by Merry Farmer
He didn’t. He wouldn’t be the man she once loved if he had acquiesced to her demand, after all.
Instead, he planted his feet and rolled his shoulders, the movement drawing her attention to their width. He looked…good. Almost as good as he’d looked last year when they’d met at Uncle Rory and Aunt Citrine’s table, where Liam had distinguished himself in the warrior games. Almost as good as he’d looked, laughing and carefree, at the MacLeod holding on Lewes, as he’d charmed her into his arms.
Arms which now held a sword, not-quite-raised against her. Arms which were still as sinewy and muscle-bound as she remembered. Arms which could hold her and stroke her, even as they coiled with suppressed power.
She swallowed.
“Char,” he said again, softer, and she tried not to melt at his tone. “Char, please answer me. Tell me why ye are here. What kind of trouble are ye in? Let me help ye.”
As she snorted with disbelief, her sword arm jerked upward, and she saw Tav take a step toward her. That must mean the battle had gone well, and the ship was theirs. She shook her head once, letting her brother know she was still in control of her feelings.
Mostly.
“Listen closely, Bruce,” she growled. “Ye’ve hurt far more than ye’ve helped, and I’ll never allow ye that opportunity again! I’m here for the Queen, and I’ll no’ let you lie yer way out of this again.”
At the mention of her goal, she heard a startled gasp from behind Liam’s broad back, but couldn’t afford to focus on it. Nay, instead, she was watching his face, watching for an indication, before he attacked.
What she saw instead, was a flicker of confusion.
“I’ve never lied to ye, Char.”
She couldn’t help it; she snorted again. “Aye, ye conveniently forgot to mention yer betrothed when ye bedded me!”
“I’m no’ betrothed.”
Of course. Of course a man, who’d lied about it once, would lie again. Suddenly weary—from the battle? From her efforts to get John MacDonald’s treachery recognized? Or from the last year of grief since she’d realized her idiocy with Liam?—Charlotte’s shoulders slumped, the tip of the sword pointed down at the deck of the birlinn.
She sighed and took a moment to look around.
Her assumptions had been right; the Black Banner’s men had been victorious. She saw Auld Robbie deep in conversation with the MacLeod captain, while a few others guarded the sailors. Tosh was crouched beside one of the Queen’s bodyguards, and as she watched, he rolled the younger man to his back, then offered a sip from his water skin. The other three were receiving similar treatment from her men, although they were being restrained as well.
Good. No one had died.
Yet.
She pushed her shoulders back and turned to the man she’d once loved. “Aye, ye are,” she said in a firm voice. “Ye’re no’ the first man to get what he wanted, they fly away without a second thought. But I will no’ be lied to.”
Liam’s eyes narrowed, as if offended she was calling him a liar. “I’m no’ betrothed,” he said again, slowly and distinctly. “The Bruce called me back to Scone, but has given me permission to return to Lewes once my mission here is—”
“I care no’ for yer reasons, Liam,” she said wearily. “Just move aside and let me have at the Queen for a few moments, aye?”
“He’s telling the truth.” The voice, coming from behind Liam, was refined and delicate, with just a hint of accent from her native Ulster. “Liam has never been formally betrothed.”
Formally.
So mayhap her father’s claim had referred an informal betrothal, but that hardly mattered. Her own arrangement with John—or rather, their fathers’ arrangements—proved informal betrothals were just as binding.
So Charlotte scoffed outright. “Stay out of this, Yer Majesty,” she snapped, finally losing control. “This has naught to do with ye.”
“On the contrary,” the woman said as she stood, every inch royalty. “I believe it has everything to do with me. Why are ye here, Charlotte MacLeod?”
Chapter 4
Briefly, Liam wondered how Queen Elizabeth had known Charlotte’s name, then remembered the conversations they’d had on the long days of travel from Carlisle. He’d confessed his feelings for the hot-headed MacLeod lass, chafing under his obligation to the Bruce, which kept Liam from returning to Lewes.
