Jamie turned to Egan with a wide grin. “That’s what I’m trying t’ tell you, Uncle. They were nae peasants. Morag’s granddaughter, she married a Ross.”
He pulled Zarabeth out into the hall and began dancing a jig around her.
Zarabeth laughed. Her hair swung around, dark as midnight, her blue eyes flashing as she let Jamie spin her. Jamie tripped over his own large feet, and Egan caught Zarabeth before Jamie could barrel with her to the floor.
“Stop before ye hurt yourself,” Egan yelled at him.
Zarabeth, still laughing, leaned back against Egan, pulling his arms around her. “Well, if she became a Ross, hadn’t you better go ask Adam if you can look through his papers?”
Jamie’s grin dimmed. “But the Ross castle was destroyed after Culloden. The bloody English might have burned all the papers.”
“I wager some survived,” Egan said, growing interested in spite of himself. “A Scotsman’s greatest treasure is his family, and tracing that family is most important. A few of the old family trees might still be around.”
Jamie leapt to his feet. “I hadn’t thought o’ that!” He spun and dashed away madly, making for the front door, kilt swinging.
“I’d better send Angus after him,” Egan said, releasing Zarabeth with reluctance. “Lord knows what he’ll be telling Adam, tearing up the man’s house without leave. You know ’tis a long shot, Jamie finding anything about this granddaughter of Morag’s.”
“I know,” Zarabeth said. “But he’s happy. Let him believe what he can while he’s young. Time enough for him to grow up and lose sight of what’s truly important.”
Egan dropped a kiss to her hair. “That’s a bit cynical, love.”
“Perhaps I learned too many lessons too quickly,” Zarabeth said, her voice quieting. “I had to grow up before I was ready after my mother died—all the while I waited for my knight in shining armor. Let Jamie believe in the end of the fairy tale for now.”
Egan swept Zarabeth into his arms for a tight hug and a kiss. “All right, lass, you win. But Jamie still needs t’ not pester the Rosses too much. Let me explain things t’ Angus, then I’ll come back and we’ll talk.”
She sent him a worried look. “Talk about what?”
“Many things, love.” They had so much to decide.
Egan didn’t like the concern that entered her eyes, but she’d understand. “Ye go on up and tidy yourself—even though I like ye mussed. I’ll run Angus t’ earth and then find ye.”
Zarabeth seized him before he could turn away, pulling him to her for another kiss. He made himself disentangle from her after a time and sent her upstairs with a pat on her backside. She glared at him over the railings, and he walked away, whistling, to scour the castle for Angus MacDonald.
* * *
Zarabeth ducked into her bedroom, bathed her face in cool water, and brushed and re-pinned her hair. What a wanton she looked! She’d let Egan take her thrice in three days, this last time on a gilded chair in the anteroom. Her face went hot, and her cheeks tingled.
Yet she longed for Egan already. She wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon and on into the evening exploring him, learning what he liked. Lovemaking for pleasure was a new sensation to her. She’d read about it, as all Nvengarian ladies did, but it had seemed distant and unreal, like reading travel literature about exotic lands where she would likely never go.
From Egan’s expression, he was eager to continue their journey into their newfound world. Zarabeth knew he hadn’t quite come to terms with what she’d told him about her ability to read thoughts, but he was willing to put it aside while they made love. There would come a time when they had to sort things out, but for now, she would enjoy being with him.
She smoothed her gown and left her room to look in on Valentin, wanting to ask him a few things while she had a moment.
Ivan and Constanz, stationed outside her door, as they did when Egan wasn’t about, snapped to attention when she came out, and followed her to Valentin’s chamber, where they took up sentry stance again. Zarabeth thanked them, rapped softly on the door and let herself in.
Valentin was better. Mrs. Williams, who was just leaving with a tray, reported that he was eating well and demanding more. Valentin did look stronger as he lay propped against the pillows, the bandage on his shoulder a white slash on his dark skin. His face was still pale but his blue eyes glittered with impatience.
Zarabeth closed the door as Mrs. Williams departed and came to sit in the chair by Valentin’s side.
