Emerald

by Lauren Royal

  "A Scots funeral is merrier than an English wedding," she declared. "Whatever happened to that bagpiper?"

  Jason shrugged. "I think he's eating in the kitchen."

  "Well, would somebody fetch him already?" She moved from the table and shook out her skirts. "I'll be wanting to dance."

  While Ford went off to do her bidding, she gave the others instructions. "Hold hands in a circle, lads and lassies alternating. That's it. Now, who has a handkerchief?" When Colin produced one, she handed it to her cousin. "Cameron, you take the middle since you know what to do."

  When the piper arrived, Caithren surprised everyone by kicking off her shoes, then running to scoop up her lucky silver coin when it rolled across the floor. Laughing, Kendra and Amy doffed their shoes as well. Although they couldn't cajole Clarice into dancing in stockinged feet, at least her shoes were flat and sensible. Wee Mary wore flat shoes, too, but she was perfectly happy to get rid of them and her stockings, besides.

  "Very well." Cait turned to the piper as Ford took his place in the circle. "We'll have a reel first, if you please."

  Around and around they went in time to the rousing tune, until Cameron came from the center to Cait. The circling stopped, and he laid the lace-edged hankie in a neat square at her feet. They knelt on either side, and she bestowed him with a kiss on the lips. This met with mixed laughter and gasps until Cait snatched up the handkerchief and took her place in the middle.

  Around they went again, dancing until she chose Jason. Their kiss was long and deep, causing much throat-clearing and finally applause. After Jason bowed and went into the center, the circling resumed.

  Jason chose Amy, and Amy chose Colin, and Colin chose Kendra, and Kendra chose Ford, and Ford chose Mary, and no one was surprised when Mary chose Cameron. By the time Cam chose Clarice they were all worn out, and Cait signaled the piper to take a rest before Clarice had to go to her knees.

  Just in time—as Clarice's cheeks had gone even pinker than her dress.

  "A kissing dance!" Kendra said, breathlessly making her way to a chair. "I've never heard of such a thing!"

  "There's much kissing at Scottish weddings." Cait winked at Cameron, still hovering close by Clarice. "A kiss can be claimed at the beginning and end of each and every dance. Now, get up, all you lazybones. We'll have a strathspey next, and a hornpipe after that."

  The piper played those and more, and some English tunes as well, and if the familiar notes sounded a bit odd wafting from the pipes, nobody cared. It was past midnight before Cait let the poor musician go and the wedding party began stumbling off to bed with a lot of final kisses and good nights.

  While Ford went off to fetch a footman to see Clarice and Mary home, Cameron kissed Cait on the cheek. "Lang may yer lum reek—an' may he huv the coal tae fill it."

  Jason's brow creased. "What is that, Gaelic?"

  "Nay." Cait laughed. "We don't know the Gaelic. After all this time with me, you still cannot understand plain English when you hear it, aye?" She smiled. "He was wishing we live long and well."

  "I thank you, then. I think." Jason clapped Cameron on the shoulder. "And I wish you a good night."

  "He wants me to leave you," Cam said to Cait.

  "Aye, and I second the request." Minutes earlier she'd felt exhausted, but her body came alive at the thought of the night ahead. "I'd thank you to escort our guests to the door and then take to your bed."

  "Good night to you, then, sweet Cait." A little drunkenly, she thought, her cousin lifted little Mary from the chair where she was sleeping and beckoned Clarice to follow him from the chamber.

  As she turned to Jason, Cait's heart thumped in anticipation. Locking his gaze on hers in a way that set the pit of her stomach to fluttering, he waited until Cam's footsteps had faded, then grabbed her hand and pulled her running up the staircase.

  When he stopped before his bedchamber door, she wound her arms around his neck and went up on her toes to press her mouth to his. "You must carry me over the threshold," she whispered against his lips. "It's bad luck if I trip."

  "Well, we wouldn't want to start with bad luck." Her eyes slid closed as his tongue swept into her mouth, hot and exciting. His lips still sealed to hers, he caught her up and brought her inside. When her feet hit the plush carpet she reluctantly opened her eyes, then blinked.

