Jerome nearly spit, but he’d already done that a dozen times today.

That morning, the sun had broken through the fog hanging over the sea and revealed the verdant shores of France. They’d approached Calais with the wind at their backs as they entered the harbor. But instead of docking directly before the fortified, walled city, they’d followed the curving harbor as it skirted around the city’s western edge.

That had taken an extra hour, but the captain assured them that it would save them the hassle of entering the city. But of course when they’d disembarked, they’d needed horses, so Kieran had been sent through the fortified gates to procure mounts.

When Kieran returned with four strong steeds, Jerome had thought them away at last, but then William de Soules had informed them that they had to wait for the arrival of the King of France himself.

Apparently the King wished to provide them a personal escort from Calais to his court in Paris. According to de Soules, King Philip was feuding with England’s King Edward II. Edward refused to pay homage and acknowledge Philip, so the French King had decided to make a show of supporting Scotland’s pursuit of independence from England.

King Philip insisted on publicly making it known—to his people, to the Scots, but most importantly to the English—that Robert the Bruce’s envoy was being permitted to travel across his lands all the way to the Papal court in Avignon with his blessing.

Which meant Jerome was stuck waiting on a King.

Of course, the day was fair, the sun shining, and the May air far more balmy than it had been in Scotland. Jerome had nowhere else to be, his only task to deliver the Bruce’s declaration safely—which Philip’s presence would ensure.

Then why was he in such a bloody foul mood?

Damn it all, of course he knew.

Elaine.

Thoughts of her had plagued him as they’d crossed the North Sea. She’d been like a breath of fresh air. She was so full of life, wearing her heart on her sleeve.

Before he’d met her, he’d treated life like a never-ending string of tasks. Complete each mission handed to him. Prove his loyalty. Outrun his family legacy.

That had been all. Though he believed in the justness of the Bruce’s cause for freedom and had gladly lent whatever abilities or strengths he had when the Bruce had requested his service, he hadn’t realized until he’d met Elaine that he’d turned his life into one long slog devoid of joy or pleasure.

But all that had changed from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Jerome was not a fanciful man. He didn’t read poetry or wax over emotions like a bard. He’d even scoffed at tales of infatuation and love. There was no room in his life for such softness. He’d spent every day of the last fourteen years attempting to prove that he wasn’t like his father—wasn’t a traitor.

Until now. Somehow in the last fortnight, Elaine had ferreted her way into his mind, distracting him from what he’d thought was most important. Even when she wasn’t near, his longing for her lingered like a sweet perfume that hung in the air and filled his every breath.

If he were honest, that scared him. Terrified him, in fact. He was not some lovesick lad. He was a warrior, a Munro. Wanting Elaine, and letting that desire distract him, threatened to undo everything he’d worked for these past fourteen years.

He could have let himself believe that he would see her again once this mission was complete. The Bruce might send him to the Borderlands again, or mayhap she would find herself in Scotland once more.

But such hopes were foolish, and only made this damned persistent desire worse. She was to be wed when she returned to Trellham Keep. He clenched his fists at the thought. It had taken five days to reach Calais. She and Finn had likely already begun the journey back to Trellham. That meant she was five days closer to belonging to someone else—and five days farther away from him.

Letting a frustrated breath go, he spun on his heels, casting his gaze from where they stood on a small grassy rise down to the harbor below. The waters sparkled dazzlingly, catching the bright sun. Their ship still sat in the harbor, one amongst dozens of others. The harbor bustled with activity—cargo being loaded and unloaded, vessels being resupplied, and the constant coming and going of ships.

A smaller, squat cargo ship caught his eye as it sailed into the harbor’s sheltered waters. It flew the Scottish flag—not unusual, for the wool trade between the two countries was strong, but something else drew his attention.

A splash of copper glinted like a coin from the top deck. He squinted. The figure was clad in a brown wool cloak, but beneath it, he saw a flash of blue. A gown. The figure was a woman.

Nay… It couldn’t be…

Without thinking, he snatched the reins of one of the waiting horses Kieran had procured and swung into the saddle.

“Munro! What are ye about?” Kieran called behind him, but Jerome had already spurred the horse and was barreling down the slope toward the harbor.

Distantly, he heard the other men shouting after him as well, followed by the pounding of their horses’ hooves, but he paid them no mind. His gaze remained locked on the woman.

As he drew near the docks, a gangplank was lowered from the ship. The woman actually hugged a white-haired, stocky man standing next to her, then picked her way carefully down the gangplank to the docks.

Just as he dragged his horse to a stop and flung himself from its back, she stepped onto the dock and lifted her head. Their gazes locked.

“Elaine—what in…?”

Her blue eyes rounded. “Jerome! I wasn’t sure how I’d find you—and yet here you are. You’ve saved me a great deal of trouble.”

“Here ye are.” He closed the distance between them, his hands closing around her arms. Aye, she was real, and she was here.

And her presence threatened the entire mission.

