At night, when they finally collapsed from exhaustion, there was little chance for more than supper. But still, Court and Ross had stolen some time for intimacies, before falling asleep in one another’s arms.
And despite the hard ground—or hay pile—she didn’t think she’d ever slept as well as she did with Ross as her pillow.
So aye, it was possible her lips were curved slightly upward when the last of the ladies-in-waiting filed out, and the door closed. But naught outrageous enough to justify Charlotte’s outburst.
“By all the saints in Heaven, she’s smiling. Do ye see that, Yer Majesty? An actual smile!”
The Queen scoffed, and Court rolled her eyes as she crossed the solar to the pair, her hand still in Ross’s. Rosalind met them, and when she lifted her arms for a hug, Court dropped her hold on Ross to wrap the younger woman in her arms.
“I was worried for ye,” Rosalind whispered against her shoulder.
“I was worried for myself,” Court confessed equally low, gratefully inhaling the scent of her friend’s hair, and thankful for the knowledge that Rosalind was safe, even without Court’s protection. “But I couldnae leave ye and Mellie to yer own devices for long, ye ken. Where is she?”
Instead of answering, the younger woman straightened and squeezed Court’s shoulders one last time, her smile looking a little forced, as she stepped back beside the Queen.
Frowning after her friend, Court recalled her duty and struck her fist to her chest, bowing to her sovereign. “Yer Majesty,” she murmured.
“I didn’t imagine it, did I?” Charlotte whispered too loudly to the Queen. “She was smiling, aye? Just briefly?”
Court straightened from her bow, as did Ross, and she saw Elizabeth eyeing them both speculatively. “I believe that might have something to do with her companion.”
Charlotte’s teasing grin grew. “Aye, ye were right to partner them.”
“And you owe me five silver pennies,” the Queen said regally.
Rosalind lifted her fingertips to her mouth to cover her smile. “Ye ken, I once heard her laugh.”
Charlotte gasped theatrically. “Nay!”
At this, apparently, Ross lost his control and burst into his own laughter. Stepping toward the spy-mistress, he lifted one hand conspiratorially. “I’ve heard her laugh twice.”
Charlotte threw up her hands. “ ’Tis true love!”
When the others chuckled, even Court found herself smiling.
“Would anyone like to hear what we discovered? Or would ye prefer to continue to tease me?”
Her commander sobered. “Ye’re easy to tease, ye ken. But aye, report.”
Court appreciated Charlotte’s ability to focus, and she straightened her shoulders, then settled into an easy rest with her hands behind her back. Ross mimicked the pose, and they made short work of describing their journey to Kintyre.
They both left out the archery contest and the kiss.
“When we entered the woods, we were met by an old compatriot of mine, a member of the Red Hand.” She’d held no fondness for Morgan, but at the end, hadn’t been sure if he’d been a good man or not. He’d been supporting Andrew, however, and that had been enough in her mind to condemn him as an enemy. “After some persuasion, he led us to the chief.”
For the first time, Rosalind stirred. “Was it yer brother?” she asked in a low voice.
The younger woman had a remarkable memory, as well as a dirk-sharp mind, and Court knew the Queen liked her there to hear reports—not just from the Angels, but from her men as well—to be able to analyze later.
Now, however, Court almost wished her friend wasn’t aware of how much Cam had meant to her. “Nay,” she admitted, then took a deep breath. “I’ll confess it was a bit of a relief to ken he wasnae involved.”
The look Rosalind sent her told Court she would have to divulge her private thoughts later, after her current audience was attended to. Her friends knew all about her past, and would only wonder and pester her until she told them everything.
Just where was Mellie?
“Who is their new chief?” the Queen asked.
Ross answered. “When Court was part of the organization, a man named Andrew Fraser was Cam’s second. He took over when Cam left.”
“Andrew Fraser?” Elizabeth repeated thoughtfully, as if trying to place the name.
It was Rosalind who offered the connection, no doubt pulling it from her extensive memory. “The current laird’s uncle, Yer Majesty. He disappeared some time ago, forfeiting his right to the lairdship.”
