Speaking of Michael Fraser; I really gave him a bad name, didn’t I? Luckily, he’s completely made up…although I did base him heavily on Laird Simon Fraser (There are a half dozen Simon Frasers, just like all the John Comyns. So I named Lachlan’s daughter Simone in homage). Laird Simon Fraser was a real person, and yes, he did support the Red Comyn for the throne. But he went on to save Robert the Bruce’s life a few times in battle, and was ultimately drawn and quartered by the English as punishment. I’ve made Michael into a life-long supporter of the Comyn cause, and I hope the purists will forgive me.
You know who else is real? And whose story I didn’t change? Isabel of Strathbogie, daughter of one Earl of Atholl, and sister of another. She was betrothed to Edward Bruce (who was King of Ireland!), Robert the Bruce’s heir until his death. Edward sired her son, Alexander, who grew up to be the Earl of Carrick (Robert’s family title before the whole becoming-a-king enterprise). But then Edward abandoned her to marry another (also named Isabel, which was convenient), but didn’t sire anymore children.
The Crown’s support of wee Alex (giving him lands and his mother responsibility over them) showed that King Robert understood the lad was his closest male relative and thus heir…but who would back an illegitimate nephew as the next King?
Yes, between Edward’s death in 1318 and Prince David’s birth in 1324, there was no clear successor to the Scottish throne. Imagine the stress Queen Elizabeth must’ve felt, to bring a male child to term! We don’t have exact dates of birth for her daughters Margaret and Maude, but we suspect there were also some pregnancies that did not result in living offspring. In between Robert’s travels—through Scotland and Ireland—it was clear the royal couple was desperate for a male heir.
Which leads me to my last bit of historical inaccuracy: Scone. King Robert’s main residence was Scone Abbey, which is often called a Palace (so that’s what I called it, to avoid confusion about Elizabeth hanging around an Abbey). The structure they would’ve lived in has long since been replaced by the Palace which stands today. Which means I got to make up a bunch of stuff about what it might’ve looked like.
But Scone Palace (and the various alleyways around Scone!) will definitely be relevant in the last installation of this series.
What’s that? You didn’t think we were done, did you? There’s still one Angel left, and you can bet Rosalind is going to fall hard when she finally comes face-to-face (or rather, lips to lips) with Lachlan’s younger brother…the mysterious, and traitorous Cameron Fraser.
Is Cam the protective brother-figure Court remembers? The frightened lad Lachlan remembers? Or have his years as the leader of the Red Hand turned him into the villain the Angels suspect?
Keep reading for a sneak peak from The Thief’s Angel!
But first, I want to extend a personal invitation to join my reader group on Facebook. This is a fun, supportive community where we chat about romance novels, history, cute critters, and crafts. If you’d like a behind-the-scenes look into my stories, and want to help name some of my characters (Gillepatric was named thanks to a contest I ran in my Cohort!), then please do come hang out with us in Caroline’s Cohort!
And now, for Cam and Rosa…
SNEAK PEEK
Rosa is the brains of the Angels, and isn’t used to getting physical to subdue her suspects. But this particular suspect is going to get very physical indeed! Read on for a glimpse at The Thief’s Angel, where Rosa and Cameron Fraser meet for the first time.
* * *
Movement at the head of the alley caught his attention, and he watched with some interest as a slight figure slipped around the corner, into the shadows. When she saw him, she hesitated, then stepped closer.
Another pick-pocket? Nay, this lass held herself close, her arms around her middle and her chin tucked against her chest, peeking at him from under lowered lashes. She was skinny and dark, her gown unlaced to show too much skin, and her skirts cut high enough to catch a man’s interest.
A whore then, and not a particularly successful one, judging by her hesitation. She looked as if she expected him to lash out at her—likely had learned about men’s tempers the hard way.
This is what Tess would grow up to be, if she didn’t learn to fight back.
The dismal thought, so soon after his other depressing musings, had Cam sighing in pity. “Ye’re new at this?” he asked the whore.
She started, her chin jerking up in what might’ve been a nod, before she huddled against herself and shuffled closer.
He sighed again. “Come here.”
‘Tis just my day for charity projects, I guess.
When she paused, he reached out and caught her elbow, gently tugging her closer. But he’d surprised her, and she stumbled into his arms. With a grunt, Cam caught her arms and settled her into the space between his legs, propping his arse against the wall behind him once more.
