The Night Side by Melanie Jackson Read Free Book Online

That, mistress,” Colin said with amusement, “is no hazard. That is our dinner. Speak kindly to them, for they are not long for this world. In any event, they add sport to the game.”
    “ Vraiment? They are dinner? I suppose they are another bribe from the laird of the MacLeods?” Her pretty lips curled disdainfully.
    “Aye, they are. One I absolutely insisted on. There’s wine, too,” Colin said unrepentantly.
    “How generous.” A dimple appeared briefly in one cheek. Frances’s eyes held his for a moment and then shifted, looking past his shoulders at the beach. The lovely lids widened. “And what are those?”
    Colin turned. The first of the unhappy cattle were being lowered into the water over the side of the galley.
    “That, mistress, is a Highland cow.”
    “I do not refer to the beast, sir. What are those clubs in that basket?”
    Colin hadn’t the first inkling. The MacLeod, not knowing anything of golf or the type of club required,had made several in varying styles and heights. There were enough clubs for a score of men and a great many of them looked like farming implements.
    However, it would not do to appear ignorant of his tools, so he lied glibly: “Different angles of head of the club allow varying degrees of loft in the ball. Not knowing what sorts of terrain we should be facing, I brought them all.”
    “Truly?” George breathed. “I did not know there were so many kinds of clubs. I have never seen half so many in one place.”
    The young laird of the Balfours sounded impressed. But a look at Frances’s countenance showed that she was still skeptical.
    “It is the same principle as is applied to shooting a cannon,” Colin went on bravely, hoping that this would prove true. It seemed that the principles of trajectory should relate equally to both things, and there was a very good chance that Mistress Balfour would not be able to contradict him on this subject.
    “And that ridiculous thing with leather wrapped about its head?” Frances demanded as MacJannet and the overstuffed pannier drew abreast of them.
    “That is for use in sand,” Colin explained, removing the club and inventing an explanation spontaneously. “The hood is removable, as you see, but it has been found that when playing with a leather ball that leather will cling to leather and it assists the ball out of deep dunes.”
    “That does not sound entirely fair play,” Frances said slowly, stepping closer to inspect the ungloved head.
    No, it didn’t sound entirely honest, Colin had to admit. But there was no way to take back the statement,so he added mendaciously: “King Henry himself uses just such a club.”
    “You have played gowff with the English king?” Finally, Mistress Balfour sounded impressed.
    “Indeed,” he said, feeling virtuous at finally telling some truth. He had in fact played with the king. Twice. The first time, he had been greatly reviled for his play. It had been his initial attempt at the game since leaving Scotland as a boy, and he had suffered the misfortune to twice hit Bishop Moore’s broad arse with wooden balls. Doubtless he would have been asked to desist from play, or arrested for assault, but the king had been vastly amused at the bishop’s rough treatment and insisted that Colin remain with them.
    Fortunately—since Colin did not enjoy appearing the butt of jokes, nor the bishop the butt-as-target—the king’s gout had flared up soon after crossing the stream into which he so improvidently waded, and they abandoned play before Colin committed the unforgivable sin of striking his monarch with either club or sphere.
    The second time he had played with the king, he had put in some practice in anticipation of the event, and his game was greatly improved. He had not once struck another player.
    Of course, he had split three balls by cannoning them off the castle wall, and lost any number of them in filthy water hazards—for which he had been penalized at double the usual fine,