I want.”
Finn laughed. One of the things he admired about Janet was that she was utterly honest, a decidedly rare quality in highborn women. She was, however, not easily deterred once she set her mind to something.
“Now to find the right woman of property…” Janet tapped her chin. “She shouldn’t be too old, nor too young. And definitely not the small-minded sort who would complain about other women.”
No matter what Janet believed about him, he’d feel bound by his vows. That was one more reason never to marry.
“I appreciate your concern for me, but marrying for land ’tis not worth the misery,” he told her. “I’d rather the Orkney men had drowned me or hung my head off the mast of their boat or—”
“All right.” Janet laughed and held up her hands. “Let me speak with my son. He may be able to suggest another way.”
Her son was the Earl of Moray, a royal bastard of King James IV of Scotland. Moray was an exceedingly clever young man of twenty-four. Those who liked him called him politically astute; those who didn’t called him conniving. Either way, Moray was a good man to have on your side. And a dangerous one to have against you.
Janet meant well, but her son was an important player at the highest level of royal politics. His interests were driven by forces far greater than Finn’s fate, and Moray never gave a favor that did not advance his own interests.
Surely Finn had nothing to offer that Moray would want.
CHAPTER 3
“By the saints, I missed you,” Margaret’s brother George said as he lifted her off her feet and spun her around.
After he set her down, Archie gave her a stiff embrace. Her handsome brothers seemed unchanged, except that Archie’s features had grown harder. Despite all the trouble her brothers had left in their wake when they fled the country, Margaret was overjoyed to see them.
“You’re as gorgeous as ever.” George grinned as he looked her up and down. “But, my God, what are ye wearing? Ye dress like a grandmother.”
Margaret felt herself blush. George had always teased her about dressing as if she hoped to join a nunnery. When she was thirteen and painfully shy, her family had dressed her in exquisite gowns and paraded her in front of the king in hopes that she would catch his eye. Although the king failed to show an interest, she’d had so much unwanted attention that she preferred to dress to avoid it. Her husband had preferred that as well.