by Caroline Lee
Better than Lady Rosalind Forbes, at least.
But here she was, picking her way along the wall, as if she were quite used to doing things such as this. She knew the Guard’s patrols, and she was leading him very confidently in one direction.
Who in damnation is this woman he’d fallen so hard for?
And how did she know how to break into the royal palace?
After he’d stolen the horses, it hadn’t taken him long to overtake her and Simone. He scooped up the lassie to carry her, and had been impressed, yet again, by Rosa’s riding ability. They traveled hard and fast, on her urging, and reached Scone last night.
There they’d split up: him to sell the horses for a profit, and her to return Simone to her father.
The lassie had hugged him tightly, instructing him to “Come find me and Da and Mellie. They’re getting married soon!”
Rosa hadn’t said goodbye to him and had appeared to be distracted. Probably because she had yet to tell his niece Lachlan had been wounded.
But she did finally turn to him before they actually parted. “Tomorrow morning, find me in the spot where we first met. Bring yer mantle.”
It wasn’t a goodbye.
It was better.
And now he was following her, avoiding the paths of the guards above, until the great walls turned to simple, shallow stone, and the Guard’s patrols turned in another direction.
“These are the gardens,” she whispered, hurrying along the uneven wall. “They used to be just herbal, for the kitchens, but Elizabeth has a fondness for nature and spends a lot of time out here. Proxima natura.”
There she went again, calling the Queen of Scotland by her Christian name.
He snorted softly, amazed by how nonchalantly she said such things, and she swung to a stop. With a raised brow, she seemed to ask him why he was laughing.
Offering a smile, he covered his fumble. “Omnia dicta fortiora si dicta Latina?”
Her suspicious look softened. “Aye,” she whispered. “ ’Tis well-known, speaking in Latin makes anything sound more profound.”
Credo te amo.
I think I love you.
But he didn’t say it. Couldn’t say it. He knew nothing about this woman, not really.
Rosa stepped up beside a series of stones which looked exactly the same as the stones around it. But she lifted her hands and pressed against two different blocks at the same time, and they depressed under the pressure. Then she raised a knee and pressed against a third block, and something clicked inside the wall.
A door—cleverly concealed by a facing of stonework—swung inward.
She slipped inside, and he followed, stepping into a manicured woodland. Sucking in a breath, he looked around. These trees weren’t mature, but had to have been planted right after Elizabeth became queen. The fallen pine needles made a soft bed between his boots and the soil beneath, as he picked his way toward the cobblestone path.
Ahead of him, Rosa was ignoring the flowerbeds carefully cultivated to look natural, or the little pond with fish and frogs croaking in the sunshine. He could believe he’d stepped into someplace magical…if he weren’t so intent on figuring out why he was here.
“Rosa!” he hissed, grabbing her hand and swinging her around to face him. “I’ve been following ye all this time and am confused as hell. I will be forever grateful to ye for getting me in here to have a chance to see Court again, but I have to—”
“We’re no’ here to see Court.”
She lifted her small chin and met his gaze with a challenge in her own, the fancy pearl netting she wore over her dark hair making her look as if she belonged in a place like this.
But he was too busy focusing on her words to care.
She kens who Court is!
He’d wondered—hoped—that was the case, but she’d never said anything.
“Ye ken her?” he asked in a rough whisper, searching her face for the truth. “Ye ken Courtney?”
She stepped out of his hold. “Aye.” Her voice sounded too bland. “But she cannae ken ye’re here. Nae one can ken ye’re here.”
When he stepped toward her, she backed up again, shaking her head.
“I mean it, Cam. If they found out I brought ye here…”
Betrayal.
Is this what she’d meant?
“Who, lass?” he asked, his voice hoarse with confusion and dread.
She shook her head again.
The lass is full of secrets.
“Why did ye bring me here?” He gestured around the garden. “Why did ye give me a glimpse at my goal, and now ye’re saying nae?”
To his surprise, her expression softened, and she stepped forward to take his hand once more. “Because there’s someone else ye need to see first. Come.”
