Highlander's Sweet Promises

by Tarah Scott

  “Albany has betrayed Scotland yet again,” the earl informed him with a shake of his chin. “And we’ve had reports from England that Edward’s health is failing.”

  Julian sat up in bed. Aye, ‘twas invigorating to be enmeshed in the web of intrigue once more. Surprisingly, he had missed it. “Then Gloucester will become King of England,” he observed thoughtfully, and then smiled. “And after these recent matters, he’ll not support Albany nor muster an army to bother Scotland any time soon.”

  “Aye,” Cameron agreed, permitting his eyes to smile in return.

  Julian eyed his friend in admiration. Cameron was ever the wily statesman. “Well played,” he said. “We’ve staved off another English threat then, aye?”

  Cameron nodded, but then grew serious. “But dinna forget, now we have Albany loose again. He has withdrawn to Dunbar and has just this day been named a traitor to the Scottish crown.”

  “He’ll never stop until he’s dead,” Julian said grimly. “Ach, but ye need me, Cameron! I should be riding, not lying abed!”

  Julian slapped the bed with the flat of his palm, but the gesture made him wince in pain.

  “Ye’ll ride soon enough, lad,” Cameron assured him and then settled back in his chair.

  They spoke of other things then, and when Liselle returned after a time, the afternoon passed pleasantly with Cameron regaling her with tales of Julian’s follies throughout the years.

  Julian didn’t mind. Hearing Liselle laugh warmed his soul. And though he desperately fought to stay awake, it was too difficult in such a peaceful atmosphere.

  He was not even aware he had fallen asleep until he woke to find himself staring into the dark eyes of Pascal standing at the foot of his bed.

  “I trust you are feeling better, Lord Gray?” the graceful youth queried in a guarded tone.

  Easing himself onto an elbow, Julian gave a dry laugh. “The fact that I yet live tells me the Vindictam has rescinded my death sentence.” With a gracious nod, he added, “And for that I thank ye, lad.”

  Pascal’s lips curved into a smile. “You are protected … for now. But it is an easy enough matter to make someone disappear,” he said, caressing the hilt of the sword belted about his slim waist.

  Recognizing the glint of humor in the lad’s eyes, Julian merely arched a brow.

  Pascal remained silent for a time, and then began to pace thoughtfully before the window. “You were delirious for quite some time, Lord Gray,” he said at last. “And in the heat of your fever, you spoke of what I had long suspected in France—and knew for sure in Fotheringhay.”

  “Aye?” Julian prodded curiously.

  Pascal’s dark eyes riveted upon him. “You are Le Marin.”

  A smile creased Julian’s cheek as a memory flashed across his mind, and he said, “Aye, and in that fever, I distinctly recall hearing the voice of the Electus ordering me not to die.”

  Their gazes locked, and then Pascal dipped his chin in graceful acknowledgment. “An order that you dutifully obeyed,” he pointed out. And then his intense eyes grew serious. “Join us, Julian. Your fingers will flow with gold. Work with us in the fair city of Le Serenìssima.”

  Julian chuckled. “Nay, lad, I serve Scotland alone,” was all he said.

  “Dare you stir my anger?” Pascal’s grim tone was at odds with the smile on his lips. “Mayhap I should tell you that the Quattuor Gladiis has not yet decided upon the fate of Le Marin—whoever he may be.”

  “And mayhap I have faith that the Electus—whoever he may be—will introduce a wee bit of Scottish common sense into his men. Loyalty before vengeance, aye?” Julian replied easily.

  Pascal’s dark eyes lit with a smile, but it took some time for his reluctant reply. “Then we have an understanding.”

  “Do we?” Julian asked, easing back onto the pillow. “Orazio and ye should know that I’ll be wedding Liselle.”

  "Do you have a death wish, Lord Gray?” Orazio’s distinctive voice sounded from the doorway.

  Glancing up, Julian watched the man enter the chamber and approach the bed, his hands folded behind his back.

  “Tread softly, Orazio,” Julian warned, boldly meeting the man’s piercing gaze. “I’ve already proven that I’ll protect her with my life. I’ll not live without the lass. I love her.”

  Orazio exhaled strongly through his nose. “Loyalty is the pillar of our family, Lord Gray,” he began.

