Page 1 of Highland Ruse

Prologue

London

August 1603

Delilah Canterbury had risen above her station. In fact, she’d just risen above every flat, mediocre note of her existence.

She sauntered down the wood-paneled hall toward the king’s private room, following the same path she’d left that very morning. Her heart tapped against her ribs in an excited beat, impatient for everything to unfold.

Her victory.

The heavy silk of her dress rustled in the silence like an eager whisper. The gown had been costly enough to have fed her family for a month. Not that her parents had purchased it. They’d never be able to afford something so fine. Her aunt had called it a gift—one Delilah would reimburse as soon as she was able.

Perhaps the time to do so could be soon.

Delilah ducked her head and allowed herself a giddy smile behind her curtain of light brown hair before she knocked on the large wooden door.

Voices sounded on the other side, male voices—ones that determined which wars were fought, who became titled, who became wealthy. Her foot bounced silent and anxious against the thick carpet.

The door swung open to reveal a group of men bustling about the lavish room beyond. The king’s personal chambers.

She knew exactly how they looked. The gold-threaded tapestries, the thick, velvet cushions, the massive bed.

A man stared at her with bored disinterest. Between the curls of his black wig and the crowding of his neck ruff, his face was barely more than a pair of squinty eyes over the stump of his bulbous nose.

“I’d like to see the king.” Delilah hoped her tone came across as more sweet and flirtatious than the breathy-excited she felt.

The man’s gaze swept down her once, then returned to her face. It had been a quick but thorough assessment, and his disapproval was tangible enough to heat her cheeks. She would ensure he showed her the respect she deserved when she’d spoken to James.

James.

How many people were actually allowed to address him so informally?

The man turned away and approached the king. James lifted his head, and his dark eyes found hers. She cast her gaze away, demure despite the warmth tingling up her spine.

When she’d first come to court, her mother had told her she’d never be anything more than a lady’s maid, a poor relation given a job to assuage the cost of a mouth to feed back home. The discouragement hadn’t dampened Delilah’s anticipation to arrive at Hampton Court Palace. Not one bit. She’d always known she’d be something more—something great.

And now she would become the king’s mistress.

She, the eighth child of fifteen. She, who’d not been married off like her other sisters. She, who had spent her entire life perfectly in the middle, perfectly ignored.

Delilah’s mind raced with images of her and James, wearing the most luxurious clothing on an extraordinarily costly boat on the Thames. They laughed in the sunshine together and placed their heads against one another’s as they read books, and—

“His Majesty will see you.”

Her attention snapped from her dreams. But rather than flit away, the dreams curled deep in her heart where they stayed happy and safe.

The remaining few men in the room exited when she entered. The idea of them clearing out—for her—made her blood run through her veins. She lifted her head a notch and regarded James with a coy grin.

They were alone.

The breath squeezed from her chest.

She bowed low in front of James and let her gaze lift to him before she rose. Last night he’d liked that. He’d caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger and whispered how eager he’d been to see her alone.

Now, however, James appeared unaffected.

He stared down at her over the slope of his nose, his mouth set in a hard line. He wore his ornate black hat atop a fine wig, but she’d seen him without both, when his hair was downy copper beneath her fingertips.