“What in the bloody hell is going on?” the Bruce demanded for the second time that night when the door to his small meeting room had been closed tight.

At his harsh words, the last of Elaine’s composure snapped. She sank into a chair, buried her face in her hands, and wept.

Jerome was instantly by her side.

“Are ye hurt, lass? What is it? Please, speak to me.”

“Nay,” she mumbled into her palms. “I am not hurt—not truly. I am just so tired.”

She’d driven herself beyond what she’d ever thought possible tonight, clinging to the hope that she would be in time to save Jerome.

And she had been. Jerome and the King were both alive and well. They’d stopped de Brechin and de Soules’s plot. Yet Elaine had used every last drop of strength she possessed.

Suddenly Jerome was lifting her in his arms. He cradled her against his chest and sat in the chair she’d occupied a moment before, settling her in his lap.

“It’s over,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Ye did it, lass. All is well.”

For a long while, the small chamber was quiet except for Elaine’s soft sobs. When at last the worst of her tears abated, the Bruce spoke again, this time gentling his voice.

“What happened?”

Jerome’s arms tightened reassuringly around her. He drew in a breath and began.

He told the Bruce of the uneventful voyage to France, but before he continued, the Bruce interjected.

“And what of ye, Elaine? When I realized ye were missing, I feared the worst.”

Elaine lifted her head from Jerome’s chest and looked up at the Bruce. “I-I bought passage for myself to France as well. I left the same night Finn did.”

“Why on earth did ye do that?”

She swallowed. “Finn said that if he had another man he could trust, he’d send someone after the envoy to warn them of what I overheard that night. I only thought to help, to save the mission to deliver the declaration.”

The Bruce let out a long breath and sank into a chair opposite them. “Why didnae ye at least send word? We were worried for ye—especially Finn.”

Confusion crashed over her. Her heart splintered at the mention of Finn. “We did—we sent a missive to be delivered only to Finn’s hands explaining what I had done, but it must never have reached him. I only wish…” Tears clogged her throat once more, but she forced herself to swallow them. “I only wish he would have gotten it before de Brechin’s men killed him.”

The Bruce’s brows shot together. “But Finn is here, lass.”

“Ye mean…ye buried him here at Scone?” Jerome asked, uncertainty lacing his voice.

“Nay,” the Bruce replied. “I mean he’s here in the palace. He’s alive.”

Elaine bolted from Jerome’s lap. “What?”

“My guards found him no’ far from here yesterday morn. He’d been badly beaten, but he nearly took out a few of my men for trying to bring him to the palace. He said he’d tracked de Brechin back to Scone and was determined to hunt him down.”

The Bruce rose as well and moved to the door. He spoke quietly with one of the guards posted outside, instructing the man to bring Finn to the chamber.

Elaine listened in disbelief. “De Brechin said he’d set his men on Finn and killed him,” she said to the Bruce as he stepped back inside.

“Aye, Finn said he’d nearly caught up with the bastard in the Borderlands when half a dozen of de Brechin’s men attacked and de Brechin himself slipped away,” the Bruce replied. “Still, Finn managed to best the men, and even with a broken arm and more than a few cuts and bruises, he tracked de Brechin all the way back here. As I said, he was none too pleased that he was forced to return to the palace, but my men thought he might drive himself into his grave in his search for de Brechin.”

Happy tears blurred Elaine’s vision. “Aye, that sounds like Finn.”

Just then, the door swung open and there he was, her surly, scowling brother-in-law, his arm in a sling and his face covered in half-healed bruises and scratches.

“Finn!” Elaine launched herself at him, uncaring of either his injuries or her own.

“Lainey!” His eyes widened in shock just before she reached him for a hard hug. “Where the bloody hell have ye been? The Bruce told me ye’ve been gone since I went after de Brechin.”

She drew back, sobering. “I went to France to warn the envoy about de Soules.”

His battered features darkened and he opened his mouth to deliver what Elaine was sure would be a blistering lecture, but before he could speak, the Bruce interjected.

“I want to hear the rest of it. How did ye managed to reach France and find the envoy?”

Once everyone was seated, with Elaine in her own chair this time instead of Jerome’s lap, she picked up the story. She explained how she’d secured passage on the Bonny Berta, and Captain MacDougal’s kind treatment of her. Jerome told of how she’d arrived in Calais at nearly the same moment as King Philip, and that they’d taken on the act of being lovers for the King’s benefit.

At that, Finn cast a narrow-eyed glare at Jerome, but Jerome continued on, describing how Elaine had apprised him of what she’d overheard, and their shared suspicions about de Soules. He spoke of their journey to Paris, and how they’d caught de Soules slipping away. When he explained Lady Vivienne’s revelation about de Soules being seen on Edward Balliol’s estate, the Bruce jerked forward in his chair.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“Aye,” Jerome replied. “That was when Elaine devised the plan to coerce information out of Balliol about the plot against ye, Robert.” He turned warm eyes on Elaine and she felt her chest swell with pride.

Elaine explained how Lady Vivienne had helped them detain de Soules in France, and that Kieran had taken charge of the mission to deliver the declaration. When she described their meeting with Balliol, the Bruce muttered a few more choice curses under his breath.

“Bloody bastard,” he said. “Damn pretender, thinking he deserves my place just because he’s willing to sit on King Edward’s lap.”

“We believe Balliol is merely a puppet in this scheme, as his father was before him,” Jerome said gravely. “He was chosen as yer replacement because he would have acquiesced to the demands of English-sympathizing nobles like de Brechin and de Soules. They were the true masterminds behind this plot.”

