“Nay, silly,” she giggled. “I slipped. But Cam fished me out.” She pointed over her shoulder. “He’s my new friend.”
The man—Owen?—hummed and took his time examining Cam, who had hunched over to look less of a threat. When Owen’s gaze flicked to the sword and back, Cam hid his wince.
“Strangers are welcome on Fraser land, as long as ye look to cause nae trouble, Cam.”
Tugging at the mantle’s hood, a show of respect as well as to hide his face further, Cam did his best to appear unmemorable. “Just looking for a spot of fishing, milord.”
Owen grunted. “I’m nae laird. Which is good, else I’d tan this one’s arse for no’ being with her nurse when I went looking for her.”
Giggling again, Simone grabbed for the big man’s hand. “Owen’s Da’s commander. He’s in charge while Da is chasing after Mellie to make her his wife. Owen says Da’s happier with Mellie around, although I donae ken why he winks and laughs after he says that. Owen says Da says—”
“Owen says ye’re too smart for yer own good, lassie,” the big man growled.
Simone sighed good-naturedly. “Aye, Da says that too.”
“Come on.” Owen tugged at the girl. “Yer father’s sent an escort to take ye to Scone to be there for his wedding. I donae ken why he didnae send a whole regiment, but likely he kens more than I do. She says ye’ll be safe with her.”
As the Fraser commander led the lass back toward An Torr, Simone twisted to wave at Cam. “Goodbye! Thanks for talking to me and saving me!”
And Cam’s lips tugged upward as he lifted his hand in return. “Goodbye, Simone,” he whispered.
But Owen’s words bothered him. Lachlan had sent an escort, and the commander was obviously worried it wasn’t enough.
And who was the she he’d referenced?
Surely not Mellie, or he would’ve called her by name.
In a moment, Cam’s next move was decided.
He’d come here to An Torr to get away, but in doing so, he’d met a niece he hadn’t known existed, and had also had a realization about his goal in finding Court.
Lachlan—or at least, his betrothed—could be the key he needed to track down the lass he thought of as his little sister.
But more than that, he realized how much he could allow himself to care for Simone.
She couldn’t come to harm, and wouldn’t, as long as he had a single breath left in his body.
Decided, he strode for his sword, scooping it up and strapping it on in one move.
He’d head south, just far enough so the horse he planned on stealing wouldn’t be tied to An Torr. From there, he’d be able to track Simone’s party in order to ensure she met no danger while on her trip.
Once she was safe in Scone, he’d figure out how to make contact with Lachlan once more and ask for his help in finding Court.
After all, Lachlan owed him. Disregarding that punch to the jaw, Cam had saved his life last week and had fished his daughter out of the loch today. Aye, surely that warranted some information.
So to his surprise, as his long strides took him away from An Torr and toward the next step in his plan, Cam was smiling. He was heading back to Scone, and he would ensure Simone’s safety, find Lachlan, and track down Court once he arrived.
And after he knew both Simone and Court were safe, he’d go find a tavern and buy an entire cask of whisky to drown these odd emotions wreaking havoc in his chest. Then he’d find a whore and bury himself between her legs until he forgot what it was to feel.
Mayhap he’d be able to track down that delicate flower, Rosa, again. Mayhap he could offer her his protection. ‘Twould keep her sweetness safe and give him sole access to her tempting body any time he needed it. She’d welcome his coin as much as any other man’s, he was certain.
He felt his cock stir and took a deep breath.
Aye, he had a plan, and he always worked better with plans.
Simone, Lachlan, Court.
Then, drinking, whoring and forgetting.
What could go wrong?
Chapter 4
Rosalind resisted the urge to sigh in frustration as she faced the two men before her. “Because we will attract far less attention if ye allow me to escort her, as yer laird commands.” She gestured to the parchment in the hands of the older one, An Torr’s seneschal, Martin. “Ye’ve read his letter.”
Martin turned to the younger, burly man, who was An Torr’s commander. “She is right, Owen. Laird Fraser claims Sister Rosa is capable of no’ only escorting Simone to Scone on her own, but clever enough to come up with a ruse to fool any enemies.”
