The Scottish Play Murder by Anne Rutherford

today.”
    “I enjoy the company. I’ve never been able to understand how anyone could eat alone.”
    “Sure, a bit of conversation helps the digestion, I think. Particularly if the company is as enjoyable as yourself.”
    “You flatter me.”
    “Not at all. I mean it with all my heart. Since I first had sight of you, I’ve hoped to enjoy your company as often as you might have time for me. For I notice you’re a busy woman, accomplishing great things all on your own.”
    Another woman might have taken the compliment as sarcastic criticism, but to Suzanne it was acknowledgment of the advantages she’d given to Piers and the work she’d put into the theatre. She had reason to believe he didn’t mean it as criticism. She had no cause for modesty, but her childhood training forced her to say, “I only do those things because nobody else will.”
    “Don’t take me mistakenly,
mo banacharaid
.” Ramsay held up his palms to ward off a misunderstanding. “Where I come from, a strong woman is to be admired. My mother is the most stubborn and straightforward creature who ever lived, and her mother before her nearly so. I proudly come from a long line of women who could charge into battle had they a mind or need to, right beside the men who sired their children who were my ancestors. ’Tis that very strength that draws me to you.”
    “You’re drawn to me? Seriously? And if I were to tell you I have no need of suitors?” Now she was skeptical. She’d heard that very statement too many times from clients who would flatter her into not charging them. In all her years as a whore, the ploy had never worked on her.
    “Then I would press my case. I would tell you in return that every woman needs a suitor, and sometimes even when already spoken for.” He put a finger to his mouth to suck grease from it, a gesture that for a moment had Suzanne’s entire attention. Then she blinked herself back into the conversation. There was just something about Ramsay that naturally drew one’s attention.
    Suzanne opened her mouth to protest that she was neither married nor engaged, and he held up another palm to keep her from it. “Aye,” he said. “I ken you have no man at present. But I tell you in all seriousness that my heart is yours for the taking and I would be pleased to pursue you were you to allow it.”
    Suzanne had taken yesterday’s remarks about wanting her as nothing more than idle banter, but now he seemed serious, even sincere, and that made her more than a little uncomfortable, for she’d once been so very wrong about a man’s sincerity and had never made that mistake since. She regarded him, her head unconsciously tilting to the side, and considered her reply.
    He said, “I willnae take no for an answer.”
    “All that stubbornness in your heritage.”
    “Aye. ’Tis in my blood.”
    It would have been lovely to succumb to his charm, to believe that after a lifetime of fending for herself, here was a man who would buffer her from the world. But she was far too old and battered both emotionally and physically to think there existed a mortal, imperfect savior. She chose to sidestep the entire issue. “You’re a Highlander, by your costume and your speech, but Ramsay is a Lowland name, is it not?”
    “The bulk of Ramsays live in the south, for a certainty. But my grandfather raised cattle and came with the herds to Moray one year. There he met my grandmother, who begged him to stay, and he did.”
    “Just like that?”
    “Her father was wealthy, and my grandfather was not. I cannae say as it must have been a difficult decision. Certainly it was a wise one, for he did well and prospered under the guidance of his father-in-law.”
    “And that is why you walk around with a ruby necklace on your person?”
    With a pleased smile he reached into the pocket in his doublet and drew out the ruby and gold necklace. “’Tis all I have in the world.” He handed it to her. Seen in its entirety and at leisure, the