Elaine gnawed on a fingernail as she watched the merry crowd in the Bruce’s great hall. She stood in one of the many arched corridors at the back of the hall, lingering in the shadows like an over-awed child at the sights that met her.

She’d barely had time to notice the grandly appointed great hall when they’d first arrived, so stunned at the appearance of the King had she been. But now she took in the vaulted, arched ceiling, the colorful pennants and flags hanging from the wooden rafters, and the rich woven tapestries lining the walls.

Hundreds of candles, plus four roaring fires, one on each wall, illuminated the space, which was filled with finely dressed nobles. Some of the men wore breeches in the style of the Lowlands and Borderlands, but many more wore their clan plaids with pride, the array of colors adorned with silver-plated sword hilts, belts, and brooches.

And the ladies wore gowns that would have left Judith and Julia speechless—for once. Every color of silk was on display, as well as elaborate brocades with silver and gold needlework to tease the eye. Every lady seemed to sparkle, their rubies and emeralds catching in the firelight.

Elaine looked down at her own gown. She’d only had room to pack one fine dress in her saddlebags. After she’d washed and rested in the private chamber the King had provided, she’d spent the afternoon attempting to get the creases out of the sapphire silk, which she’d thought complemented her eyes nicely.

Now she saw that it was far too plain for the likes of Robert the Bruce’s court—as was the rest of her. She’d left her hair down, only weaving a matching blue silk ribbon through the strands at the front. She had no jewels, no elaborate veil or headpiece as many of the other ladies did.

What was worse, because this was her finest gown, she’d have to wear it again tomorrow for the King’s ceremony honoring her family and others with land.

Hadn’t this been what she’d wanted? Adventure, excitement, and to be a part, however small, of the Bruce’s work toward freedom and peace?

Aye, and now that it was before her, her traitorous nerves were going to get the best of her. She was a coward, she thought, her eyes burning.

Just as she turned to flee into the safe shadows of the corridor, she bumped into Finn’s chest. Somehow her brother-in-law had approached behind her silently.

“Where are ye off to, Lainey?”

She ducked her head, swiping quickly at her damp eyelashes. “I-I don’t know.”

Finn caught her wrist, giving it a light squeeze. When she lifted her eyes to his, she saw a rare softness to his features that was normally reserved for Rand.

“Dinnae tell me ye’re afraid of a few puffed-up nobles,” he said, giving her a wry grin. “They arenae half so fine when ye see them in daylight. And wait until they get into their cups a wee bit. Ye’ll see they are no different than Trellham’s stable master, or the blacksmith—or Judith and Julia.”

At her weak smile, Finn frowned.

“I thought this was what ye wanted most—to be a part of something so grand.”

“It was—it is,” she whispered. “But mayhap you and Rosamond and Father have been right all along. Mayhap it is all too much for me.” She gazed out at the chattering nobles and winced.

“Come now,” Finn said firmly. “If ye could meet the King of Scotland looking like a beggar, ye can face this lot.”

She shot him a glare, but his words had the intended effect. She fought a smile as she thought back on her shock and terror earlier that day, but also that she’d done her family proud by managing to find her composure nevertheless.

“Thank you, Finn,” she said, straightening her spine.

He extended his arm and she took it, stepping into the glowing great hall at last.

She needed every drop of courage as she felt several dozen sets of eyes shift to her, curiously assessing her from head to toe. Her nerve began to falter as she swept her gaze over the crowd—until her eyes landed on a group of men standing before the raised dais at the other end of the hall.

Jerome.

Everyone else seemed to fall away, along with her nervousness. He wore the same simple linen shirt and Munro plaid as he always did. Though his jaw was freshly shaven and his dark hair pulled back in a neat queue, his handsome, serious visage was familiar in a sea of strangers.

He stood with four other men, one wearing a red plaid, two wearing Lowlanders’ breeches, and the fourth in a holy man’s robes. It made for a strange assortment.

“Who are those men standing with Jerome?” she asked, glancing up at Finn.

His normal scowl deepened, no doubt because he seemed to have made it his personal mission to keep her away from Jerome.

“I dinnae ken,” he replied grudgingly, “but I will introduce ye.”

As they approached, Jerome’s dark gaze landed on her, and he visibly stiffened.

“Did ye hear me, Munro?” one of the Lowlanders was saying. “If England breaks into a civil war, then France will—”

When the man’s gaze followed Jerome’s to Elaine, he cut off abruptly.