And, knowing the Queen, he shouldn’t have been surprised she’d remembered.
Charlotte frowned when the Queen spoke, and knowing her, it was because she couldn’t figure out the situation and was irritated by it.
But when Elizabeth stepped away from her chair and toward Charlotte, he had to act. He didn’t know what his lover was doing here, or why she claimed to want access to the Queen, but he couldn’t allow it. He shifted to put his body between the two women.
Elizabeth’s hand rested briefly on his arm, and he didn’t miss the way Charlotte’s gaze dropped to glare at it.
Interesting.
“Easy, Liam,” the Queen murmured. “Ye really believe the woman ye love could harm me?”
“I’m no’ sure what I think right now, Yer Majesty,” he replied. Then, raising his voice and piercing Charlotte with a hard stare, he repeated his earlier question. “Why are ye here, Char? What do ye want with the Queen, and why are ye associating with pirates?”
Mayhap she would’ve answered, had her companion—the Black Banner, who’d been standing so peacefully off to one side—not decided to interrupt.
“Oh, are we dispensing with the masks now?” He tossed a wink toward the Queen, and Liam almost groaned when he realized he now recognized those dark eyes. “I thought mayhap we were going to stand around and talk this arsehole into surrender.”
The man pulled down the tail of his scarf, revealing the smiling face of Charlotte’s carefree brother, Tavish.
Despite the presence of his Queen, Liam spit out a nasty curse.
“Yes indeed, my once-friend.” Tav’s mouth was still curved into a smile, but too many teeth were bared for it to be called friendly. That, and the dangerous glint in his eyes, told Liam he was in trouble.
The man Liam had called friend smoothly sheathed his sword, but didn’t drop his glare, and Liam wasn’t fool enough to think the man was unarmed now.
“Yes indeed,” Tavish repeated. “That seems like something ye ought to say, when confronted by the woman ye lied to, stole her maidenhead and abandoned, coward.”
Liam felt the muscles in his jaw pop as he clenched his teeth.
Lying?
There they went again, accusing him of lying. And worse!
He forced himself to exhale and relax, knowing he’d be no good in a fight. “I’m no’ a liar.”
“Ye are a cowardly arsehole though,” his friend spit back at him.
“Liam?” The Queen’s tone seemed almost gossipy. “Is this true? Ye took this woman’s virginity, and then—”
And Char, bless her, interrupted in her own defense. “He took naught, Yer Majesty! I gave it, and willingly, to a man I thought loved me.”
Elizabeth merely hummed, then stepped around Liam. He moved to intercept her, but she held up one imperious gloved hand as she peered at Charlotte.
The two women stood the same height, but the similarities ended there.
Elizabeth’s sable hair was still thick and luxurious, despite being several years older, but was bound under a pearl-studded net in the latest fashion.
Charlotte was all fire and warmth, passion and gaiety. She’d worn her long red hair loose the day he’d made love to her for the first time, and Liam didn’t think he’d ever forget the way she’d looked with that fiery halo of curls cascading down around her pale breasts.
His angel had bound her hair today, but during their fight, strands had come loose.
The way he’d always loved.
Actually…
Liam narrowed his eyes as he glared at the two women he loved most in the world. They were similar. He s
aw the same quick intelligence and subtle wit in both of their eyes, and wondered at how well-matched they were.
“Charlotte,” the Queen finally murmured. “My cousin’s question is pertinent. Why are ye here? You said you wanted access to me, but surely not to return me to England?”
“Never, Yer Majesty.” The quickness of the vow proved its honesty. “I just need to speak with ye, and an uninterrupted time and place to do it.”
Liam lowered his sword. He felt ridiculous standing there, threatening the woman he loved with it. Despite her accusations of his lies, he believed her when she said she didn’t intend to harm Elizabeth.
