Surrender to the Scot

by Emma Prince

  And from Jerome’s tight voice, neither had he. They’d both been so focused on unraveling de Soules’s plot that they hadn’t contemplated the obvious—that the easiest way to be rid of a King was to kill him.

  Balliol droned on with his complaints about his birthright being stolen and all he would accomplish as King of Scotland. At the first possible break in his musings, Jerome interjected.

  “We’ve taken up enough of yer time, sire,” he said, rising. “Besides, if we are to get ye on the throne, I’d best return to Scotland and see how I can help with the cause. Surely I’ll be able to find our other allies using de Soules’s name.”

  The pretender-King rose, pushing aside his trencher. “I appreciate your loyalty, Munro, and the sacrifices your family has made in my name.”

  Jerome bowed to hide the way his lips curled back in disgust.

  “I only wish I could provide more guidance,” Balliol said. He paused. “De Soules always said ‘The unicorn will fall to the lion,’ if that is any help.”

  Elaine fought to keep her features smooth even as she internally grimaced at the saying. It made sense, of course. Growing up in the Borderlands, she was all too familiar with the symbolism. The lion, proud and fierce, was thought to represent England. The unicorn, a mystical, noble creature, was considered the natural enemy of the lion—and the adopted symbol of Scotland.

  De Soules and his conspirators clearly hated the Bruce so much for supposedly slighting them when it came to distributing lands that they were willing to ally with an English-sympathizing ruler to bring their own country to its knees. Elaine swallowed against another wave of disgust.

  “I willnae fail ye, sire,” Jerome said with another hasty bow. He began backing toward the hall’s doors, gripping Elaine by the elbow as he went.

  “Farewell, and best of luck,” Balliol called after them, his voice bouncing off the bare stone walls as they retreated.

  Jerome pushed open the doors, his face a mask of indifference as they strode past the two guards. Yet his fingers bit into her arm where he held her.

  “Jerome,” she breathed as his pace increased toward the dark outlines of their grazing horses.

  “Hush,” he hissed. “The guards can hear us.”

  When they reached their horses, he gripped her waist as if to lift her into the saddle, but instead he lowered his head until his breath brushed her ear.

  “There isnae time to gather more clues or hunt down de Soules’s associates,” he whispered. “The Bruce is in grave danger, and only we ken it.”

  Elaine nodded, frightened tears burning her eyes. She blinked them away, commanding herself to maintain her composure.

  “We’ll ride through the night to Calais and board the first ship bound for Scone,” Jerome continued, his voice so low it was barely audible even right against her ear. “I…I need ye to be strong, Elaine. I cannae do this alone. We are in this together, remember?”

  His words sent steel into her spine. They’d made it this far. Now, with the King’s life hanging in the balance, she couldn’t succumb to fear, for she and Jerome were the only ones who might stop this traitorous scheme.

  “Aye,” she replied, giving him a nod.

  He hoisted her into the saddle and mounted his horse, snapping the reins and leading them back down the overgrown path.

  Elaine followed, her mind filled with a single prayer.

  Please, God, let me be strong enough.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jerome stared out at the inky North Sea. He silently cursed the gentle wind rippling off the water, for it barely filled the sails of their ship as they glided along through the dark night.

  Toward Scotland. But not bloody fast enough.

  He felt a tentative hand come to rest on his back and turned to find Elaine standing behind him.

  “I hope I didnae disturb ye in coming up here,” he said.

  Thanks to Jerome’s liberal use of the last of his coins in Calais, they’d managed to secure passage on a cargo ship set for Scone. The captain, a Spanish trader who sailed between France, Scotland, and Spain with silks, wools, and linens, had agreed to give them a small cabin below deck to use as their own. But now that they were only a day away from Scotland’s shores, Jerome found he couldn’t sleep.

  “Nay,” Elaine replied, moving to his side to gaze out at the water beyond the gunwale. “I wasn’t sleeping either—not truly.”

