by Caroline Lee
Rosa glanced at Mellie. “We’ll be at her side.”
Mellie’s agreement was slower than it should have been.
“Mellie?” Rosa prompted.
“ ‘Tis nothing.”
‘Tis everything.
To her surprise, Mellie didn’t want to be any nearer to Fraser than she had to be. The way he’d looked at her…
She swallowed. She was used to those looks, certainly, but the way her body had reacted to him? That was the true surprise.
Charlotte looked up, meeting Mellie’s eyes. “Can ye do it, Mel? Do ye want me to turn yer assignment over to another?”
Who?
Rosa?
Mellie met her friend’s eyes before the younger woman flushed and looked away.
Nay, someone as innocent as Rosa couldn’t be asked to deal with Fraser. A man who looked at Mellie the way he had was clearly being led through life by his cock, and Mellie…?
Well, Mellie knew how to use that to her advantage. Rosa did not.
“Nay,” she finally managed, shaking her head and pretending not to see Rosa’s small relieved sigh. “I’ll do it.”
“Good. Because the Queen—”
“I owe Elizabeth everything,” Mellie snapped. “She gave me a place when my own family wouldnae look at me. I’ll do whatever I need to do to protect her.”
The words sat like a gauntlet between them, and part of Mellie prayed Charlotte wouldn’t pick it up.
But for all that Charlotte was a good friend, she was the Queen’s spy-mistress first, and knew her duty was to the royal family and to Scotland, and so she nodded. “Then go rest. I’m sure Her Majesty’s summons will come ere long.”
Thank the saints the Queen’s summons had finally come!
Lachlan wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand to be stuck there in the palace. Since returning to his chambers yesterday—after that strange encounter in Scone—he’d rarely left since. He’d even taken his meals alone in his rooms, hoping it would diminish the suspicion clearly still directed his way.
It hadn’t.
As he and Gillepatric, and a few of the loyal Fraser warriors he’d brought along with him, strode through the palace halls to meet with the Queen, he felt eyes on him and could easily hear the whispers from all he passed.
I’ll be home soon.
Then all of this—the headache, the suspicions, the memories of that delicious serving wench—would be far behind him.
Well, mayhap not.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, one corner of Lachlan’s mouth pulled up as he remembered those wide delectable lips of hers. He’d taken himself in hand last night, imagining those lips on his body, and he’d even briefly considered attempting to track her down. She was here in the palace somewhere, and he wanted to know what in damnation she’d been thinking yesterday in that alley.
He wanted to know what kind of woman thought he needed protection. He wanted to ask her what the Red Hand was all about, and what it had to do with the assassin.
But he was honest enough to admit, if he ever found her, talking would be the last thing on his mind.
Under his kilt—freshly brushed, with perfect pleats for his audience with the Queen—his cock stirred. He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe deeply and focus on the coming meeting, knowing he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
Nay, this audience was all-important.
It was well-known that his father, Michael Fraser, had not supported the Bruce’s claim to the throne of Scotland. Lachlan’s brother, Hamish, who was the next laird, might’ve had his own perverse hobbies, but at least he was not an outright traitor as their father had been.
It was Lachlan’s hope this visit to Scone would assure the Crown he was nothing like his father. He supported King Robert wholeheartedly and would do anything the man asked to ensure a free and peaceful Scotland.
Unfortunately, some damn inopportune timing on the part of the assassin meant the Frasers were once again under royal suspicion.
When they reached the doors to the throne room, the guards demanded his weapons. Although it irked him to lose his sword, he was quick to turn it and his dagger over to show the Crown it had nothing to fear from him or his men.
Aye, this meeting might be the one which determined the fate of all the Frasers, and he’d not jeopardize his clan’s peaceful future.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the throne room, the reassurance of his advisor’s presence beside him, and crossed to where the Queen sat on a dais once more. He placed his fist against his heart and bowed low, hoping Elizabeth would take it for the show of respect it was.
