by Carmen Caine
“He seized the contract, my lord!” The man gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“Contract?” Gloucester repeated, still stunned.
“Albany’s betrothal contract!” The man gulped. “I could not stop him!”
Gloucester stared at him a moment, and then roared.
Men scrambled up from the tables, drawing their swords. And as a dozen bolted past her, Liselle saw a tall man—masked from head to toe in dark clothing—calmly enter the hall from the opposite side.
Excitement thrilled through her, though she did not know quite why.
Perhaps it was the sheer bravado of the man.
As she watched, the masked man leapt onto Gloucester’s table, and then calmly proceeded to walk down the length of it, as if he were strolling down a road. Once he had reached Gloucester’s place at the head, he paused as every eye in the room riveted upon him.
Reaching into his dark mantle, he withdrew a parchment bearing a red-wax seal. And then, dangling it in front of Gloucester’s astonished face, he hailed him in a heavy French accent, “Your undertaking is doomed to fail, Gloucester!”
The vein on Gloucester’s forehead bulged. Lunging for him, he cried, “Le Marin!”
But Le Marin sidestepped him easily enough.
Bending down, Le Marin swiped the bottle of whiskey and swiftly stopped it with a rag. And then catching hold of an iron chandelier, he swung over Gloucester’s head, lighting the rag with a candle before letting go to land lightly on his feet in front of the window alcove.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
And then with a blow, Le Marin dashed the whiskey bottle to the stones.
A sheet of flames rose to engulf the window alcove.
Falling back before the intense heat, no one could pursue him or even see past the glow. And by the time they had doused the fire, the only trace of him was the open window in the arched alcove.
Liselle smiled in appreciation.
Le Marin was a man to be admired, and Orazio would be sore disappointed to discover that he’d missed a chance in snaring the man.
Taking a seat, Liselle watched with great interest as men rushed about the smoky interior of the hall, cursing and stomping their feet.
The entire place was in an uproar.
Gloucester’s face was purple with fury as he screamed orders to his men. Albany and Douglas arrived, looking confused at first, and then even more angry than Gloucester upon discovering just exactly what Le Marin had taken.
And then amidst the chaos, Liselle heard a deep Scottish burr whisper in her ear, “How pleasant to see ye again, Lady Gray!”
Liselle jerked and half rose to her feet in astonishment. “Lord Gray! What brings you here?”
“I but journey home, Lady Gray.” He laughed. And then catching her hand to press her palm against his chest, he added in a low rumble, “And if I may say it, ye seemed right pleased to see me!”
Liselle’s heart lurched in response. He was a devastatingly handsome and charming man, and while she’d always thought there was a hint of something rough and wild about him, it was oddly more pronounced now.
He didn’t appear to notice her distraction. Raising a curious brow, he eyed the commotion around them. “What has happened here?”
She didn’t answer. He was still holding her hand, and her every sense tingled with excitement.
And then his searching gray eyes fell upon her once more as he repeated, “What has them vexed so?”
“Le Marin!” she answered a little breathlessly, but more because of his hard chest and beating heart beneath her fingertips than any doings of a French spy.
Julian gave her an amused wink. “And does the man affect ye so?”
“Affect me, my lord?” she asked in turn, studying him from under her lashes. The way his shirt strained across the well-defined muscles of his chest made her suddenly hot. Santo Ciélo, but the man radiated a strength that she found irresistible.
Swallowing, she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.
Instantly, a sudden hardness entered Julian’s gaze and tension appeared in his jaw. But then it passed, and a wicked gleam of mirth entered his eyes. “If I recall, did ye not say ye’d right willingly kiss the man?”
Liselle frowned a moment before realizing he was still speaking of Le Marin. And then tossing her head, she gave a long, low laugh. “Even the mighty Le Marin must earn my kisses, my lord.”
A deep dimple creased one cheek as he asked, “Truly? Tell me, lass, what must a man do to prove worthy of your lips?”
The question was a hard one. Any man she might wish to love must first be approved by the Vindictam, but she could hardly tell him that. “Why speak of such things?” she asked with a frown.