She tugged him toward the palace door and, wanting answers, he could do little else but follow.
Deus in caelo, she really shouldn’t be doing this.
Cam was a suspect against the Crown, and guards were looking for him everywhere.
So why are ye currently leading him through the guest hall of the royal palace?
Because she trusted him. She trusted him not to be the kind of man who would lead a coup against the Crown.
Her reasoning for wanting to be the one to find him was so she could question him, learn more about him. Things hadn’t worked out the way she’d intended, but she’d gotten her chance.
And now that she did know him, she couldn’t believe he was guilty of what they’d all suspected.
Her included.
Inferos!
The doubt and certainty warred within her, and luckily, Cam didn’t ask any more questions as they strolled, as nonchalantly as they could manage, through the palace. He didn’t have to; whenever she glanced at him, she could see the questions in his eyes.
The lovely gray eyes she’d seen often enough, not on Lachlan, but on his mother, Isla.
“Here we are.” She took a deep breath and turned to him, her hand on a door she’d visited many times. “Are ye ready?”
His brows lowered in a glare. “Nay. Where in damnation are we?”
Pushing open the door, she answered over her shoulder, “Yer mother’s room,” and prayed he’d follow.
“Rosalind, dear, is that ye?” The call came from the aged woman who sat bent over her embroidery in the beam of sunlight by the window. When she looked up, her face broke into a smile. “I was hoping ye’d come visit me when ye returned to the palace. With Gillepatric gone, there’s few people to talk to, and I was going to take myself down to the throne room to listen to the Queen’s judgements today.”
Stepping farther into the room, Rosa plastered a smile on her lips and snuck a glance over her shoulder. Cam was still standing in the doorway, his large hand holding the door open, and shock in his expression as he stared at his mother.
Was he angry?
Rosa had heard his declarations, his intentions, there among the berry thorns, and had known he was innocent.
But before she could consider her next step, she knew there was someone else who needed to know that as well.
Lady Isla Fraser had arrived at court weeks ago with her advisor, Gillepatric. According to the men who’d attacked Lachlan and Mellie, the older man had been behind their attack, offering coin for their murder. But he himself had been murdered that very day, and his killer never found.
“Well, dear?” Isla placed her sewing to one side and smiled pleasantly, gesturing Rosa toward her. “Where have ye been over the last sennight?”
Remembering the kiss, the aching feet, the sheer joy she’d felt while Cam had read to her, the fear and stress and laughter, Rosa wondered how she could summarize her trip.
Crossing the room and taking the woman’s outstretched hand to squeeze it, Rosa smiled gently, knowing she couldn’t tell her everything. “I was with yer son, Lady Isla.”
The older woman scowled in response. “Lachlan? He’s still intent on marrying that woman.”
Shocked at Isla’s vehemence, Rosa allowed herself to be pulled down onto the bench. “Mellie?”
“Aye. Lachlan has a daughter already. Why does he need to marry again? He’s only setting himself up for more heartache.”
Rosa tried not to show how surprised she was, but tilted her head back as she worked her way through Isla’s words. Lachlan needs an heir, but Isla obviously thought Simone was good enough. But from all accounts, Isla wasn’t very kind to her granddaughter, so it was surprising to hear her think the lassie a sufficient enough heir for a clan with such an unstable history.
Frowning, she pushed the problem aside, vowing to dissect the quandary later. For now, though…
She squeezed Isla’s hand. “Nay, milady. I was with Cameron.”
He chose that opportune time to step into the room, and Rosa sucked in a breath. He looked so…lost. One hand was curled around the hilt of his sword, the other in a fist at his side. His jaw was tight, and she remembered the way those hard lips had felt under hers.
Then he’d been warm and welcoming. But now, facing his mother—a surprise Rosa had sprung on him—he was every inch the cold, hard warrior.
Not just a thief, but a leader of men.
“Oh, Cameron,” Isla said, glancing up with a smile. “ ’Tis good of ye to visit.”