  Jerome clawed his hair away from his forehead. “Damn it all, but this journey seems interminable. I cannae stand to be bobbing on this bloody ocean another day, no’ kenning if the Bruce is well or if—”

  “Don’t say it,” Elaine cut in. “You’re only torturing yourself when there is naught we can do from here anyway.”

  She was right, of course, but it didn’t ease the knot of sickening fear that had tangled Jerome’s insides since they’d spoken with Balliol and learned of the assassination plot.

  He let a long breath go. “I ken it, but it doesnae make the waiting any easier.”

  “All will be well,” she murmured, though he saw out of the corner of his eye that her brows were creased with worry. “We will reach the Bruce in time—I have to believe that. And we’ll find a way to stop de Soules’s co-conspirators.” She turned to him, her eyes catching the moonlight. They glowed like liquid pools of sapphire. “I believe in you, Jerome—in us. No matter what happens, we’ll find a way through. And afterward…”

  Her voice trailed off, and Jerome couldn’t help but flinch. They still hadn’t spoken about what would happen once they ended the threat to the Bruce once and for all—for Jerome feared they’d never reach that point. But he couldn’t ignore what he bore in his heart for Elaine. Not anymore. Not when this might be their last night together before all hell broke loose.

  “Come below deck with me,” he said gently. “We both need rest if we are to be sharp when we arrive in Scone tomorrow.” And he had something to tell her that the sailors on the night watch needn’t eavesdrop on.

  Elaine let him guide her to the ladder that led below deck. They climbed down and wove their way through the cargo crates and the swinging hammocks of the sleeping sailors to their wee cabin in the nose of the hull.

  Once Jerome closed the door behind them and lit one of the hanging lanterns, he turned to find Elaine perched on the edge of the nailed-down cot in the corner.

  “Elaine…” He approached, lowering himself on the cot beside her. “I need to tell ye something.” He swallowed. “If we dinnae make it out of this…”

  “Nay, don’t.”

  “Hear me out, lass. We dinnae ken what fate holds in store for us when we reach the Bruce’s court. And I would never forgive myself if I didnae speak my heart’s truth to ye before then.”

  She stilled, gazing at him. He let his eyes trace every lovely angle of her face, from her coppery brows to her pert nose and those lush, berry-colored lips. She’d plaited her russet locks to tame the effects of the salty breeze. He took up the end of the braid and loosened it with his fingers until her hair fell in rich waves around her shoulders.

  “God, how I love ye, lass,” he murmured, devouring the sight of her like a man half-starved.

  She pulled in a breath, but before she could speak, he went on.

  “I think I’ve loved ye since the moment I saw ye, but I was too stubborn and blind to realize it.” He stroked her velvety cheek with his thumb. “I’ll never forget that first sight of ye. Ye were all windblown and looking as wild as a banshee. Ye burst over that ridge and barreled straight for me as if God himself had shot ye from a bow, aiming ye right at my heart.”

  “Jerome.” Her voice cracked with emotion.

  “I should have told ye right then,” he continued. “Or after our first kiss at Trellham. Or when we said farewell—for what might have been forever—in Scone. And I damn well should have told ye the night we made love, for I kenned with certainty then, but I was afraid.”

  “Of what?” she murmured, gazing at him with thos
e vibrant, emotive eyes.

  He shook his head. “Afraid I’d lose ye somehow, I suppose. Afraid to let myself care when I never have before. Afraid I wasnae worthy of ye. And afraid I’d go so mad with wanting ye that I’d fail my mission and prove those clansmen who said I was no different from my father right.”

  She cupped his bristled cheek with one hand, her eyes riveted on him even as they began to shimmer with unshed tears.

  “I hope that by telling ye now, it’s no’ too late,” he said. “There hasnae been enough time to do things right. With the mission and de Soules and Balliol and—”

  “I know,” she interrupted. “There is never enough time. But you’re not too late.”

  He swallowed. “I dinnae ken what lies ahead. All I ken is that I want to spend every moment we have together telling ye and showing ye how much I love ye.”

