by Tarah Scott
Cameron’s brows arched in surprise. His dark gaze swept over Liselle in open curiosity before moving in astonishment to Julian.
Ach, the jest had gone too far. It was one thing to allow the gossiping ladies to believe he’d wed Liselle, but it was quite another to deceive Cameron. But even as he opened his mouth to contradict, his throat inexplicably constricted.
"’Tis such a delightful surprise!” Kate laughed, appearing at Cameron’s side to slip her arm through his. “And ‘tis right glad I am to see ye, Lady Liselle! I’d almost given up hope for our Julian!” Her brown eyes sparkled in excitement.
Closing his eyes, Julian ordered his senses to return.
Dimly, he heard Kate’s warm tones insist, “Tell us every detail, Lady Liselle! Every one! First, where did ye first meet?”
“It was at my brother’s home,” Liselle answered sweetly while Julian replied at the same time, “In bed!”
There was a moment of stunned silence and he smiled. He liked his version better. Besides being the truth, it was considerably more provocative. Opening his eyes, he felt the strange haze in his mind dissipate. Aye, ‘twas only a game of wits. He’d explain everything to Cameron later.
Treating him to a slight frown of displeasure, Liselle skillfully corrected, “Yes, I met Lord Gray whilst he lay ill in bed at my brother’s house.”
The dismay in the chamber quickly shifted to simpering sighs, and Julian rolled his eyes. The lass was a quick thinker. He had to grant her that.
“’Tis like a poem!” someone cooed.
“Ach, ye nursed him back to health then?” another one sighed.
“It was a trying time,” Liselle said, punctuating each word with a delicate shudder. “We did not think he would live.”
A chuckle escaped his throat as he remarked, “Mayhap my life was most in danger when ye stuck a blade betwixt my ribs?”
Liselle didn’t hesitate. “It took more than one blood-letting before his fever would lift,” she explained, pounding her hand dramatically on her chest and lifting her eyes heavenward. “Santo Ciélo, but it was a trying time!” Glancing at him sideways, she pursed her lips into a sly smile.
Julian sucked in a quick breath. He’d not let the wee trickster win. “Your brother was fair anxious to be rid of ye, no?” he asked, flashing a quick grin. “Mayhap ‘twas your habit of stealing horses or jumping from roofs?”
A fan flew into her fingers from some hidden place in her sleeve, and she opened it to hide her face in shy embarrassment even as she graced him with a warning glance. “’Twas only to see you, my lord!” she chided softly. “And were you not there to catch me in your arms?”
A chorus of wistful sighs circled about the room.
She was proving adept at spinning tales. He opened his mouth to challenge her once again, but she was ready. Popping an oatcake betwixt his teeth, she rapped her fan on his nose in a threatening manner even as she fluttered her lashes.
“Take more refreshment, my lord!” It was clearly an order.
“Tell us more!” the women around them insisted.
Liselle smiled demurely, but when her lips parted he blocked her reply by slipping an almond cake into her mouth. “I canna eat whilst ye have no sustenance of your own, my sweeting,” he muttered around his mouthful of dry crumbs.
Chewing their cakes, they exchanged competitive smiles as a multitude of questions burst forth around them.
Julian was the first to swallow. Leaning down to rest his cheek against hers, he whispered, “Use your mouth for eating, lass, not spewing wild tales!”
He felt her smile, but he was quite unprepared for what came next.
Suddenly turning her head, she caught his lower lip lightly between her teeth. And though the kiss was quick, heat flooded through his veins like liquid fire, whetting his earthly appetites for more.
He stared into her eyes as inexplicably, once again, his razor-sharp wit vanished. He could do nothing but watch as she drew back and curtsied deeply to all in the chamber.
"Pray forgive my youthful indiscretion,” Liselle requested shyly. “I fear that we’ve caused more than enough tongues to wag this day. Please do not allow my foolishness to cause further interruption.”
Julian watched, as with visible reluctance the women broke into smaller groups, and then he glanced over to see Cameron observing him in rank amusement.
“Allow me to pour ye a drink, lad,” the Earl of Lennox suggested in a cordial tone. “To congratulate ye on wedded bliss.”