The comment was so bland, so nonchalant, that Cam’s steps faltered. He glanced at Rosa, a frown on his lips, and she shrugged slightly.
The woman hadn’t seen her son in fifteen years.
Why was she not welcoming him with open arms?
“Isla,” she began gently, “this is Cameron. He’s been gone many years, remember?”
“Of course I ken who he is.” The older woman pulled her hand from Rosa’s and offered it to Cam. “Welcome to Scone, lad. I’ve been waiting impatiently.”
Awkwardly, Cam took his mother’s hand.
Had expected a warm embrace?
Had he hoped for one?
Instead, he bowed over her hand, the way a stranger might.
And Isla beamed.
“Ye always were a sweet lad to ken when ye’re mother was lonely and bring her joy. Yer father was like that too, as I recall. I’ve been waiting for ye to visit.”
Visit?
Father?
Cam was doing a good job of hiding his confusion, but Rosa could see it…because she was feeling the same thing.
From all the stories she’d heard, Michael Fraser had not been the type to bring others joy.
And Isla was acting so nonchalant…was it possible she thought Cam was someone else?
Rosa caught Cam’s eye and winced, just slightly, hoping to convey her theory that his mother’s madness had progressed.
The older woman pushed herself to her feet. As she adjusted her sleeves, she said, “I ken ye’d come find me, Cameron, once ye were without yer uncle’s council.”
And if her previous words had surprised him, these latest had obviously shocked him to his core.
Cam actually stepped back. “Ye—ye kenned I was alive? All this time?”
“Of course.” Isla looked up, surprised. “Well, no’ at first. That’s why I sent yer uncle Andrew after ye. He at least understood how important ye were.” She shook her head a little mournfully. “My husband was useless when it came to that sort of thing. Andrew, on the other hand, didnae stop looking for ye until he found ye.”
Cam had told Rosa more about his life with the Red Hand, and she knew that Andrew of Lovat had arrived a few years prior to Court’s banishment. It had taken him that long to find Cam. But it was a surprise to learn that Isla had sent her brother-in-law.
“And—” Cam cleared his throat, his eyes carefully locked on his mother. “Ye ken where I’ve been? What I’ve done? All these years?”
Isla smiled up at her son as she lightly rested her hand on the sleeve of his tunic. “Aye. Andrew tells me everything.” Her expression fell. “Told. He’s…” She turned away. “He’s dead now.”
Cam shouldn’t have any way of knowing that information, but his expression was blank and only a muscle in his jaw jumped. “How did it happen?”
“He took over the Red Hand, of course, after ye left,” she went on, as if she hadn’t heard him. “After ye ran off, chasing that whore of yers.”
Cam’s anger was immediate and palatable. He jerked out from under Isla’s touch, even as Rosa sprang to her feet to defend her friend against this woman she suddenly didn’t know.
She needn’t have worried.
“Court isnae a whore!” Cam growled. “She was my sister. I protected her the way nae one protected me, and I sent her away to protect her from Andrew.” Shaking his head, he stepped back once more. “I swore I’d find her, and my uncle was welcome to the entire damnable gang, for all I cared.”
Tsking, Isla glared up at him with identical gray eyes. “That’s where ye were wrong, lad. Ye never give up power, no’ for anyone. Yer father would’ve taught ye that when ye were a lad, had he lived.” She shook her head as she stepped up beside him. “Ye do no’ ever give it up until it’s stolen from ye.”
Cam’s eyes were wide, confused. “What the hell are ye speaking of, woman?” he asked hoarsely. “My father lived long after I left him—left both of ye. He refused the protection he owed his own son, and ye—”
“No’ Michael Fraser, lad,” she said sadly, reaching up to pat his arm once more. “Yer real father. Red Comyn.”
Chapter 10
In Rosa’s mind, the tangled skeins of suspicions, the threads of ideas which hadn’t led anywhere, all suddenly began to unravel in the most wonderful way. The final piece of this puzzle was there, just out of her reach.