Ross nodded. “And now will never claim it.”
“He’s dead?” Charlotte asked.
“Aye.”
The Queen leaned forward. “Tell me everything.”
Ross and Court took turns describing the morning battle in the wooded glen, both what was said and what occurred. They minced no words in their descriptions, but didn’t go into any especially gory details. It was obvious both the Queen and her spy-mistress could fill in the nastier particulars themselves.
“Andrew Fraser not only took credit for sending the assassin, but claimed the Fraser clan paid him?” Elizabeth asked.
Court watched as Ross stiffly nodded. She answered the Queen’s question herself. “Aye, Yer Majesty. His reasoning was, without a son by ye, they could kill Robert—although he did no’ use those words—and the Comyn line would once more have a claim to the throne.”
The look in the Queen’s eyes turned stormy. She’d brought two healthy daughters into the world, though everyone at court knew she and the King were anxious to secure his succession. Until a son was born, King Robert’s rule was tenuous.
Especially if there was a threat of assassination.
But before the Queen could respond to this travesty, Rosalind spoke up. “He specifically said the Frasers were behind it?”
Reluctantly, Ross nodded.
“What were his exact words?” Rosalind asked. “Can ye remember?”
Court and Ross exchanged a glance. She was frowning when she ventured, “He didnae explain how the Frasers stood to gain from Elizabeth’s death, but ‘tis known they support the Comyns.”
Rosalind propped her hands on her hips. “The auld laird did, at least. Can ye recall if Andrew explicitly stated the Frasers of Lovat had paid him for the treason?”
“He’s the laird’s uncle!” Ross burst out. “He would ken best what the laird planned!”
The Queen gained their attention. “I know it must be hard to hear that about your lord, Ross,” she said quietly.
“He’s no’ my laird. Any man who would commit treason for selfish reasons is no’ worth following.”
Elizabeth was nodding. “Aye, and if he is guilty, he’ll be removed as lord of the Frasers. But what are you hinting at, Rosalind?”
Rosalind shrugged, her pretty features drawn into a frown. “I donae ken. But if he didnae explicitly state the Frasers paid him, ‘twas possible he was working for his own gain. From yer description, Court, it sounds possible he was feeding ye the story he wanted ye to ken.”
“He was planning on killing us,” Court pointed out.
Ross glanced at her. “He was planning on killing me, his kinsman, and using ye.”
Her hand tightened around the bow. “He could try.”
His expression lit into a smile. “I ken it, love.”
Charlotte let out a wee huff. “Seems as if ye’re switching your loyalties, Ross Fraser.”
When he faced them again, he straightened. “Aye. Yer Majesty, I denounce the actions taken by my clan against ye, and swear, if ye have need of another guard, I’ll be yer loyal man until I die.”
The Queen’s amused gaze flicked to Court, then back to Ross. “I know you are a good man, Ross, and I will gladly accept you back into my guard, assuming Liam does not mind. But I suspect Courtney might be disappointed if you were my loyal man.”
Court would never have considered objecting, so she blinked at the Queen’s teasing.
When Ross looked her way, his lips twitching, she shook her head and stepped up beside her man.
“Yer Majesty, Ross might be mine, but we’re both yers. And we’ll be yers, until ye have nae more use for us.”
His hand found hers, and she gripped it tightly.
Slowly, Elizabeth rose to her feet, her gaze taking in both of them regally. She nodded. “ ’Twould be an honor to count you both as mine.”
Blowing out a relieved breath, Court squeezed Ross’s hand. “We need to plan, Yer Majesty. Someone needs to investigate Lachlan and his clan.”
A secret smile flitted across Elizabeth’s lips. “Someone already is.”
Mayhap it was the way she said it, but Court’s stomach clenched in sudden worry. She glanced at Charlotte, who was looking at Rosalind, and then looked to Rosalind, who was frowning.
In a hollow voice, Court asked, “Where’s Mellie?”
“Where else would she be,” asked the Queen blithely, “if not with her betrothed?”
Betrothed?
“Lachlan?” Court whispered.
