Or mayhap that was just because she wasn’t an expressive person.
“Good morning,” he offered.
One of her brows twitched. “Is it?”
“Morning? Or a good one?” He dragged his leg down from her waist, until it covered her thighs, barring the rest of her to his touch as he skimmed his fingers down her stomach. “I think ‘tis a good one.”
She hummed, her fingers toying with the hair behind one of his ears, the same way she might comfort Honor. “I’m lying naked, pinned to a fairly comfortable pile of furs by a handsome, braw man.”
“So…” He flattened his palm against her stomach. “A good morning, aye?”
In an explosion of movement, she hooked her left ankle behind his right one to anchor it, then heaved with her pelvis, using her right leg for leverage. She wasn’t able to completely flip him off her, because of the width of his shoulders, but when she followed the move with a roll to pin him down, he went willingly.
Now she was straddling him, her bare thighs spread across his, and his stiffening cock cradled against her curls and stretching toward her stomach. As she planted her hands on either side of his head and leaned down, her hair almost hid her slight grin.
“I can think of ways to make it a better morning.”
It was his turn to hum in agreement, his hands skimming up her hips and the soft skin of her sides. “Aye, love.”
In this position, her tits were admirably close to his mouth, and he made use of their proximity. She rode him as well as he remembered—better, thanks to last night’s revelations—and they found fulfillment together.
I could be loyal to ye.
When she collapsed, spent, atop him, he was the one smiling.
Could be loyal?
What he’d meant, even if he hadn’t the words to say it, was that she’d captured his heart, totally and completely.
When the sky outside the high windows began to lighten to a soft pink hue, he felt her stir. She pushed herself upright, then climbed off him. He rolled to watch her, and she swatted his hip.
“Up, ye lazy devil! We’ve work to do today.”
“Aye, lass. Ye’re a cruel taskmaster.” As he sat up, she tossed a boot at him, which he caught with a chuckle. “Work, work, work. Ye’re demanding, Court.”
She was pulling on her trewes, but sent him a comical scowl. “Ye were the one demanding I say yer name last night.”
“Aye.” He winked. “But only because I got tired of listening to ye invoke the Lord’s name.”
She rolled her eyes, but he could sense her good humor under the show.
All too soon, they were dressed, and he was settling his sword back on his hip. Outside, they could hear sounds of the camp awakening. Honor barked twice, but to Ross, it sounded no more than a simple greeting. The beast would alert them to any real danger.
“Ye have a plan?” she asked, resting her weight against the table and crossing one booted foot over the other.
“Me?” He feigned ignorance as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, liking the way her eyes were drawn to his muscles. “I thought ye were in charge of this mission.”
Her gaze snapped back up to his. “Aye, but ye ken Andrew, and I thought ye might like a say. My plan was to let them continue to think I was back for good, then get the information we need and run like hell.”
He slowly nodded. “Last night’s welcome and feast indicated they expected ye to stay. I have no’ seen him in well over a decade, but I donae recall Andrew being an easy man to second-guess. ‘Tis possible he kens why we’re here.”
“Fine.” She mirrored his pose. “So we go out there expecting them to either accept us and welcome us into their midst, or to ken we’re spies and murder us outright? ‘Tis a broad spectrum of options.”
He winked. “I like to keep ye on yer toes.”
“ ’Tisnae all ye like,” she muttered.
With a smirk, he crossed the space between them and reached for her, cupping one hand around the back of her head and pulling her to his lips.
The kiss was hard and fast, and just enough to remind him what he stood to lose.
“Whatever happens today, Court, ye have to promise me to get back to Scone. Ye’re an Angel, and the Queen needs the information we uncover.”
One of her palms rested against his chest. “Only if ye make the same promise to me, Ross. Ye’ll no’ leave me. No’ just when I’ve found ye again.”
I could be loyal to ye.
“Agreed,” he barked, pulling her into another kiss.
It was a good thing they’d made no true plan, because it would’ve gone to hell the moment they stepped outside the armory anyhow.