  And blinked again.

  The chamber was lit by candles, seemingly hundreds of them. They marched across the dressing table and along the windowsill, their flames reflecting off the beveled diamond panes. They graced the bedside tables and the massive headboard beneath the cobalt blue canopy. They sat on stands, on the floor, atop the tall, carved clothes press. But the brightest concentration flanked both ends of a wee table with a chair on either side…and their backgammon board in the center.

  He swept the hair off the back of her neck and planted his lips there, warm and cherishing. "You've pulled even," he murmured, the vibrations on her nape making her arch in pleasure, "but not for long. I intend to win this eve."

  "You want to play backgammon?" With a gasp of disbelief, she turned to him. "On our wedding night?"

  "Um-hmm." He nodded solemnly. "I remembered this morning that when I bought the set, we agreed to come up with something to wager. Then we never did. So I've settled on a forfeit."

  Warily she backed up, not certain she liked the look in his eyes. "And what might that be?"

  His smile made her skin tingle. "Our clothing."

  "What?" She took another step back and sat on the bed.

  "Our clothing." Coming close, he took her by the shoulders and raised her to stand. His voice turned low and silky. "Whoever loses will have to remove an item of clothing. Until we are both…how do you put it?" A trace of eroticism in his smile made her breath catch. "In the scud?"

  This was not her idea of a wedding night. "Can't we just take all our clothes off now?" She molded herself against his hard body and kissed him on the chin, which was as high as she could reach without his cooperation. "I'll play backgammon with you tomorrow. I promise."

  "Hmm…" He bent his head, and his mouth took hers in a kiss that was desperately intimate, but short and unsatisfying. "I think not."

  "But I've got the stomacher and the gown, a chemise and stockings and garters." As well as she could in such close quarters, she eyed his velvet-clad form. "And you're wearing that much or more. This could take all night!"

  "Mmm." He nodded thoughtfully, and his next kiss was long: a nibbling of the lips, a persuasive caress, and finally a fiery possession that left her mouth burning for more. "I intend it to take all night."

  When she tried to pull him onto the bed, he only resisted with a husky chuckle. Weak with need, it was an effort to cross her arms. "This isn't fair."

  "You think not?" He stepped back, seeming to consider it. "Very well, then, I'll give you an advantage."

  She frowned, wondering whether to be relieved when he stripped off his surcoat and dropped it to the floor.

  "You're terribly untidy," she scolded quite ineffectively. She couldn't seem to control the tremble in her voice.

  "But I have you now." He shrugged, working on the knot in his cravat. "And you always pick up after me."

  "That's a reprehensible attitude, Jase. I shall have to reform you." She bent to pick up the coat and laid it neatly over the back of a chair. He was taking off his clothes—it looked like she had won—yet his demeanor wasn't one of defeat. It was all so very confusing.

  When her fingers moved to the tabs on her stomacher, he shook his head and reached out to still them. Flashing a devilish grin, he handed her the cravat, then silently unlaced his shirt and stripped it off over his head.

  "There." The grin widened more. "Surely now you can win. Unless…" He raised a brow. "Unless you find yourself distracted again by my bare chest."

  The lacy cravat dangled from her fingers as she stared at him. Against that very tempting bare chest, her amulet nestled, winking in the candlelight. She swallowed hard,
her hands itching to touch him, her tongue wanting to taste his salty skin, her body aching to meld itself with his and convince her once and for all that he would be hers, forever.

  Her exasperating Englishman.

  Dark as sin, his gaze captured hers as he pushed her into a chair and handed her the shirt, still warm from his body. From the folds of fabric, his distinctive scent rose to envelop her, quickening her pulse, spreading the familiar melting weakness through every fiber of her being.

  Helpless to stop staring, she slowly wadded the shirt and cravat in her lap.

  "How very untidy," he chided, seating himself across the narrow table. Their knees touched, and one of his slid between hers at the same time one long arm sneaked underneath and tossed up her skirts. Warm and tormenting, a finger trailed her thigh…

  And he tossed the dice.