At the Queen’s nod, Court exchanged worried glances with Ross. If Lachlan Fraser was a traitor, then Mellie’s life could be in danger.
It was Charlotte who drew their attention, struggling to her feet. She finally made it and took a deep breath, then lifted her chin. “Melisandre is more than capable of handling this mission. She’s an Angel.”
Ross immediately nodded. “She’s smart and strong and capable. An Angel.”
Court’s hand found Ross’s once more. “Aye,” she whispered, taking comfort in his nearness and grip. “And Angels can do anything.”
When Ross lifted her hand to his lips, he was grinning. “Including finding love in the unlikeliest of places.”
Love.
Slowly, Court’s lips twisted upward into a smile. “Aye,” she agreed. “And that might just be our most important mission ever.”
He began to chuckle in agreement, and soon, Charlotte and the others had joined in.
Court wrapped her arms around Ross and laughed.
Epilogue
There was still a slight smile on Court’s lips when she tugged him into her small room, and the sight made Ross’s heart sour.
“Are ye sure about this?”
“About dragging ye back to my room and having my way with ye?” Court was already pulling her tunic over her head. “Aye, and the devil take anyone who says otherwise.”
When she turned to toss her soiled tunic in the corner, he stepped toward her, causing her to freeze.
He tilted her chin up with a finger. “Courtney, I would have them congratulate us instead.”
“For bedding one another?”
“For pledging our troth.”
Her eyes widened. “Ye want to marry me?”
The incredulity in her voice wrenched a chuckle from his lips, even as he reached for her belt.
“Aye, I want to marry ye, ye daft warrior. I want to spend the rest of my life as yer partner, making more and more ridiculous jokes, until ye give in and laugh out of sheer desperation.”
She raised a brow. “ ’Tis an interesting reason to marry.”
“Ye want another one? Fine.” He blew out a breath and leaned in, his lips a breath from hers. “I want to make ye mine. I want any man who looks at ye—who sees a beautiful, intelligent and deadly woman—to ken ye’re mine. I want to stand beside ye and protect the Queen, and then I want to take ye to bed—no’ this wee one, but a real bed—and make ye scream my name.”
Her other brow joined the first. “Now that is a much more compelling reason.”
“Sit down,” he commanded, nudging her backward toward the bed.
When she did, her eyes still round, he knelt and made short work of removing her boots and stockings. She merely watched, but when he tugged her to her feet again, and shoved her trewes down, she helped.
When she was standing there in only her shirt, he stepped back.
“Take that off.” He turned for the ewer and bowl, pouring cool water into the basin and dipping the towel in.
“What are ye doing?” she asked quietly.
She was completely nude, the dirt from the road coating her face and hands, but her eyes shined with anticipation.
Clearing his throat, he stepped toward her, towel in hand. “When we’re married, Court, our room will contain a tub, aye? And I’ll personally fill it with steaming water and bathe ye.”
“Will ye bathe with me?”
The thought made his lips twitch. “Aye, I’ll commission a larger tub.”
She snorted, but he thought he saw her smile.
Lifting the wet towel over her shoulder, he squeezed it, allowing the water to dribble onto her skin and trickle between her breasts. With a groan, she dropped her head back.
“Until then, though…”
He washed her. Taking special care with her face and hands—she hadn’t worn her glove to cover her brand since Kintyre—and he tried to show her how much he cared, by lovingly caressing her body.
And he didn’t fail to notice the way she squirmed impatiently when he reached the junction of her thighs.
Kneeling before her, he pushed her legs apart, and she shifted gratefully, her hands dropping to his hair.
“Ross,” she murmured.
“I love it when ye use my name,” he breathed, the words causing her curls to stir, as he stroked one fingertip along her upper thigh.
“I’ll no’ call ye Fraser until we ken— Ross!”
The last was more of a pleading, as his fingers reached her core. She was already wet for him, as he knew she would be.
He hummed, as he pressed his lips to her sweet spot.
She sighed and arched backward, offering as much as she could while standing. “Ross,” she panted, “do ye no’ think…” She trailed off with a groan as he lapped at her core. “The bed!”