Court went first, her bow gripped in her hand as always, but stopped short before he finished pulling the door shut.
Honor lay in the dirt in front of the door, happily gnawing on a large, meaty bone. There was a rope around his neck, but it dangled freely, because the shaggy beast clearly wasn’t a threat at the moment.
And standing in a semi-circle in front of them were Andrew and six of his lieutenants, including Morgan. The leader of the Red Hand stood with his feet planted, and his arms crossed in front of his large beard.
He was waiting for them.
Hellfire and damnation.
“Traitor,” Ross muttered to the dog.
“Ross!” Andrew boomed suddenly into the stillness. “Did ye sleep well?”
Without glancing at Court, Ross affected an easy smile. “Aye, the furs were comfortable enough. Do all of yer men have such comfortable quarters?”
“They do if they have a willing wench as bonny as that one to tangle with.” Andrew nodded to Court, his expression curious, instead of lewd. “Is she as good in bed as I’d hoped?”
God’s Blood, kinsman or no, Ross might have to kill the man for speaking like that. He took a step forward, but Court understood and placed a hand on his arm to stop him.
“Andrew,” she began in a deceptively calm tone, “yesterday ye welcomed me and my man back to the Red Hand. Does the welcome still stand?”
As one, the men around the circle looked to Andrew, who lifted one hand to stroke his dark beard thoughtfully. Finally, he shook his head.
“It does no’.”
Beside him, he heard Court suck in a sharp breath.
But Ross was the one to ask, “Why?”
“Because ye would have us believe the lass was back to join us again, but ‘tisnae true, is it?” Andrew didn’t give him time to answer, but dropped his fists to his hips. “I ken ye, Ross Fraser. Ye have more honor than is good for ye, and I ken why ye’re here.”
If Andrew’s—and the Red Hand’s—attention was on him as the threat, then it wasn’t on Court. And that’s the way Ross wanted it. So he stepped forward again, praying she’d take the hint and remain behind him, playing a meeker role than usual.
“Why am I here then?” Ross growled, his hand around the hilt of his sword.
Andrew glared. “Ye’re here for me, are ye no’, lad? Ye’ve hunted down English there, and we can all see she bears the thief’s brand. Did ye find her wallowing in a dungeon somewhere?” The big man shook his head. “Ye ken she’d be able to find us again, so ye made her part of yer plan. Are ye paying her to spread her legs for ye, or is she a willing partner in this scheme?”
Andrew’s accusation was so ridiculous, Ross had to fight to keep the astonishment out of his expression.
They thought he was in charge? And Court was just along as his guide?
But still, he could use this. Praying she’d take the hint and stay out of their interest, Ross lifted his chin and sent a glare at his old mentor.
“Aye, I did come hunting, but no’ for ye, Andrew. I wanted answers, and I never expected a kinsman to be at the heart of this mess.”
It wasn’t until he spat out the word kinsman that Ross realized his own true feelings.
He was a loyal Fraser; he’d given up two years with the Queen, with his men, to suppo
rt his laird and clan. He’d chosen loyalty to his clan over everything else, and had argued about it with Courtney.
But here was one of his clan, at the very heart of the evil he’d sworn to eradicate.
Andrew spread his hands, his tone mocking, when he said, “Ask yer questions then, lad.”
The glare Ross sent the lieutenants had three of them actually backing up a step or two, which was fine by him. The man with the bow lifted it protectively before him, as if that would somehow help save him. Ross allowed some of his anger and astonishment to show in his expression and voice when he turned back to Andrew.
“I’m here because of an attack on the Queen’s life. The assassin targeted her specifically, and was sent by the Red Hand.”
Andrew crossed his arms once more, in what Ross was coming to realize was his usual stance while he considered new information.
“Ye tortured him then?” the big man finally asked.
“Nay,” Ross barked. “We didnae have to. He told us who sent him, easily enough, afore he died.”
