by Emma Prince
“Be at ease,” he said softly.
It felt ridiculous—if not downright treasonous—to lie abed instead of rising and curtsying to her monarchs. Yet neither the King nor the Queen seemed overly concerned with formalities at the moment.
The Queen moved toward the bed, her brow creased with worry. “Are you well, ma chère?”
Before Vivienne could answer, King Philip moved to his wife’s side. Like the Queen, his brown eyes were tight with concern. “What happened?”
“I-I was walking in your hedge maze, Majesté,” Vivienne began.
“Start before that. Ye nodded to the man—the gardener,” Kieran interjected.
Vivienne abruptly realized that Kieran must have been watching her closely even as she’d tried to slip away from him into the maze. A sudden flood of gratitude hit her like a blow. If he hadn’t been so attentive, she might be dead now.
“Oui,” she said, her throat tight with emotion. “I didn’t recognize him, but I assumed he was a new member of the staff. He nodded and smiled. Then I entered the maze and wandered until I heard something behind me. It was…it was him.”
The Queen took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, silently urging her to continue.
“He raised his shears as if to stab me, so I screamed. I ran as fast as I could, but I tripped on my skirts. He was about to strike when Kieran appeared.”
Kieran jerked, his body going rigid where he stood beside the bed. Vivienne realized it was the first time she’d called him by his given name.
Just then, a knock came at the door. Kieran crossed the chamber and opened it, but instead of admitting whoever stood outside, he slipped out and spoke quietly with the man. When he stepped back inside, his face was set in stone.
“Yer captain of the guard has had a look at the bastard’s body. He confirmed that the man has never been seen before, and no one was hired recently.”
King Philip muttered a curse, running a hand through his hair. “We will get to the bottom of this, Lady Vivienne,” he said.
“Och, I am at the bottom of this.” Kieran’s voice bordered dangerously on insolence, yet he didn’t seem to care. “He was one of de Soules’s men. He had to have been.”
“How can you be sure?” the King asked.
Kieran turned to Vivienne. “The man didnae try to steal from ye or—” his hands clenched so hard at his sides that his knuckles blanched, “—or touch ye, did he?”
“Non.”
“I watched him enter the maze. He did so with intent, checking to make sure no one saw him. And he only aimed to do one thing—kill Lady Vivienne.”
The Queen returned her attention to Vivienne. “Did the man say anything, ma chère? Anything to give him away?”
Vivienne shook her head. He hadn’t spoken a word. Nor had his appearance been in any way out of the ordinary.
As if reading her mind, Kieran spoke. “The bastard wore yer servants’ livery, Majesty. The palace has been compromised. And I dinnae give a damn how, either.” His gaze locked on Vivienne, his eyes as cold as ice. “All I ken is that I am getting Lady Vivienne the hell out of here come first light tomorrow.”
Vivienne pulled in a breath, but to her shock, neither the King nor the Queen reprimanded Kieran for his foul language or challenged his decision to remove her. Instead, the Queen nodded sadly and the King muttered another curse.
“I have failed your King Robert, mon ami,” King Philip said quietly to Kieran. “I promised to stand with him in all things, yet someone he wanted protected nearly came to harm in my palace.”
“Non, husband,” the Queen cut in. “The failure is mine. It was I who refused to let Monsieur MacAdams take away my dear Vivienne. I exposed her to danger, and you to the displeasure of our Scottish allies.”
“It doesnae matter,” Kieran said.
From the storm brewing behind his eyes, Vivienne imagined that he struggling under the burden of his own share of guilt for what had nearly happened, despite the fact that she had been the one to wander away into the maze. Worse, she had questioned him at every turn, challenging the very idea that she was in danger, and making his job more difficult by refusing to leave court with him.
“All that matters is getting Vivienne to safety,” he went on.
“Agreed,” the King said. “And be assured, mon ami, I will not rest until the last of de Soules’s allies are eradicated from my court—from all of France.”
“I’ll leave that to ye. And ye leave her protection to me,” Kieran responded gruffly. “Och, and apologies for destroying yer hedge maze, Majesty,” he added as an afterthought.
“That is nothing,” the King replied quickly. “Lady Vivienne’s life is far more important.”
The Queen bowed her head somberly as the King and Kieran clasped forearms. Then both the Queen and King quietly exited the chamber, murmuring wishes for Vivienne to rest well.
When the door closed softly behind them, Vivienne couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Everything was happening so fast. First the attack in the maze, and now the decision that she would leave court.
Not that she would argue with Kieran about staying any longer. The fact that someone had managed to get all the way inside the palace’s walls and had nearly succeeded in killing her shook her to the bone. But the knowledge that her whole life would now be turned inside out had her stomach in knots and her throat closing on a sob.
What would happen to her position at court? And her father, who counted on that position?
Suddenly Kieran was beside the bed again, his large frame appearing to wobble through her tears.
“What is it?” His voice was soft yet insistent. “Did that bastard hurt ye after all?”
She shook her head, her throat too tight to speak, and tried to swipe away the tears.
“What can I do?” he asked, his tone now edging toward desperation.
