Heart of Gold by May McGoldrick Read Free Book Online Page B

whirled as she tried to make some sense out of all that was happening. Then her eyes widened as her gaze fell on the Highlander’s imposing arousal. “I...Never mind. I have to go.”
    “The Duc de Bourbon. I should have known.” Ambrose reached down grabbed his tartan, and tossed it to her. “The man nearly went wild when I asked him about you this afternoon. The filthy knave. I can’t believe I was so blind. It was he.”
    Elizabeth paused, gaping at the warrior. Bourbon?”
    “Aye. The coward Bourbon. I should have flattened his face before he did this to you.” Ambrose ground his fist into his palm. “When did he do it? Was it after I questioned him? Did he come to you after I left?”
    Elizabeth gaped at the nobleman. “I don’t know what it is you are talking about, but I don’t need anyone to defend me. I can tell you right now that I will kill, with no hesitation whatsoever, any man who raises a hand to me again.”
    “Aye, lass. That’s the spirit. And it’s about time.”
    Elizabeth stood for a moment longer, now totally confused. She had no clue whether their discussion had reached its conclusion. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if she’d heard half of what was said. She shook her head. She had lost her mind. “Good night, m’lord.” Elizabeth turned as she pulled her hair back and tied it with a thong.
    “Where are you going?” Ambrose asked. Though there was something comical in seeing her wearing his baggy shirt and ankle-length kilt, his belt wrapped twice around her, there was also something quite arousing in the picture.
    “I’m going in search of my sanity and perhaps even justice,” Elizabeth murmured as she swept toward the tent’s opening. “And my future. That’s my only chance.”
    Ambrose stood by his bed and watched her leave. This had been, by far, the strangest encounter he’d ever had with any woman in his life.
    Looking down at his still erect member, Ambrose thought about his would-be lover, even now wandering through the Field of Cloth of Gold, appareled in some very fine, albeit large, men’s clothing.
    Elizabeth Boleyn was, indeed, a strange creature.

Chapter 5
     
     
    The drunkards roaming the Golden Vale that night never imagined that the Scottish lad walking among them was a woman.
    From the cloth great hall far off across the field, the sounds of merrymaking and music broke in gentle waves over Elizabeth’s consciousness. Vaguely, she glanced across the knolls to the glow of the bonfire that lit the huge tent from within. With unseeing eyes, she continued on past huddling couples and men lurching about in various degrees of inebriation.
    But as she strode through the torchlit alley, Elizabeth’s attention was focused inward. Suddenly it was the noise of her own shoes padding along the dirt way that pierced her thoughts.
    Twenty paces from her father’s tent, Elizabeth stopped short. A cold wave washed over her as she considered what lay ahead. For the past quarter hour, she’d been arguing repeatedly with her father and had been able to convince him to rescind his earlier demands. Tomorrow, Elizabeth would return to France with Mary, where she could care for her sister and they would all forget what took place. Looking at the dimly lit tent, Elizabeth felt suddenly limp and tired. The problem was that their productive exchange had taken place only in her head.
    The two reeling knights who now knocked Elizabeth to the ground did not even cast a glance at the toppled woman.
    “Watch where you go, lad,” one of the men growled roughly as they continued on their way.
    Elizabeth peered up at their retreating backs in amazement. Rising, she shook the dust off the Macpherson tartan.
    She stared down at the garment in her hands. At the plaid kilt. At the shapeless shirt draped over her torso. Lad! They thought her a man. She gazed back at the now-deserted alley and then back at her apparel. She’d walked through groups of them and not a soul had said a thing to