by Emma Prince
The Highlander huffed a breath but grudgingly turned to first the bishop and then Elaine. “Beg pardon, Yer Excellency, milady. But ye must admit it is da—” He barely caught himself before cursing again. “It is mighty warm with all these bodies crammed in here.”
He eyed the crowds of elegant nobles suspiciously even as Jerome introduced him.
“Kieran MacAdams,” Jerome said simply, lifting a dark brow at the man.
The conversation lulled for a moment, and Jerome took the opportunity to step toward her. Her stomach did a little flip at the heat in his eyes.
“Ye look beautiful,” he murmured, his low voice like a caress.
Despite the simplicity of his words, they warmed her more than a dozen of David de Brechin’s flowery compliments could have.
Before she could respond, though, de Brechin cut in, ending the intimate moment. “Ye must find us an unlikely group, milady,” he said with a smooth smile. “But the array before ye has a purpose, I assure ye. These four men—” he swept a hand over his companions, “—are the members of the envoy hand-selected by the King himself to deliver the Declaration of Arbroath to the Pope.”
He seemed to take Elaine’s curious gaze on the group as encouragement to go on.
“Bishop Kininmund here is to be our religious representative. He will be the one to present the declaration to the Pope. And now that the Papal court has been moved to Avignon, de Soules is to be the envoy’s French expert, seeing as how he owns a small holding there and had become familiar with the workings of the country.”
De Soules’s brown eyes flicked to de Brechin as he nodded in acknowledgement.
“Aye,” Kieran inserted. “And I am to be the muscle.”
Elaine didn’t doubt the Highland giant’s brute strength, but nor did she miss the intelligence in his light blue eyes either.
“And Munro here is the luckiest of them all, for the Bruce has entrusted him with carrying the declaration himself all the way to Avignon.”
Elaine’s eyes met Jerome’s, and liquid warmth stirred in the pit of her stomach.
“I, however, am the unluckiest,” de Brechin went on. “For I was no’ selected to accompany these fine men. I will have to find something else to get up to while they are away.”
Once again, de Brechin and de Soules exchanged a quick look, but no one else seemed to notice, for the King entered the great hall.
The Bruce held up a hand as those gathered applauded and genuflected as he strode toward the raised dais.
When he reached them, he jumped nimbly onto the dais and circled around the enormous oak table that was clearly meant for important occasions like tonight.
“Ladies, Lords,” the King intoned in a rich, deep voice. “Ye are witnessing one of the greatest moments in the history of our fine country this eve.” When the cheers died down, the Bruce went on. “I have here a proclamation unlike any penned before, crafted at Arbroath Abbey by the most esteemed Abbot Bernard of Kilwinning and completed just a month past. In it, the Abbot has captured the essence of our noble struggle against the English, and the people’s will to be free of their tyranny.”
Much like the reading of the declaration Jerome had performed at Trellham, the King waxed on about Scotland’s valiant fight for freedom, and his place as both the leader of that fight and the sovereign ruler of the country.
“This declaration I shall present to the Holy Father, Pope John XXII, requesting that he recognize no’ only my place as the leader of our people, but our nation as sovereign and free of English rule,” the Bruce continued.
He reached into the inside of his doublet and withdrew a large rectangle of parchment. As he unfolded it, several dozen seals came into view, each one dangling from its fastening on the bottom of the parchment. Jerome must have turned over all the seals he’d gathered while Elaine had been resting that afternoon so that they would already be affixed for this moment.
“Those of ye gathered today have given me yer seals to show yer support. And my trusted warrior, Jerome Munro, has spent the last month collecting even more.”
Elaine felt many eyes shift to Jerome, who bowed formally to the King from where he stood below the dais.
“In all, we have gathered the support of fifty-one nobles and Lairds in every corner of Scotland,” the Bruce went on. He waited until the applause died down once again. “But in truth, the work is only just begun. I have assembled an envoy that will carry my declaration to Avignon. It will be their task to see the document safely delivered, and ensure that the Pope hears Scotland’s voice.”