But before Julian could reply, Kate swept forward to claim his arm.
“Afore ye leave, shall I read your future?” the wee countess teased as she plucked a nut from a silver bowl. “The future of your love shall be revealed in this nut, Julian!”
“Yes! Show us!” the ladies in the chamber exclaimed as they gathered close to the fire.
Julian eyed the nut suspiciously as Liselle raised a perplexed brow, but they obligingly followed Kate as she led Julian to stand before the hearth.
Placing the nut in her palm, Kate waited as everyone drew near. And then in a theatrical voice, she explained, “If the nut burns quietly, their love will be soft and gentle and grow stronger with each passing year. But if it cracks, they will face hardships aplenty!”
The women held their breath as Kate held the nut up for all to see.
And then she tossed it into the fire.
For several long moments, nothing happened.
Julian had just opened his mouth to make a sarcastic comment when the nut suddenly exploded and burst into flames.
Everyone stared in surprise.
Tossing his head back, Julian laughed. “And what does it mean if the nut bursts into flames?” he asked Kate dryly. “‘Tis bound to be worse than hardships aplenty, aye?”
The women sent him sour looks and even Liselle seemed strangely disappointed. Only Cameron shared his humor. He could read it in his eyes, but the man was far too much of a diplomat to allow his lips to lift into a smile.
Clearly disappointed, Kate looped her arm through Liselle’s. “I’ve never seen a nut burst afore in that manner!” she admitted ruefully. “‘Tis clear your love is of the most extraordinary kind!”
“Aye, I’ll agree to that,” Julian granted in a playful manner.
Liselle dipped in another polite curtsey.
“Princess Anabella will meet me in Inchmurrin soon. Ye should come with me, Lady Liselle,” Kate offered with a bright smile. “Cameron insists I leave Edinburgh straightway and return home to rest afore the bairn arrives.” She patted her belly as a glowing smile crossed her lips.
At Liselle’s alarmed expression, Julian chuckled. "Yes, do go, Lady Gray!" he insisted out of perverse amusement.
"I couldn't leave you, my lord,” she replied with feigned meekness. “My heart would miss you so.”
But then Cameron stepped forward, and with an elegant wave of his hand, suggested, “Shall we leave these ladies to their needlework, Julian?”
Without waiting for a reply, he threw an arm around Julian’s shoulders and guided him out of the chamber and into the next.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Cameron raised a conspiratorial brow. “I’d wager there is more to this tale,” he said, his lips crooking into a rare broad smile.
Julian hesitated. Now was his chance to explain, but crossing the chamber, he settled into a Spanish leather chair placed before the window and chose to remain silent instead.
Pouring two goblets of spiced wine, Cameron approached to hand him one and took the empty chair opposite his.
“When ye love a woman, she becomes your world,” he mused, taking a sip of wine.
Strangely reluctant to offer any explanation, Julian shrugged instead. “A more saucy, brazen lass I've never met,” he said and then added, “Aye, lovely, lively, and … evil.”
Cameron raised a brow and tilted his head to the side. “And such are the strange ways of love.”
Clenching his jaw, Julian circled th
e lip of his goblet with a finger. “I’m not in love,” he said, more to himself than to Cameron.
The earl said nothing. He merely watched him with a twinkle in his dark eyes.
Julian grimaced and deliberately switched subjects to ask, “And what of the king? What have I missed whilst napping? I saw the Yorkist messenger.”
Cameron drained his wine and gave a humph. “Aye, I’ll pretend I dinna know ye wish to evade the matter of Liselle for now, lad. But that in itself speaks volumes,” he said in amusement, but then his face grew serious all at once. “The king lives still, safely imprisoned in his chambers, and Albany will likely arrive on the morrow. Gloucester still suspects a trap and has tried to stop him, but it seems Douglas has been useful after all and is bringing him against the duke’s wishes.”
Relieved to discuss simpler matters, Julian drained his wine. “Aye, the fool willna listen, even though he should, aye? And what will happen on the morrow when he arrives?”
