by Tarah Scott
But Douglas was groaning and rolling his eyes. “For the sake of St. Andrew, how much this time, Julian? Just know ye’ll be paying me back anything I lend ye afore ye pay Cameron what ye owe him already! Do ye hear me, lad?”
“Aye, ‘tis a mere hundred pounds.” Julian’s grin broadened.
Gloucester looked upon him, outraged. And then turning to Albany, he ordered through clenched jaws. “Remove this fool from my sight!” His temper was visibly boiling.
“My lord, the lad is a good friend of the Earl of Lennox—” Douglas began to protest weakly.
“Then the Earl of Lennox is a fool,” Gloucester exploded. “He should choose his friends more wisely!”
As Albany and Douglas exchanged glances, Gloucester’s mouth gaped, astonished at their visible reluctance.
“It will be no surprise when Scotland falls! The lot of you are fools!” he snapped viciously. “Is there not a man amongst you?”
And then his eyes fell upon Liselle.
Liselle froze, immediately regretting that she hadn’t escaped whilst they had all been distracted. Well, she couldn’t escape the man now!
With an outright snort of disdain, the duke hissed, “Get this woman out of my sight! Send them both away, and right quickly. Have the fool escort the lass to Edinburgh and have done!”
“Not wise, my lord,” Douglas inserted quickly, his red face flooding in alarm. “I wouldna deliver any lady into Lord Gray’s care.”
“Aye, he’d bed the lass and then most likely leave her stranded,” Albany growled, looping his thumbs through his belt. “I canna afford to anger her brother.”
At that, Julian chuckled, and with a flippant shrug, said, “Then let it be as ye wish, my lord. Mayhap I should help ye search for Le Marin instead, aye?”
The vein on Gloucester’s forehead nearly popped. “I’ve no time to bandy idle words with a pack of fools!” he said in a livid tone, and then shoving Albany aside, he strode away.
Refocusing his anger now onto Gloucester, Albany roared and followed the man, demanding an apology as Douglas muttered, “Julian, I’ll find a way to pay your debt, for Cameron’s sake.”
And then he was gone.
Julian shook his head in disgust.
With a twinge of disappointment, Liselle watched him take a step as if to follow them, but then he suddenly turned and caught her wrist.
Startled, she looked up into his eyes and found them simmering with a sensual heat.
And then in one quick, fluid movement, he covered her lips in a scorching kiss.
8
“Ach, I shouldna have kissed her”
Capturing Liselle’s bottom lip betwixt his teeth, Julian expertly deepened his kiss to interweave his tongue with hers.
Her response was immediate, filled with a fire and a wild abandon that made his blood boil as her tongue tangled deliciously with his. Slowly, she slid her palm over his chest, leaving in its wake a soft trail of burning sweetness that taunted him with the promise of more.
Lifting his hand, he cupped the delicate curve of her jaw as a groan of longing escaped his throat.
It was then that he knew he’d made a grave mistake. He should never have kissed her. She was treacherous, dangerous, and a relationship with her could not end well.
But it was already too late! A man could lose himself in her pouting lips.
How could he walk away now?
And then a new thought sprang to mind, a suspicion of a deeply buried fear. Was she a woman that he could never walk away from?
The thought was terrifying.
Abruptly, he tore his lips away. His chest was heaving and his breath ragged.
And then, hard fingers gripped his shoulders to sharply haul him back.
“God’s Wounds, Julian!” Douglas swore in angered disgust. “Have ye gone daft? Ye canna toy with this lady! Even Cameron will have your head for it!”
And then Albany’s rage-mottled face came into view. “Get ye gone, Julian!” he roared. “Go afore ye bring the wrath of Gloucester down upon us all!”
Easily breaking free from Douglas’ grip, Julian turned back to Liselle.
But she was already gone.
He stood there a moment, a little dazed, and then Douglas was pulling him out of Alnwick’s chaotic hall.
“I’ll see ye out the gates myself, Julian!” the Scottish earl barked, shouting orders to his men to ready horses at once.