  “I love you, too,” she replied, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Jerome’s heart soared even as the shadow of all that lay ahead still cast them in darkness.

  “Then promise me something.”

  She nodded. “Anything.”

  “Promise me that if we get through this and live to tell of it, ye’ll make me the happiest, luckiest man that ever lived and marry me.”

  Elaine’s eyes widened and her lips parted.

  “Dinnae think of the Bruce or Finn or yer father or yer life in Trellham or aught else. Ye said that all would be well and that ye believed in us. I believe we can find a way, Elaine. Say aye.”

  A heartrendingly sweet smile broke over her face, warm and promising as the dawning of the sun.

  “Aye.”

  He pulled her into his arms then, burying his face in her hair. She clung tightly to him, squeezing as close as she possibly could. Her breasts crushed against his chest, her slim arms looping around his neck.

  “Ye are my heart and soul, Elaine,” he breathed.

  “And you are mine.”

  He drew back, but only enough so that his mouth could find hers for a desperate kiss. Whatever awaited them, they only had this moment—and he intended to use it well.

  “If this is to be our last night before whatever we’ll face tomorrow, let us spend it joined as one. No more distractions. No more doubts or fears. Just us.”

  She answered by kissing him once again, showing him wordlessly that her passion and love matched his own.

  Like a fanned flame, desire blazed inside him, firing his blood and making him hard with wanting. He longed to shove their clothes aside and join with her swiftly, but they had all night, and he would not allow himself to rush this. The first time they’d made love, he hadn’t given himself time to savor every beautiful inch of her. This time he would not make the same mistake.

  He let his lips trail from her mouth to her cheeks and throat, then to where her ear lay buried in the waves of her hair. He nibbled gently, then traced the outside of her ear with his tongue, eliciting a shiver from her.

  Her hands flew to his shirt and began tugging it from his kilt. He let her pull it up and over his head, but then he returned to his ministrations, trailing kisses down her neck to the neckline of the stout wool dress she’d selected at King Philip’s palace for their travels.

  Gooseflesh rippled beneath his lips as he kissed the sensitive skin at the top of the gown’s bodice. She sighed, her fingernails grazing his bare back in wordless encouragement.

  His fingers found the ties at the back of her gown and he worked them loose, all the while raining kisses on her. When the dress sagged from her shoulders, he eased her down onto the cot and slid the wool away, leaving her in her chemise. She lay back, watching him as he tossed the gown aside and moved over her.

  “I want to see ye—all of ye,” he murmured, reaching for the chemise. The fine linen whispered against her creamy skin as he pulled it away, revealing each perfect inch of her.

  God in heaven, what had he done to deserve her? He was nobody, a man from a disgraced family, a warrior from a small clan who had naught more than his pledge of loyalty to his name. If his Laird hadn’t agreed to send him into the King’s service, and if the Bruce hadn’t selected him to collect the seals for the Declaration of Arbroath, his path never would have crossed Elaine’s.

  And yet staring down at her, his brave, bold, beautiful woman, some part of him knew it couldn’t have been mere coincidence that had drawn them together. Whether it was fate or God or some other unseen force, his soul and hers were bound to meet and intertwine for whatever time they had.

  “Jerome,” she murmured, her eyes tracing him like a caress. “Touch me. Please.”

  He was all too eager to comply. He skimmed up her arms and over her shoulders until he was cupping each perfect breast. Her dusky pink nipples drew into pearls and she moaned as he swept them with his thumbs.

  He couldn’t hold back then. He leaned over her, closing his lips around one of those perfect, taut nipples. She gasped and arched against his mouth. But he wanted so much more. He slid lower, dragging his lips along her ribs and flat stomach until he reached the curls hiding her womanhood.

  She sucked in another breath when he kissed her there. But instead of tensing or pushing him away, her legs parted in invitation. Her trust shook him to his core and fired his lust until his cock ached with the need to be inside her.

  But not yet—not until he’d tasted her and brought her this selfless pleasure. He spread her wide with his tongue, swirling and teasing until her knees trembled around his shoulders and every panting breath was a moan.

