James paced his chamber after the guests had cleared his hall, impatient for his steward’s arrival to discover what the hell had happened. His wife and her maid had retired to the adjoining chamber, leaving him to stew over his thoughts.

When Monroe had reported that Sir Hugh’s wife had “fallen” on the keep stairs after visiting Arabela, James had been pleased, praising Monroe for his quick thinking and initiative. He didn’t care for Sir Hugh or his lovely wife. They asked questions of everyone, and he had yet to determine which side of the border held their loyalty.

Rothton felt certain Sir Hugh could be a valuable ally, but James was far more cautious. While Rothton believed they needed to persuade as many as possible to stand with them, James knew the matter was far more black and white. Either people wanted a Scottish ruler, or they were complacent enough to allow England to put a king on the throne. Convincing others to believe in their cause was a waste of breath.

William Wallace of Scotland had been knighted for his reckless invasion into England over six months ago. James had no doubt King Edward of England would retaliate for Wallace’s actions. While Wallace was an obvious candidate for Scotland’s throne, his recent actions made him a target for England’s wrath. He’d soon be dead. James was certain of that.

France and England had signed a truce earlier in the year, but there had been no mention of France’s Scottish allies, which meant France had abandoned them. Scotland would have no allies to aid them when England invaded. With the situation worsening, a Scottish king was all the more important.

Monroe had shared bits and pieces of the conversation he’d overheard between Cairstine and Arabela. James was sorely disappointed he had to learn of their budding friendship from his steward rather than his own daughter.

Arabela’s sudden rebellious streak had come as a surprise. Prior to recent events, she’d been biddable, much like her mother. Then again, he’d trained his wife from the early days of their marriage never to question him. He’d thought it unnecessary to teach Arabela such a lesson. That had proven to be a mistake.

Mayhap the time had come to have a conversation with his daughter as to his expectations. Why the lass had suddenly found a mind of her own was beyond him. Poor timing on her part, for certain.

Grief and rage poured through him at the knowledge that all of this would’ve been different if his son yet lived. Alistair would’ve understood James’s vision for the future. In fact, Alistair would’ve made an excellent king. Damn and blast William Douglas for taking him away. That act of murder was unforgivable, made even worse since James had yet to exact revenge. The entire Douglas family lived while Alistair was dead.

None of his plans were coming to fruition. He stared out the narrow window as darkness filled his thoughts. Changes needed to be made if he wanted results. Where to begin?

A knock on the door interrupted him.

“Enter.”

The door opened, revealing Monroe. “My lord.” The steward had proved his loyalty time and again. He was resourceful, clever, and cunning, all characteristics James admired, as long as they weren’t directed at him.

James waited until he closed the door before he said, “Well? Explain yourself.”

Monroe shook his head, clearly at a loss. “I fear I have no explanation. How the woman survived the fall, let alone is walking about with no sign of injury, is a mystery.”

“How can I believe you pushed her as you claim when she was sitting in my hall this eve, acting as though nothing untoward had occurred?” James’s temper rose another notch.

Monroe lifted his hands, palms up, a helpless gesture that only angered James further. “I have no explanation, my lord. Mayhap the devil’s hand was called to aid her. I saw her foot bent at an angle only possible if it were broken. How she is walking on it...” He shook his head again, obviously confused.

“Did you speak with the village healer? Could she be to blame for the lady’s quick recovery?”

“Speaking with Effie is much like speaking with a wall. Little is gained from the effort.”

“Someone has an explanation. What does Sir Hugh say about all this?”

“He only expresses gratitude that she wasn’t hurt as severely as first thought.”

Monroe wrung his hands, shaking his head, visibly upset at the unexpected turn of events. James couldn’t decide if it was an act.

“Sir Matthew witnessed her position after the fall. He could attest that I speak the truth.”

“I will speak with Matthew. But I wish to hear how you intend to proceed. Something must be done about Sir Hugh and his wife.” The hesitation on Monroe’s face caught his notice. “What?”

“With the arrival of Sir Hugh’s cousin, Sir Chanse, the possibilities are limited.”

James frowned. “Use your head, man. Sir Chanse is to be part of the competition. ’Twould be a shame if one of the competitors failed to use a blunted tip or some such thing. Would it not?”

“Excellent idea, my lord. I will see what can be arranged.”

“Take them one at a time if necessary, but see that ’tis done before the end of the celebration. You started this, and while I support your decision, ’tis up to you to see it to an end.”

“Very well, my lord.”

James watched the steward leave then turned to stare out the chamber window, deciding how best to explain to his daughter that becoming friends with Lady Cairstine was a poor idea.

 

~*~

 

Early the next morn as dawn touched the sky, Ilisa stirred in her sleep. She snuggled into the warmth of the bed, enjoying the feel of strong arms wrapped around her. She shifted, part of her thoughts appreciating that such a small amount of pain accompanied her movements.

Braden nuzzled her neck, sending shivers along her back and to the tips of her breasts. Still, sleep tugged at her, dulling her awareness. Braden’s warmth was welcome. His scent familiar. His presence delightful.

He moved, and somewhere in the corner of her mind, she realized what was pressed against her thigh—the hard length of his manhood.

She sighed as that knowledge made liquid heat pool low in her belly, and she woke fully as a sense of wonder filled her. Was Braden awake too? Oh, how she hoped so.

