The Thief's Angel: a bad-boy, enemies-to-lovers medieval romance (The Highland Angels Book 3)

by Caroline Lee

  Letting a handful of sand trickle through her fingers, she sighed. She missed her parents and sisters. She missed Grandfather, and his wonderous library. She knew she was doing important work for the Queen, but she regretted she was unable to sneak away to visit him far more frequently.

  “So ye’re all scholars? Yer parents and grandparents?”

  “And my sisters,” Rosa was quick to offer, then shrugged. “My parents had five daughters and educated us all. I am the youngest. My older sisters have all married, but not before having their husbands swear to my father they’d educate their daughters the same as their sons.”

  “He sounds like a remarkable man,” Cam offered. “I’d like to meet him one day.”

  I’d like that.

  But she bit down on the words, knowing she shouldn’t say them.

  Couldn’t say them.

  If Cameron Fraser was guilty of treason, he would have no future. No chance to meet her father. No chance to be with her.

  And here she was, lounging by the water, wasting a perfectly good opportunity to find out if he was guilty.

  She wracked her brain, trying to come up with some way to bring up the scheme against the Crown without giving him any details.

  What would make him spill his secrets without the exchange being too awkward?

  Her opportunity came when he caught another fish and tossed it up on the grass, while accepting Simone’s wet cheers from out in the loch. He even bowed extravagantly to the lassie, before settling back down to bait the hook again.

  An opening!

  “Ye look as if ye belong at court with that bow.”

  He stiffened at the word court, but then exhaled.

  “Nay,” he said nonchalantly, as he tossed the line in the water. “I just remember some of the manners my mother tried to teach me.”

  Before his life of crime.

  What else could she say…?

  “I do love fish, if ‘tis well-prepared. The royal family’s chef ensures we’re all well-fed at the palace. Is the Bruce no’ a wonderful king? Strong and brave and kens what’s best for all of us?”

  She bit her lip when he turned to her, confusion evident in the way his brows drew in.

  “Aye,” he agreed curtly, eyeing her and her odd questions, which seemed to come from nowhere.

  In desperation, she continued, saying, “He’s so much better a king than, say, John Comyn, would ye agree?”

  Cam frowned and lifted his shoulders as he nodded. “Aye, ye’re likely right. The man was killed after I left home, but my parents always spoke well of him. I donae remember what they said now, but I ken I didnae like to hear him praised.” He glanced sidelong at her. “From what I’ve heard of the man, I donae think he would’ve had the strength to break from the English the way King Robert did.”

  That was…that was a remarkably accurate, insightful, and entirely innocent thing to say.

  His father, Michael Fraser, had been a Comyn supporter for the Crown. ‘Twas why it had been so easy to believe someone from his clan—specifically his brother, Lachlan—had led this murderous scheme against Robert and Elizabeth.

  But Lachlan was innocent, per Mellie’s investigation. As was Ross Fraser. Andrew Fraser, Cam’s uncle, was dead.

  Cam was the only suspect left.

  But was he guilty?

  With a sigh, she let her head flop back against the boulder.

  What was happening to her mind?

  Usually she was the sharp one; the one who could question suspects with little effort.

  Here and now, she was asking questions which made her seem mad.

  Of course, he likely thinks ‘tis normal when it comes to me.

  She groaned aloud and pinched the bridge of her nose, wondering if she could sink into the sand from embarrassment.

  “Ye ken, I met ye only two days ago?”

  “Nay,” she muttered, her eyes tightly closed. “We met a sennight ago.”

  He chuckled. “I met a gorgeous, intriguing woman I thought a whore a sennight ago. I met ye just the other morning, on the road from An Torr.”

  She peeked one eye open and glared at him. “So?”

  “So…” He shrugged, his attention on his niece in the water. “I think ye’re a fascinating woman. Brilliant, beautiful, and intriguing as all of Creation. The way yer mind works is a mystery to me.”

  “Me too, sometimes,” she groaned.

  He chuckled again. “And I like how honest ye are.”

  Honest?

  Nay!

  This time it was her turn to chuckle, but not happily. If only he knew…

  “So the book ye carry?”

  The question was an odd enough one it had her pushing herself upright, her hands clutching for the hard rectangle under her scapular. “What about it?”

  “Did that come from yer grandfather’s library? The one ye value so much? Do ye carry it with ye wherever ye go?”

  Her grip relaxed, but then she reconsidered and pulled it from under the material. Staring down at the cover, she traced the engravings. “Whenever I’m”—on a mission—“away from the palace,” she said instead, “I bring one of my books with me. They help me stay focused.”

  “By reading them?”

  Her fingers caressed the leather. “No’ exactly.”

  “Will ye read it to me now?” he asked quietly.

  She didn’t even have to glance at him to know he meant what he said. Simone was still playing happily; calling out for them to watch her and splashing merrily.

  Why not?

  Rosa pulled her legs up, crossing them to create a resting spot for the precious book. Reverently, she opened the pages, the parchment stiff and glorious under her fingertips. She found her favorite passage and peered down at the page.

  Even here, in broad daylight, she couldn’t make out the words. Not this close.