He waved at Jerome and the three others, who stepped onto the dais and knelt before the King, all except the bishop, who bowed but remained standing, as befitting his elevated status.
“I am entrusting ye with the future of our beloved homeland, men,” the King said to those before him.
With a ceremonial flourish, the Bruce refolded the declaration and extended it to Jerome, who accepted it and tucked it away in the pouch at his waist, keeping his head bowed all the while.
The great hall erupted into its loudest cheers yet. “Rise!” the Bruce shouted over the applause. “And make merry tonight, for yer King is most pleased!”
As the men on the dais rose and stepped down to the cheers of those gathered, the Bruce’s gaze landed on Finn. He bent so that his voice would carry the few feet to where they stood. “Finn, a word. We have much to discuss about the state of the Borderlands.”
Finn cast Elaine a frown, clearly reluctant to leave her alone, but he couldn’t refuse the King’s summons. He slipped his arm from hers and stepped onto the dais, leaving Elaine with David de Brechin.
Jerome’s gaze locked with hers as he descended from the dais, but before he could reach her, de Brechin took her arm, holding her hand in place over his. He guided her through the crowd toward the other end of the hall.
“You must permit me to introduce ye to all these curious nobles, milady,” de Brechin said as she swept her away.
Elaine glanced over her shoulder, but the crowds were swallowing Jerome, offering congratulations and well-wishes for his impending journey.
“Aye,” she said reluctantly. “Very well.”
* * * *
As the hours dragged on and the evening stretched toward night, Elaine grew weary of the sea of noble faces, the endless string of introductions, and the florid displays of manners from de Brechin. He kept her close to his side for the elaborate feast, and held her on his arm even when the King’s musicians began to play.
When she was sure she’d met every single lord and lady in attendance—twice—she at last managed to pull away.
“Excuse me, milord,” she said to de Brechin, “but I am in need of some air.”
De Brechin cast her a knowing look, which she didn’t understand, but then bowed his head. “Of course, milady.”
Elaine slipped into one of the corridors, which was refreshingly cool compared to the lively, crowded great hall. But just as she leaned against the back side of the arched stone entryway, de Brechin stepped beside her.
“What are you—”
“Dinnae use yer lips for words when ye could use them to kiss me instead,” he said, his tall frame cornering her against the stones.
Without waiting for a response, his mouth came down on hers, muffling her startled cry.
She managed to wrench free by shoving against his chest. “Stop,” she panted. “I do not wish to kiss you.”
His practiced smile faltered and for the first time, something like anger crossed his eyes. A shiver of foreboding snaked up Elaine’s spine.
“Dinnae be foolish,” he said, his normally smooth voice now edged with annoyance. “Ye have been toying with me all night.”
“Nay, I haven’t.”
“And what was this wee jest about then, if no’ a clear invitation to follow ye for a tryst?” he demanded, waving at the shadowed corridor.
“I never—”
“Come now,” he cut in, his featur
es turning hard. “No more games. I will take what ye have dangled before me all eve.”
His hands closed around her arms, pinning them to her sides. He pressed her into the stone wall despite her struggles against him.
And when she tried to scream, he stifled the sound with a brutal kiss.
Chapter Eleven
Though the great hall was crowded and the line of nobles wishing to congratulate him seemed never-ending, Jerome couldn’t help but keep one eye on Elaine all night.
That bastard de Brechin was hogging her to himself, pretending to be the gallant gentleman while keeping her pinned to his side. De Brechin wasn’t the only man casting appreciative looks at Elaine, but it was de Brechin’s nigh constant hand on Elaine’s that had Jerome seeing red.
She was not de Brechin’s to touch, God damn it. The problem was, she wasn’t Jerome’s either, but logic didn’t penetrate the fog of frustrated longing that clouded his mind.
