The Thief’s Angel

by Lee, Caroline

  His throat was thick with emotion he tried to hide by asking, “And those sticks?”

  She smiled as she shook her head. “Nay. My grandmother had those made for me when I left for Scone, and my grandfather taught me how to use them. He’d been the one, many years before, to show me Arabic treatises on the wonders of the human body, and how it could be controlled. But Court was the one to help me strengthen my muscles, to push my body.”

  Bless Courtney.

  His lips pulled upward as he dragged his fingers down the side of her neck, past her hair and her shoulders, to the lines of her ribcage. Brushing against her skin, his smile grew as she sucked in a breath.

  When he allowed his hand to drift lower to cup the curve of her hips, then her arse, she growled playfully. “I’ll never get my story told if ye continue to touch me like that.”

  At that moment, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to learn her secrets, or her body, more.

  “Then let’s move things along,” he murmured, his attention on the feel of her skin under his palm, and his cock twitching in anticipation already. “Ye’ve told me about the plot against the Queen, and I assume this is one of yer Angels’ missions, aye?”

  “Aye, and ye are our prime suspect.”

  He hummed, his hand drifting lower, down the back of her thigh, which he tugged toward him, until her leg was draped across his. “But I ken I’m no’ guilty, and ye claim to believe the same.”

  She placed her hand on his cheek. “I ken it, Cam.”

  Her faith—when all the evidence seemed to point to him—humbled him. Still, his fingertips caressed the skin of her outer thigh, drawing small circles.

  “So we have to discover who is guilty, do we no’? I’ll help ye, Rosa. Tell me what ye need me to do.”

  Her fingertips played with the hair above his ears. “I’m rather torn right now,” she murmured. “I need to tell ye what I’ve learned, but I also need ye to keep touching me.”

  “Oh, aye?” His fingers drifted back, around the curve of her arse, pulling her flush against his stiffening cock. This position—with her leg thrown across his—allowed his fingertips to brush against the sensitive spots he knew would drive her wild. “Like this?”

  “Cam!” she gasped, arching against him, allowing him easier access.

  “Ye were going to tell me what ye’ve learned, Rosa,” he reminded her with a grin.

  Then her arms were around him, her leg hooked behind his, and she was tugging him atop her. “No’ now, my love.” She pressed her breasts against him. “Please.”

  And never let it be said he shirked his duty.

  Smiling, he lowered his mouth to one exposed nipple, then reached between their bodies to stroke her into readiness.

  * * *

  Heaven help her, but she was never going to get anything told if they continued this way.

  Rose lay, boneless and sated, with Cam still nestled inside her. He was heavy, aye, but she would never complain about something which felt so glorious.

  Instead, she brushed a kiss against his neck. “I love ye, Cam.”

  He grunted, then pulled her in his arms as he rolled. She ended up plastered against his chest, as he pushed a pillow beneath his head, which allowed him to meet her eyes.

  “Good, because I love ye, Rosa. I’m humbled by yer gift.”

  Propping her chin upon his chest, she smiled. “My maidenhead is no’ that much of a gift.”

  “ ’Tis to me,” he said solemnly. “And almost as precious as yer love, yer trust, and yer belief in me.”

  He was right, and she loved he recognized what truly mattered.

  “I do believe in ye, Cam. But ‘tis no’ blind faith. Ye see, I ken ye’re no’ guilty of masterminding the plot against the Crown, because I ken who is.”

  One of his arms was still wrapped around her back, but the other shifted behind his head to prop him up further. “Ye could no’ have led with that?”

  She gave a little wiggle against his softening member. “And miss out on this glorious exercise?”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “Aright, my brilliant Angel. Tell me who wants to kill the Queen, and why.”

  Yer mother.

  But instead of blurting it out like that, she closed her eyes and marshalled her thoughts.

  “After the attack on Her Majesty, I determined—and the others agreed—that barring a personal hatred of Elizabeth, the likeliest suspect was someone who wanted to eliminate the Queen before she could bear a son.”

  His fingertips began to draw lazy circles on her back. “Aye. The whole kingdom is awaiting that blessed event.”

