by Emma Prince
Jerome lowered his sword fully now, as did the lass’s guards. “Nay, ye were right to be wary of a stranger.” He couldn’t help himself as he gazed down at her bonny face—he let one side of his mouth lift in a smile. “Especially a Highlander.”
A fetching pink blush broke over her creamy cheeks, and Jerome nearly cursed himself for a fool. He wasn’t here to dally with a wee bonny English lady. He had a mission to complete.
He cleared his throat, willing himself to tear his gaze from the lass’s face. “I should have announced myself. I am Jerome Munro, and I travel with King Robert the Bruce’s express permission to Trellham Keep.”
She cocked her copper head at him. “Trellham? On what business?”
His assignment was no secret—in fact, quite the opposite. Like ripples over a loch’s surface, word of Jerome’s task had spread rapidly throughout Scotland. But this wasn’t Scotland. Though the Bruce had controlled this region for several years, it was still technically England, so he shouldn’t be surprised that he hadn’t been anticipated.
“I’ve come to collect Lord Henry Beaumore’s seal for the King’s declaration of freedom from the English.”
The lass stiffened in his hold. Jerome should have set her on her own horse by now, but instead he found himself loath to let her go. Damn it all, she was a noblewoman, despite what he’d first thought—an English noblewoman.
He dropped his gaze to her once more, expecting to find confusion at best or downright disgust at worst upon hearing his business. Despite the peace in the Borderlands of late, Scottish freedom was no doubt a sore subject for the English—even a noble lass who most likely knew not a single wisp about politics and war.
But to his shock, the lady’s rosy lips pulled wide in a radiant smile. Involuntarily, Jerome’s knees clenched around his horse in an attempt to keep from falling from the saddle at her blindingly becoming grin. The stallion sidestepped in annoyance at Jerome’s movement.
She didn’t seem to notice. “Henry Beaumore is my father.”
Bloody hell. Jerome had already acted the rogue for dragging the lass onto his lap when he thought her in danger. Worse, he’d kept her there despite the fact that the threat had evaporated—and her, a noblewoman.
But she was the daughter of the man with whom the Bruce had allied to secure this section of the Borderlands? That meant she was the sister-in-law of Finn Sutherland, one of the members of the King’s Bodyguard Corps—an elite group of warriors into which Jerome had just been admitted.
He hastily sheathed his sword and wrapped his hands around the lass’s waist, lifting her out of his lap. Thankfully, her gray mare had remained next to Duff despite all the turmoil a moment before.
As he set her in the saddle, she continued, staring at him wide-eyed. “You’re the one, then. The one the King sent for the Declaration of Arbroath.”
So word of his mission had reached this corner of Northern England. More surprising, though, was that the lass knew the declaration’s name. So much for his assumption that she knew naught of political affairs.
“Aye,” he replied. “Yer father’s seal is the last to be collected before the Bruce will send the declaration to the Pope.”
Lady Elaine’s face took on an awed expression that made an unwarranted knot of pride tighten in Jerome’s chest. Clearing his suddenly thick throat, Jerome attempted to lighten the mood. “I’m sure the Bruce will be honored to hear of Lord Beaumore’s welcoming party.”
Lady Elaine flushed and she opened her mouth to speak, but Brett cut in. “Aye, and Lord Beaumore will no doubt hear of this too, milady,” he said reprovingly. He cast a frown at Jerome, but then fixed a stern look on the lass.
Her blush deepened. “I-I apologize for giving everyone such a fright.”
Brett’s scowl remained as he and the others re-sheathed their swords. “Come, Munro. Lord Beaumore and Finn Sutherland will be eager to greet you.”
As Jerome nudged his horse into motion, the guards fell into a loose circle around Lady Elaine, leaving him to ride by her side. As they crested the nearest hill, he let himself glance surreptitiously at this most unusual English lady.
She rode the dappled mare well, sitting straight in the saddle with the reins held in a relaxed grip. Her russet hair flowed in loose waves down her slim back, and her lithe, lissome form rocked with the horse’s steps.