“Rise, Lachlan Fraser,” came her imperious command.
As he lifted his head, he found himself glancing around the room hopefully. Was he looking for Ross, despite knowing his friend wasn’t here? Ross had been raised with Lachlan, training together. After Bannockburn, his friend had returned to Scone with the Bruce to protect his lady wife. It was only two years ago, when Lachlan had become laird, that he’d asked Ross to return home to help him with the transition. But now that he was settled as the Fraser, he’d happily given Ross leave to return to his position at court, guarding the Queen.
Not that there weren’t enough guards around the Queen. He recognized any number of tartans before he turned his attention back where it belonged.
“Thank ye for seeing me again, Yer Majesty. I ken our last audience was interrupted, and ye cannae ken how pleased I am that ye werenae harmed.”
Elizabeth’s lips pursed as she stared down at him. Finally, she nodded regally. “You must know, Lord Fraser, that many wonder if you were behind the attack.”
Lachlan’s brows rose. Not because he was surprised by the accusation, but because he hadn’t expected her to state it so baldly. As someone who spoke plainly, and who hated the polite lies and distortions of court, it was a refreshing turn of events.
“They are wrong, Yer Majesty,” he stated clearly. “I am a loyal Highlander and would do naught to harm my King or his family.”
“It has not always been so, I believe?” The Queen’s words were thoughtful, as if she wondered what his reaction might be. “Your father, for instance, did not support my husband’s campaign for the throne.”
“Aye,” he quickly agreed. It was the truth after all. “My father was a traitor to the Scottish cause. I’m here now to assure ye ‘tisnae the case for the present Fraser of Lovat.”
The Queen hummed low in her throat, her dark eyes searching Lachlan’s, as if looking for sincerity. He straightened his shoulders, rested his hands on his hips, and did his best to show her he had nothing to hide.
“Yer Majesty,” he said in a low voice, “all I want is peace for my people.”
“I suspect that is the case for all leaders, Lord Fraser,” she replied noncommittally.
Damnation.
Lachlan wasn’t sure this was going well.
Not for the first time, he reflected on the light of intelligence in the Queen’s eyes.
This was no pampered court lady, used to getting her way. Queen Elizabeth had spent eight long years as a prisoner of the English, and since her return five years ago, had borne two royal princesses, and managed the court in Robert’s absence.
She was wily, and so very unlike the other ladies he knew.
He’d do well to remember that.
Unconsciously, his eyes drifted to her left where a cluster of her ladies sat on a bench. Two of them were whispering behind their hands to one another, while another—a slender dark-skinned beauty with a sharp gaze—watched him intently. He jerked his eyes away from her, not sure he wanted to give another female the chance to try to second-guess him, and noticed the golden-haired woman standing behind the bench.
He sucked in a breath.
It was her.
His brows pulled in tightly before he could stop himself.
What in the name of all the saints of Heaven was she doing here in the throne room, standing beside t
he Queen, and dressed like a princess?
The curvy beauty from yesterday met his eyes defiantly, her own snapping with some sort of challenge. The red silk gown she wore did everything right to accentuate her hips and breasts, and her curls hung loose down her back.
Though it wasn’t an accepted court style, but the sight made Lachlan’s pulse pound, and his cock twitch.
God Almighty, but she was a vision. One he very much wanted to touch, to taste!
What was she doing in the throne room?
Was she not a serving wench as he’d thought?
Was it possible she was…a lady?
He blanched at the thought, not just because of the things he’d been fantasizing about doing to her, but what it meant about her as a whole.
Alice had been a lady, and he’d met her here, in this very throne room, long before—
“Lord Fraser!”
The Queen’s barked command dragged his attention guiltily away from the golden-haired enigma.
“Aye, Yer Majesty?” he managed.
“You claim you are loyal to the Crown?” She stood, and when she did, her ladies stood as well. “You will prove this.”
Lachlan placed his fist over his heart. “Anything, Yer Majesty.”