“Will you tell her, please, to bring something besides broth,” Valentin growled.
Zarabeth sent him a sympathetic look. “There is always porridge, you know.”
Valentin’s expression turned horrified. “No.”
“I was only teasing. I will talk to Williams and see what I can do. No one knows there’s a wild animal inside you.”
Valentin moved restlessly. Zarabeth recognized the symptoms of a man who felt better but was forced to lie quietly or risk growing worse. She’d seen it in her father who often fell off horses while riding hell-for-leather, and in Egan after they’d rescued him in Nvengaria.
“Where is Mrs. Cameron this morning?” Valentin asked abruptly. “She said she would read to me.”
Zarabeth’s interest perked. He’d asked about Mary before, seeming embarrassed about it. “She went shopping with Dougal, Gemma told me at breakfast. She did sit with you when you were first hurt. You might not have realized.”
“I realized.” Valentin clamped his mouth shut as though fearing to elaborate.
Zarabeth continued to wonder, but Valentin’s frown told her he would not welcome her prying. To change the subject she told him of Jamie’s research into the curse and what he had discovered. Valentin did not seem terribly interested, and she brought the tale to a close.
“I can read to you, if you like,” she offered.
“No.” He softened his irritated grunt. “Forgive me.”
“Not at all. I hate being laid up myself.” Zarabeth leaned her elbows on her knees and studied him, a square-faced man who would be handsome if it weren’t for the hard, rather forbidding cast to his features. He was younger than Egan—she guessed he was about thirty years old.
“My father recognized you,” she said quietly.
Valentin’s gaze instantly flicked to hers. The atmosphere in the room changed from sickroom boredom to the tension of a general’s battle tent.
Zarabeth went on. “I explained to him that Damien would not have sent you with me if he couldn’t trust you.”
Valentin watched her closely, his too-blue eyes harsh. “You are correct. He would not have.”
“I do wonder why you agreed to come with me at all,” Zarabeth said. “I would have thought that once you were released from prison you’d want to return home.”
“Atonement.” Valentin sank back to the pillow but remained alert. “For my sins.”
“For trying to kill Damien?”
“Among other things,” he rumbled. “I reasoned that if I volunteered to protect something precious to Damien, he would believe in my contrition.”
Zarabeth’s brows rose. “I see.”
His expression turned fierce. “You do not see. I failed on the ship, and I failed by letting myself get shot. If not for Egan MacDonald and his family, you would likely be dead.”
Zarabeth shook her head. “Protecting me by yourself would have been impossible. If not for you, I certainly would have been dead or badly injured long before we reached Scotland. You saved me plenty of times from attacks along the road, and we could not have anticipated the ship breaking up off shore. And, likely you frightened away whoever was lurking in the tunnels the night you were shot. No one has attacked me since then.”
“But I lie here, ineffectual and weak.”
Zarabeth touched his hand, which lay curled on the coverlet. “You look plenty strong to me. Anyone else would have succumbed to fever or at least slept for a fortnight.”
<
br /> “Do not try to appease me,” he snapped.
Zarabeth withdrew her touch, but she was not offended. “Very well. You have not been the perfect bodyguard, but who could be? You found Olympia Templeton before she froze to death, and your patrolling has likely helped keep assassins from creeping close to the castle. Egan has put a guard on the tunnels, though he thinks your attacker probably slipped into them through the house during the Hogmanay celebrations. It has been a great comfort knowing I have a logosh to look after me, believe me. Because of you, I made it to Scotland at all, where Egan can now keep me safe. I have written Damien to tell him so.”
Valentin growled. “Perhaps, but …”
“Wallow in misery if you like, but Damien would not have chosen you if he did not think you could protect me, atonement or no.”
“I volunteered,” Valentin rumbled.
“Even so.” She turned her palms upward. “You know Damien. He would never be persuaded to do anything against his better judgment. He’s the most cautious man in the world.”
Valentin relaxed a little. “You are kind to comfort me.”
“I want something in return. Two things, actually.”
He tensed again. “What are they?”
