Lady Vivienne blinked those depthless midnight-blue eyes at him.

“What?”

At last, Kieran had managed to catch the imperious chit off-guard. Though there was naught humorous about the threat facing her, he couldn’t help feeling the itch of a smile on his lips at the small victory.

“Ye are in danger,” he repeated. “I’m here to protect ye.”

She seemed to regain some of her composure then. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Monsieur MacAdams, but—”

“I told ye before,” he interjected. “I’m no’ ‘Monsieur.’ Call me Kieran.” When he’d been in Paris earlier that summer, the lass had willfully ignored his instructions to simply use his given name, and she was apparently at it again.

“—but you are disrupting an otherwise pleasant evening,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And what is more, you have been unforgivably rude to Seigneur de Pontier.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the man he’d butted out of the way to reach her. “Ye mean the fop in yellow silks?”

Offense flashed across the man’s smooth features, yet instead of stepping forward to challenge Kieran over his words, he melted back a step into the gathering onlookers.

“He is not a fop, he is a lord,” Vivienne replied tightly. Her gaze darted over the crowd forming around them, her mouth compressing.

Of course. He was embarrassing her. He didn’t give a damn what these pompous nobles thought of him, but if he wanted Lady Vivienne to listen while he explained why he was here, he’d have to get her away from all the sharp, disapproving gazes surrounding them.

Without asking permission, he tucked her arm under his and pulled her toward one of the alcoves lining the great hall’s back wall.

He realized belatedly that he was practically dragging her across the hall, for his long strides covered more than double the distance of her dainty steps. No doubt all at the feast now took him for a barbarian not only in looks but in actions as well. He didn’t care a whit about that either, but he slowed his pace to allow Lady Vivienne to keep up.

When they stepped into one of the empty alcoves, he released her arm from under his and deftly yanked the blue velvet curtains on either side free from their ties.

With the curtains shut against the hubbub of the feast, the alcove suddenly seemed far too small for his large frame. Muted chatter and a sliver of candlelight still filtered in through the crack in the velvet drapes, but otherwise the space was dim and quiet—and cramped. He could hardly take a lungful of air without brushing up against Lady Vivienne.

Best to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“The Bruce sent me,” he said without preamble. “We believe William de Soules still poses a threat.”

At that, she stilled. “But…but you took de Soules to Scotland for judgment.”

Hell and damnation, he didn’t like the faint edge of distress in her voice. He had never wanted to involve her in de Soules’s detainment, but Jerome and Elaine had brought her into their plan before he could stop them.

When they’d proposed that Lady Vivienne give de Soules a draught to lay him low long enough for his conspiracy to be unraveled, Kieran had railed against them, insisting that such a dangerous and precarious position was no place for a high-born lady.

But Lady Vivienne herself had insisted that she wanted to help, for apparently she believed, as Kieran did, that spineless bastards like de Soules could not be allowed to threaten the peace that had been forged in both France and Scotland alike.

Much to Kieran’s displeasure, Vivienne had not only drugged de Soules the night before their envoy had been set to depart for Avignon, but she had continued to keep him dosed for nigh on a fortnight while Kieran had delivered the Bruce’s Declaration of Arbroath and returned to collect de Soules for punishment.

That should have been the last time he’d ever laid eyes on Lady Vivienne, yet here he was, standing only inches away from her.

“De Soules is still being held in Scone’s dungeon. He isnae going anywhere,” he said in an attempt to offer what reassurance he could. “But there may still be others on the outside working for him.”

She straightened, and even in the dim light he could see that she had plastered on that serene, elegant mask of unconcern.

“There has been nothing to indicate that I am in any danger. Once you removed de Soules from court, all returned to normal.”

Kieran clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to scare her, but he would if she insisted on being unreasonable.

“A little over a sennight ago, three of de Soules’s co-conspirators were hanged. One of them, Richard Broun, used his dying breath to tell the Bruce that there were more like him, and that they would stop at naught to seek retribution against the Bruce and his allies—that’s ye, lass.”

Her delicate brows drew together. “I am no one.”

“Nay, ye are the woman who helped bring William de Soules and his traitorous plot down. What’s more, ye are a close confidante of the Queen of France, whose King is an open supporter of the Bruce’s reign in Scotland. If someone wanted to avenge de Soules and hurt the Bruce in one fell swoop, ye’d be the most obvious target.”

She hesitated then—a rare crack in her normally controlled façade. Good. Mayhap he was getting through to her.

“Even if that is the case, whom do you expect to come after me?” she asked. “De Soules is imprisoned, as you say, and his allies have been executed.”

“I said three of his allies were executed. One was given leniency, and another died in the dungeon before the Bruce passed judgment. But that doesnae mean all of his allies have been weeded out. Likely a few slipped into the woodwork when de Soules was captured. And he plotted on French soil as well as Scottish. Any number of cowards could be waiting to strike.”

Though his words had been meant to frighten some sense into her, foreboding snaked up his own spine at the picture he painted.

But it was the truth. When de Soules had been passed over for land and titles he thought he deserved, he’d quietly begun to gather other similarly disgruntled nobles, mainly in the Lowlands, to plot the Bruce’s assassination.

Yet it hadn’t been enough for them to simply rid themselves of the King they believed was overlooking them. Nay, de Soules had spent time in France, presumably to visit his small holding in the Picardy region to the north, but in truth he’d been meeting with Edward Balliol, the exiled son of the Bruce’s predecessor, King John Balliol.

John Balliol had been little more than a puppet King, placed on the Scottish throne by the English to do their bidding. Apparently de Soules and his cronies had believed that Edward Balliol would follow in his father’s footsteps if they placed him on Scotland’s throne. They’d sought their own puppet King to fill their coffers and lavish land and titles upon them.

