Highlander's Guardian (Highlander Heat #4)

“Aye, I shall.” Arthur walked off into the crowd.

Colin eased around the throng toward the trestle tables pressed against the wall. The tables overflowed with large platters of food, from sweet meats to pastries presented on fine silver and glass tiered stands. Sugared fruits preserved from the summer, many of Annie’s favorites, had him searching for her first amongst the guests partaking of those delicacies. Annie would be driven to see all on offer, to taste and enjoy, but she wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Moving along, he sidestepped past three blond-haired women wearing scandalously little. Their exposed bellies were adorned with gold chains and glittering precious gems. Low on their hips, their vibrant skirts of reds and pinks flared to the floor in sheer folds. The same wispy fabric covered their breasts and tied off at their backs with long ribbons and dangling beads which chimed as they swayed to the piper’s music floating through from the adjoining room. They were dressed as belly dancers from the orient. He’d heard of the people who lived in the east on a land of shifting sands, the weather so scorching they wore very little clothing. The translucent fabric of their costume also covered their lower faces and hid their identities, although none of the women had Annie’s beautiful midnight-blue eyes.

More guests swarmed into the hall and as he searched for her, he tugged the tight neckline of his robe. If only he could jump onto one of the burgundy padded chairs at the side of the hall and shout Annie’s name, except calling attention to himself was the last thing he needed. Aye, he’d search for Rory or Elizabeth instead. Surely they would lead him to Annie.



Annie eased back against the bright yellow plastered wall decorated with stunning tapestries of landscape and hunting scenes. A man attired in domino wearing a black hooded robe and full white mask circled the great hall clenching and unclenching his fists. Colin had said he’d be dressed as a monk, but each of the monks she’d stopped and spoken to thus far hadn’t been him. Maybe he was still preparing all he needed to for this eve, except why did the man in the black robe intrigue her so? Turning her gaze from him, she searched the crowd again for any sign of Rory or Elizabeth. She hadn’t a clue what either of them would be wearing, and so far, she’d not seen them as well.

Restless, she pushed off the wall, intent on halting the robed man and curbing her curiosity.

“Annie?” Another black-robed guest in domino stepped in front of her, his deep brogue giving his identity away.

“Arthur.” She hugged him, and likely far too exuberantly before she stepped back and straightened her hand-painted mask. The full facial adornment was elaborately detailed and gave her the fine features of Cleopatra, Egypt’s legendary queen with her catlike eyes and ruby red lips. Her wig of dark brown locks was coiled high on her head and encircled by a headdress of gold plumes, while the wispy skirts of her white chiffon gown brushed the floorboards. “Thank goodness you found me.”

“What are you wearing?” Arthur’s vivid green eyes widened behind his white eye cutouts.

“I’m Cleopatra.” She fluttered her hand over the seductively plunging bodice with its matching deep V cut into the back, a gown that was impossible to wear with any undergarments. Her brisk movement sent the thin shoulder straps with their wing-like layer of chiffon swishing softly across her skin, as well as the gold bangles at her wrist jangling. Never had she felt so nervous and wickedly decadent at the same time. The thin fabric hugged her body with a silky touch and allowed the heat of the room to pass right over her. “I’m looking for my Caesar.”

“As he’s looking for you.”

“Pardon me, my queen.” A warrior wearing sandals with iron studs and armor made of metal strips over a red woolen tunic bowed before her. “May I have this dance?”

“Nay, you may no’,” Arthur bit out as he whisked her onto the dance floor. “Where is your guard?”

“Near the balcony doors, dressed in the same fashion as you.” At least two score of the men here were attired in domino. “Colin was supposed to be dressed as a monk but I’ve no’ seen him.”

“A change of plans. Blending in with the crowd seemed a better choice. He wears what I do.” Frowning, he peered over her shoulder and she followed his gaze. “Is that the king?” he asked, astounded.

“Aye, whispers are running rampant he’s dressed as Ares, the Greek god of war.” King James VI was richly costumed in full body armor, a shield and sword in hand and a magnificent red-plumed iron nasal helm adorning his head. “He looks magnificent with that full mask of white and gold.”