Thistle and Roses Collection: A Bundle of Scottish, Irish and English Historical Romance

by Eliza Knight

  Margaret laughed. “Have you dined yet, Sir Alaric? I’d not be a good guest host if I did not see that my personal guard was fed.”

  Alaric smiled. “I have, your grace.”

  Margaret held up her wine goblet. “Please, enjoy the festivities! I shall call upon you when I’m ready to be escorted to my chamber.”

  Alaric nodded, thankfully dismissed by his princess, before he said something idiotic to the flame-haired lady. He backed into the crowd where he could make assessments on each of the Scottish nobles present. Some of them looked on their soon to be new queen’s table with a mixture of curiosity, while others had downright disdain. Alaric suspected that his princess would find at least half of her courtiers to be prickly at first.

  A signed treaty wouldn’t assuage the hurt of hundreds of years of warring. Even if she was young, pretty and refined.

  A mug of ale was thrust into his hands and he dutifully drank some of it before setting the cup on a table as he passed by.

  He listened to the whispers as he made his rounds through the Great Hall.

  “She’s so young, the king will certainly wait before he beds her. Long enough that she might catch a fever and never be truly his wife.”

  “His Majesty is going to certainly enjoy riding such a fine, young mare.”

  “How many of her Sassenach ladies do ye think will be sent back over the border?”

  “If she bears the king a son, there is a possibility that child could be named King of England. The ultimate revenge on the bastards’ abuse of us.”

  Hardly a word of praise or kindness. All calculating.

  Certain the princess was surrounded by men of his guard, Alaric escaped the keep through a door in the back of the hall for some fresh air—and silence.

  He passed a few people on his way to freedom. A man hunched over, nursing a flagon of drink. A man pressing a woman up against a wall, their grunts echoing in the silence of the passageway. And then finally, a door.

  The heat of the day made way for a slightly cooler breeze of the night as he found himself in the kitchen gardens. Alaric swiped his hand over his face. Perhaps he ought to consider staying at the Scottish court longer than he’d originally anticipated, just to be certain Princess Margaret was safe. Not at all to get to know Lady Alexandra better.

  He wandered through the tangy, herbal scents toward the rear. He’d not checked the safety of the postern gate, and though the security near the main gate was adequate, one could never be too certain.

  Alaric greeted the two guards on duty. A thick bar and iron lock kept the gate securely closed and up on the wall, two more guards stood sentry. The Scots guards nodded, not bothering to hide their hostility toward him. Though he’d like nothing more than to bash the two of their heads in, he gave them a respectful nod, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The guards bristled, each of them having also been warned not to start anything. Alaric would have time enough to bash in a few Scottish heads once they reached Edinburgh where a tournament would be enjoyed by all. Satisfied that at least no rebels would be breaking in through the rear of the castle, he turned his back on them and retreated into the garden.

  In the dim light of the roses, sweet peas and carnations, Alaric spotted a lady stooped by a row. He approached with caution, not wanting to scare her, after all, he was the foreigner at Fast Castle.

  Upon hearing his footsteps, she leapt from her crouched position, a single rose held in her dainty hand. ’Twas Alexandra.

  “Are ye following me?” she asked, her gaze darting around, no doubt praying for someone else to be there and save her from having to speak to him.

  Alaric wanted to laugh, but he kept it held in. Her disdain for him couldn’t be any more apparent.

  “Nay, my lady.”

  “What… What are ye doing here?” She swallowed and even in the waning light, he could see the delicate bob of her long, silky throat.

  “I could ask the same of you,” he drawled. Alaric reached out, plucking the flower from her hand and tucking it into the knot of red hair on top of her head. Her locks were soft and a faint, floral fragrance, better than the flower he’d tucked there, wafted toward his nose. “Beautiful.”

  What was getting into him? He wasn’t a romantic and he certainly didn’t want to romance a little Scots wench.

  “Thank ye,” she murmured, then glanced over her shoulder. “I should…” She licked her lips nervously, returning her eyes to his.