  “The two most logical reasons were because, either someone wanted to put forth a candidate for queen in her place, or there was a larger conspiracy against the Bruce, and the conspirators wanted to remove the chance of another post-humous heir, like the turmoil Scotland saw when Alexander the Third died and left Queen Yolande pregnant.”

  She heard the smile in his voice when he murmured, “Verra logical.”

  With a little smirk, she opened her eyes and raised a brow at him. “Logic is oft all we have when it comes to solving a puzzle.”

  He hummed, his fingers still teasing her bare skin. “But my uncle ruled out the first possibility, right?”

  Her lips curled farther upward, as she realized he was making logical leaps right along with her. In excitement, she pulled her knees up on either side of him, nestling against the heat at the junction of his thighs.

  “Aye. Andrew told Court—she was the Queen’s agent who went to Kintyre, by the way—that the Frasers were behind the attack on the Queen, because they wanted to put the Comyn line back on the throne.”

  His hand was cupping her arse now, but he frowned thoughtfully. “If that’s the truth, why would they—whoever they are—start with the Queen?”

  “ ’Tis the interesting part!” Breathless with enthusiasm now, she planted her hands on his chest and pushed herself upright. “See, they had attacked the King, but we hadn’t recognized them as being related. He’s the King, after all, and is used to a certain amount of danger. But the accidents and deliberate attacks made nae sense, other than to eliminate him.”

  She noticed he seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes on hers. He hummed as his gaze dropped to her bare breasts, then dragged upward once more. Pressing her lips together to stifle a smile, she reached for his plaid to wrap around herself.

  “Ye see,” she went on matter-of-factly, as if she didn’t notice the disappointment in his eyes as she covered herself, “they were also intent on removing the King, sending individual attackers against him. But we wouldn’t have recognized it as a wide-spread conspiracy, until the Queen was put in danger.”

  “ ’Tis far less of a common occurrence, I imagine,” he murmured, dropping his hand to her thigh, still uncovered, and sliding his palm down to her knee. “And the conspirators likely hadn’t counted on a mind as brilliant as yers confronting them.”

  Rosa scoffed, but inside she was gleaming. “I am only one member of the team, Cam.”

  His hum sounded noncommittal, but he nodded to let her know he understood. “So with my uncle’s confession, ye likely blamed the Frasers, aye?”

  She nodded, pushing herself to straddle him upright, his member tucked snuggling against her arse.

  “The Queen dispatched Mellie to An Torr. I said she’s the one who understands people, did I no’? She once believed that meant seduction when it came to men—giving them what she kenned they wanted, in exchange for information. Well, Queen Elizabeth kenned that as well, and arranged a betrothal between her and yer brother, Lachlan.”

  With a frown, his hand stilled. “Lachlan believes they are betrothed because Mellie loves him.”

  “Aye,” she hastened to reassure him, her own hands dropping to his chest. “They were lucky enough to find real love and prove his innocence.”

  “And thus, the suspicions turned to me.”

  It wasn’t a question, and she
winced.

  With a sigh, she dropped her gaze to the smooth golden skin under her palms. “Aye,” she whispered. “Ye were the logical suspect. Ye had the ties to the Red Hand, which had no’ only sent the assassin, but also the attackers against Lachlan and Mellie.”

  “And what about that attack?” His hand left her leg to capture one of her hands, pressing it against his chest. “My men said the Fraser advisor had paid for their blades, but he wanted Mellie killed.”

  Rosa bit her lip and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. After all this time, she still couldn’t make sense of that attack. “I donae ken,” she finally admitted, with a sigh. “Gillepatric was found murdered in his bed the verra day of the attack. Court found him after Mellie reported Lachlan was with the healer.”

  “So ‘tis obvious he was working on someone else’s orders.”

  “Someone who murdered him,” she agreed.

  “And ye thought it was me?”

  With a frustrated huff, she tried to tug her hand out from under his. “Deus meus, Cam, leave be! I didnae ken ye then!”

