by Caroline Lee
On the other side of the room, one brow rose disbelievingly. “Ye’d take my word on something this important?”
He had no idea how important. But… “Aye. I think ye’re a good man.”
This time his snort was softer, as he turned away. “Ye’d be the first.”
The time had come.
“Cam, I…”
She suddenly wasn’t sure how to say what needed to be said. Not while looking at him, at least.
Turning toward the window, she inhaled deeply, focusing on the city of Scone spread out below her. It was one of Scotland’s great accomplishments, this city, along with so many others. She’d spent five years protecting not just the Queen, but the Crown and the country.
And she prayed she wasn’t about to betray them all.
“Weeks ago, there was an attack against the Queen. The assassin almost succeeded, but he was killed.” For now, she’d leave Court out of this. Her friend should be the one to decide when to reveal herself. “Before he died, he said he’d been sent from the Red Hand.”
There was no sound, no reaction behind her. But the silence felt anticipatory, as if Cam was listening.
She took another deep breath. “When—when the Queen’s representative went to Kintyre and confronted the Red Hand, yer Uncle Andrew was in charge. He revealed the Frasers of Lovat were behind the attempted coup, in order to remove the Bruce and his wife from the throne and return the Comyn line to power.”
“Return the Comyns to the throne?” Cam’s voice was dull. “Red Comyn and his legitimate son have been dead for years.”
“Aye.” She turned to find him staring suspiciously. “There was no indication why Andrew, or any of the Frasers, would believe the scheme would succeed, but before he was killed, yer uncle definitely implicated the Frasers of Lovat.”
Cam crossed his arms in front of his chest, the movement pulling his tunic tight across his shoulders. “And the Frasers have a history of supporting the Comyns for the throne, so it was easy to believe.”
Again, not a question, but she dipped her chin in acknowledgement. “Aye,” she repeated softly. “Yer brother Lachlan was the laird, and the most likely suspect. But he was investigated”—best to leave Mellie’s secret out as well—“and determined to be innocent. And then ye arrived back in Lachlan’s life, proving ye had ties to the Red Hand.”
The way his eyes darted between hers made it obvious he was trying to understand what she was saying. Deus in caelo, but she wished she were closer to him. She wished she could put her hand on his forearm or wrap her arms around his waist and rest her cheek against his chest.
She wanted to feel him. To offer him whatever comfort she could.
But if she were that close to him, she wouldn’t have been able to see the confusion in his eyes slowly turning to anger.
“And I was a Fraser,” he bit out. “I donae want to be one, but I was a Fraser son, who had led the Red Hand.” He spit out the words as if they were a curse and jerked his gaze away from her. “And ye were the one to put it all together, were ye no’?”
There was no use denying it. “Aye,” she whispered.
“Shite,” he swore, turning completely from her and lifting his hands to yank at his hair. “Ye think I’m guilty, is that it? Ye think I was the one to plan a coup against the Crown?”
Whirling back around, he pierced her with another glare.
“Is that it? Ye thought, since I was a thief, I might be a traitor as well?”
Deus meus, how was she supposed to respond to the hurt and anger in his eyes?
With the truth.
“I did,” she admitted, embarrassment coloring her tone.
She didn’t want to feel embarrassed—it had been the logical conclusion at the time—and even more so now that she knew the secret of Cam’s birth.
But her heart didn’t want to accept logic at a time like this…and wasn’t that a novel realization?
“And now?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
Now?
Now I love ye.
But she couldn’t say that. She’d just betrayed her Queen, her country, and her fellow Angels, and she wasn’t even sure she’d done anything wrong.
So she lowered her head, staring at the floor between them. “Now I donae ken what to think.”
With a muttered curse, he stalked for the door, and her gaze flew up.
“Where are ye going?”
“Leaving,” he snapped over his shoulder. “Don’ bother showing me the way out. I’m a thief, remember? I can find my own way in and out of a palace.”