“But when we learned that they didn’t just mean to dethrone you, but assassinate you, we returned to Scotland as fast as we could,” Elaine went on. She explained their plan to reach Scone, but that de Brechin and his men had attacked them and taken them hostage.

“De Brechin said he’d been waiting for word from de Soules when he spotted us instead,” Jerome said. “He vowed to kill Elaine unless I carried out the assassination, since he couldnae show his face near the palace anymore. I agreed to do his bidding on the promise that he wouldnae hurt Elaine.”

Elaine looked down to find Jerome gripping the arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles had turned white. She caught Finn eyeing Jerome once more, but instead of a frown, he wore an assessing look, and his dark eyes shone with guarded respect.

“His men brought me here and warned me that if I failed, they’d send word to de Brechin and Elaine would be killed. My only hope was to make it seem as though I’d attempted to stab ye, Robert, and cause enough chaos and uncertainty that Elaine would be safe. But then she was here.”

He turned to Elaine then, searching her with his gaze. “How did ye do it, lass? How did ye escape?”

She felt both the Bruce and Finn’s eyes lock on her as well. She drew in a steadying breath.

“De Brechin thought me naught more than a weak girl. He assumed he could handle me on his own. He was wrong.”

Memories of her fear, of de Brechin’s hands on her, and then his sightless eyes and all the blood everywhere, made her shudder and squeeze her eyes shut for a long moment. But then she willed herself to continue. “I managed to free my hands and stab him in the neck. We struggled, but I bested him. He is…” She had to swallow before going on. “He is dead.”

Jerome’s warm, gentle hand closed over hers, and she looked up to find his dark eyes full of emotion.

“Ye are the bravest woman I’ve ever kenned,” he said softly.

The chamber fell silent for a long moment before Elaine managed to go on. “I found my way to the palace just in time to see your guards take Jerome down, sire.”

Jerome frowned, turning back to the Bruce. “Ye said ye’d surmised that there would be an assassination attempt, Robert. How?”

“When my men found Finn in the woods, he insisted that de Brechin was close, which made both of us suspect that some sort of attack was imminent.”

“I might have been able to stop him before all this if ye hadnae insisted on dragging me back here,” Finn growled.

The Bruce cocked a russet eyebrow at him. “Ye were closer to dead than alive when my men came upon ye,” he replied. “A simple thank ye for saving yer life, setting that arm of yers, and giving ye food, water, and shelter would suffice.”

Finn muttered something under his breath that the Bruce pretended not to hear. He returned his gaze to Jerome and Elaine.

“Regardless, de Brechin’s presence in the area had us prepared for a strike—hence all my guards at the ready just outside the hall. But what were ye shouting about a lion, man?” he asked.

Jerome quickly explained what Balliol had said about de Soules’s saying, the jeweled dagger, and the lion symbols he’d seen on three of the nobles in the hall.

The Bruce’s face grew darker with each word. When Jerome finished, the King pounded his fist against the arm of his chair.

“Even though they’ve failed, their very existence—and right in my midst, no less—is an assault against my reign. I’ll weed out every last one of the bastards, I vow it. This madness cannae go unpunished.”

“What will ye do?” Finn asked quietly, all seriousness now.

“As we speak, my guards are gathering those who were in the hall tonight,” the Bruce replied. “With yer help, Jerome, we’ll identify the three ye saw earlier and determine if there were more present this eve.” He stroked his russet and gray beard in thought for a moment. “With the threat of a public drawing and quartering over their heads, I imagine a few will turn on their compatriots and give up any other names.”

“What of de Soules?” Jerome murmured.

“I’ll send word to Avignon instructing Kieran to fetch de Soules from Paris on his return from delivering the declaration. Kieran will bring him to Scone—as a prisoner of the Scottish crown under charges of treason. We’ll see what he has to say for himself when he arrives.”

“And Balliol?” Elaine ventured. “What will you do about him?”

The Bruce clucked his tongue in annoyance. “If the man is aught like his father, the moment he realizes the plot has fallen through, he’ll seek refuge with King Edward. Unless I want to march all the way to London for his head, I’m afraid we’ll have to ignore him for the time being.”

“If that is all, Robert, I would have the healer see to Lainey and let the lass rest,” Finn said, eyeing her.

Elaine glanced down at herself to find her gray wool gown covered in dirt and blood. Her wrists were chafed from the rope and her arms ached dully where de Brechin had stabbed her. She imagined that her face was tear-stained and drawn with exhaustion as well.

“Aye, of course,” the Bruce replied, giving Elaine a somber nod. “Yer King and country owe a great debt to ye, lass—to both of ye. I willnae soon forget all ye’ve done for me.”

Pushing himself from his chair, the Bruce fixed Jerome with a measuring look. “If ye are up to it, I’d have ye begin assessing my guests right away. The thought of traitors in my midst is making me twitchy.”

“There is one more thing, Robert,” Jerome said. He took Elaine’s hand in his and drew in a breath. “I’d like yer permission to marry this woman.”

Elaine felt her eyes go round. Aye, she’d agreed to marry Jerome if they made it through this alive, but she hadn’t expected him to take the first possible opportunity to pursue the matter. Her heart did a little flip in her chest.

The Bruce, too, blinked in surprise. He opened his mouth, but to Elaine’s shock, Finn spoke before the King could.

“I give ye my blessing,” he said evenly. “In truth, it is yer father’s place to do so, Lainey, but I dinnae mind speaking in his stead to say that Jerome Munro is a good man worthy of ye—that is, if ye’ll have him.”

Her vision blurring with happy tears, she turned to Jerome. “Aye,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I will.”