Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  “Daemon did not—”

  “Nay, you were there to protect me, exactly when I needed you most. As you always are.”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair. God, how he wanted to kiss her. But he did not want to hurt her injured lip.

  So he settled for dusting a kiss across the tip of her nose, just as he heard someone nearby clearing his throat.

  Tearing his attention from Ciara for the first time in several long minutes, Royce saw that the hall had almost cleared. Mathias stood alone beside them.

  “I persuaded my lords that their questions could wait until morn.” He sighed in exhaustion, glancing down at the bandage someone had hastily wrapped around his injured shoulder, then nodded in the direction Thayne had been taken. “You have my word that your friend will be well cared for. Our surgeons in Thuringia are renowned as some of the best. We will fight for his life as he fought for mine.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Royce said gratefully.

  “Nay, it is I who should be thanking you, Ferrano. You and Thayne and the others risked everything to save me from that prison. I owe you much more than my thanks. And so do the people...” He paused. “My people,” he amended, pronouncing the words as if for the first time, his expression one of wonder as he adjusted to the idea. “My subjects.”

  Royce smiled. “Let me be one of the first to say welcome home, Your Highness.”

  Mathias returned his smile, then shifted his attention to the lady in Royce’s arms. “Now then, do you not think an introduction to Her Highness is overdue?”

  Ciara dipped into a curtsy. “I am very pleased to meet you, Prince Mathias.”

  Mathias bowed. “I have heard a great deal about you, Princess Ciara” He slanted a wry glance at Royce. “Though you neglected to mention that she was such a beauty, Ferrano.”

  “Did I?” Royce cleared his throat. “It must have slipped my mind.”

  Mathias chuckled, his gaze returning to Ciara. “I doubt this lady could slip any man’s mind.”

  “Indeed, Your Highness.” Royce tightened his arm possessively around Ciara’s waist.

  Still grinning, Mathias gestured for them to sit at a nearby table. “There are matters we need to discuss, milord, concerning the peace agreement. It occurs to me that if I am to be king one day,” he said slowly, his eyes on Ciara as they claimed their seats, “I will be in need of a queen.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  * * *

  THE WESTERN MOUNTAINS sparkled like massive diamonds in the midday sun as Ciara rode across the lowland plain, the wind in her hair, spring’s warmth scenting the breeze with the fragrances of flowers and earth, her gray mare galloping through the fields.

  As Châlons’s royal palace came into view at last, its towers and walls little more than dots at this distance, she reined her horse to a walk, then to a halt. She could not seem to catch her breath, watching while the sun painted that familiar keep with streaks of gold. The sight of home filled her with longing, with love. And with uncertainty.

  She prayed this would not be the last time she ever saw it.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply of the sun-warmed air, of the beauty all around her, and held fast to her hope. Her father had to agree to Mathias’s offer. He had to.

  Surely he would see that he had every reason to give his consent. Her country was free. Her people were free. Free from war, from the tyrant who had so abused them. As the news had spread, cheering crowds had turned out in every town and village on the way home from Thuringia.

  But she herself was not entirely free.

  Not yet.

  She heard hoofbeats behind her and glanced over her shoulder as Royce came across the field at a gallop, catching up with her at last. He pulled Anteros to a rearing halt.

  Laughing, Ciara tugged on the reins to control her skittish mare. “Keep that great black beast away from my little Merlin,” she chided. All the commotion brought a growl from the basket tied to Merlin’s saddle. Hera poked her head out from beneath the lid, barking excitedly.

  Undaunted by the protective puppy, the stallion pranced nearer, towering over the mare, tossing his head and nickering impatiently.

  “It is impossible to hold him in check, my love.” Royce laughed. “I think he believes we bought that little beauty just for him. He does not like to let her out of his sight.” His voice turned husky. “I know how he feels.”