And then the expression in his eyes altered, sending her heart racing. And leaning close, so close that she could feel the heat of his skin, he whispered, “Few can resist the lure of such beauty, Lady Gray.”
She had to clear her throat several times before she could reply, “And few can resist falling prey to sweet honeyed words, Lord Gray.”
He had yet to let go of her hand. His touch was like fire, but his gaze was even hotter as his eyes dropped meaningfully to her lips.
Suddenly, she filled with fear. Fear that he really might kiss her.
As if in a dream, she forced the words from her throat to say, “I am, however, one who can resist, my lord.” She should be one of them! She had to be!
“Are ye now?” He breathed a soft reply.
And then somehow, his lips were close, almost upon hers. She was mesmerized, unable to move.
“I admit, I’m intrigued,” he murmured, slipping a strong hand around her waist. “I find ye fair—”
“Dare ye show your face here, Gray?” Albany’s loud, questioning voice interrupted.
Liselle jerked back as Julian smoothly turned on his heel to face the Scottish prince.
Albany stood before them, his hands splayed upon his hips, and his dark brows drawn in an angry line.
Behind him, Archibald Douglas gaped as if in surprise to see Julian before he suddenly averted his eyes and took a quick step back.
“My lord!” Julian swept an elegant bow, and then leaning sideways, added deliberately, “And a good evening to ye, Douglas. What brings ye to Alnwick?”
“Aye, good evening, lad,” Douglas grunted in reply, and then looking as if he’d much rather be anywhere else, fell victim to a fit of coughing.
Stepping close to the table, Albany pounded his fist upon its surface and raised his voice, “Dare ye show your face to me, Gray? After nearly drowning me in Fotheringhay?”
Julian blinked in surprise and repeated in shock, “Drowning, my lord? Surely ye are mistaken!” And then with a rueful grin, he added, “I admit, I was fair drunk there, my lord. If I caused ye—”
“What is this?” a new, commanding tone inserted itself into the conversation.
They all turned to find Gloucester standing behind them, eyeing Julian with rank suspicion.
“Who are you? What brings you here?” The duke shot the questions out in an irate, rough manner.
Julian appeared almost embarrassed. “’Tis only a small misfortune, my lord,” he answered in a low tone and waved his fingers in a pleading motion.
“Misfortune?” Gloucester repeated tersely and with more than a little distrust in his voice.
“A lost wager,” Julian answered with a slow, self-conscious grin. “And I heard Douglas was here. I came to borrow a wee bit of coin afore they find me and … well, there is a lady present.” He nodded his chin at Liselle.
Liselle watched him in amazement. He was plainly playing Gloucester for a fool. Surely, the man could see it! Surely, Albany and Douglas could as well!
But Douglas was groaning and rolling his eyes. “For the sake of St. Andrew, how much this time, Julian? Just know ye’ll be paying me back anything I lend ye afore ye pay Cameron what ye owe him already! Do ye hear me, lad?”
“Aye, ‘tis a mere hundred pounds.” Julian’s grin broadened.
Gloucester looked upon him, outraged. And then turning to Albany, he ordered through clenched jaws. “Remove this fool from my sight!” His temper was visibly boiling.
“My lord, the lad is a good friend of the Earl of Lennox—” Douglas began to protest weakly.
“Then the Earl of Lennox is a fool,” Gloucester exploded. “He should choose his friends more wisely!”
As Albany and Douglas exchanged glances, Gloucester’s mouth gaped, astonished at their visible reluctance.
“It will be no surprise when Scotland falls! The lot of you are fools!” he snapped viciously. “Is there not a man amongst you?”
And then his eyes fell upon Liselle.
Liselle froze, immediately regretting that she hadn’t escaped whilst they had all been distracted. Well, she couldn’t escape the man now!
With an outright snort of disdain, the duke hissed, “Get this woman out of my sight! Send them both away, and right quickly. Have the fool escort the lass to Edinburgh and have done!”