  If she held the book at arms-length, she could read more clearly, but even that was becoming difficult. Luckily, she didn’t have to.

  “Those who love the knight Lanval

  Come running to him now to tell

  Him about the maiden come to court

  Who will free him, please the Lord.”

  She lost herself in the words. So much so that when he interrupted her, she actually jumped.

  “Yer eyes are closed.” There wasn’t accusation in his tone, just interest.

  And she realized he was right. Her eyes had been closed.

  Flushing, she darted a glance his way.

  He was busy unhooking a third fish from his line. She’d been so immersed in the words, she hadn’t noticed him catch any more. But after he tossed the thing up with the others, he wiped his palms on his leather trewes and settled back against the boulder beside her, one brow raised in challenge.

  He wasn’t going to drop the question.

  “Aye,” she finally admitted. “I—I ken the verse.”

  Humming, he eyed her. “That was part of the passage ye recited last night, when the lady appears and vindicates Lanval. But I prefer the beginning, when her handmaidens bring him to her tent. ‘Tis my favorite part.”

  He had a favorite part of Lanval?

  Be still, my heart.

  Of course, judging from his lewd wink, there was a reason that was his favorite part of the epic poem.

  Fumbling with the book, she tried to calm her pulse as she carefully flipped through the pages.

  Why did it matter if he knew the story as well as she did?

  Why did it matter if they both shared an interest in books and stories, and God knew what else?

  It mattered because no man besides her father and grandfather had ever acknowledged her mind…and Cam had called her brilliant. No man had ever shared these interests with her.

  If she’d ever considered marrying, it would’ve been a man like her father; calm, scholarly and kind.

  So why in damnation did this man—this braw, handsome thief—make her legs weak with desire?

  Because h
e cared.

  He cared to discover a connection with her. He cared to help tutor a whore, so she’d be successful. He cared to help a young pickpocket, and to raise young Courtney.

  He cared, and the longer she was with him, the more she doubted her conclusion he was guilty.

  The parchment crinkled in her fingers. Smoothing out the page, she began to read. Or pretend to read.

  But she didn’t make it two sentences, before he interrupted her. “Ye’re on the wrong page.”

  Her gaze jerked to his, then back down to the book.

  Nay, surely she wasn’t?

  She lifted the book, pulling it closer, then farther away, as she peered at the words she could no longer make out.

  But it was his soft grunt which gained her attention once more. “Nay, my mistake. Ye were on the right page all along. But ye can no’ see the words, can ye?’

  In the three years since she’d noticed her ocular degeneration, no one had caught on. She’d been so careful, so certain she could fool her fellow Angels and the Queen, and here was a man she’d just met, a thief, who’d figured it out?

  She considered denying it, making an excuse, but every version of that conversation she could calculate resulted in embarrassment for her.

  So, shoulders slumping, she let the book drop to her lap once more. “How did ye ken?”

  He didn’t reply for a long while, long enough she peeked up at him. From this distance, she could see him clearly, but if he were any closer…

  Finally, he shrugged. His gray eyes holding hers. “ ’Twas no’ obvious. Just some ways ye look at things. Yesterday, when ye were braiding Simone’s hair, I saw ye tracing the shape of her head with yer hands afore ye placed her cap on, as if ye couldnae quite make out what ye were seeing. Ye donae seem to have problems with things at any distance, like where I am now.”

  “Aye,” she whispered, shame causing her cheeks to warm as she dropped her gaze to his chin. “I can see ye fine.”

  “But ye have trouble seeing things up close, am I right? I noticed ye squinting earlier when ye were examining that hole in yer hem.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Ye didnae read the book last night, but were reciting the words. Ye must have a remarkable memory.”

  Rather than be soothed by the compliment, Rosa felt tears pricking at her eyes. Shame and anger washed through her. A remarkable memory wasn’t going to help her, not without the ability to actually read the words!

  “Nae one else has guessed,” she whispered, her eyes going back to the beloved, useless book on her lap. “Three years it’s been happening, and nae one else has guessed. Except ye.”

  “Mayhap none of them spend as much time watching ye as I do.”

  She snorted softly. It was hard for her to believe this man, this virtual stranger, knew more about her than Court or Mellie did.

  However…she’d been able to hide her secret from her closest friends. Cam had just met her, and he saw things, understood things, she hadn’t thought for a moment he would have.

  She slanted a sidelong glance at him. “I donae ken what to do,” she confessed.

  He shrugged, lacing his fingers together on his lap and looking for all the world like a man completely at ease with life. “There’s naught to do. I kenned a man who lost his vision like that, up-close. He was no’ a reader like ye were, so it was nae great loss. But he compensated for it in other ways.”

  Curious despite her misery, Rosa lifted her chin. “Like what?”

  Faster than she could react, Cam had leaned forward and snatched the book from her lap. Gasping, she lunged after it, but he was settled back against his boulder before she even had a plan.

  To her surprise, he opened the book, flipping through the pages as if this was an everyday occurrence for him. Ignoring her, he muttered to himself—so quiet she couldn’t make out the words—until he reached the page he wanted.