She’d known putting Isla and Cam together would give her the clue she needed to solve this mess…but she hadn’t realized what it would reveal.
As the older woman patted her son’s arm and swayed out of the room, Rosa watched her go in shock. Isla’s lack of reaction to her son, as well as her casual revelation, had shown her to be more crazed than Rosa had suspected.
And it had been a revelation. She only had to glance at Cam to realize that.
The man was staring down at his palms, the same shock on his own face, though likely much more.
It was obvious he hadn’t known about his parentage before this moment.
But who else did?
Isla, of course.
Andrew?
If Andrew had known Cam was Red Comyn’s son—and now the last of the Comyn line—it would explain why he’d given up everything he’d known to find the Red Hand and stand beside Cam.
How many of his actions over the years had been influenced by Andrew Fraser’s council?
Had it been Andrew’s idea to kill the King and Queen and put Cam on the throne?
Did Cam know about—
As she watched him sink down into a chair and drop his head into his hands, Rosa bit down on her thoughts.
Nay, Cam might’ve been influenced by an evil man, but she didn’t believe he was evil. At least, she hadn’t believed that when she’d snuck him into the palace, and she couldn’t believe that now.
And untangling this mess could wait. For now, Cam needed her.
Carefully, she moved to sit beside him, not touching him, as she was unsure of her welcome. “Cam?” she whispered.
His voice was muffled as it came from between his palms. “I’m…I’m a Comyn.”
It hadn’t been a question.
She didn’t know what to say, but tried anyhow. “Ye didnae ken?”
“Nay!” When he dropped his hands, his gray eyes were bright with confusion. “How could I?” He stared out the window where his mother had been sitting. “I never thought…”
Shaking his head, he muttered a curse and pushed himself to his feet once more, as if he had too much energy to sit still. “My father always seemed to hate me. At least, that’s how it felt as a child—he’d punish me for no reason and showed my brothers more favor.”
“Do ye thin
k this is why?”
He was stalking around the room, no purpose in his movements. “I…I donae ken. Did Mother tell him? Mother was unfaithful to him! God’s Teeth!” He dragged his hands through his over-long hair. “Mother was unfaithful to him with Red Comyn. The man my father wanted to be king!”
Launching into motion once more, he shook his head. “Were they hosting him at Inverness or Dounie when it happened? Comyn wouldn’t have been too old then—God’s Teeth, that was when Toom Tabard was still king!”
“Cam.” When he didn’t seem to hear her gentle interruption, she repeated his name again. “Cameron!”
He whirled and pierced her with a glare. “Did ye ken this? Is that why ye brought me to visit my mother?”
Surprised, she shook her head. “Nay, I swear. I just knew that, if I wanted to think of a future with ye, I couldnae allow yer poor, sweet mother to continue thinking ye were dead.”
“Sweet mother?” He muttered something unkind and turned away. “The woman didnae seem to miss me at all. She was only thinking of her own inconveniences.”
Rosa had to admit he was right. She’d enjoyed her time spent with Isla, but the woman did seem to be growing madder by the day.
“I’m sorry, Cam,” she whispered. “I thought she’d be pleased to see ye. Deus scit, I would miss ye if—” She cut herself off, unwilling to admit her feelings aloud, especially with him so agitated.
He was staring down at his hands again, as if seeing them for the first time. “Red Comyn is my father,” he whispered.
“Aye,” she began carefully, “and some might say that makes ye a verra important man.”
With a snort, he curled his fingers into fists and met her eyes. “I am a thief.”
“Ye are the son of a man who many wanted to be the King.”
He shook his head. “I do no’ want to be. I didnae ken.”
Holding his gaze, Rosa stood, willing him to understand how important this was. “Cam, swear to me ye had nae idea.”
His answer was an immediate nod. “Aye. On my honor—as a thief.” His voice turned bitter on the last part, and he shook his head just slightly.
Exhaling gratefully, she knew what she had to do. “I believe ye.”
