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

by Eliza Knight

  Alex closed his fingers around her square of linen. “Keep it, good sir, as a keepsake of yer victory.”

  Alaric flashed her a mischievous smile. “Might I beg a walk about the field?”

  Alex glanced toward the princess and Lady Home. The latter glowered, but Princess Margaret fairly squealed.

  “Go on, stretch your legs, Lady Alexandra.”

  Alex didn’t wait for her chaperone to contradict, or follow them. She leapt up and eagerly took hold of Alaric’s arm.

  “Ye were verra brave,” she said, smiling up at him. “Looks as though ye’ve done this a time or two before.”

  “Never. This was my first,” he teased with a wink. “Well, my first imploring a favor from anyone other than the princess.”

  “Oh,” Alex whispered, stunned and thrilled. What must that have said to Princess Margaret and the rest of the English court?

  “I wish us to be friends, Lady Alexandra, good friends.” The disarming smile creased his features, eyes twinkling.

  She could have melted.

  Friends? Good friends? She wanted to be more than friends… How easily he seemed to forgive her. They’d not spoken since they’d both blurted out their feelings on the stairs, and she’d assumed he was mad at her, or distancing himself for some other logical reason. But today, the token, the walk, his smile, it all pointed toward something different. She had to ask. “How?” she blurted out. “The last time we met—”

  His grassy-colored eyes softened and he squeezed her hand gently on his arm. “We were both under a lot of pressure. Still are. But I beg your forgiveness for the way I pursued you.”

  She wanted to tell him he could pursue her any time, but she chewed her lip instead and nodded. “Ye are forgiven. I must also extend my apologies. I must confess, I have vowed never to betray yer princess nor my king.”

  “I never thought otherwise, my lady.” He stopped walking, taking both of her hands in his. “I have grown very fond of you. I cannot stop thinking about you.”

  “And I ye.” But they could never be! She wasn’t sure she wanted to leave Scotland and he would most assuredly not beg a post in her country.

  “I must get you back to your tent, as I will have another round soon. But I wanted to tell you I was sorry before the chance was lost to me.”

  He tugged her fingers to his lips and she watched hungrily as his mouth skimmed over her knuckles. Oh, but she wanted to feel his lips on her own.

  “I can see what you’re thinking plainly on your face, love,” he whispered with a chuckle.

  Alex ducked her head, blushing madly.

  “Do not be embarrassed. ’Tis very much what I want, too.”

  Heaven help her…

  “Lady Alexandra!” Lady Home’s sharp voice was heard halfway across the field.

  “And so your chaperone has decided to take an interest in your whereabouts after all,” Alaric goaded.

  “Aye.” Alex shook her head with disappointment. “Now that we are officially at court, I think she may do so more often.”

  The scent of him surrounded her as he leaned closer. Bergamot. Leather. “I will endeavor to save you whenever I can.”

  “I will be forever in yer debt, Sir Alaric.” Alex slid her hand down the length of his mail-covered forearm, just to touch him a bit longer instead of abruptly removing her hand.

  He caught her hand and once more brought it to his lips. “You will never be in my debt. And please, call me Alaric.”

  Alex smiled, feeling giddy with excitement. “Then I insist ye call me Alex. Those that are close to me do.”

  “And I am close to you?”

  “Ye are right next to me,” she taunted.

  Alaric shifted a little closer, his eyes going hooded like they did when he was about to kiss her. “I like being right next to you.”

  “I wish ye could stay there.” And kiss me again and again.

  With that last line whispered, Alex took off at a run toward the tent, her cheeks flaming and her heart pounding.

  Chapter Nine

  Within the hour, Princess Margaret would officially become Queen Consort to King James IV of Scotland. And while that was all very well and good, Alaric couldn’t stop staring at the woman on his arm—Lady Alexandra, Alex…

  King James had decreed that those knights who begged favors from the princess’ ladies, should then escort them into Holyrood Abbey for the marriage celebration. So, the Scottish knights were paired with English ladies and vice versa. Which meant—Alaric got to escort Alex into the church.