Owen, who was in charge while Lachlan was in Scone, frowned. “And does he say what kind of enemies he’s expecting?”
Rosa hid her wince behind a serene, nun-like expression as the two men argued. Within moments of meeting Owen, she’d decided not to mention the attack on Lachlan and Mellie. The man looked warlike enough—and seemed as if he cared about Simone enough—that he wouldn’t allow the lass to go off alone if he knew the danger, no matter his laird’s commands.
Finally, Owen threw up his hands. “Fine. I’ll go fetch the lassie. She’s likely fishing in the loch this morn.” He jabbed a finger at Rosa. “Ye tell Martin everything ye need for this ruse of yers to ensure Simone is safe. I’ll no’ have Lachlan claiming I allowed his daughter to come to harm.”
Rosa nodded demurely and waited for the big man to storm out, before turning to Martin with a smile. “Are ye willing to help, Sir Steward?”
The older man bobbed his head eagerly. “Tell me what I can do, Sister.”
Taking a deep breath, she aligned her thoughts, then began to lay out her plan and reasons. “Simone willnae be in Scone for too long, but she will need baggage. A trunk, at least. Lach—I mean, Laird Fraser said his betrothed Millie will likely have need of some luggage as well, and he believed her maid, Brigit, is still here?”
When Martin nodded, she took it to mean all was as she’d planned.
“I would like ye to have Simone’s trunk loaded with Mellie’s trunk, along with Brigit, and mayhap even Simone’s nurse, if she’s available, and sent off to Scone right away. Before Simone and I leave.”
“Why all that, Sister?”
“ ’Tisnae all. I want ye to assign as many men as ye can to guard it, and I want a lassie to go along with them. Mayhap a daughter of one of the guards? Gossip travels faster than wildfire in the Highlands, and I want everyone to ken a baggage wagon left An Torr, heavily guarded, with a lassie. If there is any danger to be met, she’d be well-guarded, aye?”
This time, Martin’s nod was thoughtful. “Aye… Gaspar has a daughter about Simone’s age, and I’m sure he’d be keen to take her. Owen is in command of the men, but I could request he be sent as part of the guards.”
“So ye accept my ruse?” she asked, her hands gripped tightly together in front of her.
“ ’Tis a good plan. If there is danger, ‘twill come to the baggage wagon and guards. Nae one would guess a nun traveling with a wee charge could be anything other than what they seem, if everyone assumes Simone is with her trunks.”
Rosa exhaled on a pleased nod, glad the seneschal not only understood, but approved.
He gave a little bow. “If ye’ll excuse me, Sister, I’ll set Brigit and Simone’s nurse to packing as quickly as possible.”
With nothing better to do after the seneschal had scurried off, Rosa sank down onto one of the trestle table benches with a grateful sigh. It had been a hard ride from Scone, although she traded her horse for a mule before arriving in An Torr.
On the way back, she’d pick up her horse again. True, a nun and a bairn on a horse might attract slightly more attention than they would on a mule, but she’d be damned if she would wait the extra time a plodding mule would take to return them to Scone.
She wanted this mission over so she could go back to searching for Cameron Fraser.
Search for the man whose memory still made her thighs clench
in anticipation.
“Are ye hungry, Sister?”
The question startled her back to the moment before she could slip away to her memories of his touch, and she turned to find a round, cheerful man holding an offering of bread, cheese and ale on a wooden plate.
Grateful, she took it with a smile. “Aye, and my thanks.”
“Nae need, Sister,” the man said with a smile as he backed away. “Just offer me a prayer here and there!”
She murmured her agreement before bending over her meal.
Deus meus!
These people thought she really was a nun, and her prayers were worth something. Half the time, Rosa was so absorbed in her studies, she forgot to say her prayers at all.
Or at least, she used to be that way. Soon, she’d be unable to study anything. There’d be naught left to do then but pray.
As she lifted the bread, the movement caused her bundle to shift. Under her scapular, she’d strapped a few necessities, her weapon, and one of her precious books, which she now pushed back into position. Nun she might be, but there were some things she refused to do without. And even if she couldn’t actually read Lanval, it brought her comfort to hold the hand-written verse in the evenings and pull the words from her memory.