He very deliberately didn’t indicate Court at all. God willing, she’d be able to slip away from this confrontation, if the men believed her little more than a “wench.” He—and the Angels—couldn’t afford to let an organization like the Red Hand know the women at the Queen’s side were more than they appeared.
Andrew grunted, stroking his beard. Finally, he dropped his hand and nodded.
“Aye,” he admitted abruptly. “We sent him. For enough coin, the Red Hand can send anyone to do anything. Right, lads?”
Around him, his men’s reaction ranged from a forceful “Aye!” on Morgan’s part, to silent agreements of nodding heads, and even to some throat-clearing and shuffling. Either these men didn’t fully support Andrew, or they didn’t support the decision which had been made against the Queen. Ross wondered if he could use that.
“Ye’d risk yer immortal soul by committing treason? Against yer monarch, and yer clan?”
Andrew snorted. “Who d’ye think paid us?”
Ross stilled, his knuckles whitening on the hilt of his sword, which he still hadn’t drawn.
The Frasers?
The other man apparently appreciated the response his announcement got, because he chuckled cruelly as he dropped his hands to his hips. “Ye were the one always going on about loyalty, Ross. Will yer pedestal wobble when ye discover yer own clan stands to prosper from treason?”
“Nay,” Ross vehemently denied the man’s claim. “Lachlan is a good man.”
Andrew shrugged. “He’s a good laird, which is what the clan needs. Elizabeth still hasnae given the King a son, and with Robert’s brother Edward dead—and Edward only leaving that bastard son of his—the King has no heir to follow him.”
Aye, the entire nation was waiting for the joyous occasion of a royal heir, and surely Andrew wasn’t the only one worried about the lineage.
“Elizabeth will bear a son,” Ross growled, with all the certainty he could manage. “And what ye did was treason.”
“Only if it doesnae work.” The older man shrugged again. “Without an heir, and with Robert taken care of, John Comyn’s line will be the favorite once more.”
Still reeling from his old mentor’s casual reference to taking care of Robert, Ross struggled to appear unaffected. “Red Comyn’s line died with his son at Bannockburn,” he managed to rasp, shaking his head.
“Did it?” Andrew drawled.
Dear God in Heaven.
Was it possible the Comyn line wasn’t extinct?
Ross admitted he wasn’t as informed about the old claimants to the Scottish throne as he probably should be, but Red Comyn’s uncle had been king for a while.
Were there cousins or nephews who still had a claim?
And why in damnation were the Frasers—Lachlan?—supporting that claim?
Ross longed to turn, to see how Court was taking this. He remembered her belief about the Frasers being traitors.
His mind reeled, trying to reconcile the information.
Could he have been wrong?
Was Lachlan guilty of treason?
Ross shook his head, unwilling to admit Andrew might be telling the truth. Still, he had no reason to doubt his mentor.
Mayhap Andrew knew that, because the man spread his hands. “I’m yer kinsman, lad. Why would I lie to ye?”
“Fine,” Ross managed to choke out, then swallowed and tried again. “Fine. I thank ye for the information, and we’ll take our leave of ye.”
The bellow of laughter Andrew produced was enough to make a few of his men jump in surprise. “Ye’ll no’ be leaving us, Ross, but thank ye for the laugh!”
“Aye, I will.” His voice was deadly calm. “Ye’re my kinsman, and I have nae wish to fight ye, but I will if ‘tis what’s needed.”
Abruptly, Andrew sobered, then pointed one thick finger at Ross. “Aye, yer kinsman, and I ken how important loyalty is to ye. And I also ken that I was the one to teach ye how to use that blade at yer hip.”
Could he kill a kinsman?
Ross had never wanted to know the answer to that question, but if it meant escaping these woods and keeping Courtney safe, he’d consider it. Loyalty to his clan was well and good, but now, when the metal was ready to hit the meat, he understood his loyalty to the Queen was more important.
Then Andrew’s finger shifted, pointing behind Ross’s back, and he realized his loyalty to Courtney was the most important of all.