Thank God Lady Vivienne had told Jerome and Elaine that de Soules had not merely been visiting his own holding, but instead had been sniffing around Balliol’s estate in Picardy. Otherwise, Balliol might be wearing the Scottish crown right now, and the Bruce’s head would likely be rotting on a pike.

Horrified at the plot against his Scottish ally, King Philip had stripped not only de Soules but also Edward Balliol of all their French lands. Yet Kieran had learned from years of underhanded warfare against the English that one’s enemies were rarely so easily vanquished. Like weeds, men with grudges to settle could pop up anywhere.

And Kieran would be damned if Lady Vivienne came to harm in the process.

She shifted, the silk folds of her gown whispering in the darkened alcove. “I still do not understand why you are here,” she said. “Your King sent you to—what? Follow me through the palace? You know we already have guards, do you not?”

Before he could growl a response, she went on. “Or would you like to help me pick the Queen’s jewels and gowns? Or perhaps you would prefer to work on your embroidery skills with me and the other ladies-in waiting.”

He moved forward, forcing Lady Vivienne to back up or be flattened into his chest. “This isnae a game, lass.”

In one step, her retreat came to an end, for she bumped against the alcove’s back wall. Yet despite the fact that he had her pinned and was looming over her in the darkness, her voice was surprisingly calm.

“Even if there is a threat—which I still question, as there has been no indication that I am in danger—I am surrounded by guards at all times,” she countered. “As one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, I am one of the most watched women in all of Paris.”

“Yer role in thwarting de Soules is public knowledge at court,” he shot back.

“Oui, and yet in the month and a half since I poisoned de Soules, no harm has befallen me. Your services are not needed, Monsieur MacAdams, for I am perfectly safe at court.”

He lowered his head so that his breath fanned close to her ear. “Och, but ye arenae staying at court, lass. I’m taking ye away.”

She jerked in surprise at that, but there was nowhere for her to go—unless she chose to move forward and close the last inch of space separating them.

This near, he could smell her skin. She wore the same flowery fragrance that she had earlier that summer—violets, he thought. The scent was subtle and ethereal. Fitting for her.

For his part, Kieran likely smelled of sweat and horseflesh, for after the five-day sea crossing from Scone to Calais, he’d immediately secured a horse and ridden hard for three days to Paris. What did he care if his scent offended her delicate sensibilities, though? His job was to protect her, not court her.

“I am not leaving the palace,” she stated, tilting her head up to meet his gaze with defiant eyes.

“Oh aye, ye are. Ye are to be placed somewhere safe until the Bruce can be sure the threat has passed.”

“I am safe here.”

A lazy grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Damn, but it was satisfying to get under the wee chit’s skin.

“Luckily it isnae up to ye,” he replied, straightening. “I’ve already spoken with King Philip. In the interest of maintaining his strong friendship with the Bruce, Philip is eager to acquiesce to the Bruce’s request that ye be removed from court—for yer own safety, of course.”

She waved her hand, nearly brushing his chest. “Ah, but my position at court does not fall under the King’s purview. I am the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, here by her invitation and at her pleasure alone. The King would never cross his Queen’s wishes on such a matter.”

Kieran lifted one shoulder. “Mayhap I should take the matter up with the Queen then. Either way, ye are coming with me, lass.”

“Don’t call me lass, Monsieur MacAdams. And I am staying.”

“Dinnae call me Monsieur, lass, and nay, ye arenae.”

She huffed an annoyed breath and muttered something in French. Kieran caught the word bruté and could surmise the general gist of her mood.

His barely leashed temper broke free at last. “Bloody hell, woman, why are ye fighting me on this? Ye ken the extent of de Soules’s scheme. He meant to assassinate a bloody King. Ye think he cannae find a way, even from a cell, to have a wee French chit killed?”

“I have duties here,” she retorted. “And a position to uphold.”

“What, ye mean dancing with bairn-faced fops and trussing yerself up for some feast or other every night? I ken ye must like all the finery and games of etiquette at court, but are they worth yer damned life?”

Vivienne stiffened, and the air around them crackled with tension.

“You know nothing of my life, Monsieur,” she replied at last, her rigid voice betraying an edge of pain.

Hell and damnation, he was losing sight of his mission. He wasn’t here to verbally spar with Lady Vivienne, and he damn well wasn’t here to corner her in alcoves that were no doubt meant for lovers’ trysts.

He had one job—to protect her. And whether she liked it or not, he would get his way.

“As I said,” he muttered, forcing himself to keep his voice even, “I’ll take the matter up with the Queen.”

“She has no doubt retired for the evening,” Lady Vivienne said, suddenly sounding weary. “I need to attend to her.”

She slipped past him with surprising agility and pulled back the blue velvet curtains. The feast continued as before, with the nobles dancing and chattering and the servants flitting about to refill wine goblets.

King Philip was engaged in deep conversation with one of his nobles on the raised dais. Since Kieran had already explained his presence and the Bruce’s wishes, he felt no need to speak with the King again this eve. But just as Lady Vivienne had said, the Queen was no longer beside the King. The gaggle of ladies-in-waiting who had been seated below the dais were gone as well.

“I must go to the Queen,” Lady Vivienne muttered, starting off across the great hall.

With two strides, Kieran caught her arm and halted her. “How many ladies does the Queen have to attend her?”

She blinked at him. “Eight, including me.”

“Then let the other seven earn their keep tonight. Ye are tired.”

“What does that matter?”

He fixed her with a firm look. “Because I am no’ through with ye just yet.”