“’Twould be best that the brothers reunite as neither carries the full support of the country,” Cameron answered, drumming his fingers lightly on the arm of his chair. “I’ll not allow Scotland to be devoured by internal strife.”
“’Twill be gall in Douglas’ mouth if James still sits on the throne,” Julian observed. “He won’t stop plotting.”
“Aye, but already the Scottish lords know of the Red Douglas’ treachery. He’ll have no choice. And now that Cochrane is gone, the man’s ire has eased somewhat,” Cameron said, dismissing Julian’s concern with a wave of his long-fingered hand. “’Twill be accept James or die a traitor’s death.”
“Ach, to him a traitor’s death just might be better,” Julian answered with a dry chuckle.
Cameron smiled.
And then the sound of a horn from far away filtered through the open window.
Julian and Cameron exchanged a look of surprise.
Albany had arrived early.
* * *
And so it was that Albany rode under the great gates of Edinburgh Castle with Douglas, the Earl of Angus, at his side. But he had no sooner passed through the gates then they closed behind him with a resounding boom, and the Scottish prince knew in that moment that he had been betrayed.
“Traitors!” he roared, drawing his dark brows into an angry line.
Cameron stepped forward and eyed the man with marked disfavor. “Why should ye—of all men to walk this fair earth—find treachery astonishing?” His deep voice rang through the air.
“I’ve brought him as ye asked,” Douglas inserted, dismounting from his horse to greet Cameron with a brotherly embrace.
“Ach, ye betrayed me as well, Douglas?” A murderous expression flickered over Albany’s face. "God's Wounds!" he thundered. “But ye’ll pay, both of ye!”
But Douglas only responded with a bark of laughter. “Ye have no power to make even a bairn pay, ye daft fool!”
Albany faltered, and then his face turned bleak all at once. “Then ‘twas all a ploy to ensnare me? Do ye seek to try me for treason?” Still sitting on his horse, he began to nervously twirl his ring.
“While ye deserve no less, ‘tis not a matter we need to discuss here. Come,” Cameron ordered, and waving his hand towards the royal apartments, he waited for Albany to dismount before whisking him away.
Julian turned away in disgust.
He much preferred Albany to be accused, tried, and sentenced for betraying the crown. Never was a man more worthy of a hangman’s rope. But he knew well that such an action would plunge Scotland into a civil war. But mayhap there was no avoiding it.
Though in any case, he’d had more than he could stomach of the affair for now.
Thinking of his favored gray mare, he made his way to the stables and found her—as Liselle had promised—contentedly chewing hay.
“Aye, ye wee lassie,” he crooned, tossing her a handful of grain. “There’s not a beast more surefooted than ye! Not one!” He shook his head, slightly amused. Why had he fretted so? He should have known Liselle was safe in her care.
After dispatching a message to Cambuskenneth Abbey for news of Dolfin, Julian spoke with the MacLeans for a time until the wailing of the pipes announced the midday feast, but by the time he finally made his way to the Great Hall, the feast was almost done.
There was no sign of Albany or Cameron, or many other nobles for that matter. He supposed that was a good thing. It meant that Cameron was negotiating, and that usually meant well for Scotland.
The tables were littered with dishes of mostly-eaten fruit and platters of fowl with their bones picked clean. A young minstrel sang to the accompaniment of a flute, as a line of servants, bearing large trays of savory roasted boar and venison, brought in the last course.
It took him a moment to find Liselle near the king’s empty dais. And as he threaded his way towards her through the servants, he couldn’t prevent his gaze from raking over her boldly.
Aye, she was a bonny lass. And a dangerous one. And he knew right well that it was the combination that caused a thrill to run down the back of his neck.
Sliding into the empty chair at her side, he wasn’t even certain himself on what he’d planned to do until he’d unsheathed a small dagger from his boot and lightly pressed the tip of the blade betwixt her ribs.
For the briefest moment, her long lashes fanned her cheeks in surprise and then she merely reached for a plum as if she’d been eating in his company the entire feast.
Leaning close, he deeply inhaled the intoxicating scent of her hair and warned in a low rumble, “I’ll not let ye or Pascal harm Dolfin, lass. ‘Tis time for Orazio to acknowledge his defeat.”