A jolt went through him as he remembered the feel of her, soft and light in his lap. Her blue gown was plain but well-cut enough to reveal the high, round swells of her breasts, the narrow swoop of her waist, and the flair of slim hips. The hem was muddy where it rose around her knee-high boots.
Not at all what he would have expected from a lord’s daughter. After nearly a month spent traveling to every corner of Scotland—and a few points in Northern England as well—Jerome had thought himself immune to surprises, yet Lady Elaine was the rarest gem he’d seen in quite a while.
As they topped a second rise, he tore his gaze away from her to take in the sight of Trellham Keep.
It was more of a glorified manor house than a stronghold. No curtain wall protected it, nor a moat or turrets. It was comprised simply of a central keep with two towers rising on either side, one on the east and one on the west. A small village of three dozen or so thatched cottages sat below the keep on the south side.
No wonder Lord Beaumore had struck up an alliance with the Bruce four years past. The keep would have fallen quickly to the kinds of sieges the Scots had laid against far more fortified castles. Jerome felt an unexpected stirring of relief at the thought of Lady Elaine being safe under Scottish protection here.
Brett lifted his hand in signal to the guards on the towers’ battlements as they mounted the hill atop which Trellham sat. By the time the small party reined their horses at the base of the west tower, the keep was aflutter with activity.
Jerome swung down from Duff’s back and moved instantly to Lady Elaine’s mare. Without thinking, he wrapped his hands around her waist—damn, but they fit well there—and lifted her from the saddle.
“What goes on here?”
Jerome turned to find a barrel-chested Englishman with the same bright blue eyes as Lady Elaine pushing his way through the keep’s double doors. His russet hair was faded with streaks of gray, but the family resemblance was undeniable.
“Lord Beaumore,” Jerome began, but before he could continue, a second man joined the English lord.
Despite never having met the man, Finn Sutherland was unmistakable. He wore the blue-and-green checked Sutherland plaid around his waist and over his shoulder, setting him apart from the breeches-clad Englishmen all around. Jerome found himself dipping his head in respect to Finn. He’d heard much of the man’s fierceness and loyalty to Scotland, two traits Jerome valued above all others.
Finn fixed him with dark, hard eyes, but when his gaze landed on Jerome’s plaid, the tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Munro. We heard we should be expecting ye.”
Jerome nodded again but kept himself rigid. Though they were practically family now that Jerome had joined the Corps, the man was still a Sutherland, and no self-respecting Munro could so easily overlook that. “Apologies for keeping ye waiting. The Bruce would like me to have already returned to Scone by now, but it’s been a damned tall order.”
Lord Beaumore’s wrinkled face eased somewhat as well, but his gaze locked on Lady Elaine. “And what are you doing with this man, daughter?”
Lady Elaine swallowed, but before she could speak, Finn cut in. “Inside,” he said brusquely. “Munro is no doubt weary from his travels, and tonight promises to be of great import.”
Lord Beaumore tilted his graying head and motioned everyone into the keep.
Chapter Three
Elaine twined her hands in her mud-splattered skirts as she followed her father into Trellham’s great hall. Aye, she was worried for her father and Finn’s reaction to hearing that she’d led her guards on a merry chase right into potential dang
er. It would only confirm what they already thought—that she couldn’t be trusted with more than childish fripperies.
But a second rope of nerves twined with the first in her stomach. Jerome Munro’s nearness sent a bolt of awareness through her that had her skin warming.
She’d been entirely mistaken about him with her first glance. Indeed, he was a dark, imposing figure. As they crossed the hall toward one of the trestle tables, she noted that his head was level with Finn’s, who normally towered over everyone. And like her brother-in-law, Jerome was built for battle. His broad shoulders and muscular arms were unmistakable beneath his loose white shirt. He carried himself with taut control, the coiled power of his strong, lean frame obvious even when he was at ease, as he was now.
She had felt that power when he’d held her fast against his chest, and again when he’d lifted her down from her horse as if she were naught more than a leaf. Gracious. Her wayward thoughts were bringing heat into her face.