  As Anteros nuzzled Merlin’s neck, Royce bent down in the saddle and cupped Ciara’s chin in his hand, lifting her mouth to his. With a soft moan, she reached up to grasp the edge of his cloak as their lips met in a kiss that was slow and soft and deep. The first kiss they had been able to steal in days.

  The satiny invasion of his tongue sent desire shivering through her, but it was all too brief.

  Groaning, he lifted his head, and they both glanced back at the entourage of riders not far behind them—Karl and the other rebels, the emissaries Mathias had sent to speak with her father, and the guards and serving maids and other retainers who had been in the wedding procession.

  “Five minutes,” Royce muttered. “What I would not give for even five minutes alone with you.”

  Ciara released her hold on his cloak, sighing in agreement. Since leaving Mathias’s palace a fortnight ago, they had not been able to steal an hour alone together, much less a night. Though Miriam had stayed behind with the recuperating Landers, there were more than enough maidservants and courtiers with them this time to ensure that Ciara was well chaperoned on her journey home.

  “It is even worse than before,” Royce grumbled, letting her go before anyone could see them.

  “Worse?” Ciara nudged her mare forward and they rode on, side by side, Hera content to rest her muzzle on the edge of her basket and yip at the scenery.

  “During our first journey, all I could do was imagine what it would be like to touch you.”

  Ciara glanced sideways and their gazes met for a long, heated moment.

  “This time, I know,” he told her in that low, husky tone.

  “It will all be over soon,” she said softly, turning to look up at the castle in the distance.

  “Aye.”

  “And we will be together.”

  It took him a moment to respond, and when he did, his voice revealed his uncertainty. “Aye.”

  Ciara fell silent, not wanting to put her own fears into words. Behind them, shouts of happiness rose as their traveling companions caught their first sight of the palace.

  Which only made the uneasy quiet between her and Royce more uncomfortable.

  She shifted to a different topic. “I wish we could have stayed at Mathias’s palace until Thayne was strong enough to come home with us.”

  “He will need at least another fortnight’s rest in bed, even though the surgeons worked a miracle with their stitches and their herbal potions.”

  Ciara nodded. “I know, but I hated to leave anyone behind.”

  “He has Landers and Miriam for company. And I am not sure Thayne would have let us tear him away from his many admirers.” Royce grinned. “Every pretty serving maid in that keep seemed to be thinking of some excuse to spend time in his bedchamber.”

  The Thuringian ladies had been quite taken with the brave, handsome rebel who helped save their beloved prince. “They were most attentive, weren’t they? Changing his bandages, cooling his brow, feeding him tea and broth—”

  “Seeing to his every need...” Royce chuckled dryly. “Giving him incentive to get his strength back...”

  Ciara slanted him a quelling look. “I thought they were simply being kind.”

  “Most kind. I am not sure we will ever get him home, now that he has experienced Thuringian hospitality.”

  Ciara shook her head, unable to suppress a smile. “Thayne does seem to possess a certain charm with the ladies.”

  “We men of Châlons are born with it.” He reached out to ruffle her hair. “It is in the blood.”

  She caught his hand
in hers, twining their fingers together as they rode on, not caring if anyone behind them noticed. Looking up at the sun glittering across the snowcapped mountains, she sighed. “Have you ever seen anything as beautiful as that?”

  “Aye,” he said quietly, glancing down at her. “Aye, I have”

  They rode in silence for a while, both gazing up at the soaring ridges dotted with pines, the mists parting over the mountains, the almost unearthly blaze of color—blue and white and green and gold.

  “Ciara... how can I take you away from all this?”

  “You will not have to if my father agrees to Mathias’s terms.”

  He did not reply.

  She dropped her gaze to her horse’s mane. “You do not think he will agree, do you?”

  “I do not know,” he said carefully. “Your father is not a man who forgives easily. In four years, he did not forgive me for my actions during the first peace negotiations.”

  “But I am sure he will forgive you now. You have done all he asked of you, at great risk to your life. You did your duty, and more.”