Like a fanned flame, his shock blazed into anger. “What the bloody hell are ye doing here?” he snapped. “This is no place for a gentle-bred lass.”

Desperation filled her eyes. “I-I need to speak with you—it is a matter of grave import.”

“What could possibly be so urgent that ye sailed to France to find me? Dinnae tell me ye came alone, Elaine.”

She nodded distractedly. “Aye, but that isn’t—”

Jerome cursed. “Finn is going to have my head—that is, if the Bruce doesnae take it for endangering this mission.”

“That is just it,” she interjected. “I came because—”

“Munro! What the bloody hell is going on?”

Jerome turned to find Kieran, de Soules, and the bishop all reining in their horses next to his.

Elaine stiffened in his hold, her mouth still open with the words she hadn’t yet spoken.

“I—”

She faltered, her gaze fixing on the others for a long moment before she returned it to him. For the briefest moment, pain flashed in her sky-blue eyes. Then she took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders.

“I had to come—because I am in love with you.”

 

*    *    *    *

Elaine’s pride withered and died as she blurted the words.

She’d had five long days aboard Captain MacDougal’s ship to plan what she would do when she arrived in Calais—buy a horse, ask after such an unusual group of men, and pray that she managed to catch up to them before they reached Avignon—but not once had she considered the fact that she might not have a moment alone with Jerome to explain why she was there.

When she’d met William de Soules’s eyes over Jerome’s shoulder, she knew she needed to lie—and well enough to fool them all until she could speak with Jerome in private. But what reason could she give to convince these men that she’d followed them all the way from Scotland alone?

It struck her like a blinding flash of lightning. All her life, she’d hated being thought of as a silly girl, interested only in ribbons and flower chains and other such frippery. At last, the assumptions about her would prove useful.

But it meant casting her pride aside—and trampling it into the ground.

“I’m in love with you,” she repeated for good measure.

Jerome went stock-still. His lips, which were normally set in a hard line, parted, and a breath slipped past them.

“What?”

She had done it now. She might as well make a complete fool of herself to seal the lie.

“I-I’ve loved you from the first,” she said, letting the words pour from her. “I didn’t let myself hope, but then when you kissed me the night before you departed, I knew I could not live without you.”

A low whistle sounded behind Jerome, likely from Kieran. She tumbled onward, though.

“I had to find you, to tell you that you have my heart and always will.” Embarrassed tears rose in her eyes, but she didn’t blink them away, hoping they would be mistaken for the lovesick blubbering of a foolish girl.

The only problem was, the words caused a painful tightness in her chest that wasn’t solely attributable to the humiliation swamping her. She didn’t have time to consider that, however, for she heard Captain MacDougal chuckle lowly behind her on the gangplank.

“Och, I kenned it must have been some heart-thievin’ laddie,” he said with another cackle. “What else could drive a bonny lassie to such lengths?”

Jerome at last ripped his stunned gaze from her and fixed MacDougal with a glare. “Ye’ll take her back to Scotland immediately.”

To Elaine’s shock, hurt at his brusque dismissal sank like a rock in her stomach. But why should it? She wasn’t truly in love with him—it was all just a ruse.

The captain grunted, and she turned to find him shooting daggers at Jerome with his one good eye. “Dinnae be a fool, laddie,” he said. “When a lassie as rare as this’n gives ye her heart, ye dinnae toss it aside so quickly.”

Her chest warmed at MacDougal’s defense of her. Though she’d been terrified of him at first, he reminded her of her father in some ways—or mayhap a disgruntled, one-eyed uncle. Still, his protectiveness was only making matters worse at the moment.

Jerome continued to glare at MacDougal. “I ken she’s a treasure, man, but she doesnae belong here.”

“Och, what is the holdup, Munro?” Kieran barked.

Jerome shot him a look over his shoulder before facing the captain again. “I’ll pay ye double whatever she gave ye to see her safely back to Scotland—now.”

Captain MacDougal shrugged. “My crew will be unloadin’ my cargo for at least an hour, and loadin’ ’er back up again for another’n. I suppose ye can wait and give the lassie a wee bit o’ gratitude for all she’s done for ye—” at that he shot Elaine a wink “—or send the poor thing off on one o’ these other ships.” He waved at the harbor. “But then again, those other captains may no’ be quite so kindly as Captain MacDougal.”

Jerome muttered a string of curses under his breath that rivaled anything Elaine had heard aboard the Bonny Berta. He met her gaze, but his dark eyes were shuttered and hard.

“Ye can stay only until MacDougal’s ship sets sail again,” he said. “Then ye’ll go back to Scotland.”

“Jerome,” she said, dropping her voice. She held his gaze, silently willing him to understand—or at least give her a chance to explain in private.

Just then, a faint noise drifted from the gentle green hills above the harbor.

“Bloody hell,” Kieran muttered.

The noise came again—it was tinny and high, like a horn.

“That would be King Philip’s bugler announcing his approach,” de Soules said, his brown eyes fixing on Jerome.

“Shite.”