The men seemed to know Finn, for they all nodded to him. “Sutherland,” they murmured. It was a reminder of just how important her brother-in-law was to the Bruce’s cause.

“May I present my sister-in-law, Lady Elaine Beaumore,” Finn said.

The man who’d been speaking with Jerome took Elaine’s hand and dipped his blond head low over it in an elaborate bow. “Milady, it is truly an honor to meet the most bonny woman in attendance this eve.”

Elaine eyed him as he straightened, still holding her hand. He was as tall as Finn and Jerome, though lankier than either of them. His refined courtly manner and practiced smile seemed more English than Scottish, yet his soft Lowland lilt said otherwise. Though she had little experience with noblemen, she instantly recognized him as a flatterer.

“This is Sir David de Brechin,” Jerome commented.

 “You are too kind,” she said evenly, tilting her head toward de Brechin.

“Ah,” he said, his sandy blond brows lifting. “An Englishwoman.”

The other Lowlander dipped in a stiff bow. “A pleasure, milady.” When he straightened, she noticed that his brown head was a hand shorter than Jerome’s, his build compact. “Sir William de Soules, at yer service.”

“And this is Bishop Kininmund,” Jerome said, turning toward the holy man.

He wore snowy-white robes, over which draped a black cowl. The cowl bore an elaborately embroidered cross over his chest and shoulders in gold thread. Elaine dropped into a low curtsy as he acknowledged her with a subtle nod.

“Good God, it’s hotter than the Devil’s bollocks in here,” the fourth man said abruptly in a broad Highland burr. Impossibly, he stood a few inches taller than Jerome, and he was even broader of shoulder beneath his linen shirt.

Elaine blinked in shock, and the bishop coughed disapprovingly.

The Highlander huffed a breath but grudgingly turned to first the bishop and then Elaine. “Beg pardon, Yer Excellency, milady. But ye must admit it is da—” He barely caught himself before cursing again. “It is mighty warm with all these bodies crammed in here.”

He eyed the crowds of elegant nobles suspiciously even as Jerome introduced him.

“Kieran MacAdams,” Jerome said simply, lifting a dark brow at the man.

The conversation lulled for a moment, and Jerome took the opportunity to step toward her. Her stomach did a little flip at the heat in his eyes.

“Ye look beautiful,” he murmured, his low voice like a caress.

Despite the simplicity of his words, they warmed her more than a dozen of David de Brechin’s flowery compliments could have. 

Before she could respond, though, de Brechin cut in, ending the intimate moment. “Ye must find us an unlikely group, milady,” he said with a smooth smile. “But the array before ye has a purpose, I assure ye. These four men—” he swept a hand over his companions, “—are the members of the envoy hand-selected by the King himself to deliver the Declaration of Arbroath to the Pope.”

He seemed to take Elaine’s curious gaze on the group as encouragement to go on.

“Bishop Kininmund here is to be our religious representative. He will be the one to present the declaration to the Pope. And now that the Papal court has been moved to Avignon, de Soules is to be the envoy’s French expert, seeing as how he owns a small holding there and had become familiar with the workings of the country.”

De Soules’s brown eyes flicked to de Brechin as he nodded in acknowledgement.

“Aye,” Kieran inserted. “And I am to be the muscle.”

Elaine didn’t doubt the Highland giant’s brute strength, but nor did she miss the intelligence in his light blue eyes either.

“And Munro here is the luckiest of them all, for the Bruce has entrusted him with carrying the declaration himself all the way to Avignon.”

Elaine’s eyes met Jerome’s, and liquid warmth stirred in the pit of her stomach.

“I, however, am the unluckiest,” de Brechin went on. “For I was no’ selected to accompany these fine men. I will have to find something else to get up to while they are away.”

Once again, de Brechin and de Soules exchanged a quick look, but no one else seemed to notice, for the King entered the great hall.

The Bruce held up a hand as those gathered applauded and genuflected as he strode toward the raised dais.

When he reached them, he jumped nimbly onto the dais and circled around the enormous oak table that was clearly meant for important occasions like tonight.

“Ladies, Lords,” the King intoned in a rich, deep voice. “Ye are witnessing one of the greatest moments in the history of our fine country this eve.” When the cheers died down, the Bruce went on. “I have here a proclamation unlike any penned before, crafted at Arbroath Abbey by the most esteemed Abbot Bernard of Kilwinning and completed just a month past. In it, the Abbot has captured the essence of our noble struggle against the English, and the people’s will to be free of their tyranny.”