  Alex was dressed in a fine gown of emerald green satin, pearls sewn along the bodice and gold lace trimming her wrists and hem. A stomacher emphasized the trimness of her waist, and skirts billowed to show the swell of her hips. Her hair was pulled into a neat twist at the back of her head, with several curls purposefully loose and framing her face. She wore a matching hood and collar to her emerald dress, and when she walked, he could see her slippers, in the same shade of green, poking out from beneath her hem.

  “You look beautiful,” he murmured as they crossed under a massive, carved, marble archway, and over the threshold of the abbey.

  The high-domed ceiling was impressive to say the least, and the mass of courtiers were already lined up along the sides, watching the procession of royal escorts entering. Music floated softly through the archways and, with it, the pure voices of children singing.

  “Thank ye, Sir Alaric.” Her blue eyes caught his. “Ye look verra handsome as well.”

  Not one to dress to impress usually, Alaric had taken his time in picking out his garments that morning. When he’d gleaned that Alex would be wearing a green gown, he’d chosen his doublet of green and gold to match hers.

  The closer they moved to the front of the nave, the more Alaric kept wondering what it would be like if he were the groom and Alex was his bride. These disturbing thoughts had been coming to him with more frequency of late. He was four and thirty, marriage had not yet been on his mind, though the thought of returning to England without Alex did something painful to his insides. She was warm pressed to the side of him, her fingertips burning through his sleeve. Perhaps the thought of marriage was no longer as disturbing and unwelcome as he’d once thought.

  “This abbey is impressive,” Alex said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  “We have many beautiful abbeys in England as well,” Alaric said, subtly checking her receptiveness to his country.

  “Oh? Any that come close to Holyrood?” Her tone was inquisitive, no hint of disapproval.

  “Indeed, Westminster Abbey is one I admire.”

  “Another royal abbey, of course.” Alex seemed ready to roll her eyes but caught herself, ducking her gaze.

  Alaric chuckled. “I do not think a king or queen would abide their very own abbeys to be ugly.”

  “This is true. We have many abbeys in Scotland, some beautiful and some not.”

  “That is the same for England. I wish I could show you the chapel at Castle De Garde.”

  “I’ve not heard of that one.”

  Alaric smiled. “Not many have.”

  “Tell me of it.”

  He steered her toward their place near the front of the nave just before the choir where the rest of the nobles were gathered. “’Tis not nearly as big as this, a modest chapel really, but we’ve just had stained glass by Barnard Flower, the king’s own artist, put into the transept windows and the chancel by the altar. The colors gleam and glow when the sun shines on them. Truly a divine presence.”

  “Sounds beautiful,” Alex said wistfully, her gaze off toward the distance as though she would imagine it herself.

  Alaric’s chest swelled with pride and he smiled at her, wishing to ask her to come with him. Come to Castle De Garde. Come and see our chapel. Stay with me… “Aye, ’tis. Though it isn’t as grand or royal as Holyrood or Westminster, there is a great history behind its walls, too. The great Alaric de Garde, my ancestor whom I’m named after, is
buried there beside his love, Charlotte. All of the windows paint the stories of my ancestors’ great victories.”

  “Yer ancestor, this Alaric de Garde,” she giggled. “He is the talk of many ghost stories around bonfires on cold winter nights.”

  “Is he truly?” Alaric chuckled.

  “Aye! He is the ghost that will sneak into a child’s room and steal their breath,” she wriggled her eyebrows and fingers. “Or leap from a darkened corner in the middle of the night when one needs to make use of the privy.”

  Alaric rolled his eyes. “From what I’ve heard, de Garde would be proud. Did you know the love of his life, Charlotte, was Scottish?”

  Alex’s eyes shot toward his and he couldn’t help but mirror the thoughts that were most likely going through her mind—were they going to repeat history?

  “I think I may have heard that before,” she said softly. “A great love.”

  The music grew louder and then the room fell hushed as Margaret Tudor was presented to the court. Alaric watched his princess walk down the aisle of the nave, but he only had eyes for Alex.

