Thistle and Roses Collection: A Bundle of Scottish, Irish and English Historical Romance

by Eliza Knight

  Now, Sebastien waited, rather impatiently, for the queen and her ladies to make their appearance. He’d spent half the night trying to think of ways he could woo Max. She was an intelligent and cunning woman. She’d likely see through any frivolous flirtations. Sebastien would have to dig deeper than that. He’d have to strike at her heart, lay claim to her mind.

  He’d known at once what gift he’d bring her today. The book of Latin practically burned a hole through his coat.

  Finally, the queen and her ladies were announced, sweeping into the hall with all the elegance and beauty they embodied, but Sebastien only had eyes for one of them. Maxwell.

  Her skin was all peaches and cream, her gown a very light blue that complemented the color of her eyes. When her gaze fell on him, she swept her lashes toward the floor, but he’d caught the look of pleasure on her face. She was pleased to see him, just as he was pleased to see her.

  Sebastien lowered himself into a bow, as the rest of the courtiers did. Once the queen had taken hold of the arm of Cecil, who led her in the procession to the garden where the company had set up for their production, Sebastien went to Maxwell’s side, but Devon beat him there.

  “My lady,” Sebastien said, giving Lord Devon a reproving glance.

  She lowered into a pretty curtsy, her smile radiant and tugging at something deep in his chest. When she held out her hand, he took it, kissing her knuckles and breathing in the slightly floral scent that always seemed to surround her.

  “Good day, Lord Devon,” she said, dismissing the earl and giving all of her attention to Sebastien.

  Devon’s face grew red with anger, but he quickly turned his attention from her to Mary and Elizabeth Talbot. Seemed there wouldn’t be as much of a fight as Devon had let on. Maxwell had easily squashed his intent. Warm satisfaction spread through Sebastien’s limbs. The lady had no idea how much she pleased him.

  “Lord Bedford, I confess I wasn’t convinced you’d be here today,” she said.

  “And why is that?”

  She cast him a teasing grin. “Because I was certain you’d be at Thornton House searching for the treasury in an attempt to reclaim your precious relics.”

  The idea had merit, but then he wouldn’t have been able to complete his duty to the queen—and, more disturbingly, to himself.

  “I brought you a gift, my lady,” he said, patting the place in his coat where the book sat.

  “Another gift?”

  “Another?”

  “Was not the flower you pilfered last night your first offering? Did you steal this gift, too?”

  Sebastien stared at her lips, enjoying the soft lilt of her voice and the fiery spark that glinted in her eyes. There was so much more to Lady Maxwell Thornton than he’d given her credit for. He might add fascinating to her list of other appealing qualities. The fact that she felt comfortable enough to tease him was a telling sign that he was well on his way to gaining her approval.

  “This one does belong to another, but it just so happens that it is mine and that I’m giving it to you.”

  She raised a brow. “Was it yours before you gave it to me, or did you have to steal it away from someone who stole it from you?”

  Shock registered. Did she realize her father had stolen the relics? He had not specifically told her that bit of information.

  “What is it?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

  Sebastien realized too late that he’d let his guard down, his emotions showing clearly on his face. He shook his head. “’Tis nothing.”

  “’Tis not nothing. If we are to be friends, which I believe we are, as you are the only person at court I can wholly tolerate, then you can confide in me. I’ll not tell another soul.”

  “I am not the thief, Maxwell,” he whispered, not realizing until it was too late that he’d used her Christian name. “Let us leave it at that.”

  A blush covered her high cheekbones and her kissable lips had curved into an O. “How can we leave it at that? Has someone stolen something…” Her voice trailed off and she looked away. Dawning understanding had shown in her eyes.

  They reached the gardens, their feet sinking into the grass as they approached the chairs that had been set up. Jesters did cartwheels, teased courtiers and juggled balls.

  “I cannot believe you,” she said.