The Queen was nodding thoughtfully. “And the pirates?” Her gaze flicked to a still-grinning Tav, who blew her a kiss. Elizabeth merely raised a brow, before turning her full attention to Charlotte once more. “From Liam’s stories, it appears he is unused to this new hobby of yours.”
“I needed a way to get to ye,” Charlotte said quietly. “And the Black Banner had the best opportunity.”
“And you believed murder and violence were the best way to get my attention?”
Charlotte’s chin jerked up. “We’ve murdered no one! Yer men all still live!”
“MacLeod men,” Liam growled in reminder.
“Aye, MacLeod men,” Charlotte snapped. “Ye’re the one at fault, if ye were too dense to consider the implications!”
“Why in the world would I consider the possibility of being attacked by the woman I love, masquerading as a pirate?”
Tavish stepped forward then, his eyes hardening in anger. “No’ a masquerade, arsehole.”
Liam spun, almost wishing he hadn’t sheathed his sword. “Stop calling me that!”
“Ye stop being so free with my sister!”
The Queen stopped them with her quiet words. “Well, Charlotte? Are ye a pirate? Ye might no’ have killed anyone on this adventure, but are ye willing to?” She cocked her head and peered at the other woman, as if seeing her in a new light. “Are ye willing to kill to complete yer mission?”
Tav grunted. “I nominate this arsehole.”
And before Liam could blink, Charlotte had whipped her sword up and around, and had the tip resting on his shoulder right below his ear. One twitch would drag it across his throat, opening his skin and spilling his life’s blood.
In any other instance, Liam would’ve been angry. But here and now, the first emotion to course through his very-much-at-risk veins was…pride.
The woman he loved was smarter and faster than half the warriors he’d worked with over the years.
Her hand was steady, and her gaze clear as she glared at him. Still, he could see her subtle tells—the way her dark eyes were flickering between his, the way her lips were pressed a little too tightly—that she wasn’t entirely at ease with the situation.
Good.
Neither was he.
“Well, Charlotte?” the Queen asked again. “Could you do it? Could you kill a man?”
Charlotte’s pink tongue darted out to swipe across her lips, and Liam dropped his gaze to them.
Her lips…
He remembered the taste of them. He remembered the way they’d pursed to shush him, as she’d snuck him into her bedchamber, only to open with a giggle moments later. He remembered them tugged into a mischievous grin. He remembered everything about them.
So why couldn’t he guess how they’d answer Elizabeth?
“Well, Charlotte?” The Queen’s prompt yanked Liam back to the imminent danger. “Could you kill a man?”
To his surprise, Charlotte growled, “Aye, were the cause worthy.”
“And your cause now, my dear?” Elizabeth sounded merely curious. “You’ve attacked my ship, taken down my crew and my bodyguards, and stand ready to murder my cousin. Is this cause so important?”
Did no one else notice how Charlotte’s hand shook at the question?
The tip of her blade nicked the skin below his ear, but he didn’t react.
Finally, she swallowed. “Aye. ‘Tis important.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Well, if you feel it necessary to kill Liam…”
He met Charlotte’s eyes once more, careful to keep his emotions hidden. Strangely, he wasn’t afraid. It wasn’t so much he didn’t believe her capable of killing him, it was that he could see how conflicted she was. If she was in so much trouble she felt killing him would further her mission, he wanted to know what was wrong.
Besides, he loved her.
If she killed him today, he’d never get the chance to help her.
He flexed his knees, ready to dive to his left and risk losing an ear, if it kept his throat intact and her soul unstained.
“Well, Char?” he prompted quietly.
As he expected, the name—once an endearment, yet now an irritation—caused her eyes to flash. She straightened her elbow to steady the blade and glared at him.
“Do ye have any last words?”
He exhaled slowly. “Aye. I love ye. I’ve never stopped loving ye.”
Their little tableau was frozen for a heartbeat, two, three.
Then she snarled and threw herself forward, shifting her grip on the short sword so it pressed against the front of his throat.
“How dare ye?” Her face was only inches from his. “How dare ye think to say something like that to me?”