He meant his words. He was loyal to the Bruce and welcomed the chance to prove it.
The Queen nodded. “Ye will marry.”
His brows flew up once more, as his vision immediately began to tunnel at the Queen’s command.
“Marry?” He shook his head. “Yer Majesty, Simone—” How to explain he neither needed, nor wanted, a wife? “She is all I…”
He was a making a mess of this, and he knew it. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his chin and stated firmly, “I need no wife, my Queen.”
“Mayhap.” Elizabeth stared down at him for a long moment. “But you will take one. One of my choosing. You are not betrothed, not married. You are free to make an alliance, and I will make one for you. Lady Melisandre Lamond!” she barked suddenly, holding Lachlan’s gaze. “Step forward!”
Alarmed, his eyes flew to the woman he’d been fantasizing about, who was now stepping around the bench to reach the Queen’s side. Her expression was a careful mask, revealing nothing.
Lady…?
The woman from the alley now had a name.
Melisandre.
But more than that, she had a rank, and she was clearly an expert at the sort of cold calculation he’d witnessed before.
A churning, disgusting feeling filled his gut, clawing its way up his throat to choke him.
Shame.
He was ashamed of the immediate attraction he felt to someone like her.
He’d imagined her warm and willing in his bed. He’d imagined her smiling, those lips pulled wide in laughter.
But now, she was staring down at him, cold and aloof. So different from what he’d thought.
She was just like Alice, was she not?
She was the epitome of everything he’d come to hate.
The Queen spoke again, but Lachlan couldn’t tear his gaze away from the deceitful beauty at her side.
“You will prove you are loyal, Lord Fraser, by returning to your home with one of my ladies.”
A muscle jumped in the lady’s jaw. He lifted his gaze to her—Melisandre’s—eyes, and saw something he hadn’t expected to see: a mixture of irritation and surprise.
Had she not known the Queen would make this demand of her?
Did she not want to marry him?
A brief hope jumped in his chest, before she turned to glare at the Queen.
Elizabeth lifted one regal brow as she met her lady’s eyes. “Your vow, Lady Melisandre?”
And with just those words, the lady’s shoulders slumped, as if the fight had gone out of her.
“Aye,” she whispered, “I remember.”
Nodding, the Queen turned back to Lachlan. “You will sign the betrothal papers before you leave. As of now, consider yourself bound to this woman. You will prove you are no traitor.”
Is that what it would take? Marriage to a cold, deceptive bitch?
Well, he’d tried it before, and if it would ensure his clan’s future, he supposed he could do it again.
“Aye, Yer Majesty,” he ground out, between clenched teeth. “For the Frasers, and for Scotland, I’ll do as ye command.”
Without acknowledging his vow, the Queen turned once more to her lady. “Well, Mellie?”
The golden-haired beauty lifted her eyes once more. “Elizabeth, I—“ She stopped and shook her head, as if remembering her place. “Aye, Yer Majesty.”
But it seemed the Queen wasn’t entirely heartless. She leaned slightly toward the younger woman, dropping her voice low enough, Lachlan wasn’t sure he was supposed to overhear her words.
“Take all the time you need, Mellie. We’re counting on you.”
To his surprise, his unwanted betrothed turned to meet his eyes then. She curled the fingers of her right hand into a fist, and the mask she wore so well dropped back into place as she studied him.
Then she lifted her chin, pulled her shoulders back, and slid her hands down the sides of her gown, accentuating her breasts, while those wide, sensual lips pulled up in a knowing smile.
“I’ll no’ let ye down, Yer Majesty. I’ll marry the Fraser.”
Chapter 3
A coach?
She was going to have to ride in a coach?
Mellie sighed, hiding her disappointment. The coach in the yard carried the royal insignia, and most of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting would be grateful for such comfort and luxury on their journey to their new home.
But most of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting weren’t Angels.