  “I will not ask you to.” Surprise tugged at him again. He damned well wanted her to believe him, but he knew asking her to think the worst about her own father was requesting too much. And yet it still stung.

  They took their seats. Silence reigned thick between them and Sebastien hated it. He didn’t want her to despise him for the truth he’d uttered. He wanted to reach down and grip her hand in his, but that would not be appropriate.

  Instead, he tried to work up the nerve to say something charming, to bring back that teasing glint to her eye and her enchanting smile. In the end, he didn’t have to.

  “I have… often wondered,” she whispered so quietly he barely heard her. “A daughter is kept quite in the dark. Any female is told what to do at all times by a male. Their father. Their husband. Their brother. Queen Elizabeth has been an idol of mine since I can remember, because she chooses to live her life the way she wants. I suppose I’ve always wanted something like that for myself.” She flicked her gaze up to him. “The relics will be mine. There is no marriage contract, but when it’s written, for whomever it is I marry, Sebastien, I will see it recorded that the relics are mine to do with as I please. And I will give them to you.”

  Sebastien remained quiet, too stunned to speak.

  She was giving him an out. He no longer had to court her, because no matter what, or whom she married, she was going to put her foot down regarding the relics and then pass them on to him. He could have asked her for her word. Could have demanded she even put in writing such a generous gift so he could obtain his relics if she changed her mind. But he didn’t want to.

  Because despite the fact that he’d started his quest to regain the relics for his mother, he, in fact, enjoyed his time with Max. The only prize he saw at the end of the day was Max as his wife. And it had taken until this moment, when she gave him what he thought he wanted while denying what he truly wanted—her—for him to realize it.

  Sebastien cleared his throat, which felt suddenly constricted. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the book of Latin. He pressed it into her lap.

  “Truth be told, my lady, I’d much rather continue the hunt.”

  And he meant it—pursuing her. Chasing a dream that was just beyond his reach.

  The slight widening of her eyes showed him she knew what he meant.

  “Seb—Lord Bedford.” Her hand covered the book and a delighted squeal left her lips. “Thank you!”

  “’Twas mine. And now yours. I labored over Latin with my tutors and you’ll see my notes inside, along with many drawings for which I received a lash on the knuckles. You said you were trying to decipher the few words you could read on the sword and I couldn’t help giving you something that would aid your quest.”

  When she glanced up, tears glistened in her eyes. “No one has ever given me such a thoughtful gift.”

  “A lady as charming as you deserves many thoughtful gifts.”

  “Thank you.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “Thank you so very much. I don’t even want to stay for the play.” She pivoted in her seat to glance around the garden. “Do you think I’ll be noticed if I leave?”

  Sebastien let out a hearty laugh. “Most certainly. The legend can wait, but Master Shakespeare and the queen’s pleasure are another matter.”

  And so was hers, because Sebastien was certain that Maxwell would adore the afternoon’s entertainment, just as much as he would enjoy watching her and admiring her every move and delight.

  The curtain opened to the erected stage, and the backdrop, a landscape of a royal kingdom, far from this one, came to life.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Did you steal the Theodosia r
elics, Father?”

  Max cornered her father in the courtyard before he could leave Richmond Palace for the night. Three days had passed since Sebastien had hinted that might be the case. It had been a whirlwind of courtly entertainments and games, and she’d scarcely had a chance to breathe. All during that time, her father had been having meetings with Sir Walter Raleigh about an expedition they would be doing together, and he’d not made time to see her. In all honesty, she was certain he was avoiding her.

  Even when they’d resided under the same roof, he’d kept mostly to himself.

  The sun had set and shadows from the torches lit about the courtyard spread over his features. An evening spring breeze blew a chill over her and she rubbed at her arms.

  “I’ll remind you whom you’re speaking to,” he said, the threat not veiled but out in the open for her to hear.

  Ignoring his ire, Max plunged ahead. “I have to know.”

  “I’m not a thief.” Despite the severity of his tone, she believed him.