  Thank you for reading Emerald!

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  If you'd like to learn more about the

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  BONUS MATERIAL

  Author's Note

  Books by Lauren Royal

  Contest

  Excerpt from FOREVERMORE

  Excerpt from AMBER

  A Gift for You

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Contact Information

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Dear Reader,

  I always like to see the places I'm writing about, and I had great fun researching this story and visiting all the inns that lined the Great North Road—formerly the Roman road called Ermine Street—back in the 1660s. Which ones mentioned in the story are real? All of them! If an inn was mentioned by name, you can assume it was a real place that Jason and Cait could have stopped at during their travels. But a few of them have fascinating histories and deserve more than a mere mention.

  In Newark, the Saracen's Head inn dated back to 1341 and was indeed run by the Twentyman family from 1590 until 1720. As told by my fictitious Mrs. Twentyman in the story, their name really was originally Lydell and changed when one of them pole-axed twenty men. And the true tale of the little drummer boy saving Newark from capture is still told today. A frequent visitor, Sir Walter Scott mentioned the inn in his novels and his diary, calling the landlord "a man of the most gentlemanly manners." The Saracen's Head finally closed in 1956, and the building is now used as a bank, but a "Saracen's Head" bust on the facade attests to its previous use.

  As for the tunnels under Newark's marketplace, the one supposedly haunted by the ghost of a monk does not actually lead from the Saracen, but rather from the 16th century Queen's Head inn. There are no recent sightings of this ghost, but the last landlord did complain of strange noises coming from the cellar and a door that seemed to open itself in the middle of the night. Employees claim that bottles have been moved and hesitate to go into the cellar on their own. And one customer swears he saw someone "not of this world" standing on the stairs. Although the distinctive round Queen's Head sign still swings beneath the eaves of the building, it is currently operated as part of the chain of Hobgoblin pubs. A nice place to stop for lunch and—who knows?—maybe a bit of a scare!

  Although it was just The Angel during the 17th century, Grantham's oldest inn is now called The Angel and Royal. The grounds originally belonged to the Knights Templar, and from 1212 until the dissolution of their order in 1312, it was a hostelry for royal travelers, merchants, and pilgrims. King John and his train of courtiers held court at The Angel in 1213, Richard III signed the death warrant of the Duke of Buckingham there in 1483, and the inn enjoyed a royal visit from Charles I in 1633. In 1866, Edward VII paid a visit to The Angel, and it was then that it became known as The Angel and Royal. One of the inn's most-told stories is that in 1707, the landlord Michael Solomon died and left a legacy of forty shillings a year to pay for a sermon to be preached against the evils of drunkenness every Michaelmas Day. To this day, the annual payment is made and the sermon preached. This handsome and historic inn is still a popular place to eat and stay.

  The Bell Inn in Stilton dates back to 1500, and the current building from 1642, the year in which the Civil War began. There is still a Roman well in the courtyard, topped by a charming thatched roof. Alas, the inn's black cat was invented, but inspired by one who roamed the grounds during my visit. One popular 18th century tale has infamous highwayman Dick Turpin hiding at the Bell for nine weeks while hunted by the law. Supposedly, when surprised by a raid, he threw open the window and jumped onto Black Bess to gallop up the Great North Road. But the Bell Inn is most famous for Stilton Cheese and the man who popularized it, Cooper Thornhill, the inn's landlord during the mid-1700s. The cheese was first made by Thornhill's sister-in-law, a housekeeper in Leicestershire. Mites and all, he served it at the Bell and named it after the village. Soon the cheese's fame began to spread, and by the time Daniel Defoe wrote his Tour Through The Whole Island of Great Britain (1724-27), he could say he "passed through Stilton, a town famous for cheese." In the 1980s, the inn was restored using the original plans. Today it is a charming place to stay or take a meal while absorbing some of its history, and a frequent host to politicians, actors, and pop groups.