  Alaric thought to put her out of her misery. “Shall I take you back to your chaperone?”

  Alexandra’s eyes rolled, her long lashes fluttering. He had the strongest urge to touch her lashes, to run the pad of his finger over the soft flesh of her eyelid, to place a kiss between her brows, before tugging her into his arms and laying claim to the lips she kept nibbling on. He doubted she even knew what a tease she was.

  Alaric loved a woman in need of saving.

  “Oh, I doubt she’s even noticed that I’m gone. Lady Home is only returning a favor to my mother. She does not want me here, nor does she really like me all that much.” Alexandra blushed. “I dinna know why I am telling ye all this.”

  Alaric smiled, touched her hand, and pulled it to wrap around his arm. Without her seeming to notice, he started to walk about the garden. “Why do you think that?”

  “That she doesn’t like me?” Alexandra flitted her hand as if dismissing the air, then settled it atop the other that rested around his elbow.

  “Mmhmm.” Alaric found that he rather enjoyed the sound of her voice.

  “She’s as much said so. But I’ll soon be out of her hair.”

  “At the king’s palace?”

  She glanced at him out of the side of her eye. “Aye. At the king’s palace.”

  Why did he get the sense that wasn’t the truth at all? Before he could question her, she bent to pick another flower.

  “I would not pick a flower at all if we were at the king’s palace. But Lady Home… I kind of feel like each little blossom I pick is a pinch to her ego.” Alexandra laughed. “I should be ashamed of such vengeful thoughts.”

  “There’s a bit of mischief in you,” Alaric said, laughter in his voice.

  “A bit.” Alexandra stood and after breaking off most of the stem of the flower, tucked it into a buttonhole on his doublet. “And now I’ve an accomplice.”

  Alaric smiled. He rather liked the idea of being her accomplice. The lady was absolutely extraordinary. Not at all like the stuffy ladies at court. But alive. And full of enthusiasm.

  “Dinna tell where ye got the flower, Sir Alaric, else Lady Home may punish me for ruining her garden and my reputation.”

  “Your reputation?” Hell, he would gladly be the man to ruin her reputation and he’d do it right here. Or perhaps on the bench just behind them. With gusto. The thought had his blood churning and shooting straight to his groin.

  “Walking in a darkened garden with an Englishman? Alone?”

  Alaric laughed. Ah, yes, they were simply talking of walking, nothing more. He gently pulled her hand to his lips. “I promise, your secret and your reputation are safe with me.”

  Well, at least her secret was, for ’twas taking every ounce of his control not to bend her over his arm and steal a true kiss.

  Chapter Three

  Overnight, the temperature outside had lessened, so that they were not suffocating in heat. The sun was out and a smattering of clouds covered the blue sky.

  Already seated on the palfrey she’d ride beside the queen on the way past Coldingham Abbey, where they’d pick up the remainder of their group, before heading toward Dalkeith, Alex’s heart fluttered with the passing of each English knight in anticipation of seeing Sir Alaric de Garde.

  Her hand still tingled from where he’d kissed her, the way his lips had lingered on her skin. His soulful eyes had been filled with mischievous intent. The armor-clad male was wicked, aye, that she knew, to have so easily enraptured her. For that was what it was, there was no other explan
ation as to why she would be so enamored of him.

  Nay, she argued with herself, ’twas not that she was enamored. Couldn’t be.

  She was fooling herself. And her parents would have a fit if they knew she was even entertaining a flirtation with a bloody Sassenach. But he was like no other Englishman she’d ever met. Hmm… not that she’d met many Englishmen, besides the ones who wanted to take her home. But Alaric was nothing like them. Kind, gentle, full of chivalry, and beneath all that raw strength, he exuded a power that begged to be unharnessed.

  Alex shivered.

  He was wicked. She was more so.

  ’Twas a sin for such thoughts to be tumbling through her mind. Perhaps when they reached the abbey she should beg to be let inside for confession. But then someone would want to know what was so important, what weighed so heavily on her conscience that she would stop an entire royal procession to go and confess it.

