The Thief’s Angel

by Lee, Caroline

Charlotte was still slumped in her chair, her lips pursed, and her brows lowered. Rosa couldn’t tell if she was thinking, or bitterly angry.

  Finally, the older woman blew out a breath. “And how do ye ken about him being Red Comyn’s bastard son?”

  “Because I was there when his mother told him. Just a few hours ago. He had no idea—and in fact, was completely surprised by the revelation.”

  “Ye’re sure?” Mellie pressed.

  Nodding, Rosa held her gaze. “He had nae idea Michael Fraser wasnae his father, no’ until Lady Isla told him he was Red Comyn’s bastard. I would stake everything on it.”

  “Ye might have to,” Mellie muttered.

  “Damnation!” Charlotte’s palm slammed against the desk. “Damnation!” She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the way the bairn squirmed in Mellie’s hold. “Ye had our prime suspect in the palace alone, and ye let him go? Ye didnae alert the guards, or us? Or anyone?”

  Eyes narrowing, the Angels’ leader pointed one long finger at Rosa’s nose. “We’ve been searching everywhere for him, for days, and ye just let him stroll in here? How?”

  Rosa lifted her chin, praying she was doing a tolerable job of hiding her fear. She’d rarely seen Charlotte this angry, and never at her.

  What would the woman—the leader who’d so recently assured Rosa of her value to the team—say if she found out Rosa had showed Cam their secret entrance to the gardens?

  But Charlotte was clearly waiting for an answer, so Rosa forced her jaw to unclench. “Factum fieri infectum non potest.”

  “What in damnation does that mean?”

  Rosa shrugged. “ ‘Tis impossible for the deed to be undone.”

  Scoffing, Charlotte threw up her hands. “ ‘Tis the doing of the deed which angers me.”

  “I needed to see them together,” Rosa jumped to defend her choices, although she wisely left out the hope for a future with Cam. “His mother was a key to his past, why he left. Why he started down this path.”

  “The path to treason,” Charlotte muttered, shaking her head. She glared. “And now that ye have seen them together?”

  Rosa shrugged. “Lady Isla is crazed. Mad.”

  Mellie was nodding. “Lachlan has said the same. He says she’s become more obsessed over the last weeks with her missing son. Now, when she speaks of Cam, ‘tis as if he’s in the room with her.”

  “Aye, and this morning, she greeted him as if she’d only just bid him farewell an hour or two ago. It hurt Cam to no’ be welcomed.” She saw Charlotte frown and hurried on. “She casually revealed her infidelity to Cam, telling him he was a fool to give up power to Andrew Fraser to chase after some—to chase after Court.” She turned to her friend. “As Andrew told ye, Cam left the Red Hand to come to Scone looking for ye. His mother thought ‘twas the sign of a weak man, and his father—the Red Comyn—would’ve kenned better.”

  Just as Court opened her mouth to reply—and Rosa couldn’t ignore the flash of hope in the stoic woman’s expression—Charlotte’s fist slammed against the desk for a third time.

  “Ye expect us to believe this?” She shook her head. “Ye expect me to believe he was completely surprised by this revelation? That he hasnae kenned all along who his father is—what his birthright could be? Damnation, this is the motive we’ve been looking for!”

  She stomped around her desk, reaching for her son.

  “I need to go check on the Queen. If our prime suspect is wandering around the palace still, her guard needs to be doubled.”

  Settling the whimpering bairn against her shoulder, Charlotte turned her glare on Rosa. “As for ye, I absolutely forbid ye to be alone with him again. Ye’re not a fighter—”

  While Rosa stood, shocked, it was Court who spoke up in her defense. “Rosalind is stronger than ye think, Charlotte. She is capable and intelligent—”

  “Nay!” Their leader made a slashing motion with her free hand as she glared at Rosa. “Rosalind is an Angel. She follows orders.”

  The three Angels stood silent as Charlotte stalked out the door, grumbling.

  Then, as if all the energy had been stolen with their leader’s leaving, Rosa felt her knees go weak. She sank down into the chair Mellie had been in when Rosa had entered.