As she ate, she watched the bustle around her and was impressed. Her father’s home was run the same way, thanks to her aunt. Mother had always been too focused on her books and scrolls—the same as Father—to care about running the keep. But Mother’s sister had kept Rosa’s childhood home in order and had made it a pleasant place to grow up.
From what little she’d heard about Lachlan’s childhood, she suspected An Torr hadn’t always been a pleasant place to live. But obviously Lachlan was a good laird, who cared for his people, and who was cared for in return.
But what of his brother?
Had Cameron enjoyed his childhood here?
Had he played here in the great hall?
Rosa didn’t have to close her eyes to imagine a little blond-haired, gray-eyed lad running wild across these rushes, getting into mischief and fun with his brothers.
Had he eaten here at this very table?
What had made him leave?
Shaking her head, Rosa admitted the truth; she was becoming alarmingly obsessed with that man.
Who could blame me after that kiss?
Nay, it had been more than a kiss. She might be a virgin, but she was no innocent. No one could spend five years with Mellie without learning a thing or three about sex, and Rosa had recognized the feelings Cameron Fraser had unintentionally caused.
No’ quite unintentional. He thought ye a whore and experienced, he did.
He’d expected her to want what he was offering, and to her surprise, she did.
And as soon as she got back to Scone, she’d hunt him down and get—
What?
Nay!
She dropped the bread to her plate and shook herself.
Nay, she’d return to Scone, hunt down Cameron Fraser, and get the answers she needed to solve this whole convoluted mess. If he was guilty of treason, she’d discover the truth and punish him.
Aye. Aye, she felt better with a plan.
“Here she is,” came the exasperated voice behind her.
Rosa turned to see Owen holding the hand of a little girl with long, pale hair and freckles. She was peering at Rosa’s disguise with trepidation, and she was soaking wet.
When Owen nudged her, the lassie dropped into an awkward curtsey.
“Greetings, Sister Rosa. I’m Simone Fraser,” she all but whispered.
Oh dear.
Knowing this mission wouldn’t succeed until Simone trusted her, Rosa turned on the bench so she was at eye level with the girl. “Hello, Simone,” she said with a gentle and welcoming smile. “Yer father sent me to fetch ye back to Scone for his wedding. He’d like ye near him during the ceremony. Would ye like that?”
The girl let go of Owen’s hand, who rolled his eyes and hurried off in another direction—likely to arrange her baggage’s escort—and edged closer.
“Do ye ken Mellie?” she asked.
“I do. Mellie and I have been close friends for five years now. She told me ye’re a smart little lassie, and she also told me all about yer adventure on the loch a few weeks back.” Rosa made a show of peering at Simone’s wet clothes. “But it looks as if ye’ve had another fishing adventure.”
Sure enough, the girl broke into a sheepish grin as she brushed her hand down her soaked kirtle. “I went for a swim. No’ on purpose.”
Chuckling, Rosa stood, offering Simone her hand. “Well, in order for ye to travel safely to Scone with me, I need ye to wear a disguise. Why don’ we get ye out of that wet dress, and I’ll tell ye all about it?”
“A disguise?” Simone sounded intrigued as she placed her hand in Rosa’s and allowed the woman to lead her toward the stairs. “Do ye ken much about disguises?”
Rosa was chuckling as they headed toward the lassie’s chambers. “More than ye might expect. I’ll tell ye about my current disguise, if ye can keep a secret…”
* * *
The rest of the day was chaotic, but Rosa stood with Simone—who was now dressed as a lad, with her braid tucked up under a tam and her knobby knees peeking out from under a Fraser plaid—and waved as the wagon loaded with her trunks of gowns passed out of An Torr’s gates.
Brigit turned to wave cheerfully back, but Simone’s nurse had opted to remain behind.
“ ’Tis just as well,” Simone said matter-of-factly to Rosa, having lost all her shyness. “Da says I donae need a nurse, but a mother.”