“Cam—“ she began, but he yanked the door open and was gone.
And she suspected she’d just made a huge mistake.
Because she’d been thinking with her mind instead of her heart?
Or because she’d allowed her heart to override her mind?
Deus in caelo, what a mess!
Cam wasn’t thinking straight.
That was why he got turned around on his way out of his mother’s chambers and was now silently cursing himself. But on the other hand, it wasn’t hard to understand why.
Red Comyn’s son.
All these years, and now he discovered he isn’t a Fraser at all. Not really. His father—the man who’d treated him like refuse and allowed even worse to befall him—wasn’t really his father.
‘Twould explain much, he supposed.
And honestly, after fifteen years away from his family, the sting of their betrayal hurt much less now than it did then. Nay, it was Rosa’s opinion which burned him now.
She thought ye a thief and a liar.
Why no’ a traitor as well?
He scrubbed his hand over his face and blew out a breath.
Regardless of what had just happened, he needed to put it behind him and figure out how to get out of here.
Nay! He needed to find Court. It had been his goal for a year now, and he was finally in the place to make it happen, and he had no idea where to find her.
Rosa did, but he’d just stormed off from her like a clot-heid, because his feelings had been hurt.
Ahead of him in the corridor, a door opened.
No matter where his mind was, fifteen years of instincts couldn’t be overridden. He flattened himself into a window nook before the person even stepped out of the chamber.
“Do ye think he’ll recover fully, Healer?” came the soft question.
“Aye, lass.” The healer sounded elderly. “The Fraser is a strong man. Ye saw how far he’s come in a fortnight? He’ll be hale and hearty by his wedding night, and I suspect that pretty betrothed of his is helping his recovery nicely.”
Their chuckles faded in the distance, and Cam exhaled.
The Fraser.
Lachlan.
His brother.
He was moving toward the room before he’d fully come to a decision. When he realized what he was doing, his hand was already on the latch.
‘Tis a day for revelations.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and slid inside the chamber before he could change his mind—or before anyone else could spot him in the corridor.
His brother’s back was to him, the bandages the healer must’ve just reapplied stark against his tanned skin. Cam heard him curse quietly as the shirt he was maneuvering over his head got hung up on those bandages. The fact Lachlan couldn’t lift his arm all the way didn’t help either.
Cam’s lips tugged upward. “Do ye need some help?”
His brother spun around, dropping halfway into a crouch to meet whatever danger he expected.
The fact that Lachlan looked even more ridiculous crouched there, with one arm tangled in the linen above his head and a scowl on his face, made Cam’s smile grow.
But as his brother slowly straightened, the surprise in his gray eyes turning to wariness, and Cam’s amused expression faded.
Lachlan’s lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
Cam’s heart began to
pound in trepidation.
Would his brother accept him?
And would it matter if he didn’t?
So he swallowed—his throat dry—and nodded to the bandages on Lachlan’s shoulder. “ ’Tis glad I am to see that healing.”
It was as if his words had broken some spell. With a growl, Lachlan began to struggle with his shirt again. “It wouldnae if no’ for ye. I have ye to thank for my life.”
Grunting, he finally pulled the linen down over his bandages, so that his shirt hung too long over his kilt. But he didn’t seem to care.
Instead of reaching for his belt, Lachlan rolled his neck, then his shoulders, all while staring at Cam.
Finally, he grunted again, as if coming to a decision. “Why are ye here?”
Why?
Cam couldn’t say, because he didn’t know why himself. So he shrugged, his thumbs tucked into his belt. “I wanted to ken if ye were healing. If ye’d live.”
“Oh, I’ll live.” His brother eyed him from across the room. “Is that the only reason ye came?”
The only reason he’d snuck into a heavily guarded royal palace?
Nay, there were other reasons, and Rosa had given him even more. But now…
“What other reason would I have?” he asked warily.