  “Aye, as with any clan,” Julian agreed.

  “And blood ties can never be severed,” Orazio continued grimly, joining Pascal at the foot of the bed.

  “The tie of a brother, aye,” Julian granted, but then his voice hardened. “But the ties of the Vindictam have been severed already.”

  Orazio’s head snapped back. “Never has the Vindictam released one of its own!”

  “Truly, Orazio?” A woman’s soft voice filtered through the chamber.

  As one, they turned to see Lady Sutherland hovering in the doorway.

  “Do not uncover the past, my lady,” Pascal warned quietly.

  Her blue eyes impaled him. Stepping into the chamber, she shut the door firmly behind her and then crisply addressed Orazio and Pascal, “Liselle was never made to shed blood, you two young fools!”

  Orazio’s mouth gaped open as Pascal expelled a breath of annoyance and moved to slouch against the wall, clearly preparing for what he knew would come next.

  Wagging her finger, Lady Sutherland took them to task. “Orazio, you must open your eyes. And Pascal, if you truly wish to restore the Vindictam to its former glory, you must be strong, caro! A strong leader assigns tasks to only those who can succeed at them. As Electus, the responsibility lies with you!”

  Pascal’s lip curved into a smile. “I see why they let you go free,” he said softly.

  A look of outright alarm and astonishment crossed Orazio’s face. “Who is this woman? These matters are of the highest secrecy! We must—”

  “Mayhap you would know her better by another name,” Pascal interrupted calmly. “Orazio, allow me to introduce you to your Sia Pippa. Pippa da Vilardino.”

  Julian’s lips parted in surprise as Orazio choked.

  But Lady Sutherland graciously inclined her head. “Pippa,” she repeated softly. “It is a name I’d nearly forgotten, caro.”

  Julian raised a brow at her perfect English accent. This woman was the famed Venetian assassin in Liselle’s tale?

  Orazio was the first to recover. Motioning towards Julian first and then to himself, he said, “These matters should not be discussed here. Nor even—”

  “Nonsense!” Lady Sutherland retorted, waving her hand. “We are bound by blood and Lord Gray through love. If Pascal cannot speak to us of such matters, then he can trust no one. And he will not remain the Dominus Granditer for longer than a fortnight!”

  “Should I even ask how she knows of this?” Orazio turned upon Pascal, clearly taken aback.

  Pascal merely gave a humorous sigh. “There is little that Pippa does not know, Orazio. And I wasn’t jesting when I said the Vindictam was relieved to be rid of her.”

  “Then set Liselle free, Pascal,” Lady Sutherland insisted, tucking a silver-threaded lock behind her ear.

  Emphasizing his displeasure with a deep frown, Orazio stepped forward. “May I remind you, cara sia, that Pascal is not someone you can simply demand—”

  “Nonsense!” Lady Sutherland cut in with a smile, though her voice was powerful. “Pascal is my nephew. As are you, Orazio. And did your mother not teach you to respect your elders, and above all, the women elders of your family?”

  As her sharp eyes turned upon Orazio, Julian was amused to watch the formidable man take an involuntary step back.

  “Respect, certainly, mia sia …” he faltered, searching for words.

  Perversely entertained by Orazio’s discomfiture, Pascal held out a hand. “Please take Orazio to task elsewhere, sia cara. I shall join you shortly.”

  As Lady Sutherland obligingly guided
Orazio from the chamber, Pascal turned to Julian once again.

  “Then I want something in return, Lord Gray,” he said, his dark eyes turning hard. “Dolfin.”

  Julian lifted a wary brow. “Ye needn’t fear he’ll betray ye, lad.”

  “And what assurance do I have of that?” Pascal’s eyes narrowed.

  “I should think the word of Le Marin should be enough,” Julian replied, locking gazes with the youth. “Dolfin is dead to ye. Let him go. Ye owe the man a debt, lad. Without him, ye never would have exposed the Saluzzi corruption.”

  Pascal’s lips drew into a hard line, but his voice was calm as he asked, “Is it true that his mind has grown weak?”

  Julian heaved a sigh. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but there was no denying it. “Aye, the man is old and frail.”