Mellie had spent five years at court, being partnered on missions with her best friends, Rosa and Courtney. She’d slept in fields, in caves, in stables, and even in the rain. She’d spent days wearing the same clothes, hunched in the saddle, following her quarry. She’d known true deprivation and hardship in order to complete her mission for the Queen.
Riding in a fine coach couldn’t possibly be as difficult as all that.
“In proelia iterum,” Rosa whispered behind her.
Mellie was grateful to sink into her friend’s open arms, taking comfort in the younger woman’s hug.
“The Queen is sending a message by giving ye one of her coaches for the journey.”
Mellie sighed against Rosa’s hair. “I ken it. She’s reminding me I’m to be a lady on this trip, no’ an Angel.”
It was important the Fraser believe she was nothing more than one of the Queen’s ladies.
“Aye,” Rosa agreed, her voice low enough, no others could possibly overhear their conversation. “But ye will no’ be alone. Brigit will post yer letters, and I will keep ye updated on the investigation here in Scone as we discover more information. If yer betrothed truly is behind this attempt on the Queen’s life, we must ken it. We must ken what else he has planned.”
Forcing herself to straighten, Mellie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I ken, don’ worry. I’ll do my duty.”
Rosa glanced around quickly, taking in the bustle in the yard as servants loaded the last of Mellie’s trunks into the wagon, which would accompany her to her “new life.” She’d had to send most of her clothing along, to make the transition seem believable. They wanted nothing to convince Fraser she wasn’t exactly what she seemed; a spoiled and pampered noblewoman traveling to her future home.
But Mellie had left most of her possessions here at the palace, because when she left Lovat, she would need to travel light. Unlike her journey today.
“Mellie…” Her friend lowered her head so no one could read her lips, but kept her eyes locked on Mellie’s. “Only yer duty, aye?”
Mellie frowned in confusion, and Rosa sighed.
“I ken what ye think of yerself, my dear friend. What ye’re being sent to do, ye think there’s only one way to do it.”
It was clear what Rosa meant,
and Mellie forced a discreet bawdy chuckle she didn’t feel. “The best way to learn a man’s secrets is in his bed.”
“Nay,” Rosa whispered sharply, then shook her head. She gripped Mellie’s shoulders. “Look at me.”
When Mellie’s brows rose in surprise, Rosa gave her a little shake.
“The best way to learn a man’s secrets is to gain his trust, and his heart, Mellie. Ye can do that in other ways than what ye’re considering.” Her blue eyes were strangely out of focus. “Ye are worth more than that.”
“My duty—”
Rosa shook her again. “Do yer duty. But only yer duty. And come back to me in one piece, Mellie.”
Her friend was worried for her?
The thought caused the lump in Mellie’s throat to expand, wondering if this would be her most dangerous mission yet.
It would be her first without her teammates nearby, and Mellie wasn’t certain she could succeed without Rosa’s mind and Court’s bow there to back her up.
“Good luck, Mellie,” Rosa whispered. Mellie, unable to find her voice, managed a stiff nod as her friend pulled her in for another hug.
When she climbed into the coach with Brigit—one of the Queen’s maids who’d been assigned to Mellie, and who would accompany her as a confidante—Mellie forced her chin up and her shoulders back.
She would succeed.
She would find the evidence they needed against Fraser.
She wouldn’t fail the Queen.
But her resolve weakened when Fraser himself pulled his mare to a stop beside the coach, looking over the thing with what appeared to be disgust. She wanted to defend the choice, to pretend it was what she wanted, to appear a pampered lady.
But the words stuck in her throat, because honestly, she agreed the carriage was too big, too cumbersome, and too slow.
She instead met his pale gaze and gave him a look, which dared him to speak his thoughts aloud.
He didn’t. With a clipped nod, he whirled away from her, directing his horse to the cluster of his men who would ride with them.
“Oooh, milady,” Brigit giggled beside her. “Yer so lucky to have such a man who desires ye. Anyone can see it, the way he looks at ye.”