Suddenly, Lachlan sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face in a gesture eerily similar to something Cam would do. “I was hoping ye’d come because ye wanted to see our mother. Because ye wanted to see me.” He dropped his hand and pierced Cam with a glare. “I was hoping I was going to get my brother back.”
There was anger there, but pain too. And for the first time, Cam realized how much he might’ve hurt Lachlan by leaving all those years ago.
“I’m sorry I’ve caused ye pain, Lachlan,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.
Muttering a curse, his brother launched across the room toward him, and Cam braced himself for a blow. A blow he mayhap deserved.
But instead, Lachlan wrapped his arms around Cam, pulling him into an embrace. A hug.
When was the last time a man had hugged him?
Not since…well, not ever, that he could recall.
Slowly, awkwardly, Cam raised his hands and hugged his brother back.
It felt right.
As Lachlan pulled back, he clasped Cam’s upper arms and met his eyes. “I’m sorry I wasnae able to help ye. Ye cannae ken how many times I’ve asked myself what I could’ve done. How I could’ve stopped Hamish—”
“Nay.” Cam cut him off with a jerk of his head. “Hamish preyed on the weak, and I was the youngest. Ye were just a lad yerself and didnae have any idea what he was capable of.”
With a nod, Lachlan dropped his hands and stepped back. “I am still sorry. I’ve missed having ye by my side all these years.”
If Cam were honest with himself, he missed it too. He’d had Uncle Andrew, but the man had thrived among the cutthroats and thieves of the Red Hand. Having a brother like Lachlan mayhap would’ve made all the difference.
But all Cam could do was curtly nod. It was the only answer either could afford to give at that moment.
Lachlan gestured to a little sitting area near the hearth. “Will ye join me for some ale?”
Shifting his weight awkwardly, and wondering if he really should be there, Cam asked, “I’m no’ interrupting ye? Someplace ye have to be?”
“Nay.” His brother’s answer was immediate as he crossed for the pitcher of ale. “Naught is more important to me right now than having my brother back in my life.”
So with a sigh, Cam acquiesced. “Fine. As long as ye donae punch me again. Took three days for my head to stop aching.”
Wincing, Lachlan handed him a mug. “I am sorry for that. I couldn’t let ye harm Mellie.”
“Och, brother, I was teasing ye.”
When they both settled themselves into the wooden chairs, they were smiling.
“My daughter told me she’d met ye. In fact, she hasnae stopped talking of Uncle Cam since we got her back yesterday.” Lachlan sipped his ale, staring at his brother over the rim of the mug. “She said she met ye at An Torr, fishing.”
Cam shrugged as he put the ale down, untasted. “She was in my favorite spot.”
“She reminds me of ye, sometimes. At least, the way I remember ye.”
And there was naught to do other than grin proudly. “Aye,” Cam admitted. “I thought the same.”
“God help us,” Lachlan muttered under his breath, which had Cam chuckling.
“She’s a fine lassie. Smart and full of joy.”
“Full of questions, more like,” Lachlan corrected.
“Aye, she drove Rosa near distraction with them all.”
Mayhap it was the way he said her name, but his brother’s gaze turned speculative as he settled the mug on the table beside him. “Aye, Rosa.” Then, entirely too nonchalantly, he offered, “Simone also said she saw Rosa kissing her uncle.”
His brother’s expression was carefully neutral, but Cam felt his hackles rise. “I’m nae a lad to be reprimanded for kissing a pretty lass. And ye’re no’ my father to do so.”
“Fair enough.” Lachlan’s chin dropped. “And I cannae imagine our father caring about us, one way or the other.”
Our father.
This would be the perfect time to reveal what Mother had said earlier. To tell Lachlan they didn’t share a father, but Cam was the son of a traitor.
But something—some shame—held him back.
If Rosa, who’d come to know him and thought him a good man, still believed Cam’s parentage gave him a reason to want the Queen dead, then what would Lachlan think?
Lachlan, who had just met him again after so many years apart?
Who knew him only as a leader of thieves now?