Much like the reading of the declaration Jerome had performed at Trellham, the King waxed on about Scotland’s valiant fight for freedom, and his place as both the leader of that fight and the sovereign ruler of the country.

“This declaration I shall present to the Holy Father, Pope John XXII, requesting that he recognize no’ only my place as the leader of our people, but our nation as sovereign and free of English rule,” the Bruce continued.

He reached into the inside of his doublet and withdrew a large rectangle of parchment. As he unfolded it, several dozen seals came into view, each one dangling from its fastening on the bottom of the parchment. Jerome must have turned over all the seals he’d gathered while Elaine had been resting that afternoon so that they would already be affixed for this moment.

“Those of ye gathered today have given me yer seals to show yer support. And my trusted warrior, Jerome Munro, has spent the last month collecting even more.”

Elaine felt many eyes shift to Jerome, who bowed formally to the King from where he stood below the dais.

“In all, we have gathered the support of fifty-one nobles and Lairds in every corner of Scotland,” the Bruce went on. He waited until the applause died down once again. “But in truth, the work is only just begun. I have assembled an envoy that will carry my declaration to Avignon. It will be their task to see the document safely delivered, and ensure that the Pope hears Scotland’s voice.”

He waved at Jerome and the three others, who stepped onto the dais and knelt before the King, all except the bishop, who bowed but remained standing, as befitting his elevated status.

“I am entrusting ye with the future of our beloved homeland, men,” the King said to those before him.

With a ceremonial flourish, the Bruce refolded the declaration and extended it to Jerome, who accepted it and tucked it away in the pouch at his waist, keeping his head bowed all the while.

The great hall erupted into its loudest cheers yet. “Rise!” the Bruce shouted over the applause. “And make merry tonight, for yer King is most pleased!”

As the men on the dais rose and stepped down to the cheers of those gathered, the Bruce’s gaze landed on Finn. He bent so that his voice would carry the few feet to where they stood. “Finn, a word. We have much to discuss about the state of the Borderlands.”

Finn cast Elaine a frown, clearly reluctant to leave her alone, but he couldn’t refuse the King’s summons. He slipped his arm from hers and stepped onto the dais, leaving Elaine with David de Brechin.

Jerome’s gaze locked with hers as he descended from the dais, but before he could reach her, de Brechin took her arm, holding her hand in place over his. He guided her through the crowd toward the other end of the hall.

“You must permit me to introduce ye to all these curious nobles, milady,” de Brechin said as she swept her away.

Elaine glanced over her shoulder, but the crowds were swallowing Jerome, offering congratulations and well-wishes for his impending journey.

“Aye,” she said reluctantly. “Very well.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

As the hours dragged on and the evening stretched toward night, Elaine grew weary of the sea of noble faces, the endless string of introductions, and the florid displays of manners from de Brechin. He kept her close to his side for the elaborate feast, and held her on his arm even when the King’s musicians began to play.

When she was sure she’d met every single lord and lady in attendance—twice—she at last managed to pull away.

“Excuse me, milord,” she said to de Brechin, “but I am in need of some air.”

De Brechin cast her a knowing look, which she didn’t understand, but then bowed his head. “Of course, milady.”

Elaine slipped into one of the corridors, which was refreshingly cool compared to the lively, crowded great hall. But just as she leaned against the back side of the arched stone entryway, de Brechin stepped beside her.

“What are you—”

“Dinnae use yer lips for words when ye could use them to kiss me instead,” he said, his tall frame cornering her against the stones.

Without waiting for a response, his mouth came down on hers, muffling her startled cry.

She managed to wrench free by shoving against his chest. “Stop,” she panted. “I do not wish to kiss you.”

His practiced smile faltered and for the first time, something like anger crossed his eyes. A shiver of foreboding snaked up Elaine’s spine.

“Dinnae be foolish,” he said, his normally smooth voice now edged with annoyance. “Ye have been toying with me all night.”

“Nay, I haven’t.”

“And what was this wee jest about then, if no’ a clear invitation to follow ye for a tryst?” he demanded, waving at the shadowed corridor.

“I never—”

“Come now,” he cut in, his features turning hard. “No more games. I will take what ye have dangled before me all eve.”

His hands closed around her arms, pinning them to her sides. He pressed her into the stone wall despite her struggles against him.

And when she tried to scream, he stifled the sound with a brutal kiss.