  “It is the more that worries me,” he muttered with a pained expression.

  “I meant that you not only escorted me safely to Mount Ravensbruk but you helped rescue Mathias.”

  “Aye, but I seem to recall your father mentioning something about drawing and quartering if I dared so much as look at you. And you do not want to know what he meant to do if I dared touch your royal person.”

  She lifted their twined hands, rubbing her cheek against his fingers. “I had no intention of mentioning any of the wonderful ways you have touched my royal person.”

  “Ciara, I am serious. He has at least a half-dozen reasons to refuse Mathias’s offer—”

  “He will agree, Royce. He has to.”

  “And if he does not?”

  “Then this will be the last time I ever see my home.”

  For a moment, there was no sound but the wind in the long grass and the muted thudding of their horses’ hooves. Little Hera had curled up in her basket to sleep.

  “You would give up all of this?” He nodded toward the mountains, the palace, his voice soft, serious. “Leave Châlons forever?”

  “For you, aye.”

  He glanced away from her, and she knew what he was thinking: he did not want to tear her from her homeland. Nor did he want to leave this realm he had fought for, risked everything for, loved all his life. She knew how much the four years of banishment had pained him.

  The idea that they might have to leave forever...

  “Well then, my love...” Still holding her hand in his, he lightly tapped his silver spurs against Anteros’s flanks. “Let us go and see what your father says.”

  * * *

  THEY WAITED IN the solar, the two of them alone, while her father and his ministers held an audience with the Thuringian emissaries in the great hall. Ciara paced, her stomach queasy.

  This was the chamber where it had all begun, she thought as she moved restlessly from the door to the hearth and back again. This was where she had come to hide the night of her betrothal party, where Miriam had spoken to her about the rebels, where Landers had tried to kidnap her—though she had not known that at the time.

  And this was where it would all end.

  One way or another.

  “You are making me dizzy, my love,” Royce said lightly. “Which is not unusual, but this time I am not even kissing you.” He was perched in the window seat, long legs stretched out in front of him, boots crossed.

  When he patted the empty place beside him, she shook her head. She could not sit down. With a look of understanding, he returned his attention to the window, gazing down at the bailey below.

  Earlier, he had gone out to spend some time alone at the small brass cross that marked the place where his best friend had fallen in defense of his realm, and his home... and her.

  Ciara wondered whether her father had yet found it in his heart to forgive her for her part in Christophe’s death. She remembered all too vividly his angry words to her.

  And knew that what Royce had said was true. Your father is not a man who forgives easily.

  She finally stopped pacing and turned to rest her back against the hearth, wishing she could have remained with Hera, happily ensconced on the bed in her room. “He has been out there a very long time,” she said uneasily, her gaze on the door. “What if—”

  “The emissaries have a great deal to explain.” Royce’s tone was calm, reassuring. He tallied the subjects on his fingers. “Prince Daemon’s deceit. The fact that the rebels were never trying to kill you at all. How Mathias was rescued from his prison. The fact that he has reclaimed his proper place on the throne—”

  “I know.” She sighed. “But I am beginning to think that the rebels had the right idea in staying a safe distance from the palace until their fate was decided.”

  Royce chuckled. “This is the way we wanted it, Ciara—you and I and Mathias. We all agreed that the royal ministers would discuss the past... while you and I would be the ones to present the decisions that need to be made concerning the future.”

  “But what if—”

  The door opened. Ciara turned, tensed. “Father.”

  The king’s velvet robes swirled around him as he closed the door, his eyes on her, his expression...

  As always, it was impossible to discern from his somber face what he felt or thought. She almost took a step toward him, then fiercely reminded herself how much he hated emotional displays.

  Silent, he stared at her for a long moment, his gaze tracing over her face before he turned his attention to Royce...

  Who slowly got to his feet, then dropped to one knee and bowed. “Your Majesty.”