“Just…” She couldn’t find the words, so instead, she reached for him, circling her arms around his neck and pulling him toward her.
Though his strength was far greater than her own, he didn’t resist. He allowed her to drag him down until he was perched on the edge of the bed. She buried her face into his chest and let one sob, then another, and another, escape.
He sat frozen for a moment, solid and warm yet rigid, before at last his arms came around her and he held her against him. His embrace was so hard that she had trouble breathing, yet she refused to ask him to loosen his grip. This was the only place she felt safe—enfolded in his powerful arms.
When the tears ebbed at last, he began to pull away, but she held him close.
“Please…don’t go.”
“Bloody hell, lass,” he practically growled. “Ye dinnae ken what ye are doing to me.”
Though his voice was rough and harsh, she knew he was not angry with her. Non, from the way his fingers sank into her waist and he inhaled deeply against her hair, he was fighting the same battle she was.
And losing.
She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. His pale blue eyes harbored a tempest of emotion as he stared down at her. When his gaze dropped to her lips, she knew they would both be bested by their unspoken desire.
He lowered his head until their lips brushed, a feather-soft contact. Vivienne’s breath caught. It wasn’t nearly enough to quench the longing within her.
When she deepened the kiss, he made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded feral and hungry. He claimed her mouth then, his tongue sweeping over hers. One of his hands sank into her hair, tangling in the arranged and pinned plaits. His fingers gripped her locks, sending pricks of sensation from her scalp across the rest of her skin.
She let her hands slide along his shoulders and down his arms. He was so hard and large beneath her palms. She imagined distantly that he’d been forged in an unforgiving wilderness and honed in battle just for this moment, for this kiss and her yearning caress.
At her touch, he growled again, his mouth and hands growing more possessive. W
ith one hand still tangled in her hair, the other rose from her waist up her side to the slope of her breast. When his large, warm hand closed over her, she inhaled and arched. It had been so long since she’d known a man’s kiss, his touch. She felt like a beggar starved for affection.
Her blood warmed and began to course faster through her veins. Heat pooled low in her belly as he further deepened the joining of their mouths.
When he circled the peak of her breast with his thumb, an aching pulse awoke between her legs.
Without realizing what she was doing, she leaned back against the bed, pulling him with her. One of her legs rose along the outside of his hip, and suddenly she could feel the hard length of his manhood wedged between them.
He hissed, a sound that was somewhere between ecstasy and agony, then abruptly released her, pulling himself away.
Without his heat and powerful form over her, Vivienne felt exposed. She sucked in a breath, realizing what they’d just done—and what they’d almost done.
He swore softly, raking a hand through his hair. “That was a mistake.”
Hot shame flooded her face. Oui, he was right—giving in to her desires so recklessly was the last thing Vivienne should have done. Still, it stung to know that he felt the same way.
“Forgive me,” she murmured, her voice coming out strained. “I wasn’t thinking clearly and—”
“Aye,” he cut in brusquely. “We neednae discuss it further.”
He rose from the bed, and Vivienne couldn’t help but notice the evidence of his desire beneath the wool folds of his plaid. He had been just as swept away by the moment as she’d been.
Vivienne knew her own reasons for regretting her rash wantonness, but why had Kieran halted so abruptly? Despite spending so much time in close proximity to each other, Vivienne knew little of the man behind the gruff, hard shell.
And perhaps it was better that way—better to douse this mad spark between them before Vivienne did something she truly regretted, something that would ruin her carefully controlled life once and for all.
“Be ready to leave come first light tomorrow morn,” he said, his voice brusque. He hesitated, glancing down at her. His gaze was unreadable, yet he gentled his tone. “I’ll be right outside yer door if ye need aught.”
With that, he strode out of her chamber, leaving her alone with a stomach full of knots and a head swirling with confusion. Thankfully, she was so exhausted that after only a few moments, the blessed oblivion of sleep claimed her.
Chapter Ten
Vivienne woke disoriented and hungry much later. She rose and pulled back the shutters on her small window. The sapphire-blue color of the sky told her that it was still an hour or two before sunrise.
Because it had been early evening when she’d fallen asleep, she’d missed the evening meal. But now that she was awake, nerves replaced the hunger in her belly at what lay ahead.
Today was the day she would leave court, her home for the last seven years. Her whole life seemed to hang in the balance—a stable marriage with a nobleman like Thierry, her position as one of the Queen’s ladies, and her father’s wellbeing all wavered with uncertainty. And of course her life was now literally in danger, with only Kieran MacAdams to protect her.
She donned one of her favorite midnight-blue silk gowns, then dragged a trunk from beneath her bed and slowly began to fill it with all her worldly belongings. She had no idea where Kieran was taking her, so she tried to pack with numerous occasions in mind.
First she folded an assortment of silk and brocade gowns, along with chemises, stockings for cooler weather, and a variety of silk slippers, into the trunk. Then she wrapped her treasured books into a heavier fur-trimmed cloak and added them in. Last, she carefully folded her various vials and jars of oils and flower waters into a spare coverlet and tucked them in beside the rest.