  “Should you like to take a turn about the court?”

  Alex glanced up from where she was sitting at the high table on the dais, picking the seed out of an orange. Alaric appeared, a devastatingly handsome grin on his face and his hand reaching toward her.

  Setting her orange down, she nodded and pushed back her chair. The music, dancing and feasting had taken its toll on Alex. She was thoroughly exhausted and sweat trickled down the back of her spine. The Great Hall of Holyrood Palace had long since grown steamy with the hundreds of bodies packed into its midst. The king had pronounced he would soon undergo the task of renovations and Alex thought perhaps, if they were to have a court so big, that was a good idea.

  “Bring your orange, you can eat it while we walk. I want to show you something.” Alaric led her through the Great Hall and out into the courtyard toward the front gates.

  He tugged her up a flight of stairs at the gate tower and out onto the castle ramparts. Several guards looked at them quizzically, but when they saw it was Alaric, they simply nodded and let them pass.

  “Where are ye taking me?” Alex asked, feeling exhilarated and cooled by the nighttime air. She popped a slice of orange into her mouth.

  “You’ll see.”

  They must have gone halfway around before he stopped.

  “Look.”

  He pointed up at the stars which blanketed the dark sky. A sliver of moon cast its silver light down on them. Alex leaned against the rampart, staring up at the nighttime sky, fairly certain she’d never be able to look at the stars again the same way.

  “’Tis beautiful.”

  His hand slid around the small of her back sending a shiver over her limbs.

  “Can I have a slice?”

  Alex handed him a wedge of orange but he simply opened his mouth and closed his eyes. She swallowed hard, then slid the slice between his lips. Zounds, but she’d never done something so sensual before.

  “Mmm… That’s good.”

  Alex nodded, putting another piece into her mouth and chewing, tasting perhaps for the first time. She’d never be able to eat an orange again without thinking about this moment.

  Alaric glanced back up at the sky. “There is a place at Castle De Garde, on the ramparts, that I like to go to think. And this reminds me of it. I wanted to share it with you.”

  Alex smiled, liking very much that he thought of her. “Thank ye.”

  “Look out into the land beyond. Into the darkness there. The tiny twinkling of candlelight. What do you think people are doing?”

  “Perhaps they are looking up at the sky. Or mayhap they are looking toward the castle, wishing to be where we are.”

  “Maybe so.” He pressed her a little closer, the sides of their hips touching. “Or mayhap they are all alone with the only person in the world they want to share the quiet with. Like me.”

  Alex pressed her lips together, stole a glance at Alaric. He was gazing down at her intently and she felt her heart skip a beat. Her breath hitched, and she felt herself turning toward him, his hands anchored on her hips.

  “I like that a lot better,” she whispered. Would he kiss her? Zounds, but she hoped he would.

  “Maybe they are growing close, like this.” Alaric’s hands slid up to the small of her back and he tucked her closer to him, the heat of his body seeping through her gown, making her shiver but hot all over.

  “I like that, too,” she murmured, her gaze once more riveted to the lion’s head on his brooch.

  “Do you think”—he leaned down, his face coming within inches of hers—“they might be kissing?”

  Alex couldn’t speak. Her tongue refused to move. All she did was nod, slide her finger over the lion, while in her head she shouted, Aye, kissing, lots of kissing.

  “Me too,” Alaric whispered, his mouth only an inch from hers. “And I think we should be, too.”

  Finally her voice reached her, though it was only a heady whisper of a sigh. “Aye.”

  Wrapping her up in his embrace, his lips touched hers, gentle, but demanding as they slid against her mouth. Alex’s arms, of their own volition, rose to wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as though she’d done this a thousand times. Kissing him was as natural an action as any other, and yet it brought about so many more sensations and emotions whipping through her until she could barely think straight.

