They’d all frozen when Cam had begun to speak to Isla, but now Lachlan took a cautious step forward.
“Mother, tell us of yer plans,” he cajoled softly.
The old woman sneered at him. “And have ye run to the royal guards, Lachlan?” At least she recognized her sons now. “Do ye think me simple? Nay!”
“ ’Tis only us,” Cam said soothingly, remembering how he’d spoken to the frightened lassie—Tess had been her name—who’d tried to make off with his purse all those days ago. “We only want to speak to ye.”
With a deep breath, Isla straightened, brushing down her gown there at the top of the stairs. Then she pierced Cam with a haughty look.
“Ye are the son of greatness, Cameron, and I will ask ye to act thusly. Yer father should’ve been king, but ye will be.”
“Ye speak treason, Mother,” Lachlan growled.
Silently, Cam urged his brother to shut up. They weren’t going to get anywhere by upsetting this mad woman.
“Nae one wants me on the throne,” he hurried to speak before she could respond to Lachlan. “Robert is a good king.”
She tsked, the look in her eyes turning almost pitying. “Ye really have nae idea, Cameron. There are men who hate him, who want another. Yer Uncle Andrew kenned this as well as I. ‘Twas his plan to mold ye into a leader of men, to assure ye were ready for yer role when the time came.”
It made his stomach hurt, this reminder that she’d known where he was for all these years. Known where he was and what he was doing, and still hadn’t tried to contact him.
She sniffed, raising her chin proudly. “My husband might’ve been a blind fool, but Andrew and I both kenned what power we would one day have. Until he was murdered,” she spat angrily.
Did she know Court and Ross had been the ones to kill Andrew?
Cam risked a glance, but both the Angel and the Fraser warrior stood still and silent, their weapons at the ready.
“I heard,” Cam offered drily, trying to keep Isla’s attention on him. “But ‘tis no’ enough to think I might be…” His voice caught, still hating to voice the idea. “I might be king.”
“Might be?” she scoffed, lifting her head and chin high, as regal as the queen she’d tried to assassinate. “With the nobles behind ye, there is nae might be.”
God’s Teeth!
She was standing here, clutching her fine gown before all these witnesses, and was casually declaring treason.
Cam’s gaze darted to Rosa, and saw his love staring intently at his mother.
Nay, not just staring at the old woman…but at her hip.
Understanding slammed into Cam.
His mother had a pocket under her gown.
‘Twas an uncommon modification, but effective in hiding one’s purse instead of hanging it from a belt.
Hiding a purse…or something else?
Isla Fraser clutched at that hip, that pocket, as if desperate.
Was that where she’d hidden the letter?
The letter which would provide the proof the conspiracy needed to challenge King Robert?
It had to be.
“Mother…” His voice caught on the word, but he pushed himself past his disgust. “I’ve returned from the dead. Now ye think to use me for power?”
By all the saints, he hated how hurt, how broken, his tone sounded.
Mayhap Isla heard it, because her lip curled with disgust. “Ye have no’ been dead, lad. But aye, ye’re back where ye belong now. What would ye have me offer, if no’ a throne?”
A throne?
‘Twas the last thing Cam wanted.
“A hug.”
Her head jerked back. “What?”
Cam lifted his chin. “A hug, Mother. A hug to welcome me home.”
Indecision warred in her eyes, as she seemed to shrink back.
Was she considering his request?
Wondering at his motives?
Or did she just not want to hug him?
Finally, with a sigh, she rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” she snapped, throwing her arms open. “Here.”
And behind him, he heard Rosa exhale. She understood his plan.
Slowly, careful not to impeded Court’s line of sight, Cam stepped up to his mother. He was surprised to find her barely to his chin. The last time he’d been hugged by her, he’d barely reached her shoulder. Now he’d far surpassed her.
Carelessly, she closed her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down toward her. He placed his hands on her hips, and held his breath.
As she tugged him into a hug—of course the hug would be on her terms—Cam’s feather-light touch probed at her hidden pocket.