  For the first time since coming into the solar, her father showed a hint of emotion, one silvered brow lifting in surprise. “Rise, Sir Royce.” He turned toward Ciara. “And come here, Daughter.”

  She crossed the distance between them, so nervous and uncertain she held her breath.

  But when she drew near, he opened his arms and reached out to her.

  And enfolded her in a strong, silent embrace.

  All the air left her lungs as she relaxed against him, closing her eyes, too overcome by emotion even to speak. Her arms went around him and she hugged him hard, shamelessly letting her tears fall against his velvet tunic, as she had not done since she was a little girl.

  His usually cool, regal voice wavered when he finally spoke. “I am so grateful that you are safe and well, my Ciara. If aught had befallen you, it would have been the death of me.”

  Her only reply was a tearful sniff as she tried to blink away the moisture in her eyes. But he did not seem to mind.

  After holding her a long while, he set her away from him, his hands gentle on her shoulders, and she saw the unmistakable love in his eyes before his attention shifted to Royce.

  “I understand that I have you to thank for my daughter’s life, Baron Ferrano. And for my kingdom’s return to both peace and freedom.”

  “It is no more than any loyal subject would do,” Royce said quietly, “in service to a worthy king.”

  The two men’s gazes held for a long moment.

  Ciara felt new hope bubbling up inside her. “Father, did the Thuringian emissaries explain all that has happened?”

  “Aye, including the fact that there is a huntsman by the name of Thayne and a few of his friends who are in need of a royal pardon.” He let go of her shoulders, glancing from her to Royce. “And they said you and your guardian would explain the rest. I understand that Prince Mathias has demands to make?”

  “Requests, Father. He has asked us to present four requests.”

  Her father sighed heavily. “And what are they? What could I possibly give him that his brother did not already take?”

  Ciara hesitated, glancing over at Royce, who nodded for her to go ahead.

  “First,” she began slowly, “Prince Mathias asks Your Majesty and the people of Châlon
s for forgiveness. For himself, and for his subjects. Seven years of war have cut deep wounds between our people and his, and he wishes to begin healing those wounds.”

  Her father made a grudging nod, still looking wary. “Since that is my wish as well, his first request is easy enough to grant.”

  Ciara did not allow herself to feel confident just yet. The other requests would be more difficult for him to accept. “Second, he wishes to restore to us the lands that Daemon took by force, and return our borders to the way they were seven years ago, before the war began. Mathias is willing to relinquish Thuringia’s claim to all the conquered holdings”—she paused—“except for a band of neutral territory in the mountains between our two kingdoms. He wishes to set that aside for the present, for he has need of those lands.”

  Her father contemplated that for a moment but said neither aye nor nay. “And what else?”

  She took a deep breath. “Third, he asks that we move our capital to the keep at Ferrano. The castle that is in ruins there can be rebuilt and expanded—”

  “Move our capital?” her father demanded, his brow furrowing until his silver hair almost touched his eyebrows. “Our palace has been here for more than two hundred years. It is the safest location in Châlons.”

  “But as Daemon’s mercenaries and their new siege weapons proved, Father, it is not so safe as it once was. And it is isolated. Prince Mathias wishes for the royal family of Châlons and the royal family of Thuringia to become closer, in every way. The keep at Ferrano is only three days’ ride from the Thuringian palace on Mount Ravensbruk. And as Prince Mathias says, it is much harder to make war on a beloved friend than on a stranger.”

  Her father seemed to understand, but still did not look pleased. “And what is his final request?”

  Ciara took another deep breath. “He was quite adamant about the last one.” Clasping her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking, she glanced down at her intertwined fingers. “Prince Mathias wishes to marry soon because he realizes that a king needs heirs. So the matter of the betrothal agreement that was made between Châlons and Thuringia must be resolved. He wishes to make a specific appeal that you grant my hand in marriage”—she lifted her gaze, not sure what her father’s reaction would be—”to his friend Sir Royce.”