So they sat in silence, Lachlan staring thoughtfully back at him. Finally, his older brother shifted. “Ye were looking for Courtney, as I recall.”
Cam’s chin rose hopefully. “Aye?”
He remembered telling Lachlan—whom he hadn’t realized was his brother at the time—about his quest to track down Court in the palace…just moments before his brother had landed a punch which had knocked him out cold.
“Court is close friends with Mellie and Rosa. I cannae say more—she has her secrets—but she is here, in the palace.”
Curling his fingers around the arms of the chair, Cam tried to understand the tightness in his chest.
Was it because he was so close to completing his mission?
Or because Rosa had kept this information from him, as well?
She has her secrets.
Lachlan’s words were accurate for Rosa as well. There was so much Cam didn’t know about her.
But he didn’t need to either.
“At least—” He shook his head, clearing the emotion from his throat. “Tell me, is she safe? Healthy? Happy?”
Lachlan’s lips twitched. “She is. I also ken she’s been out in the city looking for ye every chance she gets. When she’s no’ guarding the— Well, that’s her business to tell, I suppose.”
All the breath seemed to go out of Cam. He slumped in the chair and reached for the ale with surprisingly steady fingers.
Court was safe. Happy.
Did he have to see her to be sure?
Or did he trust his brother’s word?
Closing his eyes, he breathed a soft prayer of thanks for her health. But at the same time, he knew he needed to see her, to apologize for sending her away. To hear her forgive him.
Or curse him, whichever the case may be.
Lachlan began to speak about Mellie, and how they’d met—a betrothal which turned out to be a charade—and the wedding they planned to have soon. “I’ve convinced her to wait a few days until I get my strength back.”
Cam eyed his brother’s shoulder. “Ye are healing, right?”
“Aye.” Lachlan rolled his shoulder for effect. “ ’Twas a clean strike, and only the blood loss was a concern. Mellie tells me ye were the
one to help, after I—passed out.”
The way he said it made Cam wonder at the rest of the story, but he just shrugged. “Those men attacking ye used to be mine. I thought I could control them when we came to the city, but…” He shook his head. “I was less of a leader than I imagined.”
Mayhap Lachlan heard the bitterness in that claim, because he sat forward. “Tell me.”
And so they spoke of Cam’s history, and his years with the Red Hand.
Finally, Cam concluded by saying, “Rosa had this all figured out though. That woman is brilliant.”
“And beautiful,” Lachlan said mildly, from behind his mug. “Surely ye noticed that, as ye were kissing her?”
Mayhap it was the ale, but Cam was less defensive this time. “Aye. Beautiful and brilliant. And feisty. And witty. And full of fascinating insights.” Fascinating. That described her well. “She’s the kind who, once ye meet her, ye cannae forget her.”
“Once ye meet her, she gets under yer skin and burrows next to yer heart?” Lachlan clarified.
“Aye,” Cam admitted.
His brother nodded. “Ye love her then.”
With a sigh, Cam put the ale down again and scrubbed his hand over his face. “Aye. I do.”
“Ye havenae told her though.”
Scowling, Cam dropped his hand. “How do ye ken?”
“Because if ye had,” his brother unhelpfully pointed out, “ye wouldnae be here looking so forlorn when ye talk about her.”
“What do ye ken of it?”
Chuckling, Lachlan took another sip. “It took almost losing Mellie for me to figure out my feelings for her. Ye’re smarter than I am, apparently. But no’ smart enough to tell her how ye feel.”
Cam snorted. “And why would I? She’s a lady. A confidante of the Queen.” He sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “And I’m a thief.”
A bastard thief.
Lachlan didn’t speak, but the way he was looking at Cam before he ducked his head made Cam wonder how much he knew about the conspiracy against the Crown.
Did Lachlan believe him guilty as well?
What did it matter?
Finally, his brother asked quietly, “Does she think ye’re a good man?”
A good man.
She’d said those words. She’d said she thought he was one.