“Not wise, my lord,” Douglas inserted quickly, his red face flooding in alarm. “I wouldna deliver any lady into Lord Gray’s care.”
“Aye, he’d bed the lass and then most likely leave her stranded,” Albany growled, looping his thumbs through his belt. “I canna afford to anger her brother.”
At that, Julian chuckled, and with a flippant shrug, said, “Then let it be as ye wish, my lord. Mayhap I should help ye search for Le Marin instead, aye?”
The vein on Gloucester’s forehead nearly popped. “I’ve no time to bandy idle words with a pack of fools!” he said in a livid tone, and then shoving Albany aside, he strode away.
Refocusing his anger now onto Gloucester, Albany roared and followed the man, demanding an apology as Douglas muttered, “Julian, I’ll find a way to pay your debt, for Cameron’s sake.”
And then he was gone.
Julian shook his head in disgust.
With a twinge of disappointment, Liselle watched him take a step as if to follow them, but then he suddenly turned and caught her wrist.
Startled, she looked up into his eyes and found them simmering with a sensual heat.
And then in one quick, fluid movement, he covered her lips in a scorching kiss.
Chapter Eight – “Ach, I shouldna have kissed her!”
Capturing Liselle’s bottom lip betwixt his teeth, Julian expertly deepened his kiss to interweave his tongue with hers.
Her response was immediate, filled with a fire and a wild abandon that made his blood boil as her tongue tangled deliciously with his. Slowly, she slid her palm over his chest, leaving in its wake a soft trail of burning sweetness that taunted him with the promise of more.
Lifting his hand, he cupped the delicate curve of her jaw as a groan of longing escaped his throat.
It was then that he knew he’d made a grave mistake. He should never have kissed her. She was treacherous, dangerous, and a relationship with her could not end well.
But it was already too late! A man could lose himself in her pouting lips.
How could he walk away now?
And then a new thought sprang to mind, a suspicion of a deeply buried fear. Was she a woman that he could never walk away from?
The thought was terrifying.
Abruptly, he tore his lips away. His chest was heaving and his breath ragged.
And then, hard fingers gripped his shoulders to sharply haul him back.
“God’s Wounds, Julian!” Douglas swore in angered disgust. “Have ye gone daft? Ye canna toy with this lady! Even Cameron will have your head for it!”
And then Albany’s rage-mottled face came into view. “Get ye gone, Julian!” he roared. “Go afore ye bring the wrath of Gloucester down upon us all!”
Easily breaking free from Douglas’ grip, Julian turned back to Liselle.
But she was already gone.
He stood there a moment, a little dazed, and then Douglas was pulling him out of Alnwick’s chaotic hall.
“I’ll see ye out the gates myself, Julian!” the Scottish earl barked, shouting orders to his men to ready horses at once.
It wasn’t until Julian stepped out into the crisp evening air that his thoughts began to clear. Ach, where had his wits gone? He couldn’t let a woman distract him from his true purpose!
Now it was time for Le Marin to escape.
Nothing else mattered, not even pouting lips and stunning hazel eyes.
As a stable lad came running with two saddled horses, Douglas turned on Julian and growled, “Make haste and get ye gone from here!” Withdrawing a small leather bag from his sporran, he tossed it Julian’s way and added, “And take this as payment to your debts. But don’t ye return for more. Gloucester didna take a liking to ye and will likely have your head!”
Julian caught the bag and grinned.
Acquiring the betrothal contract had been easy.
Escaping Gloucester’s rage, jumping through the alcove window, and returning as the notorious Lord Julian Gray had been even easier.
But by far the easiest of all was leaving Castle Alnwick with none being the wiser.
His grin widened. Le Marin hadn’t expected he would have a personal escort out of the castle, nor had he’d expected to be paid for his mission. Hefting the chinking bag of coins, he chuckled and tucked it under his shirt next to the evidence which would prove Albany a traitor—the betrothal contract.
With a deepening scowl, Douglas dug his heel into his horse’s side and trotted through the gates at a fast clip, alongside Julian. They had scarcely exited the last one before he turned to Julian with his brows furrowed into a thick line of disapproval.