“After ye’re dead, Ross, I’ll take that wee English wench all the ways I wanted to back before Cam sent her away.”
With a growl, Ross wrenched his sword from its scabbard.
Chapter 11
It was galling to retreat, but Court understood what Ross was doing, and wouldn’t waste the opportunity.
But stepping forward the way he did, by engaging Andrew’s attention, he was allowing her to fade into the background. She was used to being the leader, used to taking care of others, so it was an interesting feeling to give up control of the situation like this.
As she inched back from the confrontation—literally and figuratively—she remembered him demanding her promise to him that she’d live to return to Scone.
That had only been a few minutes ago, hadn’t it?
She was no stranger to peril, and neither was he. Even before this mission, they each woke and knew the day could be their last. But now that she’d found him, now that she understood his feelings, she would not allow him to sacrifice himself…for her or otherwise.
When she was even with Honor, the dog lifted his head from his bone and woofed inquisitively. Without taking her eyes from the conversation in front of her, she lifted two fingers off her bow in a signal to the dog to stand down. She’d watched Ross make the same motion, and Honor apparently recognized it, because he made no further noise.
By the time she’d reached the door to the armory—the door they’d stepped through so blithely just a short time ago—the dog was back to chewing on his treat.
And Ross…?
Her heart broke for him when she heard Andrew’s claim. He didn’t outright state the Fraser laird had paid them to assassinate the Queen, but what else could his words have meant?
And from the way he’d explained it, it sounded as though the Frasers had a real reason to want Elizabeth dead.
And that would crush Ross, who valued loyalty to his clan above all else.
She remembered the way he’d held her last night.
I could be loyal to ye.
Well, mayhap no’ all else.
He’d been the one to teach her it was possible to hold multiple loyalties, and now he was having to choose between his own.
When Andrew pointed in her direction, she instinctively ducked, but it was his lewd threat which had her stomach churning. Not because she wasn’t sure she could defeat him if he did attack her in such a way, but because of how Ross would react.
She knew him as well as she knew herself, because they reacted
the same way.
If one of her teammates had been threatened like that, Court would’ve wasted no time in sending an arrow into his forehead.
Sure enough, Ross was the same.
With a snarl, he ripped his sword from his scabbard, willing to fight his own kinsman to protect her.
Around him, the Red Hand exploded into action.
As Andrew drew his own sword, a fierce grin on his face, another man nocked an arrow, and a third and fourth man pulled their blades.
Morgan was the only one who glanced in her direction, and when he looked away, she wasn’t sure if it was because he was dismissing her as a threat, or doing her a kindness.
As if she would run!
It took less than a moment to observe and catalog the threats, and another heartbeat to find cover. The door to the armory pushed open easily, and she was already crouching as she ducked backward, her right hand reaching for her quiver.
As the first clash of steel echoed through the little clearing—had the rest of the group already gone about their thieving for the day, or had Andrew deliberately sent them away?—Ross surprised them all with a whistle.
“Honor! Protect Court!”
It was a command she and the dog both recognized, and although she appreciated the gesture, she was the one under cover right now. It was tempting to counter the command, to send him to protect Ross, but she never had the chance.
As Honor sprang forward—his bone forgotten as soon as Ross had drawn his blade—Andrew bellowed, “Secure the beast!”
Throwing himself toward the dog, Morgan snatched up the line of rope around the animal’s neck. Despite Honor’s strength and size, Morgan heaved backward, holding the beast in place. Honor thrashed his head back and forth, barking wildly in his attempt to get to Court, or just away from Morgan in general.
Not for the first time, Court reflected on how slowly time moved in the midst of a battle.
Was that just her training, or was it like that for everyone? To Ross, did each clash and parry and thrust seem to take eons?
Likely, no more than a few seconds had passed by the time she ducked behind the door. This position would allow her to fire from relative cover, although she’d have to expose her weapon and head each time she leaned out.
The Highlander’s Angel Page 12