Yet he was no lawless rogue, as she’d initially feared. He was one of Robert the Bruce’s elite warriors, trusted enough to take on the mission of collecting seals for the Declaration of Arbroath. Jerome’s presence would make her set-down all the more embarrassing—and not just because she found her gaze tracing each hard-set line of his face and the contours of his body.
There were few things in Elaine’s life that truly stirred her. Riding with Gertie was one such thing. The other was Robert the Bruce’s cause for Scottish freedom.
To an outsider, it made no sense, of course. By all appearances, Elaine led the comfortable, easy life of an English lord’s daughter. Yet living her whole life on the border, Elaine had seen more than most young women the true cost of warfare—and what a blessed gift peace was. She had the Bruce to thank for that.
But even more than calm and safety, what truly moved her in the core of her heart and the marrow of her bones was the Scottish fight for freedom—for freedom was what she longed for most of all.
Finn called for a servant to bring ale, bread, and cheese. But before the refreshments arrived, her father turned on her, his frown disapproving.
“Let us have it out, daughter. What have you gotten up to this time?”
“She dashed off on Gertie without waiting for an escort, milord,” Brett, who’d followed them into the keep, offered.
Henry’s frown deepened. “Lainey,” he chided, his voice low.
To her surprise, Finn spared her only a brief scowl before turning his glower on Brett. “And why did ye let her do that?”
Finn was a hard man and had taken Trellham’s guards to task when he’d arrived four years ago. Originally, the purpose of hammering the guards into shape had been for Rosamond’s safety, but now that they were all family, Finn had extended that adamant overprotection to all at Trellham.
Brett faltered, shifting on his feet. “She was in the village, and we didn’t see her head out from the stables.”
“And?”
“And when we caught up to her, Munro here had come upon her.”
Finn pinned Brett with a long look. “Ye are dismissed. Take up Samuel’s rotation on the east tower. I’ll address this matter with ye and the others later.”
Elaine winced, knowing that Finn would likely put her guards through a grueling training session for letting her give them the slip.
“It wasn’t Brett’s fault,” she said, the words slipping out before she could think. Under Finn’s stare, she hurried on. “I should have waited for them, but I merely wanted…”
Her throat tightened and the telltale burn started behind her eyes. Nay. She did not want to cry—not now, not in front of Jerome, and not over her own foolishness.
She swallowed hard, digging her fingernails into her palms. “I merely wanted a moment of freedom,” she choked out.
Through the tears blurring her vision, she saw her father’s eyes soften, but Finn remained unmoved.
“I ken that, Lainey, but all ye’ve proven by dashing off is that ye havenae earned that right.”
Frustration heated her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jerome cross his arms over his chest. “No harm came of the lass’s flight,” he offered, his voice deep and soft.
Finn shifted sharp eyes to Jerome. “Aye, no’ this time. She was lucky ye werenae a foe or a less…honorable man.”
Jerome’s shoulders stiffened, but he remained silent—wisely, for this was a family matter. Still, warmth spread through Elaine at the fact that he’d spoken up for her.
Finn pinned her once more with a hard look, but she was saved from another lecture by her sister.
“You didn’t tell me a guest had arrived, my love.” Rosamond emerged from the stairs leading to the east tower, her golden hair and warm smile as radiant as the sun.
She was as round as the sun, too, for she was only a month or so away from delivering their second child.
When Finn’s gaze landed on Rosamond, his whole demeanor softened, as it always did in her presence. Elaine let a breath go, silently giving thanks for her sister’s timing.
Finn moved swiftly to Rosamond’s side, extending his arm to her. “This is Jerome Munro, sweeting. He’s the man the Bruce sent regarding the Declaration of Arbroath.”
Rosamond’s already convivial smile brightened even more. “Ah. You are most welcome, Jerome.”
Jerome bowed stiffly.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Rosamond continued. “Rand just went down for a nap—that’s our three year old, whom Finn calls the wee hellion,” she said in an aside to Jerome. “I thought I’d come have a bite while I could.”
Just then, the servant returned with a platter of bread, cheese, and a pitcher of ale.