“Now, then, let’s see ye…” he murmured.
When she didn’t move, he tucked one finger under her chin and lifted her face. And sucked in a breath.
Saints above, she’s lovely.
The lass had the small, delicate build of a songbird, or a fragile flower. Her skin was dark, her eyes darker still, and her black hair hung long and straight in a braid down her back. She watched him with those dark eyes wide, something not quite fear in her expression. Uncertainty?
Nay, she’d never attract customers like this.
Reaching over her shoulder, he pulled her braid forward, lying it across her chest. “Men like to imagine ye in bed, lass. They’re no’ going to pay money for someone all laced up prim and proper.” Dropping his fingertip, he traced the upper swells of her breast. “Ye’ve made a good start, here, but ye must loosen yer hair if ye want to catch our attention.”
The way she jerked at his touch, and the noise she made, told him she wasn’t yet comfortable in her new profession. Mayhap he could teach her to pick pockets instead…
Nay, ye cannae save them all.
“What’s yer name, lass?”
Dark eyes flicked up to his, then settled on his chin. “Rosa,” she whispered in a feather-light voice.
“Rosa,” he breathed reverently, dragging his fingertip lower to the point where her shift parted to reveal the shadows between her breasts. The name fit her, a delicate petal amid the harshness of the world. “Loosen yer hair.”
At his command, she took a deep breath and lifted her hands to her braid, fingers fumbling with the leather tie. She didn’t meet his eyes as she made short work of combing out her hair, pulling it forward as if using it to cover her breasts.
He clucked his tongue, brushed her hands out of the way, and reached for her locks himself. It was smooth as water as it cascaded against his palm, and smelled faintly of roses.
That, more than the knowledge this woman was for sale, sent a jolt of desire straight to his cock.
“No’ many whores smell as good as ye, Rosa,” he murmured, shifting so she was further bracketed between his legs. “But ye need to learn to be bolder. Look me in the eye.”
Dark lashes fluttered, but she did as he commanded, lifting her gaze from his chin to his eyes. He saw indecision in her expression, and offered her a quick grin. “Now tell me ye want me.”
Her eyes grew wide. “My—milord?”
“Nay, donae call me that,” he said with a shake of his head. It’d been many years since the title applied. “But calling a man sir will make his ego swell along with his cock. Try it.”
Something flashed in her dark eyes, as if his words had changed something important. Her shoulders straightened and her chin rose. “Aye, sir.”
His lips twitched. “Excellent. Now, ye have me pressed against a wall, see? That puts ye in charge of the situation. Ye ken I have coin, because ye’ve seen my purse. Ye must make me believe ye want me. So what will ye do now?”
Before she had a chance to answer, Cam brushed her skin with his fingertips once more, liking the little shudder she gave. Had she bee
n more experienced, he might’ve thought it feigned, but not this rose. His lips curling further, he dragged his hand across her chest, his palm settling around one breast, and squeezed just slightly.
She gasped and jerked away, before swaying back toward him. His smile grew as he brushed one thumb against the bud of her nipple, hard beneath the wool of her kirtle, and she gave a little moan. Her tits were as small as the rest of her, but filled his palm nicely.
Inside the trewes he wore, his cock jumped to attention.
What will ye do now?
The question hung between them, a challenged unanswered.
Until he dragged his thumb across her nipple again, and she moaned louder, then threw her arms around his neck and dragged his lips down to hers.
She looked like a rose, acted like a virgin, but she kissed like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
* * *
You can guess what Rosa is doing there in that alleyway, but after that kiss, her mission is going to change! Check out the rest of their story in The Thief’s Angel!
Other books by Caroline Lee
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The Highland Angels
The Highlander’s Angel
The Laird’s Angel
The Thief’s Angel
Steamy Scottish Historicals:
The Sinclair Hound
The MacKenzie Regent
The Sutherland Devil
The MacLeod Pirate
Sensual Historical Westerns:
Black Aces (3 books)
Sunset Valley (3 books)
Everland Ever After (10 books)
The Sweet Cheyenne Quartet (6 books)
Sweet Contemporary Westerns
Quinn Valley Ranch (5 books)
River’s End Ranch (13 books)
Click here to find a complete list of Caroline’s books.
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