He felt her spine stiffen even as she looked up at him, and a soft smile spread over her lips.
Aye, but her mastery of emotion and deceit was just as impressive as her other skills! A searing jolt of desire—stronger than he’d known could exist—rocked through him.
Reaching for a goblet of wine, she laughed. It was a sinfully rich sound, and more than one curious eye turned their way.
She waited until the onlookers glanced away before saying in a low musical voice, “You should not seek my company, Lord Gray. I am caught in a web of conspiracies, betrayals, and masquerades. I am a creature of treachery. I know nothing else.”
Her voice was strong and filled with humor, but underlying it all, he couldn’t fail to hear a desperation in her tone that wrenched his heart even as his eyes lingered a moment upon her delicious curves.
Forcing himself to focus once again, he whispered a warning, “Ye should tell Orazio that I’ll not allow the Vindictam to practice their craft here, lass. Aye, and as much as I despise the man, I’d not even allow harm to befall the king.”
And then she was looking into his eyes again, eyes he could drown in.
He shuddered.
The lass held an unnatural sway over him.
“What ails me?” he murmured into her hair. “I should send ye away on the first ship that sets sail!”
Her laugh was low and bitter. “For the first time, Lord Gray, those words do not fill me with dread.”
And then reaching down, she grasped the handle of the dagger he still pressed against her. He didn’t resist as she plucked it free from his hand and used it to spear a haunch of venison.
“I’ll not idly stand by and watch my country serve as a playground for the Vindictam, lass,” he said, breathing upon her neck.
And then her lashes fluttered, and her eyes darkened seductively. “And are you asking me to defy him, my lord,” she asked low in her throat.
Ach, but he was losing the battle of concentration. Her expression was whetting his appetite for more than food. “Aye, but ye have beguiling and deceitful ways, ye wee minx!” he accused hoarsely, letting his hand slide up her back and tangle itself in her hair. “Are ye trying to bewitch me?”
“Can you be bewitched, my lord?” she asked, curving closer.
Sweet Mary, but she clearly sought to distract him wi
th her feminine wiles. And it was working right well! It was fair impossible to think of anything other than her bewitching eyes, alluring curves, and soft skin.
“I should send ye straight back to Venice this very night,” he said, breathing hard. He knew he should leave. The lass was dangerous and untrustworthy, he supposed, but why did his heart not care? Clenching his jaw, he hissed, “Sweet Mary, what ails me? I’m a mead-drunk fool to look for food that I canna eat!”
Dipping his eyes over the curve of her neck, he wanted nothing more than to claim those lips, to make her his own with a tantalizing slowness until he had caressed every inch of her skin.
Their gazes locked and held as in a voice scarcely above a whisper, she asked, “And why can you not eat, my lord?”
It was too much. With a low moan, his hand dropped slowly around her waist and over her hips. And pulling her half out of her chair, he lightly traced her lips with his tongue a moment before breathing heavily into her hair to moan, “I need to know how I feel about ye, lass.”
And then with a lazy, sensuous mastery, his tongue swept past her lips to ravish her mouth in a searing kiss.
She responded at once, permitting her tongue to tangle with his for a deliciously wicked moment even as her hand caressed his cheek. For a timeless moment, there was nothing but the warmth of his mouth melting into hers and the touch of his hands softly skimming her curves.
And then, he shivered and pulled away with a groan. “Aye, but I dinna know what I should think of ye, ye wee beastie! What power do ye hold? I’ve no doubt ye could bewitch me with a kiss even whilst slitting my throat!”
Liselle recoiled in a reaction so violent, that he drew back in surprise.
And then to his outright astonishment, she pushed back from the table, and fled the hall without a backward glance in his direction.
Julian blinked.
Rising to his feet with thoughts of pursuit, he’d taken only one step when a shout sounded outside the hall and a group of royal guards entered, escorting a man dressed in fine clothing.
It was the English duke, Gloucester.
The hall fell silent. All eyes watched the man approach, his twisted spine causing his shoulders to dip dramatically with each step.