Besides, with Finn still locked in deep conversation with the Bruce, Jerome felt responsible for her protection. So he watched her from afar, silently cursing de Brechin, but also himself for being fool enough to let himself care about a lass he could never have.
Until he saw de Brechin follow her like a wolf stalking a lamb as she slipped from the hall.
He’d been in the middle of a conversation with the Gordon Laird about improvements to his curtain wall. Without preamble, Jerome strode away from the man.
“What in…” Laird Gordon sputtered, but Jerome paid him no heed. The hall and everyone in it seemed to fall away and his vision narrowed on de Brechin’s receding back.
He had to unceremoniously push his way through several groups of nobles, uncaring of the surprised exclamations that followed in his wake. Naught mattered except for Elaine in that moment.
When he heard her muffled cry on the other side of the arched corridor entrance, he broke into a sprint for the last few strides.
What he found sent white-hot rage into his veins even as icy fear spiked hard in his gut.
De Brechin had Elaine pinned against the wall. Kissing her. Restraining her.
Jerome’s mind went blank and he let his body take over.
He ripped de Brechin away from Elaine so roughly that he sent the man careening into the opposite stone wall. Elaine, too, stumbled, for de Brechin jostled her as he went flying.
Jerome gripped her waist, propping her on her feet. In the precious moments while de Brechin struggled to regain his footing, he met her tear-filled eyes.
“Are ye all right?”
Her bottom lip, which was bruised from de Brechin’s mouth, trembled, but she nodded. “A-aye.”
He rounded on de Brechin then. Just as he raised his fist, preparing to smash it into the bastard’s face, two of the nobles from the great hall appeared in the corridor’s entryway.
“What goes on here?” one asked.
“Naught,” Jerome snapped. “Return to the celebration.”
As the two men retreated into the great hall, Jerome turned to de Brechin once more. The man stood panting, his eyes wide and fixed on Jerome’s raised fist.
Jerome ached to drive his knuckles into de Brechin’s mouth, but the nobles’ interruption gave him several precious seconds to regain his wits.
Damn it all. Jerome was the King’s representative now. Here he was ready to kill a man who’d been one of the lords to add his seal to the declaration. He couldn’t be caught brawling on the eve of departing for his most important mission yet.
And yet nor could he let de Brechin’s offense against Elaine go unanswered. He stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and de Brechin, but instead of punching the man, he caught his throat and thrust him back against the wall.
“What the bloody hell do ye think ye were doing, accosting her like that?” he demanded through clenched teeth.
“S-she has led me around by my nose all night!” de Brechin sputtered, pointing at Elaine.
“Nay, I didn’t!” Elaine breathed. Though Jerome couldn’t see her face, he heard the emotion clogging her voice.
He squeezed de Brechin’s throat tighter. “I watched her all night,” he said, leaning closer to the man. “She did no such thing. And even if she had, that doesnae give ye the right to assault her when she was clearly struggling.”
“It was a misunderstanding!” de Brechin croaked, his blue eyes rounding. “A game!”
“If ye want to play games,” Jerome ground out, “next time why dinnae ye pick someone yer own size to tangle with—like me.”
It took all his willpower, but Jerome forced himself to release de Brechin. The man folded over, clutching his throat and coughing.
“Get out of my sight before I decide to give ye what ye deserve,” Jerome snapped.
Once de Brechin had scurried back into the great hall, Jerome let himself look at Elaine.
She stood pressed against the wall, her wide eyes brimming with tears and her gaze fixed on him.
In one step he was before her, but he forced himself not to yank her to him. She had been through enough tonight without having another man grab her. Yet to his surprise, she looped her arms around his neck and pulled him into an embrace.
She buried her face in his shirt, and he could feel her warm tears dampening the linen. He simply held her for a long moment, feeling her tremble in his arms and silently cursing de Brechin with every foul word he knew.
“I was so scared,” she said against his chest. “I prayed you would come. And then you did.”