Zarabeth sat up straight in her chair. “I want you to pledge yourself to me, as a lady of Clan MacDonald. Your loyalty to me—not to Damien or Egan, but to me.”
Valentin looked surprised. “Why?”
“Because I want you protecting me not simply pleasing Damien. Are you willing?”
Valentin hesitated a long moment, searching her gaze. As he did so, Zarabeth lowered her shields a little bit, letting herself touch his thoughts.
As usual, she could not see much. Valentin was a man who knew how to keep his true self tucked into a secret place—perhaps it was a trait of the logosh. But what she found within him was truth. He’d pledged himself to Damien, and he sincerely regretted any mistakes he’d made while protecting Zarabeth.
“What are you doing?” he asked, brows lowering.
Zarabeth quickly broke the contact. “Nothing.”
Valentin’s blue eyes narrowed. “I am a magical creature, and I can tell when magic is directed at me. But if you would like to pretend, I will say nothing.”
Zarabeth gazed at him, and he gazed back, meeting her eyes without blinking. “You are a frightening man, Valentin,” she said at last.
“And a dangerous one. But very well, I will pledge my loyalty to you.” Valentin paused, looking at her in some trepidation. “What is the second thing?”
Zarabeth regained her composure and smiled, pleased. “I want to know your story. All of it.”
Chapter 20
Baron Valentin’s Story
“You already know it.” Valentin shifted on his pillow, wincing when he moved his injured arm. “I tried to kill Prince Damien. He caught me and imprisoned me. I changed my mind, and he let me out.”
“No, no.” Zarabeth gave him a stern look. “The real story. You’ve pledged your loyalty to me, and now I command you to tell me.”
Valentin shot her a glance she recognized, that of a man annoyed a woman had gotten around him. He scowled, then gave her a resigned nod.
“I worked in Grand Duke Alexander’s household before Damien became Imperial Prince,” he began. “I believed in Alexander and what he wanted to do—overthrow the Prince of Nvengaria and instill a rule by Council of Dukes with the Grand Duke at its head. The Imperial Prince was a monster and ruining the country—that was apparent to anyone. At the time we believed that his son Damien was only a frivolous playboy who never came home.”
Zarabeth felt a qualm. Sebastian had often spoken of overthrowing the Imperial Prince in the dark days when Grand Duke Alexander had more or less ruled the country as its dictator. He’d never done anything in that direction, and Zarabeth had concluded that Sebastian was the sort of man who talked a lot and did little. That is, until she’d heard his true plotting in his head.
She did not want to believe Valentin to be the same as her husband. But there was a difference, she realized as Valentin continued his story. Valentin had been fanatically devoted to Grand Duke Alexander, believing him a better leader, while Sebastian had been fanatically devoted to grabbing power for himself. Valentin truly wanted what was best for Nvengaria; Sebastian had wanted what was best for Sebastian.
Then Grand Duke Alexander had done the unthinkable. Not only had Alexander been unable to stop Prince Damien returning to Nvengaria to take up the throne, he’d turned around and actually supported him. Alexander had also fallen under the influence of Princess Penelope, the Englishwoman who’d married Damien and returned with him as Imperial Princess. Alexander had pledged himself to Damien and Penelope and now appeared to be content working for them both.
To make matters worse, the logosh from the mountains—the pureblood shape-changers—had become Princess Penelope’s sworn protectors. It seemed that Damien had undermined everyone in the country.
Valentin decided to act on his own. He’d crept into the palace and tried to kill Damien as he dined with Penelope, as Zarabeth’s father had described.
“I disguised myself as a footman,” Valentin said, a flush of shame on his cheeks. “There are so many servants vying to serve Prince Damien and the princess that it was easy for me to fall in among their number. I carried a carafe of wine to Damien’s side, set it down, and tried to stab him.” He let out a long, slow breath. “The gods help me—I nearly succeeded.”
Zarabeth felt a chill. Were Damien’s guards so lax that they let an assassin come that close to him? Without noticing he was not part of the usual entourage? But Valentin was part logosh, which no doubt helped him go unremarked upon where he wanted to. She had seen him disappear into the undergrowth and become silent as a ghost, when Egan’s men, as used to woodcraft as they were, could still be seen and heard.
