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

by Caroline Lee

  “Good eve, Lady Isla,” she murmured politely to the older woman.

  “Good eve, Rosalind,” Cam’s mother muttered distractedly, peering around the large room at the other diners. “Have ye seen Lord de Soules? Or the Countess of Strathearn?”

  Thanks to her years reading the Queen’s correspondence and studying Scotland’s politics, Rosa knew the names, but she wouldn’t be able to identify them by sight. So she didn’t answer directly.

  “Why are ye looking for them?”

  It was the way Isla waved away the question which raised Rosa’s suspicions. Not because the motion or the older woman’s expression were particularly suspicious, but because they reminded Rosa too much of her attitude toward Cam that morning.

  If the woman was mad, then this could be a sign de Soules and Strathearn were important indeed.

  If Rosa’s theory was correct, then it was entirely possible they were co-conspirators, intent on removing the Bruce and his wife from the throne.

  And making Cam king.

  But rather than pursuing that line of questioning, which was sure to make the other woman even more close-lipped, Rosa tried to imagine what Mellie would do. Mellie was the Angel with the clearest understanding of people and would surely know how to steer this conversation.

  Taking a deep breath, Rosa reached for her wine and did her best. “ ’Twas a blessing to see yer son Cam today, was it no’?”

  Distractedly, Isla nodded. “Cameron was always a dear boy, at least before he left.”

  “Why did he leave?”

  “Hmm?” The older woman blinked, as if noticing Rosa for the first time. “Oh, he had a tale to tell about his older brother, but that’s what happens when one has three older brothers, I assume. They were a rough-and-tumble bunch!”

  As she chuckled happily, Rosa pushed Isla’s wine goblet a little closer to her hand, hoping to loosen the woman’s tongue.

  “So he didnae like being on the receiving end of their violence, I suppose?” she prompted.

  Success! Isla reached for the goblet.

  “Something like that,” she murmured cagily, as she took a sip.

  Rosa carefully considered her phrasing before she spoke. “And I suppose he came to ye and his father before—”

  “My husband was no’ his father,” Isla said sharply, the wine inches from her lips as her eyes narrowed. “Ye heard that this morning, dear. My Cameron’s father was the great Red Comyn, the man who should have been king!”

  Exhaling, Rosa surreptitiously peeked around her, wondering if anyone was listening. Isla might be mad, but she was edging ever closer to public treason.

  “That is a…bold claim, milady,” she finally murmured.

  To her satisfaction, Isla took the bait, finishing the last of her wine and lowering the goblet with a haughty sneer. Her shoulders were back, her chin high, as if announcing she had nothing to be ashamed of, when she turned to Rosa.

  “I have nae need to claim boldly, Rosalind. I possess a letter, signed with the Red Comyn’s seal, thanking me for raising his son so well. Ye see, when my Cameron was five summers, John returned to visit us and met his son for the first time. He said then—and also in the letter—Cameron’s resemblance to his heir was proof he was his natural son.”

  Her fingers still clutched around the stem of her wine goblet, Rosa cautioned her heart to stop pounding so strongly, lest she give away her intentions.

  This is it.

  Cam was the son of Red Comyn.

  The Angels knew the plot against the Crown was in support of Red Comyn’s line.

  If a conspiracy existed, it would be made up of powerful lords who would require a clear plan of succession once they removed King Robert. They would demand proof.

  And Cam’s mother had the proof of her son’s sire.

  The threads of this investigation, which had been so tangled in her mind for the last several weeks, suddenly fell out of their Gordian knot and rewound themselves into perfect skeins.

  Now it was up to Rosa to turn them into a tapestry which told the full story.

  Cautiously, she offered, “If Cam—Cameron—has proof he is of the Comyn line, there are many who would consider him a candidate for the throne. As Robert’s heir.”

  Isla snorted delicately, picking up her goblet once more. “Heir? There are many who think my Cameron should be king now.”

  And there it was.

  Not quite a confession, but the confirmation of Rosa’s guesses.

  Still, she played the idiot. “How could that be, milady? The Bruce is king now.”