His hands were free, and her body close to his. He spread his arms. “How could I no’? I’ve said it many times before.”
“Lies!”
Before the word was finished, he’d grabbed her wrist and ducked from under the sword, forcing her arm up and around, so the blade—still in her hand—was thrust over his left shoulder. At the same time, he wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, until they stood in a bizarre parody of a dance.
“I. Do no’. Lie.”
He hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t threatened her, but still her eyes widened. “Nay,” she whispered.
“I love ye, Char. I always have.”
And before she could shake her head in denial yet again, he slammed his lips down on hers.
Chapter 5
God help her, but he tasted of salt air and sweat and rightness…and anger. So much anger.
Under his lips, Charlotte felt her own resistance collapse. She was angry—just as angry as he was—and she wouldn’t back down. But she’d missed this, missed the feel of his skin against hers.
That was why she was angry.
So she snaked her free hand around the back of his head, curled her fingers through his thick dark hair, and held him in place, while she kissed him right back.
Her blade still rested atop his shoulder, but his fingers around her forearm shifted their grip, until they were almost caressing in their firmness.
She smiled against his mouth.
With a groan, he broke away from her, but didn’t retreat. Nay, he was Liam Bruce; he didn’t retreat. Instead, he held her, their noses almost touching, as he stared into her eyes.
Her smile faded.
Was he married already? Is that why she hadn’t heard from him for the last year?
But how could he kiss her this way? Claim to still love her?
He must’ve seen her thoughts in her expression—he’d always understood her better than anyone else—because his lips twitched.
“I love ye, Char. I’ve missed ye.”
“Do ye love me more, or less, than ye love yer wife?”
He huffed a sigh. “I’m no’ married nor betrothed, Charlotte. Ye’re the only woman who has ever held my heart.”
It was Tavish who spoke up in her defense, since Charlotte seemed incapable.
“Ye have a fine way of showing it, Bruce. No word from ye for months and months, then Da tells us about yer marriage contract.”
Without looking at her brother—which was fair, because she couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away from Liam’s to look at him either—Liam said bitingly, “And yer Da would never lie, would he? I’ve
been busy.”
“With what?” Tav snapped, the irritation in his voice obvious.
Finally, Liam turned his attention to the other man, but kept his hold on her. “With Bannockburn. Mayhap ye’ve heard of it?”
Charlotte caught her brother’s flush before he looked away.
The decisive battle, which had turned the tide of the Bruce’s war, had taken place last summer, just a fortnight after Liam had been called back. It made sense that the repercussions of the battle would last much longer; it was the exchange of captured English Barons which had allowed Queen Elizabeth, her stepdaughter Princess Marjorie, and the Bruce’s sisters to return home.
If Liam’s orders had involved the prisoner exchange, that would account for his absence since last winter, most certainly. Possibly longer.
But was that all there was to it?
And had Da really lied?
It was the Queen who answered Charlotte’s unspoken question when she stepped forward. “I have only known my husband’s cousin for a few short months, Lady Charlotte, but I know he would not lie.”
Charlotte’s eyes searched Liam’s face. Aye, she knew that fact, as well as she knew her own abilities. Liam did not lie. He was a good, honorable man.
So why had she been so quick to believe her father?
Because Liam hadn’t been there when she’d needed him most.
Elizabeth was brave enough to place a gentle hand on Charlotte’s, where it gripped the hilt of her short sword. “He is not betrothed, my dear,” she said softly. “And he’s spoken of no other woman but you.”
Charlotte’s gaze slammed back into Liam’s. She didn’t see anger in his bright blue eyes anymore, nor smugness.
Just certainty.
“I love ye, Charlotte MacLeod. I’m sorry I couldnae return sooner.”
“Or write?” she managed to whisper.
Finally, a wince of regret. “Aye. I’m sorry I was only able to send a few missives. The Bruce kept me busy cleaning up after the battle, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy since November, when the exchange for the Queen actually took place.”