  But as soon as Charlotte’s footsteps faded, Court threw herself across the room, dropping to one knee beside Rosa.

  Grabbing Rosa’s hand, Court squeezed. “Look at me, Rosalind,” she ordered gruffly. When Rosa complied, Court nodded firmly. “I believe ye. I’ll stand by ye. Whatever yer decision is about Cam, I’ll support ye.”

  To Rosa’s surprise, her friend’s words dragged a sudden flood of tears to her eyes, and she squeezed Courtney’s hand in response. “Thank ye,” she whispered hoarsely.

  Hand in hand, Court rose to her feet and drew Rosa to hers. “What’s that Latin thing ye’re always saying? About fortune favoring the bold?”

  Through her tears, Rosa smiled. “Audentes fortuna iuvat.”

  Court nodded. “Aye, well…nae matter what Charlotte says, Rosalind, I have yer back. I owe ye for believing in Cam, even with the evidence against him. Sink or swim, the two of us are together.”

  There was a snort from Mellie, as she stepped up beside them. “Nay, the three of us. I’m an Angel too, for a bit longer. And Cameron will no’ only be my brother-in-law, but he saved Lachlan’s life. I owe him, and the least I can do is believe in his innocence when the most intelligent woman I ken says he isnae guilty.”

  Nodding curtly, Court shifted her grip, so her fingers wrapped around Rosa’s forearm. “Angels.”

  Mellie grasped Court’s forearm. “Angels,” she repeated firmly.

  By grabbing Mellie’s forearm, Rosa completed the triangle. She looked at her team, the women she’d trusted with her life more than once. They were her best friends and were willing to risk one of the things they valued most—their position in the Queen’s court and Charlotte’s trust—because they believed in her. In her certainty Cam was innocent.

  So she nodded, hoping Court and Mellie could feel her love for them. They were more than her friends, more than sisters. They were…

  “Angels.”

  Chapter 12

  Why in damnation were there so many people in the Queen’s garden?

  As the afternoon shadows lengthened, Cam crouched against one of the stone walls—certain the thick vegetation and his green tunic hid him from all casual observation—and watched the main paths.

  There seemed to be dozens of people out enjoying the fresh air. During the hours he’d been waiting there, he’d seen the Queen and a retinue of her ladies, two fine nobles arguing over a woman, four priests strolling along and murmuring between themselves, and even a nurse with two young, well-dressed lassies.

  But no one he recognized.

  He’d come here originally with the intention of thinking, but couldn’t shake his brother’s words from his mind.

  If Rosa trusts ye, then ye can tell her how ye feel. Like as no’, she feels the same way.

  Lachlan had lived a very different life than Cam, but had only just found love himself. The hours he’d spent with his brother this morning had revealed all that, and more. The Fraser laird was a good man, one Cam was proud to call his brother.

  Or laird.

  Unconsciously, his fingers drifted to the bundle of tartan on the ground beside him. When he’d left his brother’s chambers, he’d taken the plaid with him. Lachlan’s gift had surprised Cam with how fiercely he cared for it.

  A fortnight ago he would’ve said belonging to a clan—especially the Frasers of Lovat—meant nothing to him. Now, after meeting the adult version of his brother, after hearing of his plans for the future, Cam questioned his certainty.

  Mayhap he’d never really belong with the Frasers, but his brother’s offer of the plaid—offer of a place—had meant something more to Cam. It meant a possibility of a future.

  A future with Rosa?

  Like as no’, she feels the same way.r />
  If he had a clan, a place to belong, and not just a future as a wandering thief, then mayhap he could offer a place to Rosa as well. If she was willing to tie her future to someone like him.

  If he could prove he was more than just a thief, mayhap he had a chance.

  So he’d been crouching here for hours, standing and stretching only when no one was about, in the hopes she might pass by. And if not her, then Lachlan and Mellie or Simone…or even Court, although he wondered if he’d recognize her after all these years.

  More voices!