  He refused to let her go, but his lips curled into a slow, lazy smile. “I ken,” he said softly. “But ye set out to find me soon enough.”

  “We all did.” Her irritation faded as quickly as it took to remember the kiss they’d shared in the alleyway, when he’d tried to help her by giving her lessons on how to entice a man. “But I was lucky enough to find ye first.”

  He hummed again, turning her hand over in his so he could rub her palm with his thumb. “And what did the Angels have to say about that?”

  She flushed and stared down at their joined hands.

  “I didnae tell them,” she confessed in a whisper. “I wanted to be the one to find ye, to discover yer secrets. I couldnae afford the guards capturing ye before I could question ye.”

  “And then my brother sent ye to Scone to fetch Simone instead.”

  She peeked at him and saw the twinkle in his eyes. “No’ quite that simple, but aye.”

  “Which leads us to ye sneaking me into the palace to see my mother this morning. Was it only this morning?” He blew out a breath and shook his head, then pulled his arm out from under his head and placed his hand possessively on her knee. “So much has changed.”

  “Aye. And more than ye ken.”

  “Really?” He raised a brow. “Finding out I’m a bastard, my true father was a contender for the throne, rediscovering my brother and being accepted back into my clan, being accused of treason—”

  “I did no’ accuse ye!”

  When she saw his lips twitch, she realized he’d been teasing her.

  “Bah!” she said, smacking him lightly with her free hand. “Do ye want to hear what I’ve discovered, or no’?”

  “Lass,” he drawled with a put-upon sigh, “I’ve been listening to yer logic and conclusions, and doing my best to tamp down what I’d rather be doing, to hear just that.”

  Come to think of it, there was something pressing against her backside, which hinted what he’d rather be doing.

  And for that matter, what she’d rather be doing.

  “ ’Tis yer mother,” she blurted.

  He stiffened, his gray eyes widening. “Mother?”

  Wincing, she hoped she hadn’t made a mess of the confession. “Tonight at dinner, after I left ye in the garden, I confronted her. I’d finally pulled the right string, ye see.”

  “What? What in damnation does string—”

  “Sorry,” she was quick to interrupt. “ ’Tis just a visual metaphor I use when puzzling through problems. Each clue is a string, ye see, and they’re all twisted and tied up, and if I can just find the right one to pull, or the right place to pull it in…”

  He hummed. “The knot comes undone.”

  “Exactly. I figured it out in the garden, ye ken. I’ll admit ye surprised me with yer confession of love for me, but I couldnae linger, no’ before I solved it.”

  Taking her free hand in his, he placed them together and pressed them against his heart. “And what did ye find, love?”

  “Yer mother has a letter, signed with Red Comyn’s seal, declaring ye to be his son. She’s anxiously awaiting the arrival of a few nobles in particular, and we’re certain the Bruce’s return to Scone will no’ only bring his sycophants in droves, but the conspirators as well. I couldnae tell Charlotte, but Court and Mellie will take turns watching her and looking for the nobles yer mother named. We’ll stop them before this goes any further.”

  “Ye think my mother is the—the what? The leader of these conspirators?”

  That was one thing she couldn’t guess. Shrugging, she said, “I donae ken. ‘Tis hard to believe she’s the mastermind, but she definitely believes Comyn’s heir—ye—belongs on the throne instead of Robert. She all-but-admitted to the accidents which have been plaguing him.”

  “God’s Teeth, Rosa,” he breathed, his eyes intent on hers. “ ’Tis treason. If she has that letter, any noble who wants Robert off the throne will hold me up as an alternative. It could mean another war!”

  Solemnly, she nodded.

  His hands tightened around hers, as if he could make her a part of his heart. “Ye must believe I want nae part in that! I would never stand against the King—”

  It was the desperation in his eyes which caused her to ache for him. “Shh, my love, I ken it.”

  Shifting, she leaned forward, and as she pulled her hands out from under his, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder and slid her body along his. His hands fell to her thighs, then stroked up to her backside.