It wasn’t until Julian stepped out into the crisp evening air that his thoughts began to clear. Ach, where had his wits gone? He couldn’t let a woman distract him from his true purpose!
Now it was time for Le Marin to escape.
Nothing else mattered, not even pouting lips and stunning hazel eyes.
As a stable lad came running with two saddled horses, Douglas turned on Julian and growled, “Make haste and get ye gone from here!” Withdrawing a small leather bag from his sporran, he tossed it Julian’s way and added, “And take this as payment to your debts. But don’t ye return for more. Gloucester didna take a liking to ye and will likely have your head!”
Julian caught the bag and grinned.
Acquiring the betrothal contract had been easy.
Escaping Gloucester’s rage, jumping through the alcove window, and returning as the notorious Lord Julian Gray had been even easier.
But by far the easiest of all was leaving Castle Alnwick with none being the wiser.
His grin widened. Le Marin hadn’t expected he would have a personal escort out of the castle, nor had he’d expected to be paid for his mission. Hefting the chinking bag of coins, he chuckled and tucked it under his shirt next to the evidence which would prove Albany a traitor—the betrothal contract.
With a deepening scowl, Douglas dug his heel into his horse’s side and trotted through the gates at a fast clip, alongside Julian. They had scarcely exited the last one before he turned to Julian with his brows furrowed into a thick line of disapproval.
“’Tis only for Cameron’s sake that I’ve given ye aid this night!” the earl spat. “I’ve nae the tolerance for your way of living!”
Julian suppressed a snort.
The man was absurd. How could he still claim Cameron’s friendship whilst sitting on his horse with his plaids illuminated by the hundreds of campfires dotting the hillside behind him—campfires of an English army preparing to slaughter his own countrymen?
“Are ye out of your wits?” Douglas demanded impatiently.
“Aye,” Julian muttered sarcastically. Aye, he was out of his wits for not throttling the man there and now as he deserved! There was much he wished to say, but alas could not.
Cursing under his breath, he gave Douglas a grim nod, and then wheeled his horse about. And as the clouds covered the face of the moon, he galloped away from Alnwick Castle.
Never had Le Marin escaped so easily. And never had he needed that ease more.
Just thinking of the numbers amassed at Alnwick Castle made his heart heavy. Gloucester had raised an army of over twenty thousand men with over two thousand sheaves of arrows and a hundred cart horses drawing siege weapons.
And all too soon they would march on Scotland.
Tiredly, Julian returned to the village inn where earlier he’d paid for a room to sleep the night. He’d rise with the dawn and hurry to Scotland to raise the alarm. There was naught he could do until the sun rose; the night was too dark to ride.
Collapsing onto a bed, he sought sleep, but it was long in coming. Scotland’s woes preyed on his mind, joined at times by the uncertainties of Liselle.
“Ach,” he muttered under his breath for the twentieth time. “I shouldna have kissed her.”
Some small part of him had wanted to be disappointed, to find her kiss lacking. Aye, he’d become too enamored with her of late. ‘Twas time to ignore the lass.
But the intoxication of her lips was far beyond anything he could have imagined. How could he shake his fascination with the lass now? Now, when there seemed little hop
e of quenching the desire raging in his blood?
Ach, had he known that her kiss would leave him so wanting, he never would have indulged his craving!
The hours of the night crept interminably on, and there was only the faintest glimmer of gray in the sky when at last he arose and set a furious pace north to Scotland, riding low on the neck of his horse.
Upon reaching the borderlands, he paused long enough at each village and hamlet along the way to raise the alarm that the English would soon be at their gates. No sooner had the words left his lips than he was off again.
Descending into the marshlands near the strong tower of Haggerston Castle, he guided his horse through the treacherous bogs to race along the rugged coastline, arriving at Berwick Castle just shy of noon. And after warning Lord Hailes of Gloucester’s impending arrival, he traded horses and continued his journey up the coast to Dunbar.
Hawks and gulls soared over his head as the sun rose higher, and dark clouds gathered in the sky on the horizon. The air turned hot and muggy, and with nothing but miles of coastline to traverse, he allowed his thoughts to mull the mysteries surrounding him.
