Enraptured by the Highlander

She kept wondering why she was going to look for another private document as she slipped into the father’s study to look for the mortician’s report.

I should not be doing this…why am I doing this…?

The papers on her father’s desk were neatly arranged and she knew not to touch any of them. Besides, something that important would not be put in plain sight. She tugged the drawers out and with light fingers rifled through the paper there. Nothing.

Another drawer, nothing. The third, nothing. Halfway through the fourth, she felt she was being irrational and closed the drawer then walked out. Her father had shown her the truth, that was all she needed.

It was unusual to entertain a courting man in the solarium but that is where Adelaine had wanted to meet Islington. She was sitting on a padded chaise on a dais overlooking the short hedge maze in the second garden on the property. In her brocade dress, she sat with her legs slanted to the side, her hand resting on her lap and her face tilted to the sky. A long curl of her hair of hair rested over her shoulder.

“Caspita, che bel panorama,” Islington’s smooth voice came from behind her. “Like the Mona Lisa, herself.”

“L’adulazione non ti porterà da nessuna parte,” Adelaine replied in Italian, a smile on her face.

The Marques laughed, “Flattery will get me nowhere, eh? Are you sure, My Lady? Flattery is the oil to the machinery of human vanity.”

“It is not mine,” Adelaine replied. “Please sit. How do you do? And have you had the privilege to see the Mona Lisa?”

“I am doing well, and yes, once,” Islington said. “I was a young boy when my parents took me to Fontainebleau. It was where Francois I displayed the beautiful portrait at his favorite chateau.”

She asked the first question just for propriety as she could see that he was doing more than well. Islington was dressed like a prince with tailored clothes that enhanced his impressive figure. His dark-grey doublet, matching hose and a pair of flower-encrusted, knee-high boots showed his broad chest and his height. To make a greater impression, fitted to his left shoulder was a dark-blue cavalier shoulder cloak embroidered with gold stitching.

A bit pompous and overdone.

He smiled. “Though admirable, I have found that polite conversation is banal. Tedious discussion about the weather, the growing fashion trends in France, or even the latest weaponry from the German masters. Would you agree, My Lady?”

“I am interested in what topic of polite conversation would interest you,” Adelaine said. “Politics, I suppose, of which I know nothing of, economics which is the forte of merchants and bit out of my scholastic range, or perhaps philosophy, theorizing about the infinity of time or the mystic writings of Nicholas de Cusa?”

Delight lit Islington’s face and his smile grew. “How about the origin of physics?”

“My apologies, I was not present when Archimedes manufactured the lever,” Adelaine replied easily. “Nor can I speak to Galileo?

?s discovery of the moons of Jupiter.”

“Perhaps the psychology used to fool competitors in a gambling den?” Islington put forward with his mouth curled in an amused smirk that was disconcertingly attractive.

“Again,” Adelaine replied. “I can only assume they have an incredible amount of self-restraint. Aside from that, I cannot attempt to decipher the complete mindset of one who masters the expressionless mien in card games.”

Islington leaned in, his eyes glittering like jewels. “You profess to know nothing about these topics but I can see deep intelligence glittering in your eyes. I feel that we’re going to have a wonderful time, My Lady.”

“Are we?”

“We are,” Islington said decisively.

“Lead on, Macduff,” Adelaine said cheekily. “What should we tackle first?”

“Our childhoods, perhaps?”

Their conversation then was lively, flowing easily between them as they spoke about their younger years. In about ten minutes, a servant came in with a tray of treats, tiny golden-brown meat pies, sweet cherry pastries, tart cinnamon bread cups filled with diced fruit. Glasses of water and wine were added and to the table and they nibbled on the treats while speaking.

Islington went on about his travels. His parents had taken him all over the continent; Italy, Spain, France, and had even journeyed to Scotland. Adelaine was listening with curiosity. The man was articulate, describing his memories with words that gave her a crystal-clear image of the places he had gone.

He was talkative though and she hardly got a word in edgewise until he broke from his epistle and gave her a deprecating sigh. “I’m sorry, I’ve been told I am just on the bad side of verbose. I’ve given you an eighth of my life story but have not heard much from you.”

“Just an eighth?” Adelaine asked wryly.

“I could go to a quarter if you’d like,” Islington said cheekily.

“I think not; an eighth is quite satisfactory,” Adelaine said as she gathered her thoughts. “Believe it or not, I was sort of rambunctious as a child. Not done for girl child, I know, but I had an older brother and we’d get into some unladylike activities. There was one tree in the back pasture which Peter and I would ride out to and climb,” Adelaine said wistfully. “At seven I was in the middle of a rebellious stage. He’d lend me an old pair of breeches and we’d climb that tree like two monkeys. One day though I slipped and banged my head on the ground. Peter nursed my throbbing head all day and we swore to keep it between ourselves. To this day, my father does not know about that.”