  “I’m sorry, Father.” She wrung her hands in front of her.

  “What makes you think I would steal them? Is it Bedford? Did he tell you that?”

  She shook her head. “No, Father.”

  “Then why would you accuse me of the crime?”

  “I did not accuse you, merely questioned.”

  “Your questions will get you into trouble. ’Haps I should take you home with me. If you deign to question me, what’s to say you do not question the queen? For your safety, I should take you back to the country.”

  A week ago, she might have agreed, just so she could have the freedom of not having to meet his demands, since he’d likely return to London after escorting her to the country. But now that she’d had a taste of court, a taste of the excitement that was Sebastien de Rayne, her thoughts and ideas about life had drastically changed.

  “No, please, Father. I meant nothing by it.”

  “Then I never want to hear such talk again.”

  “A boon, then, please, for my own peace of mind.”

  Her father let out a growl. “Be quick about it.”

  “Where did the relics come from?”

  She’d deciphered the meaning of the legend, a love story that struck deep in her heart and moved her with a passion she’d not known she could feel.

  “The sword was part of your mother’s dowry—came from Scotland. The ring was given to me by Lord Bedford’s father before he died.”

  “A gift?” She glanced down at the gravel around her toes.

  “A favor.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The old man was delusional. He said he knew I collected relics, that I had the Gladius. He gave me the ring, telling me it belonged with the sword, and that the items had belonged to his ancestors.” Her father sighed, guilt marring his features. “He believed the items would be well cared for in my hands. Since I’ve a holding near Hadrian’s Wall, he wanted me to bury them there at the Chapel—Milecastle 9 for some odd reason. Said they are cursed and that they should be returned whence they came. Buried together. Ancient Roman rubbish.”

  But it wasn’t rubbish to her, it was mesmerizing. “Why haven’t you done it? Why would you give them away?”

  “They are too valuable to bury in the dirt. And I’m not giving them away.”

  “But you are. As part of my dowry. How can you guess they’ll be in safe hands with my future husband?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t. But what I do know is, they will fetch a bit of coin for your future husband. Coin I cannot add to your dowry.”

  “Why would you not sell them to Lord Bedford, then?”

  He ground his teeth. “Because I promised his father I wouldn’t.”

  “The man made you promise not to return them to the de Rayne family?”

  “Aye.”

  She lowered her voice and crossed her arms over her chest. “And what if Lord Bedford is the man I wish to marry?”

  “Then you’ll both be doomed anyway.”

  “What?”

  He shrugged and then laughed. “At least, that’s what his father claimed. Now, enough nonsense. Is the earl truly your choice?”

  Max mimicked her father’s shrug. “I do not know.”

  “Well, you’ve only one more day to decide.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll bring the contract I’ve prepared when I return to court tomorrow.”

  Max nodded, pressing her lips together to keep her teeth from chattering. A chill had taken hold of her that had nothing to do with the breeze. She watched her father approach the groom who held his horse and she didn’t turn around until long after his shadow disappeared.

  When she did turn, Sebastien leaned against the archway of the castle doors. She couldn’t hide her surprise, nor could she take her gaze off of him. He was broad of shoulder and she took a moment to admire the raw power he exuded, not only in physique but in mannerisms. How long had he been there? Had her father seen him?

  He slowly approached her and she waited, chewing her lip until the crunch of gravel ended and he stopped a foot away.

  “Lady Maxwell, you look ravishing this evening.”

  She was grateful for the dark as heat flooded her face. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “When we’re alone, you can call me Sebastien.”

  “We are hardly alone. There is always someone about.” God’s bones, but she craved to be alone with him. To banter with him, to play games with him. A glance around the courtyard showed they were indeed lacking in company.

  He tugged her hands into his and a jolt of awareness spread through her. To be alone with him and have him touch her… Kiss her.

  “You’re cold, my lady,” he said. Then he scanned over her shoulder to where her father had ridden through the gate. “You shouldn’t be out here without an attendant. Or a cloak.”