“Well…” Rosa tweaked the lassie’s nose. “Let us make haste in getting ye to Scone in time to greet yer new mother, aye?”
“Aye!”
Rosa had spent the last five years as an Angel. She’d been on scores of missions, some boring and some dangerous. She’d ridden across the length and breadth of Scotland and knew how to attract attention or hide from it.
But she’d never had a more enthusiastic—or noisy—travel companion as Simone Fraser.
It was hard to remain on alert with Simone’s constant questions, but by the second morning of their travel, the lassie sat perched behind Rosa on the mare, and Rosa had grown accustomed to the lassie’s unending prattle and could answer her, while still peering diligently about.
“How do ye ken we’re going the right way?”
Rosa nodded to the path ahead of them. “Because the road only goes two directions; south to Scone and north toward Inverness. We’re no’ going north.”
“But how do ye ken?”
“Because of the sun. ‘Tis on our left, see? Since it rises in the east, I ken we’re going south now.”
“And how do ye ken that?”
Rosa resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, but she did let out a little sigh. “Because I read and listen and learn things. Ye should try it.”
“Aye,” the little girl chirped happily. “Da says I can repeat back almost anything naughty I hear.”
Pressing her lips together to hold in her chuckle, Rosa nodded. “ ’Tis a valuable skill.”
“I think spies need to ken how to do that. Mayhap I could be a spy when I grow up! I already ken all about disguises, don’ I, Rosa?”
Spies?
Deus in caelo, the lassie was closer to the mark than Rosa wanted to admit.
Instead of answering Simone, Rosa forced a serene expression and nodded politely to a man tugging his handcart in the opposite direction. When he called her Sister, she called out a greeting in return, then urged her horse onward.
Her calculations had been correct; traveling as a nun and a lad had afforded them, not only protection, but invisibility. No one would guess the nun was one of the Queen’s ladies, and the lad the daughter of a powerful laird.
They’d passed the wagon with Simone’s baggage early that first day—with Brigit waving cheekily from where she sat beside Gaspar’s daughter—and had be
en making good time since. There’d been no sign of danger, but that didn’t mean Rosa could let down her guard.
“Why is yer skin so dark, Rosa?”
“Hmm?” she replied absent-mindedly.
“Yer face and hands are dark, and I saw yer legs when ye were taking a piss this morning. They’re dark too.”
Rolling her eyes at the lassie’s candor, Rosa patted the knobby knee beside her. “Ladies donae speak of pissing.”
“Why no’? They have to piss, do they no’?”
Deus meus, mayhap she wasn’t cut out for children.
“Aye, everyone pisses,” Rosa explained slowly, “but ‘tisnae polite to speak of it.” She could feel the little girl taking a breath to argue, so she hurried to say, “Just promise no’ to speak of pissing to anyone at court except yer father, Mellie, me or—or Brigit. Aright?”
The little hairs on the back of Rosa's neck wavered from the force of Simone’s put-upon sigh.
“Fine. But why is yer skin so dark?”
Glancing down at the back of her own hand, Rosa shrugged. “My grandfather was a Moor.”
“A what? Ye mean like where the heather grows?”
Rosa chuckled. “Nay. Moor is also the name for a person who comes from North Africa—a land far to the south, where ‘tis much hotter. People who live there have much darker skin than most Scots or Norsemen.”
Simone was quiet for a long moment, then asked hesitantly, “Is that where ye’re from?”
“Nay, but my grandfather—my mother’s father—was verra wealthy in his own land, and he used that wealth to travel all over the world. He collected priceless scrolls and books from Arabia and further east, and then traveled north. He met the Norsemen in Kiev on the Volga and followed them home, then went on to Scotland. He met my grandmother in Aberdeen.”
Behind her, Simone sighed. “And he stopped traveling?”
Chuckling, Rosa shook her head. “Nay, no’ completely. Grandmother’s father was a laird, ye ken, and he wanted her to stay close. So part of the year they lived with him, and part of the year they traveled to my grandfather’s home and other places. My mother was raised with the most wonderful library, and she and my father taught their children to value learning.”
The Thief’s Angel Page 5