  “He is the king today, Rosalind, but will he be the king tomorrow? A sennight from now? These things are hard to foretell. Accidents happen every day. Where is that server? I am ready for my venison.”

  Accidents.

  Rosa’s mind skipped back to the incidents described in the King’s letters to his wife. The letters Mellie had read to her because they needed Rosa to know that information. Those had been accidents which had nearly taken the Bruce’s life.

  Had they been part of the conspiracy after all?

  And was that conspiracy being led by this woman seated beside Rosa?

  Torn between elation at having solved the riddle, and horror at what Isla Fraser planned, Rosa pretended to search for the servant as well.

  “I donae ken, milady. But I am no’ as hungry as I expected. Mayhap, since he is taking so long, I’ll just sup in my chambers tonight.”

  With a dry chuckle, the woman sipped from her goblet again. “Mayhap I’ll join ye. But the wine is delicious, so I will wait a bit longer until I give up and call for a meal from the kitchens.”

  Rosa took her time standing and offering a proper curtsey to the older woman, keeping her breathing steady. She wanted naught to alert Isla to her suspicions.

  But once she was out in the corridor, she hiked up her skirt and began to run.

  Charlotte had forbidden her to be alone with Cam, and she’d already broken that edict. Cam was innocent, and her team needed to know.

  She had to find Court and Mellie now.

  Chapter 13

  “Cam!”

  The hissed call startled him enough to jerk away from the tree where he was crouched. “Rosa?” he murmured in a low voice.

  The footsteps on the gravel path suddenly halted, and he turned his ear toward the last place he’d heard the sound. “Rosa?” he called again, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. Since dusk, there’d been no one out here in the gardens…except him.

  Suddenly, a noise from a different direction had him whirling, and then she was there, throwing herself into his arms.

  He realized the lack of footsteps had meant she’d stepped off the path, and the knowledge made him inexplicably proud.

  “God’s Teeth, lass,” he murmured, “ye move like a thief!”

  “Thank ye!” She giggled against his chest. “I learned from the best, ye ken.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled at her hair, wondering if she remembered his vow from earlier in the day. “Aye? And who was that?”

  In the faint moonlight, her teeth flashed in a smile when she tilted her head up to look at him. “Courtney taught me and Mellie both. And ye taught Court.”

  He blew out a breath. “Ye do ken Court, then.”

  It wasn’t a question—Lachlan had told him as much—but hearing her admit made him wonder if he would finally learn some of her secrets.

  “Aye, but we have more important things to speak of. Will ye come with me?”

  More important than learning her secrets?

  More important than finding Court again?

  Aye, the feel of her body pressed against his reminded him of what was truly important.

  “Lass,” he murmured truthfully, “I’d follow ye anywhere ye asked.”

  Which is how he found himself slipping through the quiet halls of the palace, avoiding the guards as if it were second nature. What surprised him was the way his beautiful flower did
the same.

  As she pulled him into a small room containing little more than a trunk, a bed pushed against one wall, and a shelf with more books than he’d ever seen in one place, he was smiling.

  “Naught ye do should surprise me anymore, Rosa.” He pulled her into his arms. “But I’m damned impressed by how sneaky ye are. Ye move with a grace Court never seemed to master.”

  She giggled and laced her fingers behind his waist. “Aye. Ye ken she was in the gaol? ‘Twas because she was shite at breaking into houses. Too tall.”

  Shaking his head, Cam couldn’t quite lose his smile. Heaven knows he’d teased Court about her height many times, but the reminder of his little sister being locked up made his heart clench. It was his fault she’d been in that damn place to begin with.

  “I’ve looked for her for so long.” He blew out a breath and dropped his chin to Rosa’s head, glad for the privacy and the single candle which spread a golden light around the room. “ ’Twas why I came to Scone, why I gave up the Red Hand to my uncle. I sent her away because— Well, it matters naught now.” His hold on Rosa tightened. “But when I brought my men here and discovered she’d been in gaol, had been branded, because I wasnae there to protect her…”

  “I ken,” she whispered. “It hurt ye to learn that.”