“My knife ripped into Prince Damien’s coat,” Valentin said, his voice rasping. “And then his bodyguards had me in their hands, tearing me well away from him. The guards glared at me in fury—if Damien and Penelope hadn’t been in the room, they’d have ripped me apart, and I wouldn’t have blamed them.”
His blue eyes took on a look of profound respect. “It was an amazing thing. I hung there, held by six of his guards, while Prince Damien, cool as you please, said to his valet, ‘Petri, fetch me another coat. This one needs mending.’ He then apologized to the princess—who was terrified—and sat down and resumed his meal. The guards dragged me away, and Damien didn’t even watch me go. I might have been a fly that interrupted his supper for a brief moment, nothing important.” He let out a breath. “I was put on trial, of course, found guilty of attempted assassination, and sent to the dungeons under the palace.”
He paused a moment, eyes darkening, and Zarabeth felt his remembered fear, his rage at himself for failing in his task, and his growing uncertainty about his decision to kill the prince.
“I was surprised I wasn’t executed the next morning,” Valentin continued. “But Damien was interested in me. He visited me several times while I was imprisoned and kept putting off the execution. At first I thought he was trying to break me, but I came to realize that he wanted to know all about me. He would speak to me, whole conversations, where he not only asked me questions but told me about his day, things he worried about, things that exasperated him, and so forth. I began to understand why he is sometimes known as Prince Charming.” He shook his head. “He even convinced me to talk to him about being part logosh, and he seemed to understand how difficult this had made my life.
“One day he brought Princess Penelope with him.” Valentin gave Zarabeth a faint smile. “I believe I became a little smitten with her. There she was, a golden-haired young woman with a strange accent, no longer looking terrified of me, and wanting to know all about me. She even asked me point blank why I’d tried to kill her husband, and what I had hoped to accomplish. After meeting her, I grew certain that Prince Damien wasn’t the monste
r his father had been—that Alexander had been wrong about that. A woman like Penelope could not have married a monster and remained so happy. She radiated happiness, and not because she was too foolish to know any better. She’d seen the world and its darkness and had found a home with Prince Damien.”
Zarabeth nodded, remembering when she’d first met Penelope and looked into the young woman’s green-gold eyes. She’d been struck by her deep serenity.
Sebastian, on the other hand, had viewed Penelope as a harpy who’d snared Prince Damien in her claws. Zarabeth had known that couldn’t be true, because her cousin Damien would never fall for such a woman. She’d been pleased to become friends with Penelope when they’d at last met.
“I became devoted to the princess, as have all the logosh,” Valentin went on. “Damien released me from prison and hired me as part of his bodyguard. When Damien made plans to send you here, he let me in on the secret. I asked to be the one who guided you to Scotland and guarded you myself. Damien decided it was a good idea.”
“And you didn’t fail,” Zarabeth said as Valentin’s expression clouded again. She spread her arms. “I am here, am I not?”
Valentin subsided. He’d probably learned not to argue with determined women.
“And for that I thank you,” Zarabeth concluded. “As I have said, Damien is a fine judge of character. If he’d been in Nvengaria when I decided to marry, he’d have stopped me.” She sighed. “I truly wish he would have.”
“Now that your husband is dead, Duke Sebastian’s cause will subside,” Valentin pointed out. “When Prince Damien declares the danger to you has passed, I will return to Nvengaria, where I belong. What will you do?”
Zarabeth went silent. She was almost glad Damien would have some mopping up to do so that she could put off making the decision of where to go.
Egan was restless and wanted to leave Scotland. Gemma believed Zarabeth should persuade him to remain at Castle MacDonald. Jamie wanted Egan to settle down and start a family so Jamie wouldn’t have to become laird. Angus wanted Egan here so he’d not have to be head of the family in his absence. Olaf wanted to return to his Lady Beatrice—he’d said he wanted Zarabeth home with him, but Zarabeth was not certain how Lady Beatrice would feel about that.
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