The trunk was now far too heavy for her to move, and it only closed if she sat on it, but thankfully she’d just managed to secure the latch when she heard Kieran’s distinct sharp rap on the door.
At her call, he entered, his features particularly stony this morning. He wore his usual plain shirt and belted plaid, but he also carried a set of leather saddlebags over one shoulder.
“The sun is nearly up,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Ye’d best begin preparing to depart.”
She blinked. “But I already have.” She gestured toward the enormous trunk, which took up a good portion of the chamber’s floor space.
He swept the trunk with his gaze, then leveled her with a look. “Ye must be jesting.”
Vivienne bristled. Apparently the intense kiss they’d shared last eve was forgotten and they were back to taut verbal sparring.
It was just as well. If she were to set out with him for an indeterminate length of time to an unknown location, it would be better to have walls and boundaries between them once more. Kieran’s fortification of choice seemed to be a mocking disdain for Vivienne and all she held dear. For her part, Vivienne would be the cool, mannered woman of court Kieran seemed to hate so much.
“What is the jest?” she asked, lifting her brows at him. “I rose early and packed what I need for our journey.”
“More like ye packed half the damn palace,” he grumbled.
“I wasn’t sure what circumstances I would find myself in, so I selected an array of—”
He tossed the saddlebags from his shoulder. They landed with a dull smack on the stones before her feet. “Ye can take what will fit in there. Naught more.”
She stared at the saddlebags. “That…that is all?”
“We arenae going on some lavish pleasure-tour as the King and Queen do when they travel,” he replied. “We are on the run from those who wish to see ye dead.”
Vivienne swallowed. “But even on the run, I will still be expected to wear clothes, will I not?”
As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. His eyes flashed with heat before they turned cold once more, and she knew he was thinking of being naked together, as she was now as well.
“A-and I will still have want of my books and my beauty tonics and tinctures,” she went on hastily. “I cannot fit all of that in those small bags.”
“Let me help ye then,” he said, closing the distance between them in two swift steps. She jumped out of the way so as not to be bowled over as he halted before the trunk and threw back the lid.
He snatched up the coverlet filled with her vials and bottles and dropped it on her bed. Luckily, her mattress cushioned the glass well enough that none of them broke.
“First off, ye dinnae need any of this rubbish.”
She began to object, but before she got far, he’d already returned to the trunk. He unceremoniously shook out her cloak, sending her carefully-packed books tumbling over the folded gowns below.
“This cloak could come in handy, but all these books will only take up space and weigh yer horse down.”
“There is no need to—”
“And we arenae going to some grand feast every night,” he interrupted, lifting a handful of her gowns and holding them up. “We will be riding, mayhap sleeping on the ground, and most importantly trying no’ to draw attention.”
A lump had risen to Vivienne’s throat at his callous treatment, but luckily an equal portion of anger kept her fright and hurt at bay.
In truth, she should be thanking him. It made it much easier to remember what a detestable brute he was when he behaved like this. And thinking him a brute was far better than thinking him dangerously handsome and devastatingly enthralling.
She willed herself to hold her tongue as he dropped her gowns and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. Brute though he may be, he had saved her life. She’d promised herself yesterday not to oppose him in his efforts to protect her anymore. If that meant swallowing her pride and somehow managing to cram her entire life into two small saddlebags, then so be it.
Holding her head high and keeping her features smooth, she glided to the bed
and unfolded the coverlet containing all her cherished beauty potions. She sifted through them, rationally assessing which she actually used and which were simply nice to have.
“I told ye already, ye dinnae need all that nonsense,” Kieran muttered, stepping toward her.
“Oui, but it is good to smell agreeable whenever one can—especially when one is traveling,” she countered calmly.
To her shock, he moved closer still, until hardly a sliver of air separated them. He encircled her wrist with one of his big hands and lifted it to his nose. He inhaled deeply against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist, then released her.
But he wasn’t done with her yet. He dipped his head, and for a heart-stopping moment, Vivienne thought he meant to kiss her again. But instead, he dropped his nose to her neck, inhaling once more against her skin.
He straightened, his eyes flashing with a challenge. “Ye smell fine to me. Leave them.”
Thank goodness her skirts hid the wobbling of her knees. Yet if he meant to unnerve her with his overpowering presence and rude manners, she refused to be so easily cowed.
Mustering all her composure, she stared at him coolly for a moment before returning her attention to the pile of tinctures. After feigning a measured consideration, she selected the purple-tinted glass bottle of violet oil.
It was her favorite scent, and she treasured it all the more because it had been a gift from the Queen. But more than that, her thoughts flitted back to that first night when Kieran had sniffed it and commented about her wearing it often. He’d remembered from several months before that she preferred it.
Perhaps he found it as unnerving as she found his own scent, of soap and leather and warm male skin. Two could play at his little game of intimidation.
She moved to the tumbled pile of books heaped atop her disheveled clothes. It would be far harder to leave them than her flower waters and oils. She removed them one by one and replaced them into the drawers of her dressing table, all save one. Nothing—not even the foul-tempered Highland warrior glowering at her—would prevent her from taking the copy of The Song of Roland her father had given her.