Who had thrown the bone-handled stiletto to aid him? The Saluzzo had named the Vindictam. And while Pascal clearly belonged to or knew of this mysterious Vindictam, the mere thought of the slim dark-haired youth assisting him—maybe even saving his life—made him laugh aloud.
No, ‘twas most certainly not Pascal’s doing.
But what of the hazel-eyed, honey-haired Liselle? She had already demonstrated an uncanny knowledge and skill where knives were concerned.
A shiver rippled down his spine at the thought. The more he learned of her, the more he found her bewitching.
Galloping up the coast, he spent more time thinking of her lips than he wanted to admit, but it made the time pass exceedingly fast.
Soon enough, he arrived at Dunbar with his horse all a-lather. The weather had turned foul, and dark clouds swept in from the sea to unleash waves of sheeting rain.
It was growing late and he had no choice but to stay. Repeating the warning of Gloucester’s impending arrival to the castle caretaker there, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
The next morning found the rain gone, and the hot weather returned as he once again switched horses. Setting a heel to his new steed’s side, he sprang away, eager to deliver his tidings to Cameron.
Galloping along the river, at last he saw the Forth stretched out before him and knew that his journey was almost at an end.
Ahead, the black, rocky crags of Edinburgh drew steadily closer until finally, he arrived. Drawing rein, he paused to wipe his brow under the shadow of the castle, high on the hill.
The past few weeks had been tiring ones.
But his task was almost over.
Urging his beleaguered horse up the Royal Mile, he wove his way through the crowds, threading past prancing horses and children chasing carts filled with produce for the next day’s market. More than once, he narrowly sidestepped the contents of a chamber pot being tossed from above.
And then he was riding through the castle gates.
Sending word to Cameron, he retired quickly to his chamber to change his travel-stained clothing. He’d scarcely changed his shirt when he heard a knock on the door.
A young page bowed low in respect. “My lord, the Earl of Lennox, wishes ye to join him at once in the king’s privy chamber, my lord,” the lad’s shrill voice piped ceremoniously.
With a crisp nod, Julian grabbed the betrothal contract from his belongings and sprinted down the steps towards the royal apartments.
He heard the outraged voices long before he entered the king's privy chamber.
And ducking his head through the doorway, he spied Thomas Cochrane posturing like a rooster before a dozen disgruntled nobles. The king’s favorite was a brown-haired, young man with a sleek trimmed beard and a pale, sickly complexion. Dressed sumptuously in fine green velvets and wearing a thick gold chain about his neck, he stood before a splendidly framed portrait of none other than himself, hanging on the king’s wall.
Rumors swirled around him, rumors that he was the king’s lover. It was the only way his ascent from a low-born mason to the king’s right-hand man made sense to the angry nobles gathered before him.
"The black money must be recalled!" one loud voice rose above the others. "Your Majesty, the people are suffering! They refuse to sell their goods for Cochrane's Plack!"
A short distance away, King James III sat in a carved chair, oblivious to the heated arguments surrounding him. The monarch was a prematurely aging man with a pallid face and heavy-lidded eyes. His pale red hair clung to his forehead in thin, wispy strings. And his thoughts were clearly elsewhere as he stared unseeing into the distance, toying absently with a gold-handled spoon. A platter of cured venison and sweetmeats on the table before him lay untouched.
Julian suppressed a snort.
Aye, the man would be the ruin of them all with his incessant pampering of favorites. Instead of governing his country, he spent the entirety of his time showering them with endless banquets and useless fripperies.
And then Thomas Cochrane stepped forward and raised his fist, rage staining his narrow cheeks as his nasal voice rose. “’Tis the law that they must accept my coin as they would any other!”
Voices burst out indignantly but then fell silent as Cameron pushed his way forward to tower over his cousin, the king.
The king swallowed visibly.
Cameron cut an imposing figure as he warned his cousin in a soft, chilling tone, “Your refusal to listen will prove dangerous to your grasp of power, James.”
“And who are ye to utter such threats?” Thomas interrupted with a huff. Picking up his goblet, he stepped close to wag it in Cameron’s face. “Dare ye address a king in such a manner?”