“Ah, excellent timing.” Rosamond moved to sit at the table the family normally dined at, but their father cleared his throat.
“My dear, we are in the middle of something.”
Though she was always the perfect gentlewoman, Rosamond’s sweetness masked a sharp, discerning mind. “Oh?” Her violet eyes fell on Elaine. “Something involving Lainey?”
Elaine shot her a pleading look. Rosamond seemed to instantly understand.
“Surely that can wait,” Rosamond said smoothly. “Our guest would no doubt like to rest, and I’m sure there is much to discuss regarding the declaration. Mayhap we should arrange a celebration this eve?”
Elaine hurried to sit down across from Rosamond, wordlessly thanking her with her eyes. Still, as the men lowered themselves onto the table’s benches, Elaine couldn’t help the hot stone of shame that sank in her stomach. Leave it to her to make a mess—and leave it to her older sister to clean it up.
“Is this to be yer last stop, Munro?” Finn asked, settling beside Rosamond. His hand absently made a circle on Rosamond’s back.
“Aye,” Jerome replied. “The Lairds and noblemen nearest Arbroath have already affixed their seals, and a few close to Scone will do the same when I return to the Bruce’s court.”
Despite Elaine’s embarrassment from a moment before, a flutter of pure exhilaration stole over her. This was one of the most important moments in the Bruce’s cause to secure freedom for Scotland—and in a small way, she was part of it.
She’d first heard about the Declaration of Arbroath from Finn and her father. Because Finn was one of the Bruce’s most trusted warriors, he’d learned of the King’s plan to take a bold stroke toward freedom now that he’d secured a short-term truce with England’s King Edward II.
Lord Beaumore was still technically the keeper of Trellham in the Bruce’s name, though Finn had taken over much of the responsibilities as her father’s health had continued to flag. Out of respect for Lord Beaumore’s position, however, Finn kept him abreast of all Trellham’s goings-on, as well as the Bruce’s larger plans.
And knowing how interested Elaine was in the Bruce’s cause, Finn and her father had indulged her by letting her sit in on their talks from time to time.
That was how, a few months past, she’d first h
eard of the Bruce’s plan to draft a document declaring Scotland’s sovereignty from England, to be delivered to the Pope himself. The Pope, who’d long refused to acknowledge Scotland’s freedom, or the Bruce as its King, was apparently the Bruce’s next target in the long struggle for independence.
They’d gotten word not long ago that the document had been completed at Arbroath Abbey. The King was calling on all his allies to provide their seals to be affixed to the declaration to show their support. But because Scotland’s Lairds and nobles were spread far and wide across the country, the King had selected a warrior to travel to each holding, collecting the seals to be attached to the declaration.
Now that warrior, Jerome Munro, sat across from her in Trellham Keep’s humble great hall.
“Ye must be relieved to be at the end of such a mission,” Finn commented, filling a mug with ale and passing it to Jerome.
“It was a great honor to be chosen for it,” Jerome replied seriously. “It has been a long three sennights since I departed Scone with the declaration, aye. But I dinnae take the Bruce’s trust lightly.”
“I understand Colin MacKay and his cousin Graeme were the ones to suggest that ye join the Bodyguard Corps,” Finn said. “They seemed to think that yer loyalty to yer Munro Laird could be harnessed in service of the Bruce.”
Elaine didn’t miss the skeptical, sharp edge to Finn’s gaze. From the tightening of Jerome’s jaw, neither did he.
Of course, Finn was suspicious and slow to trust everyone—he’d even suspected Elaine’s brother Niall of being a danger to Rosamond when he’d first arrived at Trellham. Yet there seemed to be more than simple wariness in the silent look that passed between Finn and Jerome.
“I have pledged my loyalty—my life—to both my Laird and my King,” Jerome said levelly. “I am only glad the Bruce thought me worthy of the honor of his trust.”
Rosamond, too, must have sensed the tension in the air, for she cleared her throat and smiled. “It must have been a privilege to see so much of Scotland’s beauty on your travels,” she said lightly.
