by Emma Prince
“Thank you again for confiding in me yesterday about where you’d seen Sir William,” Elaine said to the lady-in-waiting. “We have a favor to ask, one that will sound most…strange, until you hear us out.”
Lady Vivienne nodded hesitantly, and once Jerome had closed the door, Elaine began to explain everything to the Frenchwoman.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Elaine tugged absently at the neckline of her emerald and gold-trimmed gown. In the reflection of the polished silver plate propped on the dressing table, she saw Lady Vivienne shake her head and tsk.
“You are too beautiful to be so modest,” Vivienne said as she slid the final pin into place to secure the sheer gold veil atop Elaine’s head. It covered the loose cascade of curling locks Vivienne had arranged in the style of the most fashionable maidens at French court.
“I’m not used to such finery,” Elaine replied, flushing. “Or to revealing quite so much.” The pale expanse of her chest was on display in the exquisite gown, her breasts swelling scandalously against the low-cut neckline.
“Ah, oui, but this is France,” Lady Vivienne said, leaning over Elaine’s shoulder with a conspiratorial grin. She, too, wore a beautiful—and revealing—gown, though hers was in a soft lilac with silver threading and a matching silver veil over her flaxen hair.
Elaine chuckled, but then what lay ahead of them tonight made her sober.
“Is everything ready?”
Vivienne’s smile faded as well. “Oui,” she said. “I will be with the Queen and the other ladies-in-waiting, but I’ll join your table when I can. I have what I need already.” She patted the bodice of her gown, where she’d tucked a vial of something she’d assured Elaine wouldn’t hurt de Soules beyond making him ill enough to keep him in bed—or in the garderobe—while the envoy continued to Avignon.
To Elaine’s surprise, Vivienne had taken their request that she incapacitate de Soules with surprising calm. The Frenchwoman seemed relieved to have further confirmation from Elaine and Jerome that she’d done right to tell them of de Soules’s dealings with Edward Balliol. She’d been more than willing to help if it meant stopping a nefarious scheme that would threaten France’s alliance with Scotland.
Kieran, on the other hand, had been harder to convince. Once they’d explained everything to Lady Vivienne, they’d sent her to fetch Kieran while they hastily dressed and servants brought food and cleared away the tub from their chamber.
When Vivienne had returned with Kieran, the giant Highlander’s eyes had already been narrowed with suspicion. He’d listened in grim silence as Elaine and Jerome had explained all they’d learned about de Soules, plus Vivienne’s latest revelation about his visits to Balliol’s estate.
Kieran took the news of de Soules’s plotting with Balliol quite well, simply saying, “I kenned there was something off about him,” but when it came to Lady Vivienne’s role in detaining de Soules in the French court until the scheme could be exposed, Kieran had exploded with anger.
“Nay,” he’d barked. “It’s too dangerous to involve her.”
Lady Vivienne, in her cool, controlled way, had lifted her chin and somehow managed to stare down at the giant Scot. “I am more than capable, monsieur.”
He’d turned burning blue eyes on her, but when he spoke, his voice was tight and low. “This isnae work for a refined, gentle-bred lady. I’ll do it.”
“Do not be ridiculous, monsieur,” Vivienne had countered. “You are as inconspicuous as a charging elephant, whereas I know how to move without notice. I can drug him tonight during the feast in your honor.”
“Ye mean the feast where ye and all the other ladies will be trussed up like peacocks?” Kieran had fired back. “Aye, sounds verra inconspicuous of ye.”
Lady Vivienne waved dismissively. “It is easy for a lady to make a man look at one thing while she is about something else—especially in a low-cut gown.”
Kieran had clenched his fists so hard at that retort that his knuckles had turned white, but before he could respond, Jerome had interrupted their squabbling and returned them to the subject at hand.
When Kieran had at last agreed to their bold plan—including delivering the declaration himself, a task which he’d soberly promised to complete with his dying breath if necessary, he and Jerome had left to see what preparations needed to be made, while Lady Vivienne slipped away to secure the vial she now had tucked in her bodice.