Cameron merely raised a cool brow, and the voice in which he replied was one of calm command. “Dinna interrupt me again, Thomas! Have a care. Your day of reckoning is near. Mar’s title doesna befit the likes of ye. It will not wear for long.”
Thomas started violently and licked his lips. “Are ye threatening me?” he mumbled in a choked voice. “I’ll have ye banished from court!”
But Cameron had already turned away from him to clasp the king’s shoulder, and he gave it a little shake. “James, ‘tis time to wake from this madness! Listen to your people and ban the Cochrane Plack!”
The king turned his head to the side and drew his lips in an obstinate line as Thomas gasped in outrage.
"By the heavens above, ‘tis only on the day I am hanged that the new coins shall be called in and not a day afore!" Thomas vowed, raising his fist once again.
The chamber erupted into angry shouts, and it was then that Cameron caught sight of Julian still standing in the doorway.
Waving his hand, Julian quit the place and stepped into the antechamber to wait.
It didn’t take Cameron long to join him. Nor did it take long to give him the betrothal contract and to divulge the tidings that Albany was en route with Richard of Gloucester, leading an army into the heart of Scotland.
"Sweet Mary!" Cameron swore, his dark eyes smoldering. Beckoning to a nearby guard, he dipped his dark head and, in a lethally calm tone, issued a series of orders.
Julian nodded in satisfaction and gave a loud, long yawn, knowing that Cameron would see done what needed to be done.
“I’ve already warned the clans to ride at a moment’s notice. We’ve heard rumors afore, but have not had the proof of Albany’s betrayal nor an inkling of the numbers,” Cameron said grimly and then weighed Julian with a measuring look. “Ye look fair dead on your feet, lad. Get ye off to rest. Ye’ll be no good to me like this.”
“I’m rested enough,” Julian said with a tired grin, but then his mood darkened. “Aye, there’s something else ye should know, Cameron.” There was no good way to say it other than to say it quickly. “’Tis Archibald Douglas. He’s joined Albany.”
Cameron me
rely stared at him. Years of court intrigue had rendered him a master of masking emotions, and he betrayed no hint of surprise. “Are ye sure, lad?” he asked finally.
“Aye, as sure as I can be,” Julian grunted in reply.
“I would speak with him first,” Cameron murmured, and then laying his arm about Julian’s shoulders, he guided him out of the room. “Let’s see ye fed and rested. I’ll be needing ye in a few days. I’ll not see a drop of Scottish blood spilled over greed! We’ll outwit Albany and avert this war.”
"It shouldna be hard," Julian said with chuckle. "Albany could never outthink ye, Cameron, even when ye were lads."
"Albany, mayhap not,” Cameron countered, “But the Duke of Gloucester is a highly able and ruthless man.”
Entering Edinburgh’s hall, Cameron chose the nearest table and waved for a serving maid as Julian sat down heavily and stretched out his long legs. Eyeing the various nobles conversing in the hall, he shook his head in silent disgust.
“And?” Cameron’s dark eyes fell upon him, twinkling with amusement.
Julian nodded his chin at the men surrounding them. “'Tis right glad I am that I've no dealings with any in this nest of vipers,” he said. “I’d wager over half are likely plotting this very moment to behead both James and Albany. Ach, and how many plots are directed against ye, do ye think?”
With a laugh, Cameron glanced around the hall before sitting on the edge of the table and resting an elegant boot on the wooden bench. “Come now, Julian,” he said with a sardonic twist of his lip. "What would this place be without a good plot a-brewing? ‘Twould be dull."
“Julian! Lord Julian Gray!” a feminine voice giggled from behind.
Raising a brow, Julian turned to see a fair-haired lass with milky white skin and bright green eyes smiling down at him. Aye, not long ago he’d played with the notion of courting her, at least for a few weeks. But looking at her now, he couldn’t recall why he’d found her so interesting.
With a polite but plainly disinterested nod, he faced Cameron once more to prod, “And will the clans come to defend James, do ye think? Are there enough loyal to even raise a sufficient army?”