  He shifted slightly, peering through the rose bushes and carefully cultivated pines toward the sound, and spotted two women chatting. Ladies, judging by their garb and head coverings, who were giggling about something. One had dark hair, but as they turned away from him on the path, he saw she wasn’t his Rosa.

  The skin of her hands was too pale; her hips too wide to be the woman he’d been dreaming about since that searing kiss in the alleyway.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, Cam sank back against the wall, using the rough stone to scratch an itch between his shoulder blades caused by a trickle of sweat. Staking out a target was naught new to him; he’d been doing it since he was a lad, since he possessed a patience few others in the Red Hand did.

  But today was different.

  Today, he wasn’t waiting and watching so he could steal something…but so he could give something.

  And that’s when he saw her.

  A lithe figure, her dark hair covered in a pearl-studded net, strolled several paces behind the chattering pair. She was ignoring them, her head tilted back to catch the last of the afternoon sun, her lids lowered most of the way. Her skin, darker than average, seemed to glow in the reflected light, and she gestured her hands as if engaged in an argument.

  She looked like an angel. His angel.

  His angel was muttering to herself.

  Slowly, Cam pushed himself to his feet, leaving the bundled plaid by the wall. He smiled as he watched Rosa turn off the main path, drifting along one of the smaller graveled paths which wound throughout the garden.

  Her path would take her near him.

  Silently, he drifted through the foliage, years of moving in the forests of Kintyre serving him well here. No one would hear him unless he wanted them to.

  He waited in the shadow of a tree, knowing she’d pass by him.

  As she approached, she was still muttering to herself, flipping her hands palm-up to palm-down as if debating two sides of an argument. He loved to see her like this, see her brilliant mind at work. But he had other things in mind, which needed to be discussed.

  “Rosa,” he hissed. When she didn’t seem to hear him, he tried again, louder. “Rosa!”

  Still naught, and she was close to passing him by. So he stepped out of his shadows and grabbed one of her hands, tugging her back toward the trees.

  “Oh! Cam!” As she stumbled against him, she braced her free hand on his chest and smiled into his eyes. “I’ve figured it out.”

  His gaze locked on her lips, he murmured, “Me too.”

  And then he gave up fighting. He’d been wanting to do this all day—all week—and had thought of little else but tasting her lips again.

  He leaned down and kissed her—kissed her with all the yearning and desperation he’d been feeling. He kissed her with all his fear and self-doubt. He kissed her with all his future and hope.

  And she kissed him back.

  And God forgive him, but he could’ve laid her down right then and made her his. Hell, he could’ve done it up against this tree. The way she fired his blood, the way she made him want to be a better man, the way her touch—her lips—made him want to beat on his chest and scream to the sky…

  Rosa Forbes would be his.

  But not like this.

  With a gasp, he dragged his lips from hers, surprised to discover the fingers of one hand tangled in the knot of hair at the base of her neck, while the other cupped her breast through her silk gown.

  Her eyes were shut, and she dropped her head back with a moan, offering herself to him. The junction of her thighs pressed against his hardness, reminding him where he so desperately wanted to be.

  But not like this.

  He would not take her in the palace gardens, like…like a common whore.

  There was nothing common about Rosalind Forbes.

  “Cam,” she murmured, pressing her warmth against him. “Please.”

  God in Heaven, how was he supposed to remain strong against such a plea?

  “Rosa, I cannae ask—”

  And then he lost his capability to speak, when she grabbed the hand which was still pawing at her breast…and moved it lower.

  When had she hiked up her dress?

  Had he really been so befuddled by her lips, he hadn’t noticed—

  God’s Teeth!

  She was already wet for him.

  Wet and smooth and oh-so-perfect.

  When he slid his forefinger along her cleft, parting the folds, she whimpered, shifted her weight to one foot, and hooked her other leg behind his. Her hands gripped his shoulders, and from behind, they might’ve been no more than two people meeting in the dark garden…except her head was thrown back and her hips were undulating under his touch.

  Inside his leather trewes, his cock strained to reach her, each movement a glorious, torturous friction which sent him closer to spilling like an eager lad.