There are benefits to being a thief, sometimes.
As soon as he touched the parchment—small and folded—he murmured, “Thank ye, Mother,” against her hair to distract her as he pulled it free.
And she turned her head and placed a kiss on his cheek.
As if he were a boy.
As if he were a boy she loved.
Swallowing, Cam stepped back, out of her embrace. He’d gotten the proof they needed, but had also received a hug from his mother.
Finally.
Taking another step back, he tucked the parchment into his belt in the small of his back, so his companions would all see it. Now that they had the letter—the proof—in their possession, the conspiracy would be foiled.
Now they just had to deal with his mother.
Who’d hugged him as if she cared about him, in some small way.
God’s Teeth, why did his stomach clench at the thought?
Was it from anger?
Or longing?
Mayhap Lachlan saw the indecision, the confusion in his eyes. Or mayhap he was just restless. Whatever the reason, Cam’s brother stepped forward again, his hand still on his sword.
“Mother, come with us. We’ll alert the guards, aye, but I will do my best to ensure ye are treated well.”
Isla’s head snapped up, her shoulders back, as she gaped at her son.
“Surrender?” Her chuckle sounded half-desperate. “When I hold the power?”
“Look around,” Lachlan ordered, gesturing with his free hand to Court’s weapon, pointed at Isla, and all the witnesses. “Ye have nae power.”
“I have all the power, ye clot-heid!” She shook her head, a look of disgust crossing her features. “Ye have always been the simple one.”
“As opposed to Cameron?” Lachlan drawled in a deceptively lazy voice. “The thief?”
Cam winced. He knew his brother called him that only to rile Isla, not to insult Cam, but still…
He’d made his choices in the past, but now he wanted a real future.
With Rosa.
As if he’d conjured her, his Angel stepped up beside him. They didn’t touch, but they didn’t have to for him to draw strength from her nearness.
Meanwhile, Isla was continuing to spit insults at Lachlan. “And my Cameron is twice the man of any here!” she called triumphantly, reaching for her hip. “His father was the great Red Comyn, and I have proof!”
“Nay,” Lachlan drawled, “ye do no’.”
She sucked in a breath as she fumbled for her pocket, discovering it was empty and frantically patting about, as if the parchment had just shifted.
“Where is it?” she shrieked.
No one answered her, but Rosa’s shoulder pressed into Cam’s arm, a silent reminder she stood with him.
Isla’s head snapped up; her eyes boring into Lachlan’s.
“Ye did this, did ye no’? Ye, who has nae true understanding of power or leadership,” she bit out. “Ye, who prefers to lower yerself among the servants, rather than stand above as a true laird does.”
Lachlan frowned. “Ye mean the way I work beside my clan to strengthen our wall? The way I work in the fields and labor for our future?”
“Bah!” Isla spat. “Hamish kenned how to be a laird, and so did my poor James. Ye are naught but the youngest—and least wor
thy of yer father’s get. I kenned I couldnae allow ye to sire a son. Yer whore should have had the good grace to die in that attack.”
A dangerous glint came to Lachlan’s eyes as he took a step forward. “What are ye saying, Mother? That ye had a hand in the attack which nearly killed me?”
“ ’Twas no’ supposed to kill ye, my lad!” A crazed look had come to her eyes as she gathered her skirts in her hands, clearly ready to run. “Ye—however unworthy—are still the Fraser! But I cannae allow ye to marry, to sire the next laird. Yer brother Cameron’s son will bear that title.”
Cam growled, “Nay,” at the same time Lachlan barked, “Mother! Did ye set the footpads who attacked us?”
She took a step back, poised to flee down the staircase.
Why?
Because she was genuinely afraid of Lachlan, or because she knew she was lost without the letter?
Lachlan wouldn’t accept her silence. “Answer me, woman! Did ye send the footpads who threatened Mellie? All because ye didnae want me to sire a legitimate son?” He was yelling now, his rage palpable. “Ye tried to kill the woman I love?”