  “I ken ye, Cameron Fraser,” she whispered against his skin. “I ken ye want nae part in yer mother’s scheme. But I also ken that, as long as she has ye and that letter to prove yer birthright, she’ll be able to rally all those dissatisfied with Robert’s rule.”

  He was silent for a long moment, his fingers brushing against her skin and causing the most delicious, confusing sensations.

  Finally, he exhaled. “Ye are right. And the only solution is to ensure she does no’ have that letter.”

  Lifting her head just enough to meet his eyes, Rosa frowned, confused.

  In response, he smiled.

  “I’m a thief, love, remember? I ken where her room is. ‘Twill be a simple matter of searching it and removing the letter. Without it, she cannae hold me up as a possible contender for the throne. Nae one would back such an enterprise, no’ without proof.”

  Her frown deepened; the way his hands were playing with her body made it exceedingly difficult to concentrate. “Ye’re…ye’re right.”

  “Aye,” he said confidently, his fingers finding the backs of her thighs and pulling her legs farther apart, as he scooted her down his torso just a bit. She sucked in a breath and pushed herself off his chest as the hard length of him nestled against the seam of her arse.

  “Cam, I cannae concentrate when ye…” She ended in a sigh, as one large hand cupped her breast.

  “I ken, love,” he chuckled wickedly. “But ye have nae need to concentrate, no’ for a while. I’ll steal the letter, we—and yer Angels—will stop whatever conspiracy my mother’s a part of. But for now…”

  Rosa moaned as he lifted his head and kissed a trail from her neck to her nipple. She could feel the liquid heat pooling in her core, but she was still new at being loved. “Cam…”

  With a growl, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled. Before she could suck in a gasp, she was flat on her back, with him kneeling over her.

  His hand went to the junction of her thighs, and as his gaze eagerly feasted on her, he murmured, “So wet for me.”

  The familiar pressure was building in her, and she squirmed under his touch. No matter that her body was unused to his; she’d happily endure whatever he had planned if it meant—

  “Deus in caelo!” she gasped, as his finger slipped inside her.

  “Aye, lass.” When he looked up at her, there was a wicked look in his eyes. “Ye’re too sore for another round,
but there are other ways to find pleasure.”

  As he moved between her legs and his grin grew, Rosa realized what he intended to do. Sometimes, having a friend like Mellie really had its advantages.

  “Cam, I donae think—”

  “Then donae think, my Angel.” His tone turned commanding. “Just feel.”

  And as he lowered his lips to her aching core, Rosa decided to obey his order.

  She allowed herself to just feel.

  Chapter 15

  He’d…failed?

  He’d failed as a son, failed as a brother, failed at being respectable. He had no idea how in damnation he was going to keep from failing when it came to loving Rosa, building a future for her.

  But one thing he’d never before failed at was thieving, and the realization left a bitter taste in his mouth as he slipped out of his mother’s room in the pre-dawn hour.

  He’d spent the last fifteen years of his life as a thief, and now he couldn’t even find one blasted letter in one guest room?

  Scowling down at his hands, Cam had to acknowledge he wasn’t a complete failure. If the letter had been in that room, he would’ve found it. It wasn’t the first room he’d searched with the occupant snoring happily in the bed, and he knew how to be silent.

  The letter hadn’t been on the desk or in any of the cubbies. He’d moved to the trunk next, then the bags. He’d even searched the gowns hanging along the wall, and the bedside table with the candle atop it.

  No letter.

  Either his mother slept with it, or it wasn’t in the room.

  Or it didn’t exist.

  Nay, then why would Mother have told Rosa it did?

  It had been…odd to see his mother lying there in that bed. In the moonlight from the shutter he’d opened, he’d studied her. Studied her face, her form. She was older, aye, but still had the same haughty beauty he’d remembered as a child. The same beauty which might’ve attracted a man such as the Red Comyn.

  And Cam had been surprised he’d felt nothing more than disappointment. There’d been no longing, no urge to gather her in his arms. As a child, she’d never offered him comfort or love, but had treated all her sons with a distance her husband had modeled. Cam might’ve forgiven her that—God knew their family wasn’t the only one like that—had she protected him from Hamish.