  “Ah, here it is, my favorite part.” He flicked a glance her way, his lips curling up into that gorgeous smile which made her insides churn. “One of the ways to compensate is to accept help, even if ye donae want to.”

  And then he began to read.

  “This tent was the maiden's bower:

  New-blown rose, lily-flower,

  When in Spring their petals unfurl—

  Lovelier than these was this girl.

  She lay upon so rich a bed,

  You'd pay a castle for the sheet—

  In just her slip she was clothèd.

  Her body was well-shaped, and sweet.

  A rich mantle of white ermine,

  Lined with silk, alexandrine,

  Was her quilt, but she'd pushed it away,

  On account of the heat; she didn't hide

  Her face, neck, breast, her whole side,

  All whiter than hawthorn blossom in May.”

  Deus in caelo!

  He was lounging on the shore of a loch as if it were the most natural thing in the world, reading a book to her.

  It had been years since anyone had read a book to her. Read anything to her. As soon as she could read herself, her parents had gone back to their own studies, allowing her and her sisters to choose their own material from the library.

  The tears which had pricked her eyes earlier now materialized. Two fat drops slowly crawled down her cheeks, but despite them, her lips pulled upward.

  He was reading to her.

  And it was glorious.

  Cam had a beautiful voice, his tone rising and falling with the verses. His pronunciation was perfect, and he even put emphasis on the words she would have.

  Listening to him was soothing in a way song or food, or even breathing, wasn’t.

  Listening to him read to her was…was…everything!

  She scooted back down against her boulder, resting her head and staring up at the sky, the words washing over her.

  And in that moment, she knew she was falling in love with Cam.

  Chapter 8

  He thought she was asleep.

  Rosa hadn’t moved once over the last four pages, but when Cam closed the book and looked over at her, she was staring up at the sky, tear tracks marking her cheeks.

  He wanted to ask what was wrong, wanted to ask if he’d offended her by taking the book from her and reading it, but then she lifted her head and met his eyes.

  And she was looking at him as if he were some kind of…hero?

  Some kind of noble man. Someone who’d just done something wonderful.

  All I did was read a book.

  It’d been a while since he’d had the opportunity, he confessed to himself. The library at An Torr had been small, only containing a handful of volumes, and most of those were religious treatises. His mother had had a copy of several Lais of Marie de France, including Lanval, before Father had sold them, and young Cam had been enthralled by the story.

  About ten years ago, while trying his hand at highway robbery, he’d taken a wagon with some books in it, and had confiscated those as part of his share of the booty.

  But imagine having an entire library of books at her fingertips…and not being able to read any of them.

  “Does yer family ken? About no’ being able to see up close?”

  Mutely, she shook her head, then he remembered.

  She’d said no one knew.

  Except him.

  She’d shared a secret with him.

  It wasn’t an explanation of her past, or why in damnation she carried weapons and dressed in disguises and was part of the palace life.

  Nay, but somehow, it was better.

  Leaning forward, he carefully placed the book on her lap where he’d taken it from. As he did, her hand came down to cover the book protectively and unintentionally captured his.

  He gently clasped her hand and squeezed it. When she met his eyes, he nodded solemnly. “Thank ye, Rosa. For sharing with me.”

  The book and yer secret.

  She blinked those lovely dark eyes, then dropped her chin and her gaze, as if
suddenly unsure what to say. So he gave her hand another squeeze, reveling in the touch of her skin on his.

  “Uncle Cam! Uncle Cam, look at what I can do!”

  Blowing out a breath, he dragged his attention away from Rosa to the little girl he was supposed to have been watching all this time. “Aye, lassie?”

  As she threw herself forward into the clear water, her little white arse flashing in the sunshine, he smiled and pulled his hand away from Rosa’s. He stood, shading his eyes, until Simone came back to the surface.

  “That’s enough, lassie!” he called, beckoning her in. “Yer lips are turning blue.”

  Simone protested all the way to shore, but once on solid ground, she shivered fiercely as Cam used her plaid to dry her off. She stood, knobby knees clattering together, and her arms hugging her elbows, while her teeth chattered.

  “Here,” Rosa said as she handed him Simone’s shirt and took the plaid from him.

  It was a little complicated, trying to figure out which hole the girl’s head was supposed to go through, and she was giggling by the time the shirt was on properly. Then Rosa pulled Simone down to sit in her lap while she dried the lassie’s hair with the plaid.

  Cam sat back on his haunches, watching the two. “ ’Tis a useful piece of material, aye?”

  “Lachlan would be happy to give ye one, I’m sure,” Rosa murmured, not looking at him.

  The thought of once more wearing the Fraser plaid had him flustered. “Nay. Nay. No’ for me.”

  Little Simone piped up as Rosa plaited her damp hair. “If ye’re my uncle, then ye should have a Fraser kilt.”

  He shook his head as he stood. “I havenae been a Fraser in many, many years,” he called over his shoulder as he fetched the three trout he’d caught earlier.

  But he still heard the lassie’s snort. “I ken ye havenae been home in many years, but ye’re still a Fraser. Can I go pick berries now, Rosa?”

  “Aye, lassie,” came the woman’s quiet murmur. “Fill yer tam, and we’ll eat them with the fish yer uncle caught.”