Isla sneered. “Nay. I instructed Gillepatric to do so. The poor idiot thought I was in love with him, just because I occasionally shared his bed. ‘Twas a surprise, I suppose, when he found me waiting with that dagger! He was the one who made contact with the Red Hand—”
With a roar, Lachlan ripped his sword from his scabbard and took a step forward.
Cam lunged forward, even as he tried to stop himself. His mother did not deserve their leniency. Did not deserve their pity. But still, he stepped in front of Lachlan, using his hip to push the blade to one side.
Behind him, he heard his mother shriek.
Keeping his grip on his brother’s arms, Cam turned them both to watch the moment when Isla tripped on her gown, her gray eyes widening with terror and anger both. She fell backward, her mouth opening on another scream.
Then she disappeared from their view with a series of sickening crunches.
It was Rosa who darted forward to peer over the lip of the staircase. “She is dead.”
There was no question in her tone.
Dead.
His mother. The woman who’d hugged him. The woman who’d betrayed him. The woman who’d committed treason against the throne.
And in his arms, Lachlan sagged.
It had been easy to forget his brother was wounded, but now…
Cam met his brother’s identical gray eyes. There was anger there, but also sorrow.
“I couldnae,” Cam whispered, willing his brother to understand. “I couldnae let ye bear the guilt of her death.”
When Lachlan dragged in a breath, it sounded suspiciously like a sob.
And then his sword clattered against the floor, and he was pulling Cam into a hug fiercer and more real than the one their mother had offered. Lachlan burrowed his face in Cam’s shoulder, his arms shaking.
Cam wrapped his own arms around his brother and closed his eyes.
Their mother was dead, the threat against the throne eliminated for now.
And he had a place, a future.
A home.
“Thank ye, brother,” Lachlan whispered roughly.
Cam nodded, understanding without more words being needed.
When he opened his eyes, Rosa was there. Her smile was sweet, and he knew—with his brother and his love—he had all the home he’d ever need.
“It’s over,” he whispered to both of them. “Over.”
Chapter 18
It’s over.
It was, wasn’t it?
Rosa stood beside Cam in the Queen’s private solar, their clasped hands hidden in the folds of her skirts.
Despite his own words, despite his assurance to his brother that their worries were over, she could feel her love’s coiled tension. His sharp gray eyes were locked on the Queen, who was listening to Charlotte’s murmurs. Cam’s other hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, but she could tell from the way he rocked slightly on his booted heels that he was far from at ease.
And she shared his nerves.
Aye, they’d defeated Isla and stopped the conspiracy to overthrow the King. And aye, Cam had been the one to steal the Comyn’s letter, therefore assuring there’d be no further plots with him at the center.
But he was a criminal, a thief. The royal guards were looking for him…
And here he stood in the Queen’s private solar, being glared at by her bodyguard.
Rosa’s heart lightened a little at the sight of Liam Bruce, the King’s cousin, holding his wee son against his shoulder. Liam took his job as head of the Queen’s guards very seriously, but apparently, that job came second to the chance to care for his firstborn.
Mayhap his glare had less to do with Cam’s presence, and more to do with the dark circles under his eyes.
Was Roger still not sleeping well?
Rosa tilted her head back slightly, trying to recall if she’d ever read or heard anything about infant sleep cycles…
It wasn’t until Cam squeezed her hand, that she realized she’d drifted off into her mental library of knowledge.
When she glanced at him, he was looking at her in concern.
So she offered him a small smile, trying to reassure him she was alright.
Or would be, once Charlotte finished her retelling to the Queen.
Surely.
Court and Ross stood silent beside the hearth, her bow unstrung in the Queen’s presence, but propped in front of her. Mellie was seated beside her betrothed on a bench across the room, the corners of her lips curled upward just slightly as she lounged.
Lachlan, on the other hand, was frowning, and not with pain. Nay, his gaze flicked between the Queen and his brother, occasionally glancing down at his empty hands.