Lady Vivienne had returned to help Elaine prepare for the King’s feast that evening, but Jerome and Kieran were still absent. Elaine found herself tugging nervously on her gown once more before Vivienne’s tsk stopped her again.
“All will be well,” Vivienne said. Though she was only a few years older than Elaine, something about her calm, confident manner put Elaine at ease. “You’ll find all the wonders of French court so dazzling tonight at the feast that you will not have time to remain worried.”
Elaine smiled weakly at her reflection in the polished silver. “Thank you, Vivienne.”
Just as Vivienne rose with a squeeze of Elaine’s shoulders, a rap sounded at the door. Without waiting for a response, whoever stood outside pushed the door open.
Elaine turned to find Jerome and Kieran standing in the doorway, clean-shaven and looking surprisingly refined. They both still wore their clan colors belted around their hips, but they’d polished their boots to a shine, and over their plain linen shirts they wore short, well-fitted cotehardies embellished with gold thread and intricate beadwork—gifts from King Philip, no doubt.
Jerome’s gaze landed on Elaine, and her heart stuttered against her ribs.
“The feast is already underway,” he said, extending a hand to her in invitation.
She rose from the dressing table and glided in her best imitation of Lady Vivienne toward him. His dark gaze pinned her as she went, making her stomach flutter. He actually frowned when his eyes landed on her exposed décolleté, but she assumed he was displeased not with her figure, but at the fact that everyone at the feast would see it.
When she reached him, he drew her arm through his and pulled her close enough to smell the clean, masculine scent of his skin.
Lady Vivienne crossed the room with effortless grace even though a frown creased her brow. “I had best return to the Queen,” she said.
“I’ll escort ye.” Kieran stepped forward, but Vivienne cocked her head at him.
“I am more than capable of seeing myself to my Queen’s quarters.”
Instead of arguing, Kieran simply snatched Vivienne’s slim arm and pinned it under his in a rather blunt maneuver. Vivienne clicked her tongue in disapproval, but Kieran was so much larger and stronger that she couldn’t stop him from sweeping her from the chamber and down the stairs.
Jerome followed, though he kept their pace slow enough to allow Kieran and Vivienne to pull away.
“What could have possibly made Kieran detest Lady Vivienne so much?” Elaine asked as they wound their way down the spiraling stairs.
Jerome chuckled. “It’s quite the opposite, I suspect.”
Before Elaine had time to ask him what he meant, they stepped into the great hall attached to the tower. But instead of finding it swarming with nobles, it was quiet and dim.
“The King means to show us every luxury tonight,” Jerome commented. “He’s hosting the feast in the larger hall we saw yesterday.”
They crossed the space to a corridor on the far side that allowed the King and his nobles to travel throughout the palace without having to walk outside. When they reached the larger great hall, Elaine could only stare.
It had been wondrously grand yesterday morn when they’d seen it on their tour, but it had been empty and unlit then. Now the light of more than a thousand candles made the space seem as though it were made of pure gold.
The polished marble floors appeared to glow with their own light as they stepped into the hall. Overhead, every elegant curve of the soaring arched ceiling was cast in golden candlelight. The hall itsel
f was filled with a dazzling array of nobles dressed in jewel-toned silks. Long trestle tables filled much of the space, and the guests were being ushered to their seats.
Jerome guided her toward the raised dais, where the King, dressed in his usual ermine-trimmed blue and gold silk, was already seated. Because they were the honored guests of the evening, their table was just below the dais.
As Elaine and Jerome approached, she caught her first glimpse of the Queen. She was of an age with Philip, yet her refined air spoke of timeless grace. She wore a gown of deep royal amethyst to match the rich colors all around, her light brown hair coiled and tucked under a slightly more modest veil than her ladies-in-waiting. Her ladies flocked around her in their pastel-colored gowns like a bouquet of springtime flowers surrounding an inset jewel.
The Queen swept onto the raised dais and dipped into a curtsy to the King. For his part, King Philip played the perfect courtly lover, rising and giving his wife a deep bow, much to the pleasure of the nobles looking on.