“’Tis only for Cameron’s sake that I’ve given ye aid this night!” the earl spat. “I’ve nae the tolerance for your way of living!”
Julian suppressed a snort.
The man was absurd. How could he still claim Cameron’s friendship whilst sitting on his horse with his plaids illuminated by the hundreds of campfires dotting the hillside behind him—campfires of an English army preparing to slaughter his own countrymen?
“Are ye out of your wits?” Douglas demanded impatiently.
“Aye,” Julian muttered sarcastically. Aye, he was out of his wits for not throttling the man there and now as he deserved! There was much he wished to say, but alas could not.
Cursing under his breath, he gave Douglas a grim nod, and then wheeled his horse about. And as the clouds covered the face of the moon, he galloped away from Alnwick Castle.
Never had Le Marin escaped so easily. And never had he needed that ease more.
Just thinking of the numbers amassed at Alnwick Castle made his heart heavy. Gloucester had raised an army of over twenty thousand men with over two thousand sheaves of arrows and a hundred cart horses drawing siege weapons.
And all too soon they would march on Scotland.
Tiredly, Julian returned to the village inn where earlier he’d paid for a room to sleep the night. He’d rise with the dawn and hurry to Scotland to raise the alarm. There was naught he could do until the sun rose; the night was too dark to ride.
Collapsing onto a bed, he sought sleep, but it was long in coming. Scotland’s woes preyed on his mind, joined at times by the uncertainties of Liselle.
“Ach,” he muttered under his breath for the twentieth time. “I shouldna have kissed her.”
Some small part of him had wanted to be disappointed, to find her kiss lacking. Aye, he’d become too enamored with her of late. ‘Twas time to ignore the lass.
But the intoxication of her lips was far beyond anything he could have imagined. How could he shake his fascination with the lass now? Now, when there seemed little hope of quenching the desire raging in his blood?
Ach, had he known that her kiss would leave him so wanting, he never would have indulged his craving!
The hours of the night crept interminably on, and there was only the f
aintest glimmer of gray in the sky when at last he arose and set a furious pace north to Scotland, riding low on the neck of his horse.
Upon reaching the borderlands, he paused long enough at each village and hamlet along the way to raise the alarm that the English would soon be at their gates. No sooner had the words left his lips than he was off again.
Descending into the marshlands near the strong tower of Haggerston Castle, he guided his horse through the treacherous bogs to race along the rugged coastline, arriving at Berwick Castle just shy of noon. And after warning Lord Hailes of Gloucester’s impending arrival, he traded horses and continued his journey up the coast to Dunbar.
Hawks and gulls soared over his head as the sun rose higher, and dark clouds gathered in the sky on the horizon. The air turned hot and muggy, and with nothing but miles of coastline to traverse, he allowed his thoughts to mull the mysteries surrounding him.
Who had thrown the bone-handled stiletto to aid him? The Saluzzo had named the Vindictam. And while Pascal clearly belonged to or knew of this mysterious Vindictam, the mere thought of the slim dark-haired youth assisting him—maybe even saving his life—made him laugh aloud.
No, ‘twas most certainly not Pascal’s doing.
But what of the hazel-eyed, honey-haired Liselle? She had already demonstrated an uncanny knowledge and skill where knives were concerned.
A shiver rippled down his spine at the thought. The more he learned of her, the more he found her bewitching.
Galloping up the coast, he spent more time thinking of her lips than he wanted to admit, but it made the time pass exceedingly fast.
Soon enough, he arrived at Dunbar with his horse all a-lather. The weather had turned foul, and dark clouds swept in from the sea to unleash waves of sheeting rain.
It was growing late and he had no choice but to stay. Repeating the warning of Gloucester’s impending arrival to the castle caretaker there, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
The next morning found the rain gone, and the hot weather returned as he once again switched horses. Setting a heel to his new steed’s side, he sprang away, eager to deliver his tidings to Cameron.
Galloping along the river, at last he saw the Forth stretched out before him and knew that his journey was almost at an end.