  “How?” His voice was strangled when he pulled back enough to stare into her eyes. “How do ye ken it?”

  The way her lips twitched upward looked almost sad.

  Sympathetic?

  “Because I ken ye are a good man, Cam Fraser. Because I ken what Court has told me of yer years together, and I ken what ye mean to one another.”

  Ye are a good man.

  It was what Lachlan had asked, and hearing the words from Rosa’s lips gave him a fierce sort of joy. His gaze flicked between her eyes, trying to guess at some motive for speaking them, but seeing only honesty.

  “Ye mean it, Rosa?”

  This time her smile bloomed like her name. “I do.” She tucked her cheek against his chest once more. “I am intelligent, I ken it. And I’ve put everything I ken about ye into my mind, thought it through, and the only logical conclusion is that ye are a good man.”

  With a surge of fierce joy, he tightened his hold on her, wondering what he could say in response which he hadn’t already said. His declaration of love earlier hadn’t been reciprocated, and he didn’t want to embarrass himself further.

  But then she spoke, where she was still pressed against his heart. “Ye ken, today I was forbidden to see ye again? Alone, at least. I was no’ going to let that stop me though. No’ if ye love me as much as I love ye.”

  He stiffened, wondering if she was reading his mind.

  Slowly, painfully, not daring to breathe, Cam untangled himself from her and pulled away, leaving his hands to rest on her upper arms.

  “What did ye say?” he choked out.

  She shrugged. “Charlotte thinks she can just forbid me to see ye, but I ken ye are a good man, and arenae guilty of the things she thinks. Aye, there’s still secrets I donae ken of yers, like why ye left home in the first place, and yer mother isnae being forthcoming. But now that I ken the truth about the plot against the Crown, and now that Court and Mellie ken as well, there’s nae reason I cannae be alone—“

  “Rosa!” God’s Teeth, but he was frantic. “Rosa, no’ that. Ye said…” Blackness was creeping into his vision, and he forced himself to suck in a breath. “Ye said ye loved me.”

  “Oh.” Her chin dropped, as if embarrassed, but dark eyes peeked up at him through her lashes. “I do. Is that aright?”

  God in Heaven.

  His lips crashed down on hers, showing her how very, very aright it was.

  Her little whimper of pleasure, and the way she curled her arms around his neck, told him she agreed.

  That knowledge is what sent him over the edge. She loved him, and she wanted this.

  With a groan, he lifted her, allowing her to tighten her hold around his neck, and to kick aside her silk skirt and hook one ankle behind his knee. As he kissed her with everything he had, everything he was, she jerked her pelvis against him, stroking the length of his hardness through the leather of his trewes.

  And then they were on the bed, him pressing her against the mattress, her hands tearing at his tunic and shirt, as frantic as he was. He couldn’t seem to pull away from her lips long enough to take a breath, much less speak coherently.

  But it wasn’t until his hand curled around her bare breast, and he realized he’d managed to undress her as much as she’d undressed him, that he forced himself to control this—this—lust.

  “Rosa,” he gasped, pulling his lips from her skin, and pressing his forehead to her jaw. “Ah, Rosa.”

  “Please, Cam.” She was tugging at his trewes. ”Please.”

  “I…Rosa, stop,” he begged, breathing in her perfect scent. He remembered holding her in that alley, weeks ago, and thinking he’d never smelled anything so sweet. But now… “Ye’re killing me, lass.”

  “Please don’ stop, Cam. I— Oh!”

  When she arched against him, the junction of her thighs cradling his cock, Cam groaned again and pushed off her.

  “I love ye, Rosa,” he said as he stood, “which is why I cannae allow ye to debase yerself with a man like—”

  “Like ye?” she snapped, pushing herself upright. “Is that what ye were going to say?”

  Blowing out a breath, he moved across the room, wondering where in damnation she’d thrown his shirt. And how she’d managed to tug it off over his head so easily. He dragged his hand through his hair and tried to control his breathing.