Under his kilt, his cock was begging for the same thing, but he’d not allow himself to find satisfaction first. Still, she had a point.
Nudging her backward, he waited for her to fall onto the bed, then followed her, dropping to his hands and knees as he crawled toward her. She was reclining on her elbows, her eyes wide, as she followed his gaze to where her legs were spread invitingly.
Her tongue darted over her lips. “Ross?”
Reaching her, he straightened, running his hands up her legs and pushing her thighs farther apart, accepting her offering.
His eyes met hers. “I want ye, Court. Forever.”
“I want ye too,” she admitted quietly.
It was all that needed to be said.
He lowered his lips to her again, and when she cried out and grabbed his hair, he smiled against her skin. Her release burst upon her so strongly, her arse came off the bed, her shoulders supporting her, as she arched against him.
He lost no time in flipping up his kilt, grabbing his cock, and plunging into her. She was hot and slick from her orgasm, and he groaned aloud at her strength and enthusiasm. Meeting him thrust-for-thrust, her own cries mingled with his.
They found fulfillment together.
After, he rolled to the side, already cramped in her bed, and loved the way she willingly followed, sprawling across him.
Absentmindedly, his fingers played with her hair as he waited for their heartbeats to slow. “I love how ye match me so well, Court. I’ve never kenned another woman who I understood as well as ye.”
“And I’ve never kenned a man who wasnae intimidated by my—well, by who I am,” she quietly confessed.
One arm tightened around her momentarily. “ ’Tis an interesting life we’ve chosen for ourselves, following the Queen and protecting her, I mean. I’m lucky to have a partner like ye.”
Lifting her head, she propped her chin on his chest and met his eyes. “I told ye I’d be loyal to ye, aye?”
“Aye,” he murmured. “And I ye.”
“Well”—she licked her lips again, then rested her chest against his once
more—“I said that, but…’tisnae quite what I meant.”
A spike of fear shot through Ross, even as he understood what she was saying, and he forced himself to relax. “I ken, Court,” he said quietly.
“I meant…I love ye, Ross. I never wanted aught more than to be trusted by the Queen and my team, but ye’ve shown me what else I can have in my life, and I’ll fight for it. I’ll fight for ye.”
He squeezed her. “And I ye, Courtney. I cannae offer ye a clan, no’ now. Not until I ken if I’m willing to remain a Fraser. But until then, ye have me.”
Pushing herself up off him, she smiled. “ ’Tis all I want.”
“I love ye, my angel.”
“Yer angel?” she asked with a raised brow.
“Aye! Ye’ve hit my heart as neatly as any target, and now…” He sat up, displacing her with a slight grunt and standing her on her feet. “And now, my angel…”
When he began to remove his kilt, her smile grew. “Aye, my wild Highlander?”
“Now, my angel…” He winked at her. “Wash my back.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE on historical accuracy
Okay, listen. I know that kilts weren’t commonly worn in the medieval period. You know that too. The Great Kilt didn’t become a “thing” until the 16th Century, right?
But…did you see the hot dude on the cover in a kilt? Yeah, that’s the reason we leave kilts on our Highlanders, even in the early 1300s. So let’s just forgive this little bit of historical inaccuracy, for the sake of those thighs.
(Actually, I’m a forearm gal, and this cover does all sorts of things for me. I knew Ross had to be big and brawny, but…yum!)
So kilts weren’t really a thing during Robert the Bruce’s reign, but we’re sticking with them. Even though clan colors and battle cries hadn’t been codified yet, they certainly are convenient for narration!
But speaking of Robert the Bruce, let’s mention his wife. As you read in the Author’s Note of The Bruce’s Angel, Queen Elizabeth had a rocky start to her rule. Her father was a powerful Earl, and she was raised in the English court. In fact, her marriage to Robert was probably an attempt to secure his loyalty to the English Crown. But four years after her marriage, and only three months after Robert declared himself King of Scotland, Elizabeth was taken prisoner by the English. Eight years later, she was returned following Bannockburn, and she and her husband started working on the whole “Royal Succession” issue.
The Highlander’s Angel Page 14