  Pascal moved to stare out of the window for a time. “Liselle is willful, Lord Gray,” he finally said before turning to face Julian. A smile graced his lips. “It is not too late for you to run to the highlands. Allow me to be of assistance. I owe you that much, at least.”

  Julian’s mouth shifted into an answering smile. “I’ll not be running from her, lad. Besides, I have no doubt she would find me.”

  At that, Pascal gave a cutting laugh. “True enough,” he said. “She followed only you from the beginning it seems. It is unfortunate that Dolfin died before the hand of justice could find him.”

  Julian’s smile broadened as he dipped his chin in thanks.

  “But know you this, Lord Gray,” the dark-haired youth continued with an arrogant lift of his brow. “It is you who weds into the Vindictam. I will not slay Liselle, even in name. And even though she will not be called upon to practice her craft, she remains one of us. Protected. Loved. Cherished. Never forget the meaning of the Vindictam.” He paused a moment before adding, “We are revenge.”

  The threat was clear. But Julian could do naught but smile. “Aye, I knew ye had a Scottish heart, lad,” was all he said. And then suddenly weary, he waved a tired hand. “Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I’m in sore need of rest. Ye’ve quite taxed my strength.”

  And then ignoring the assassin threatening him from his bedside, Julian yawned and fell asleep.

  * * *

  White clouds scurried across the blue sky as Lord Julian Gray stood on his ancestral lands and surveyed the gray-stoned castle rising before him. Dew glistened on the tender leaves of the trees and shrubbery. Nearby, he could hear the bleating of goats and the lowing of cows.

  He took a deep breath of the crisp spring air.

  His family had lived on this land for generations. And for the first time in his life, he felt he belonged there as well.

  Adjusting his plaid, he smiled.

  Castle Huntly was filled with his closest friends and kinfolk, all of them waiting for the arrival of the bride before proceeding to the kirk a short distance away.

  Aye, this very day he would wed Liselle.

  Today, she would truly become Lady Gray.

  He’d spent a peaceful winter—nay, a wondrous winter—courting the lass in Edinburgh. She had wanted to be wed immediately, but he had insisted upon a proper courtship. Never had he cherished a woman so. And he knew in his heart that he would love her until his dying breath.

  “I’m certain they will be here soon, my son,” his mother’s voice sounded from his side.

  Julian turned to see his mother and Lady Sutherland standing behind him.

  His mother was a lovely woman in her own right, and her calm green eyes and lined face were alight with excitement. Wearing a blue satin gown and her flaxen hair bound by a jeweled net, she was ready for the wedding she had spent months preparing for with Lady Sutherland. A wedding she had dreamed of for years—a wedding that Julian knew his mother hoped would turn her scandalous son into a respectable man once and for all.

  And then Lady Sutherland’s blue eyes widened. “They are here, Lord Gray.”

  Spinning on his heel, Julian saw a party of horses approaching at a mad pace. He scanned the riders quickly, but the moment he caught sight of the familiar honey-colored tresses flying loose in the wind, he saw nothing else.

  It seemed but a moment later that he was swinging Liselle down from her horse. Sweeping her close in a warm embrace, he buried his face in her hair.

  “I’ve missed ye sorely, lass,” he whispered.

  “It has only been a week, Lord Gray,” she replied with a husky laugh.

  “A week is long enough to make a man mad,” he teased lightly. “I have to see ye to return to my senses, lass. I can't stand to be apart from ye.”

  Capturing a handful of her hair, he rubbed it against his cheek and then stood back to eye her in open, frank admiration. Her green-velvet gown hugged her figure in the most seductive of ways. And her lips were as full and kissable as they always had been.

  With his mouth curving into a wicked grin, he began in a low suggestive rumble, “Aye, ‘tis time I kissed ye rough and slow—”

  “It is good to see you hale and hearty at last, Lord Gray,” Pascal’s amused voice cut in.

  Startled, Julian whirled on his heel.

  Ach, how had he forgotten the dozen or so horsemen who had accompanied Liselle? And judging by their wary demeanor, rich black attire, and piercing eyes, every one of them belonged to the Vindictam.

  “I shall leave you now,” Liselle whispered in his ear.

  With a capricious smile, she attempted to dash away, but he snagged her by the wrist and pulled her close once again.