  “Cam?” She stood up, her eyes spitting dark fire. “That was what ye were going to say, aye? That if I lie with ye, if I give myself to ye, I’d be debasing myself?”

  Swallowing, he curled his fingers into fists at his side to stop himself from reaching for her. She was so damned magnificent.

  “Aye,” he whispered hoarsely. “Ye ken it. Ye deserve better than me, Rosa, and—”

  “Well, fuck that,” she snapped.

  And as his jaw dropped, she reached for the hem of her kirtle, grasping it and the léine in both hands, and dragged it over her head.

  There she stood, wearing only her stockings, her chest heaving with the intensity of her emotion, which did all sorts of interesting things to her breasts. She lifted her chin and met his eyes defiantly, as if daring him to judge her.

  And God help him, he couldn’t. His hands, his lips, his heart, his very being ached to reach for her.

  To make her his.

  “I’ve done little but lie to ye since we met, Cameron Fraser,” she said in a low voice, full of warning. “Ye donae ken who I am, no’ really. But somehow, someway, ye claim to be in love with me.”

  “ ’Tis more than just a claim, lass.” His tongue dragged against his lower lip as he contemplated her words. “And when ye told me ye loved me?”

  “That was nae lie.” She took a step closer, then another, tilting her head back to meet his eyes, but not touching him. “I love ye, Cam. I believe in ye, and I want ye. I want ye to make love to me. I’ve wanted ye since that day beside the berry brambles. I’ve wanted ye since before then—starting with that kiss in the alley when I was only supposed to follow ye, no’ speak to ye, and I kenned it, but that didnae stop me from following yer orders, from kissing ye, from—”

  She shook her head and took a deep breath.

  “It matters naught. I love ye, and I want to feel yer body against mine—in mine.” Her dark eyes were serious, but there was a heat in them he knew wasn’t just reflections of the candlelight. “I want to bring ye the pleasure ye brought me.”

  With a groan of surrender, Cam stopped fighting. If she was going to stand here in front of him and all but beg him to make her his, he would comply.

  “Rosa,” he whispered hoarsely, as he reached for her. “Oh, God…”

  And then she was his.

  Deus in caelo!
<
br />   Deus in caelo!

  Dimly, Rosa noted her inability to form coherent thoughts, but decided it didn’t matter.

  Deus in caelo, but the way he made her feel…!

  Cam’s mouth was everywhere, kissing, licking, loving her, and in between, whispering both words of praise and curses against her skin.

  She dropped her head back and offered herself, body and soul, for him to worship.

  And worship he did.

  When he curled one arm around her waist and lifted her, she sighed with pleasure and wrapped her legs around him, glad to be free of her skirts, as the wet center of her being pressed against him. And when his mouth closed around one pebbled nipple, she couldn’t help her gasp of pleasure, nor her desperate gyration.

  He growled against her skin, and she could swear she felt it in her core.

  Then she was splayed on the bed, his heavy body wriggling atop hers as he kicked off his belt and his trewes. She was nearly breathless in anticipation, the pressure building in her faster than she’d ever experienced.

  One of his hands found her wetness, stroking her with a heart-aching gentleness, which nearly sent her over the precipice.

  “Cam!” she gasped.

  He paused, one thick arm braced beside her head, lifting his torso over hers, with his fingers still inside her. His beautiful, haunted gray eyes stared into hers.

  “Tell me again, Rosa,” he commanded.

  And just like that day in the alley, she couldn’t contain the shiver his low voice sent through her. She was no meek lady, but there was no way she could deny his command either.

  She was an Angel, and Angels knew how to seize what they wanted.

  “I want this, Cam,” she repeated slowly, dragging her palms up his side and curling them around his back, pulling him closer. “I want ye. I want to feel ye in me, against me.”

  He shuddered, but didn’t give in, not yet. Instead, his tongue darted out over his lower lip. “I am no’ a gentleman, Rosa. I can only offer myself, as I am. I will likely hurt ye.”

  She squirmed underneath him, desperate for something only he could give her, willing him to continue his strokes. “I’m nae dullard. I understand.”