  Caithren's home was inspired by the real Leslie Castle in Scotland. Sadly, the charming little castle is no longer open to the public, but I was fortunate to stay there when it was still being run as a luxurious B&B. Set at the west end of the Bennachie Range, thirty miles from Aberdeen, Leslie was the original seat of Clan Leslie. The current castle, a turreted 17th century baronial house, is the third fortified building on the site since 1070. By the time of my story, the property had fallen out of Clan Leslie hands…but, fanciful as I am, I like to imagine that perhaps a minor Leslie family such as Cait's might have lived there. In 1979, the decaying roofless ruin was acquired by a member of the Leslie family and restored to its former fairy-tale beauty.

  To see pictures and learn more about the real places and real people featured in Emerald, please visit my website at www.LaurenRoyal.com, where you can also enter a contest, sign up for my newsletter, and find recipes for some of the seventeenth-century dishes that Cait and Jason enjoyed in this book. My favorite is the Mushroom Pie that Caithren ate at the Saracen's Head in Newark, but if you try any of the recipes, I hope you'll e-mail me at Lauren@LaurenRoyal.com and tell me what you think!

  Do you suppose Cait was right when she thought a romance might be brewing between her cousin, Cameron, and little Mary's mother, Clarice? To find out, read my novella, Forevermore. You'll find an excerpt in the back of this book.

  For a chance to revisit Jason and Cait, look for Amber, the final book in my Jewel Trilogy. (There's an Amber excerpt in the back of this book, too!) If you missed Colin and Amy's story, you can find it in Amethyst. And Ford's story is in Violet, the first book in my Flower Trilogy.

  To hear about my upcoming releases, my contests, and other news, please sign up for my newsletter, friend me on Facebook, or follow me on Twitter (@readLaurenRoyal) or Pinterest. I love to keep up with my readers!

  I hope you enjoyed Emerald—thank you for reading!

  Till next time,

  BOOKS BY LAUREN ROYAL

  The Jewel Trilogy

  Amethyst

  Emerald

  Amber

  Forevermore (a Jewel Trilogy novella)

  The Flower Trilogy

  Violet

  Lily

  Rose

  The Temptations Trilogy

  Lost in Temptation

  Tempting Juliana

  The Art of Temptation

  ENTER FOR A CHANCE TO WIN

  a sterling silver replica of Caithren's emerald amulet!*

  To enter, visit the contest page on Lauren's website at

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  No purchase necessary. See complete rules on the site.

  *Please note: Depending on when you enter, the prize may be another piece of jewelry associated with one of Lauren's books.

  You met Clarice Bradford in Amethyst and Cameron Leslie in Emerald.

  Now read their own story, Forevermore!

  Excerpt from FOREVERMORE

  A Jewel Trilogy novella

  by Lauren Royal

  Village of Cainewood, England

  September 1667

  They'd sent a carriage to take her to the castle.

  In all her thirty-one years, Clarice Bradford had never ridden in a carriage. Gingerly she climbed inside and perched on the leather seat, settling the pink skirts of her Sunday gown.

  Dressed in blue to match her eyes, Clarice's five-year-old daughter bounced up and down on the seat opposite. "I've been in this carriage, Mama. When Lord Cainewood brought me to live with you."

  In her short life, Mary had been orphaned by the plague and then abandoned during the Great Fire of London. But in the year since Lord Cainewood brought Mary to her doorstep, Clarice had come to love the girl like her own.

  "I remember you climbing out of this carriage. That's one day I'm unlikely to ever forget." Clarice reached across and tweaked her daughter on the chin. "It's a fine carriage, isn't it?"

  Mary shrugged, her blond ringlets bouncing on her shoulders in the same rhythm as the vehicle. "I would rather ride a horse."

  "That wouldn't be a very elegant way to arrive at a nobleman's wedding."

  A sigh wafted from Mary's rosy lips. "I s'pose not." She nibbled on a fingernail until Clarice pulled her hand from her mouth. "Who is Lord Cainewood marrying?"

  "I haven't met her, poppet, but if she's marrying Lord Cainewood, she must be a grand lady. I've heard she's from Scotland."

  "Scotland. Is that very far away?"