  God’s teeth, but she would not stop. She would not confess. Not yet. She’d just have to pray extra hard the entire journey.

  And then there he was, walking toward Princess Margaret with a small, wooden chest in one hand, his helmet under his other arm.

  He presented her with the chest, opening it up to reveal a beautiful emerald and amethyst necklace.

  The very one her mother wanted her to steal.

  Alex’s breath caught on a gasp and she had to stifle a cough.

  Margaret smiled, gushing that she’d loved the gift when it had been presented to her, and how could she have forgotten it in her chamber upstairs?

  Alex wanted to slam her head into something. The forgetful princess had left the necklace upstairs? Oh, she could have screamed! To have had such an opportunity present itself and she’d not even bothered to take advantage of it. She could have been well on her way back home by now, with the necklace hidden beneath her skirts. Once there, she would have buried herself beneath her bed and told her mother she wasn’t ever coming out again.

  This was a sign. She didn’t want to steal the necklace and here was a sign that she shouldn’t. Right? Or was it a sign that the princess would often leave her gems unattended? Alex shook her head, confused.

  “Is everything all right?” Alex startled from her thoughts to see Sir Alaric standing beside her horse, a curious expression on his face.

  “Everything is fine,” she said a bit too haughtily. Oh, how she wished they were back in the garden.

  “You are well enough to ride?” Sir Alaric’s gaze roved over her form as though he would assess what was wrong with her, but given there was nothing, she only felt the heat of his regard.

  Alex looked away, embarrassed at how easily her body reacted. And then she wished she hadn’t done so. All eyes were on them.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” She looked down her nose at him, wishing him away. Did he not realize with his questions he was drawing unwanted attention to her? Despite her heart pounding, her breath hitching and her eyes staring at his mouth, she managed to say most coolly, “Ye need not concern yerself with me.”

  “I am in charge of Princess Margaret’s safety. That naturally extends to the well-being of her ladies.”

  Oh, dear sir, please go away! Lady Home would, no doubt, add this to her overlong list of blunders Alex was making. “Do I look in danger?”

  His eyes darkened, smoldering even, and his gaze fell to her lips. “Depends,” he replied.

  Oh, the rogue! He was baiting her! And she liked it. For, if it had been only the two of them, she wouldn’t have wished him gone. She would have climbed down from her horse and fully engaged in this flirtation.

  Nevertheless, that was nonsense, and they were not the only two people present.

  Alexandra straightened her shoulders, which only pushed out her breasts, and being that the knight was as tall as he was, they were so close to his face. Her nipples grew taut and tingly. She bit her lip, quickly hunched her back and then waved him away.

  “Let us go.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Ye remember yer promise about my reputation?”

  He smiled, a wicked curl to his lip and a wink of one handsome eye. “Aye.”

  “Will ye honor it?”

  He nodded and, with one last lingering look at her mouth, sauntered away.

  When Alexandra looked up, Lady Home was glaring at her and shaking her head. Saints, but she might just be safer escaping into the abbey when they passed. Damnation chased her no matter what. If she followed her parents, she was doomed to a life in prison, if not execution, and if she followed what was in her heart, she’d end up labeled a seductress or worse…

  The trumpets sounded and it was time to leave. Alex gripped the reins and pommel, shifting uncomfortably as she rode sidesaddle, and urged her horse into a trot. They barely stopped as they passed the abbey. Those who’d spent the night there quickly fell into line and, soon, Princess Margaret and Alex were surrounded by dozens of chattering ladies, dressed in all their satin and velvet finery as they rode.

  The sun beamed down on the princess’ necklace, sparkling in green and purple light. The rainbows of color stretched over Margaret’s pink flesh. Alex wanted to snatch the necklace. Not in a way that would hurt the pretty, royal bride, but to take it all the same. To burn it so that it no longer existed as anything other than sparkling ash.