  His other hand supported her between the shoulders, and she arched toward him, mewling and gasping. His thumb found her pearl, the hidden center of her pleasure, as he slid a finger—then two—inside her.

  Suddenly, she froze.

  She froze, then her head jerked up with a gasp. Her wide, dark eyes met his in the shadows, just as her muscles constricted around him.

  She found her release in absolute silence, her hips bucking in minute movements against his hand, as he fought for control of his own desire.

  God’s Teeth, he wanted to be inside her!

  And that was exactly why he wouldn’t.

  Why he couldn’t.

  As her breathing slowed, her leg unhooked from the back of his knee, sliding slowly down to support herself. Her hands slid down his arms to his backside, settling easily there.

  Her cheek settled against his chest, and he knew—knew—he’d never felt such contentment. He hadn’t even spilled his seed, and here he was basking in the afterglow.

  God’s Teeth, he was in trouble.

  “Rosa, I love ye.”

  Shite.

  Her head jerked up, her chin bumping against his chest, as she swung to face him so quickly.

  He held his breath, torn between closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the pity in hers, and keeping them open to imprint every little move she made on his memory, in case this was his last chance to hold her.

  He settled on a sort of squint, which is how he saw the confusion in her eyes when she finally seemed to come back to her senses.

  “What?” she whispered.

  Swallowing, he committed himself. “I love ye, Rosa. I ken I’m no’ worth it, so ye donae need to say it back. Ye donae need to say aught. But I needed ye to ken it.”

  Blinking, she shook her head and pushed away from him. One hand went to her coiffure, trying to fix the damage he’d done.

  Already, he was losing her.

  “Cam, I—”

  “Nay.” Unable to help himself, he placed a finger on her lips, then replaced it with his thumb.

  Not the hand which had given her such a release though. Nay, those fingers curled into a fist, as if he could save that glorious memory for himself.

  He traced her lower lip with his callused digit and shook his head. “Nay, Rosa,” he whispered. “Ye donae need to say it. I understand who ye are. And who I am. But I needed to say those words to ye.”

  And then she stepped backward, away from him. “Aye,” she said with a firm nod. “And I have much to say to ye.” She looked up the pat
h, as if expecting another visitor to the garden. “But no’ here and now. There are too many people in the gardens during the day.”

  When she met his eyes, he couldn’t read the emotion there, and his chest squeezed. Something resembling both hope and terror warred within him.

  She smoothed the wrinkles of her gown—wrinkles he’d caused—and lifted her chin. “Meet me back here tonight after moonrise. Right here. Ye understand?”

  God’s Teeth, but he’d botched this confession, hadn’t he?

  Resigned, he nodded. “Aye,” he choked out. “And I am sorry.”

  “Oh, I hope no’.”

  And that’s when she smiled. And God help him, her smile hit him right in the center of his heart, and the terror fled while the hope bloomed stronger inside him.

  “Until later,” she called softly, as she turned away, still smiling.

  He watched her until she turned a corner in the path and disappeared. When he inhaled, he felt as if he hadn’t truly breathed since that kiss. That kiss, which had not only taken his breath, but his very soul.

  And knew it had been worth it.

  * * *

  Rosa was still smiling when she slid into the seat beside Isla Fraser for the evening meal. Because the Queen wasn’t dining with the court that evening, supper would be less formal than it would have been had she been in attendance.

  This meant Rosa had more time to investigate her theory.

  Of course, it could have meant she had time to smile dreamily into space, imagining a future with Cam.

  He loves me!

  And that was even more amazing than what he’d done for her. The way he’d given her pleasure so freely, without thinking of his own, had seemed nigh miraculous. But what had come after…

  He loves me!

  The revelation had been one more in a day of revelations, but of all of them, Rosa was most excited about that one.

  Cam loves me!

  The knowledge should’ve had her humming joyfully and twirling in circles, but she was practical. As much as she wanted to daydream about a future with him, she had to ensure there’d be a future with him.

  And the only way to do that was to prove he was innocent of the plot against the Crown.