  Abruptly, she shattered beneath his mouth, crying out her pleasure as she arched off the cot. When the last quakes of ecstasy began to ebb, he rose up on his haunches and ripped off his belt and plaid.

  She opened lust-hazed eyes and gazed at his naked form as he loomed over her. But instead of lowering himself between her legs, he lifted her up and settled onto his back. She made a surprised noise as he positioned her above him, her knees straddling his hips, but when his desire-hardened cock nudged her opening, understanding dawned across her features.

  Desperate to be inside her but longing to make the moment last, Jerome gripped her hips and slowly began to lower her onto his length. Elaine let her head fall back, her russet locks cascading over her shoulders and breasts.

  He gritted his teeth against the nigh blinding urge to thrust hard and fast. God, he never wanted to forget this moment, never wanted to be anywhere else but here.

  Praying for his control to last as long as possible, he began to move, showing her the way with his body. She found her own rhythm, and soon his hands rose from her hips to her breasts.

  When he dropped one hand to brush that point of pleasure just above where they were joined, Elaine came undone with another hard release. She went taut and cried out his name over and over as she rode him.

  It was his undoing. The final thread of his restraint snapped and he sank his fingers into her hips, driving into her with ferocious abandon. A powerful release broke through him. He groaned, emptying himself into her until they were both left panting and spent.

  Elaine folded over him, coming to lie on his chest. He dragged a blanket over them both, stroking her back until her breathing slowed and she turned soft and limp in his arms.

  “I love ye, Elaine,” he murmured, his voice low and tight with emotion.

  She was already asleep, but oblivion eluded him. He couldn’t seem to let himself drift away when he held her in his arms. So he lay in the gently swaying cabin, listening to her breathe and feeling his heart beat in its steady, strong rhythm—for her. Only and forever for her.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Elaine gripped the ship’s railing as they glided the last hundred yards to the docks along the River Tay. At last, they would put their feet on Scottish soil once more.

  Time seemed to stretch cruelly as she watched the men slowly ratchet down the anchor and lower the crates of valuable cloth into the waiting dinghies by rope.

  But when Jerome’s warm arm l
ooped around her waist, holding her close, she felt herself relax a hair’s breadth.

  “Remember yer words to me, lass—all will be well.”

  His touch was like a balm to her ragged nerves. Her mind flooded with memories of the night before—Jerome’s kiss, his touch, their joining so fierce and passionate, yet so filled with love at the same time.

  They’d woken early in each other’s arms and made love again that morn, slow and tender. By the time they’d emerged from their cabin, Scotland had already been sighted, her green shores cloaked in mist.

  But without any way to speed their progress, the morning had dragged with naught to do but wait and worry about what lay ahead.

  Even once they disembarked, they would still be an hour’s ride from Scone Abbey and the Bruce’s court. And the uncertainty of what they would find there left Elaine pulled taut with fear.

  At last, the cargo had been unloaded and the captain motioned for them to climb down the ladder to the waiting dinghy. They sat in silence while one of the crewmen rowed them the short distance to the wooden docks along the riverbank, which bustled with trade and activity.

  Despite the milling seamen, the smells of fish and unwashed bodies, and the commotion from the other anchored ships, when they stepped on solid Scottish ground once more, Elaine let out a breath of relief.

  “The town of Errol is nearby,” she said as she and Jerome began to trudge away from the noisy docks. She flashed him a smile. “It’s where Captain MacDougal took my horse to be traded for coin—which is how I gained passage to France for myself. I imagine we can secure mounts there.”

  Jerome gave her a warm look. “Ever resourceful, arenae ye, lass?”

  She slid her hand in his as they began climbing a low, grassy rise on the north bank of the river. She wasn’t sure exactly how far Errol lay, but there was no other option than to walk, as they had no coin and didn’t wish to draw attention to themselves or why they were there, even this far from Scone. They’d have to come up with some way to procure horses—steal them, if necessary—and trust that once they reached the Bruce, all would be forgiven.