  Her stomach twisted. Thievery was not her forte. She wasn’t a bad apple in the barrel of Maxwells. Aye, being bored and the youngest of ten, she’d gotten very good at eavesdropping among other impish things since no one paid her any attention, but that didn’t make her a thief.

  Alex was suddenly quite angry about that. Why should she have to do this horrible deed? This crime? All because her mother was petty enough to want a piece of jewelry? Why didn’t her father make her a replica? Lord knew he was willing to spend enough on his horses.

  Alex glanced over at the princess, who happened to look at her just that moment, touching the necklace that hung heavy around her neck.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked.

  Alex nodded. Would the princess think it was beautiful if she knew it had first been made for the mistress of the brother of a king? Oh, the very idea… Alex glanced at the other ladies, swearing at least two of them snickered and looked away. They must have known where the necklace first came from. The king couldn’t have been saying anything untoward in the gesture of giving it to his bride, but all the same… rumors would certainly start. Perhaps, Alex prayed, the king did not know where the necklace came from but loved it for the same reasons her mother loved it—it was beautiful and it represented Scotland.

  “The king must have known the pretty green of yer eyes, for it certainly matches them well,” Alex said, raising her chin at the ladies who dared to laugh at their queen.

  “Thank you, Lady Alexandra. You are too kind.”

  Alex bowed her head and then forced her gaze straight ahead.

  A couple hours later, they stopped to rest the horses, stretch their legs and have a picnic. The servants were quick to set out blankets and prepare a small feast. Before Alex could dismount, Sir Alaric was by her side.

  Alex glanced toward Princess Margaret who was being assisted from her mount by one of the king’s men. ’Twas frightfully difficult with the voluminous skirts. Alex had never had so much trouble at Caerlaverock.

  “Can I offer my assistance, my lady?” Sir Alaric asked.

  He held out his hand, his gaze soft and enticing. Alex liked when he looked at her like that. Liked the warm feeling that started to fill her insides. Liked the way her heart beat faster. Oh, she was doomed, for she liked the thought of her parents having apoplexy at the inviting smile she was returning not only to a man, but a Sassenach.

  “I am capable of getting down on my own,” she half told the truth. Certainly she could in her riding clothes, but not in this silly gown. “I’ve been riding since before I could walk.”

  Alaric flashed her a knowing smile. Why did he have to be so handsome?

  “I’v
e no doubt. I simply offer my services as a gentleman to a lady.”

  “Not as a knight to a savage?” Alex teased, returning his charming smile. What was she doing?

  Alaric chuckled, holding out his hand, close enough she thought he might just touch her leg. Oh, scandal! Her limbs heated and she felt herself inch ever so much closer to him.

  “My lady, you truly are a rare gem.”

  “Have ye met many Scottish ladies?” She placed her hand in his, marveling at the sheer size and power of him as he lifted her as though she weighed no more than a feather.

  “I’ve met many ladies, not all of them Scottish.” The rogue winked.

  Why did his reply have to sound so naughty? Oh, she was woefully unprepared for such courtly flirtations. She enjoyed it so very much, but she felt at a loss for words, and where other ladies seemed to flirt with not a hint of color touching their cheeks, she was rouging like a peasant in a field. And Alex felt very much like a farmhand attempting to entice a knight, rather than the lady that she was.

  She slipped her hand from his, hoping to impart that she wasn’t as brazen as she felt. “Well, if ye’ll excuse me—”

  Sir Alaric leaned close, cutting her off. “You needn’t act so high and mighty with me, my lady. I’m not going to ravish you—even though I want to.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered away, tall and full of masculine pride. Alex’s mouth fell open and she forced it closed. Forced the tawdry heat shooting through her limbs to cease. She tried to catch her breath. Tried to look away, but her gaze would go nowhere other than his rear.

  The man was… He was…

  He was impossible.

  Craven.

  Mad.

  A bloody Sassenach!

  And utterly handsome. Witty. Sensual.

  Alex blew out a frustrated breath. He wanted to ravish her.

  And bloody hell, she wanted to be ravished.