Was he remembering what he’d almost done?
Or how Cam had saved his soul from the blemish of having to kill his own mother?
Rosa lifted herself on her toes to bump Cam’s shoulder with hers, and when he jerked his gaze back down to hers, she smiled.
A real smile, letting him know—whatever happened—she would stand by him.
And judging from the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly, he understood.
“How…intriguing.” The Queen nodded to Charlotte as she sat in the chair behind her desk and folded her hands atop the pristine surface. “Thank you all for gathering this afternoon.”
It had taken a few hours to explain everything to a glaring Charlotte and all the guards, then to assure them all Cam wasn’t the threat they’d believed, and that Isla’s head didn’t need to be displayed atop a pike.
And now they had one more explanation to make.
To the Queen of Scotland.
Charlotte crossed her arms in front of her chest, propped one hip against the Queen’s desk, and glared at Cam.
“So, my Angels have done a good job of catching me up on the investigation, which has taken a hell of a turn since I saw ye all last. But would someone explain to me exactly what he’s doing here?”
Rosa’s lips thinned into a line. Charlotte knew perfectly well why Cam was here, and his role in the recent success. Their leader was just being stubborn.
It was Court who defended her childhood friend, yet again. “Cam was essential to our victory, Charlotte. He is no’ the guilty man ye believe him to be. Aye, he was being held up as the King’s heir—”
“As I understand it,” Queen Elizabeth said drily, “ ’Twas more than that. His mother was behind the conspiracy which was actively attempting to remove my husband from the throne…by death.”
Reluctantly, Court nodded. “Aye, Yer Majesty. But Cam wasnae aware of her plans.”
When the Queen quirked a brow, Rosa jumped into the conversation. “Truly, Yer Majesty. He wasnae even aware of his true parentage until yesterday.”
The Queen hummed. “So I have heard. And although I can see my dear friend is unhappy about it”—she sent Charlotte
a little smirk—“I know when to believe my Angels. Rosa is intelligent, and I trust her judgement.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine. Cameron Fraser is innocent of our suspicions.”
Across the room, her husband Liam pressed his lips together, as if he was trying not to laugh at his wife’s irritation, and Mellie smiled happily.
Beside her, Cam shifted. “Cam, milady.”
When the Queen’s regard turned to him, and she asked, “What?” regally, he cleared his throat.
“My name is Cam, Yer Majesty. I’ve been Cam far longer than I was ever Cameron Fraser. Only—only my mother called me that.”
“Yes. And she is dead,” Elizabeth stated baldly.
Cam’s chin rose. “Until yesterday, I had no’ seen her for fifteen years. And instead of an embrace, her welcome to me was to announce I was her path to power. Do no’ ask me to mourn her.”
At his words, the Queen’s countenance softened. She was a mother twice over, with two beautiful daughters, and the hope for a son in the future.
Was she imagining how twisted Isla Fraser’s mind must have been, to know where her youngest son was all these years, and never reach out?
And Rosa wondered if anyone else had heard the pain beneath the bitterness in Cam’s voice.
Had she been the only one to see the longing in that hug he’d given his mother, moments before he’d sealed her fate by stealing the letter?
Her heart ached for him, and her fingers tightened around his.
“Nevertheless, I am sorry for your loss, Cam,” Queen Elizabeth finally said, inclining her head slightly. “Sorry for all your losses.”
Cam’s gaze flicked to Lachlan, then back to the Queen. “Thank ye, Yer Majesty.”
Charlotte sighed. “Isla Fraser was either the mastermind behind the plot, or at the center at least. We can agree on that?”
“Aye.” Ross nodded. “She confessed to trying to have Mellie killed, so that Lachlan wouldn’t marry her and father a son.”
As Lachlan’s arm went around his betrothed shoulders, Mellie nodded, obviously not needing comfort. “As if, with me dead, Lachlan couldnae find another willing lass to marry and sire an heir.”
The Thief’s Angel Page 20