  The chill she’d felt while speaking to her father slowly ebbed through her fingers, replaced by the warmth of Sebastien’s presence. She stepped a little closer, wanting more, yet knowing how vastly inappropriate it was. Her father would thrash her if he were to turn around and see.

  “I had to speak to him.” Should she confess what he’d told her?

  “And all is well?” His voice was gruff.

  She nodded slowly, observing the way his lips pressed into a flat line and his gaze bore into hers.

  She flicked her gaze behind him, more afraid that he might have heard her talk about marriage to her father than anything else. She wanted to tell him what her father said about the relics. Would he believe that his father had given them away? “How long were you there?”

  “Long enough.”

  That was not telling at all. As close as she thought they’d become, perhaps it was only a figment of her imagination. Max tried to tug her hands from his, but he held firm, his thumbs stroking the backs of her knuckles.

  “My lady…” He clamped his mouth closed and stared at her hard, as if what he wanted to say was too difficult to push past his lips. Whatever he’d heard, he was willing to overlook it for the moment.

  A little thrill sang inside her.

  “Tell me,” she said, wishing more than anything—but knowing how naïve it was—that he would spout words of love.

  But he didn’t speak. He stroked the backs of his fingers over her jaw, then cupped her cheek with his palm. She leaned into his hand, her eyes connecting with his, and excitement surged through her veins again, but this time it settled in her core.

  Max drew in a ragged breath as foreign desire settled in places she’d not even known could feel like this.

  “My lord?” she whispered, imploring him.

  He leaned closer, his ardor filling her, his lips only inches away. “I need to kiss you, Maxwell. Let me kiss you.”

  Her mouth fell open, but the only thing that came out was a whimper as he closed the distance, brushing his warm lips over hers. Languid heat filled her and she melted against him, all soft curves pressed to c
orded sinew. She’d not been kissed before and this single moment outshone all girlish fantasies she’d ever had about such. They melded together beneath the stars, his lips slanting gently over hers. He brushed his thumb over her chin, coaxing her lips to part, and then he dipped his tongue inside to taste her.

  Max gasped, not only at the shock, but at the potent frisson of hunger that one delicious swipe brought her. Tentatively, she touched her tongue to his, and she was lost. Captivated by the way he’d so effortlessly claimed her. The way his mouth moved over hers, the way he commanded her with a look or softly spoken whisper.

  “Maxwell…” he murmured, nibbling at her lips. He’d snaked an arm around her waist and danced circles with his fingers over the small of her back.

  Prickles of pleasure tingled over her entire body and her toes curled in her slippers. She wanted to be closer to him. But as soon as she pressed her hands to his chest, feeling the steady pound of his heart beneath her fingertips, he pulled away from her.

  She gazed at him, bemused by wonderment and dizzy with desire. His dark eyes were heavily lidded with longing, belying the determined set of his lips.

  “Let me take you back inside before Mistress Hyde finds you out here alone in the dark with me.” He grinned with more affection. “Unless, of course, you want her to find us in such a way.”

  Though the idea of spending another moment alone with him, letting him kiss her once more, was enticing, she wasn’t certain the scandal would be worth it. Not when she planned to tell her father her choice in the morning.

  “Not just yet,” she said with a teasing smile of her own.

  “Come then.” He tucked her arm around his elbow and held her hand in place over his forearm.

  A sudden fear pricked her heart. Did Sebastien still want to marry her? Of course he would, with that kiss, wouldn’t he? He’d not spoken of it since she’d offered to give him the relics no matter what, though he had continued to court her attentively.

  Strength emanated from his muscular forearm, and a tingle started at her fingertips and slid its way over her arms to her breasts. Max suppressed a gasp. Over the last several days, each time she saw him, touched him—even in so innocent a way as this—her body reacted in a way that not only scandalized her, but drew her interest. After the kiss they’d just shared, she knew what her body wanted—to be enfolded in his arms.