As the King and Queen settled themselves in their enormous chairs, the ladies-in-waiting moved to the table nearest Elaine and Jerome’s. Elaine made eye contact with Vivienne, who gave her a faint tilt of the head for reassurance before slipping into her place at the nearby table.
Elaine found Kieran already seated at their table, his gaze following Vivienne as well. Bishop Kininmund was there, too, his firm expression unchanging as he took in all the wonders around them. Elaine stiffened when her gaze landed on de Soules, who sat beside the bishop. Of course he would be included in the honors of the evening, but after all she’d learned, she couldn’t help seeing wickedness in his seemingly unassuming brown eyes.
Drawing in a breath to steady herself, she took a seat between Kieran and Jerome, across from de Soules and the bishop. Luckily they were spared from having to make conversation, for King Philip rose and lifted his voice in a speech about his great honor in hosting an envoy of the King of Scotland’s men, and the long and healthy friendship between their two countries.
After the cheers of the noble guests died down, the King called for food and wine, and the hall came alive with an army of servants, who bustled between the tables in matching blue and gold livery, their arms loaded with steaming platters of food and jugs of wine.
Though merry conversation soon filled the hall, their table remained quiet as they ate, for which Elaine was grateful. It wasn’t until the last of the trenchers had been cleared and King Philip had called for his musicians to begin playing that Lady Vivienne approached. She bore a jug brimming with dark wine, which she pretended to nearly slosh when she reached their table.
“And how do our esteemed guests like our French wine?” she said with a little giggle as she moved to fill the goblets on the table.
“Just fine,” Kieran replied tightly, watching her. Lady Vivienne shot him a narrowed glance that even Elaine, who was looking right at her, nearly missed. She imagined that if the lady-in-waiting had been close enough, she would have stomped on Kieran’s foot in that moment.
“I think I shall retire for the evening,” the bishop said, rising. “Revelry and men of God dinnae mix—or at least they shouldnae.” He approached the dais and gave his thanks to the King before gliding from the hall.
Vivienne continued filling goblets. When she reached de Soules’s, she leaned precariously over the table, giving him a full view of her cleavage. “Do you enjoy music, Sir William?”
De Soules couldn’t help but be struck speechless for a moment as his gaze landed on her breasts. “I…that is…”
In that moment, Elaine noticed Vivienne’s hand slip from the folds of her skirt to cup de Soules’s goblet. A heartbeat later, she flicked her wrist and Elaine spied the tiny glass vial tucked between her fingers before it disappeared once more. She finished pouring de Soules’s wine, her hand dropping away as if she’d only been steadying the goblet while she poured.
“I love music, especially when accompanied by dancing,” Lady Vivienne said even as de Soules continued to wrestle with his tongue. “Mayhap you can teach me one of your Scottish dances later,” she murmured in a low, flirtatious voice.
“I could show ye a thing or two now, lass,” Kieran growled suddenly, rising from the table.
Before she could object, he plucked the jug of wine from her hand and set it aside, then swept her off toward the far end of the hall, where the tables were being cleared to allow room for dancing in front of the musicians. Vivienne only had time to dart a glance back at Elaine and Jerome and give them a quick nod—it was done.
A breath frozen in her lungs, Elaine watched as de Soules lifted his goblet and took a gulp of wine. He stared after Kieran and Vivienne with a frown on his face, but he made no move to stop them, nor did his eyes narrow with suspicion as he took another sip.
The first part of their plan had been set into motion.
Now all she could do was pray that the rest would go smoothly from here.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Must you depart so soon, mes amis?” King Philip stood at the gates to his private garden, a velvet cloak draped jauntily over one shoulder and his hands planted on his hips.
Jerome bowed his head but kept his voice firm. “Aye, Majesty. The Pope waits for no man. And nor, it seems, will my bride.”
His gaze flashed to Elaine, who stood a few paces back with Lady Vivienne. She’d molded her features into a smile, and though he was familiar enough with her to know it was an act, he doubted anyone else noticed.