Something broke deep inside his chest in that moment. Yet it wasn’t a shattering, but rather a cracking wide open to accommodate the flood of warmth swelling in his heart.
“Come,” he murmured. “I’ll see ye safely to yer chamber.”
She nodded, her arms slipping slowly from around his neck. She dashed away the lingering tears with her palms, bravely straightening her back.
Jerome fell in behind her as she headed down the corridor. He glanced over his shoulder into the great hall to ensure that de Brechin hadn’t caused a scene. The celebration continued and his and Elaine’s absence seemed to have gone unnoticed. At least he hadn’t endangered his mission by nearly throttling de Brechin within an inch of his life. Yet thoughts of his assignment left him surprisingly cold compared to having Elaine in his arms.
After winding their way through the corridor for several moments, Elaine halted before a door.
“I’ll tell Finn ye’ve retired for the night,” Jerome said, clasping his hands behind his back to stop himself from touching her again. “Bar the door when ye are inside and dinnae open it for anyone.”
He willed himself to keep his voice firm and emotionless. Aye, this was how it had to be. He would leave tomorrow for France, and he would likely never see her again. Whatever he’d briefly felt—an attraction, a fascination, a longing for more—was over now. His mission came first. He couldn’t afford even the slightest error or hesitation, else the shadow from his past, the shadow cast by his father’s actions, would catch up to him at last.
Yet when his gaze landed on Elaine, who stood in the dimly lit corridor looking up at him, his iron grasp on control began to slip.
“Don’t go,” she said, her blue eyes tracing his features. Jerome’s skin prickled as if she’d caressed him. “Don’t leave me alone with the memory of de Brechin’s kiss.”
He gritted his teeth. “If I stay, I’ll do something that we’ll both regret.”
“I will never regret spending every moment I can with you,” she breathed, dropping her gaze. A blush rose from her neck to her creamy cheeks.
Jerome exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “I depart on the morrow for Avignon. And when ye return to Trellham, yer father wishes to see ye wed—no doubt to some border lord or other.”
She flinched as if the reminder hurt her. Damn it all, it hurt him too. But it was true.
“Then at least give me something to remember you by.” She met his gaze once more, and he saw
that spark of determination in her eyes. “Leave me with a memory to replace what de Brechin did.”
“Ye dinnae ken what ye are asking for,” he ground out. Bloody hell, if he kissed her now, he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop, wouldn’t be able to accept the fact that they could never become more.
“I’m not a child,” she replied. “I know what I want. I want you to kiss me.”
His control snapped then. His hands found her waist and he pulled her to him. Just before his mouth claimed hers, though, he froze.
“This is what ye want?” he rasped.
Her warm breath fanned his lips, her scent invading his senses.
“Aye.”
He closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers with a hunger like none other he’d experienced.
Their first kiss had been slow, gentle. He’d savored every corner of her lips, and then the heated depths of her mouth, thinking to draw out the sweet contact.
Now he was like a man dying of thirst, and Elaine was a cool drink for his parched soul.
And this would be his last taste of her.
He delved his tongue into her mouth, no longer able to hold back. When he met the velvet heat of her tongue, fire shot through his veins—straight to his manhood.
Distantly, he felt her fingers clutch the front of his shirt, holding him close. She leaned into him, her breasts pressing into his chest.
He had the wild urge to push her against the door and grind his hips into hers, showing her just what she did to him. Yet she was an innocent, some last shred of sanity reminded him. Besides, the invisible threat that kept drawing them together would be snapped come morning.
That thought wasn’t enough to make him stop kissing her, though. He was a greedy bastard, and selfish too, yet like her, he wanted to remember this long after they parted.
One hand slid from her trim waist to her narrow ribcage, gliding along the blue silk of her gown. He dragged his thumb along the underside of her breast, the tantalizing softness sending a new ache into his cock.
He could feel her heart hammering wildly, her breath coming short as he traced just under her breast once again. Heaven help him, he was barely touching her and yet she seemed to nigh crackle with desire.