  Senses on heightened alert, she could smell the very masculine, spicy scent of him. Feel the ridges of his body pressed hotly to hers. Taste the mulled wine on his tongue. Hear the beating of his heart pounding in tune with her own, the subtle groan from his lips when she arched her back, pushing her breasts against him. Though her eyes were closed, she could see much in her imagination. She could see the two of them standing beneath a starry sky, passionately entwined. And she could see more. She could see him carrying her back to his chamber. Back to his castle in Northumbria. And the funny thing was, she didn’t mind being in England. Wishful thinking? She didn’t want to ponder that, only to enjoy this wondrous moment when she was in his arms. The one he desired. The one he wanted to share something special with. His life. Hers.

  Their tongues danced, sliding, twining, tasting. Sensual and intoxicating, Alex wished he’d go on kissing her until the earth ceased to exist.

  Her body was heated, throbbing in places she didn’t know could throb, and deep in her belly she felt a warming pressure, an itch that needed to be scratched. Somehow, she knew that the only way to relieve that incessant pulse was to keep on kissing. That both thrilled and terrified her.

  “Oh, Alex, you Scottish nymph, I cannot stop thinking about you. Touching you. Desiring you.” Alaric’s lips dragged from her mouth to her ear, skimming the top as he breathed in the scent of her hair. “And I do not want to stop. Seems that while your agenda might have been to steal a precious jewel, you’ve stolen my senses instead.”

  She leaned her head to the side, allowing him to leave a trail of kisses down the side of her neck to her collarbone. A soft moan escaped her, and then his hand was inching over her ribs, resting just below her breast.

  Oh, to have him touch her! Her nipples grew taut, her breasts heavy and need consumed her. She arched further into him, welcoming his wicked caress.

  Alaric groaned, a growl deep in his throat. His teeth scraped over her collarbone. His opposite hand slid from her hip down to her thigh where he lifted her leg to wrap around his middle, twisting at the same time so her rear pressed against the ramparts. Their new position brought with it a whole new explosion of sensation. His arousal, thick and long, pressed hard to the apex of her thighs, and what she thought was a pulsing need for relief grew tenfold.

  “I want you so bad I can taste it,” Alaric said, coming up to nibble and lick at her lips. “But I cannot. This is wrong. You are a maiden. A noble lady. I cannot take advantage of you.”

  “Oh, but I want ye to,” she found herse
lf saying, her body craving and speaking over the warning signs in her mind.

  Alaric chuckled, a heady sound that grated provocatively over her flesh as he continued to kiss her, to press his hard body against hers, to tease the flesh just beneath her breasts.

  “You little thief, stealing my senses and now my good sense.” His voice was low, gravelly, filled with desire.

  Alex smiled, a feeling of power and hunger coursing through her. “Ye are not the only one to suffer from such.”

  His lips captured hers, claiming her as his and she surrendered willingly. But as wondrous as their kiss was, it did not last.

  “As much as I wish to whisk you away, my love,” he whispered against her mouth, “I must unfortunately return you to the Great Hall, else all of Scotland and England thinks I have ravished you upon the ramparts. Even if I did.” And then he was kissing her again. One last one.

  One last, delicious, heady kiss to keep her up all night dreaming of this moment.

  Alex may have stolen his senses, his good sense, but she was most certain that he had stolen her heart.

  Chapter Ten

  Alaric paced the corridor outside the queen’s solar. Livid didn’t even begin to describe how he felt.

  The little wench had gone and done it! The necklace that Alex had promised to stay away from had inexplicably gone missing sometime between the feast the night before and the wee hours of the morning before the queen had called her attendants.

  When Queen Margaret had sobbed about it, she suspected that one of the Scots must have taken it. Revenge for her marrying their king. Alaric could think of one fiery-haired, blue-eyed Scot in particular. And now he had to question her.

  His boots echoed on the floor as he charged down the hall. Down the stairs and toward the chamber where she slept. He lifted his palm ready to pound the wood into a pulp, but paused. Why should he give her a chance to hide her thievery? Instead of knocking, Alaric twisted the handle and flung open the door.

  A young lady sat up in bed, hair mussed and eyes still filled with sleep, but it was not Alex. She screeched and tugged the blanket up to cover herself.