“But what of Sir William?” the King persisted. “Surely you should wait for your companion to recover his health before leaving.”
Just as she’d promised, Lady Vivienne’s potion had done its job. Less than a quarter hour after taking his first sip of the tainted wine, de Soules had excused himself from the feast. He never returned, and was found by a servant sometime later locked inside the garderobe.
“I am afraid he will miss Avignon,” Jerome replied with a shrug.
Lady Vivienne stepped forward then. “I’ll look after your compatriot, monsieur. He’ll be well tended until he regains his strength.” The faintest flicker of one blonde eyebrow confirmed their plan: Vivienne would ensure de Soules was forced to remain at court until Jerome and Elaine could determine exactly how far his treachery went—and what to do with him.
“Many thanks for yer kind attentions, Lady Vivienne,” Jerome said with a bow to her. “And to ye, Majesty, for yer hospitality in allowing him to recover here.”
“Of course, of course,” the King said with an airy wave. “But I cannot help disliking all the changes in plans. With one visit to my palace, your King’s envoy has been cut in half. It reflects poorly on me.”
“Aye, well, Sir William and I will have to visit Avignon some other time. But Kieran and Bishop Kininmund will see the Bruce’s declaration delivered safely.” He plastered a conspiratorial smile onto his own features. “After all, a wise man once insisted that when pleasure and beauty present themselves, one had better seize them while one can.”
The King’s weak frown dissolved into a grin. “That is the silver lining, I suppose. I am so happy for you and Lady Elaine. And I gladly take at least some credit for your impending union—though some must go to belle France herself as well. But won’t your King be displeased that you are abandoning his envoy?”
“I’d rather beg his forgiveness than ask his permission in this case. I cannae let aught threaten my chance to secure my bonny love once and for all.”
“For a Scotsman, you have a flourish for romance.” King Philip pounded Jerome on the shoulder. “Be off with you then, mon ami, and give my best to your King. If there is aught else I can do to help him, I am at his disposal.”
The King walked with Jerome, Elaine, and Lady Vivienne to the stables, where Kieran and Bishop Kininmund were preparing the horses. Jerome had waited until the last possible moment, but the time had finally come to hand over the declaration.
While the bishop mounted a
nd arranged his robes, Jerome pulled Kieran aside.
“Ye ken there arenae many men into whose hands I would place my fate—and my life,” Jerome began, his voice gruff.
“And there arenae many whose duty I would take on as my own, but under the circumstances, I’ll do it gladly,” Kieran replied quietly.
With a nod, Jerome reached into the pouch on his belt and felt the familiar rasp of parchment against his fingers. He withdrew the carefully folded and wrapped packet containing the Bruce’s prized declaration of Scottish freedom.
Jerome held it for a moment, measuring the inconsequential lightness of the parchment against the heft of all it implied—and the weight of his own responsibility to deliver it safely.
It felt like a betrayal of all he stood for to turn it over now. Jerome’s whole life had hinged on seeing his duty done, never failing in his loyal devotion to first his Laird and now his King. And now he was willfully deserting his mission.
It was a bitter truth to swallow, but much more than his honor and good name hung in the balance now. In handing over the declaration, he was serving the greater good, he reminded himself firmly. He couldn’t simply follow orders anymore. His pledge to protect King and country went beyond that.
And if he had to drag his name through the mud to accomplish his larger goals, he would find a way to survive it. He was strong enough. Elaine had taught him that.
“See it done,” he said at last, extending the packet to Kieran.
Kieran wore a somber frown as he accepted the folded parchment. “From one Highlander to another and in the name of King Robert the Bruce—ye can count on me, Jerome Munro.”
As Kieran tucked the declaration into his own belt pouch, he extended his forearm to Jerome and they shared a firm shake. In his gruff way, Kieran thanked King Philip for his hospitality, then mounted alongside the bishop. His blue gaze lingered on Lady Vivienne before he gave her a curt nod and reined his horse toward the arching bridge leading off the island-palace.