  “Are ye leaving me to face a dozen assassins on my own, ye wee devil?” he asked lightly.

  “You are Le Marin, are you not?” Her hazel eyes sparkled. “Surely, the ruling elite of the Vindictam will be no match for you.”

  Slipping from his grasp, she darted away to join his mother and Lady Sutherland. He watched them disappear into the castle before turning to face the Vindictam once again.

  Pascal and Orazio had dismounted and were moving his way.

  It had been nigh on six months since he’d last seen them.

  Pascal had grown broader of shoulder, and he moved with an air of authority that most likely meant he was now the Dominus Granditer, but Julian knew it was not something he could ask.

  With an obvious reluctance, Orazio clasped arms with Julian in greeting. But then leaning close, he warned in a voice heavy with emotion, “If you even make her weep, Lord Gray, you will shed tears of blood.”

  Had any other man said those words, Julian would have been insulted. But from Orazio, he knew it meant the man had accepted the marriage at last.

  Pascal confirmed it with a dark smile, but he couldn’t resist adding, “And should you try to run and hide, we will find you, Lord Gray.”

  “Aye, fair enough.” Julian chuckled, recognizing his twisted humor. “I’ve no need to hide from ye, lad.” And then turning to Orazio, he nodded once. “Your wee sister will never weep because of me.”

  For several long moments, Orazio locked gazes with him. But then his expression softened, and his chin dipped in the minutest amount in acknowledgement.

  Behind them, the dark-clothed horsemen had dismounted to scan the area critically. Their tense movements spoke of a barely contained ferocity.

  Julian suppressed a sigh.

  Life with Liselle was not likely to get easier. Not with her vigilant brother and her cousin the Dominus Granditer of a powerful family of assassins.

  But the lass was well worth the trouble.

  “Welcome to Castle Huntly,” Julian said, bowing to them all. “My home is yours.”

  They had almost reached the entrance when Pascal’s sharp eyes spied an old man sitting in the sunlit garden a few steps away.

  It was Dolfino Dolfin.

  The old man glanced up and tottered to his feet.

  Pascal froze.

  “And who be our guests, caro?” Dolfin called to Julian, waving a trembling hand at the Vindictam.

  But before Julian could reply, the old salt spy l
aughed.

  “Ah, I know right well. I may be old, but I am not blind.” With a wide smile, he shuffled towards them to stop in front of Pascal. “Guests! We have guests, Julian. Guests for the wedding. It is the season for love!” With a laugh, he kissed the air. “Amór!”

  “Amór!” Julian repeated with a fond smile.

  Dolfin’s mind had grown weaker with each passing month, and the moments of clarity were few now. It was surprising that he had even remembered the wedding.

  “Amór, bón pare,” Pascal said softly.

  A brief expression of compassion crossed his face, but it was so fleeting that Julian wasn’t entirely certain he had seen it.

  And then Pascal turned his sharp eyes upon Orazio and exchanged a meaningful look with him.

  “The man reminds me of someone I knew once, long ago.” Pascal’s tone was cool. “But that man is dead now.” And then holding out his hand, he said, “Do we not have a wedding to attend? Let us not tarry here. I would leave this barbarous land as soon as I may.”

  As Pascal turned on his heel and walked away, Julian led Dolfin back to his chair in the sunlight, and after seeing the man settled, straightened his plaid and made his way to his castle to wed his bride.

  The events passed in a whirlwind.

  More guests arrived and among them were Ewan and the highlanders from Mull, Cameron, his wee wife Kate and their newest bairn.

  The wedding and the feast was everything his mother had hoped it would be. She spent the entire day and evening, weeping tears of joy.

  As for Julian, he spent more time keeping a watchful eye on the members of Vindictam at the feast than not, but for the most part, Liselle’s kin mingled easily enough amongst the highlanders. And after observing them for the entire day, Julian supposed the two groups had much in common. Fierce loyalty, protection, and honor ran as thick through the Scots’ blood as with the Vindictam.

  Soon enough, the bride was carried to the bedchamber, and Julian was laughingly escorted by a group of men so drunk they couldn’t successfully navigate the stairs.

  “I relieve ye of your duty, lads.” Julian laughed, shooing them back down the steps. “I know the way well enough.”