His callused palm ran over her chemise to her waist, down to her hip, then up to the bottom of her breast. She arched, encouraging him to move a little farther. When his hand at last surrounded her breast, a soft moan escaped. She arched again, this time hoping he’d take a firmer grip. To her delight, he did, his thumb moving over the tip. The linen fabric chafed against her, adding to the pleasure as he repeated the gesture again. And again. Each movement sent a spiral of desire swirling through her.

“Aye,” she whispered, hoping he’d continue the motion.

Instead, his hand moved down to her waist to tease the curve there. When he kissed her neck, just below her ear, she couldn’t help but sigh. She shifted against him, wanting more of the lovely sensations flooding her body, wanting to know that he was truly awake, and they were both choosing this moment.

His hand caressed her side as he pressed additional kisses along her neck, his tongue joining in the fun. This time, his hand moved lower, lingering along her hip. That felt good but was still not quite where she wanted it.

As though reading her thoughts, those fingers shifted lower, to her thigh, then moved inward. Her thighs parted of their own accord, granting him access, desire dimming her normal reserve.

When he didn’t react to the invitation, disappointment swept through her. That is until she felt that rough palm along her bare thigh. She drew a deep breath as heat poured through her.

Her skin was on fire, every part of her urging him to continue his exploration. His touch was firm but gentle, and oh, so warm. He nuzzled her ear as his hand drew up. Up. Up. Until at last it rested against the curls between the apex of her thighs.

It felt glorious. Her toes tingled. Her hips rose. A part of her wondered how her body knew what it wanted when she did not. But she was willing to follow its lead. She bent her knee and was rewarded when Braden groaned in her ear.

“Aye, my sweet. Open for me,” he whispered, his deep voice adding another layer of sensation.

Unable to do other than what he bid, she let her knee fall open as she shifted onto her back.

“Ilisa.” He pressed another kiss to the side of her neck then eased lower. When he removed the hand between her thighs, she whimpered, not ready for this interlude to end.

He rose on an elbow, his gaze holding hers for a long moment. The dim light hid his expression, but there was no denying that he was indeed awake and aware. And he was choosing to be with her. Then he kissed her deeply, the intensity sending flutters through her, adding to her joy.

She felt a tug on the ribbon of her chemise as he drew it open to expose one breast. Cool air puckered her nipple.

As his hand returned to press against her curls, his lips took the tip of her breast, licking and suckling there.

She writhed in delight as desire swept through her completely, eliminating any doubt. “Oh, Braden,” she whispered. She’d had no idea she was capable of feeling this. So much. So much that she ached for more.

The heel of his hand moved gently against her, and her hips lifted in return. Then she felt his finger along her slick folds, and her breath caught. Desire pulsed through her.

She kissed him deeply, loving his response. Anxious to make him feel as she did, she ran her hand under his tunic and found his nipple, pinching him as he touched her. His moan had her searching for more she could do, of some other way she might please him.

Her hands followed the coarse hair that ran from his chest down to the center of his belly. She lingered on the flatness there then lower, wanting to explore the hardness he’d pressed against her.

His breath quickened, telling her she’d taken the right path. She shifted her hand to follow the coarse hair. The velvety warmth of his manhood shocked her.

As she took hold of him, exploring the feel of him, he whispered her name. Once. Twice. His hips rocked in the same rhythm with which he stroked her. Then his lips captured hers once more, their tongues dancing.

Suddenly hot, she kicked off the covers, welcoming the cool air. He moved over her, the outline of his dark head above her breast as he suckled there, the feel of his fingers sliding along her folds, had her gasping for breath.

“Braden,” she demanded, wanting him to fill the empty ache inside her.

“Aye, my sweet.” The endearment added to the feelings spiraling through her. “I want to be inside you.”

Her mind couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of his words, but if he suggested an end to this torture, she’d agree to anything. “Aye.”

She squeezed his staff, amazed at the feel of it. How could it be so soft, yet so firm? She wanted to see it, but his fingers moved yet again, the feelings they created pinning her in place. Then his finger slid inside her, causing her to arch.

He leaned up to take her lips in a deep kiss, his tongue invading her mouth as his finger invaded her. He moved his tongue in and out, his finger joining the dance as his thumb stroked her folds.

“Aye,” she cried out, the sensation overwhelming. Her hips bucked, her body fighting for something she didn’t understand.

One more deliberate shift of his thumb and she unraveled, lights bursting from behind her closed eyes. Again and again, wave after wave, until at last her body quieted. He kissed her, the gentleness of it making her ache.

Only then did she find his manhood again along with the dampness at the tip of his staff. She slowly rubbed it in wonder.

“Ilisa. Christ,” he muttered, his body jerking in her hand. His moans urged her on until at last, his body convulsed much like hers had.

With a groan, he gathered her into his arms, holding her tight against him, pressing feathery kisses along her cheek. “You are so beautiful. So wonderful.”

“Oh, Braden.” She returned his embrace, loving the sensation of their bare skin touching, wishing they could remain there and leave the rest of the world outside the tent. Here, everything was perfect. No danger threatened them. They were free to enjoy the moment.

He kissed her again so gently that tears came to her eyes.

Her feelings for this man were growing faster than she’d expected. Faster than she had time to understand or control. As much as she wished they’d made love in full, she knew she needed to decide her future before she took that step.

“Braden?” The emotions in her heart threatened to spill over. Perhaps she’d already made that decision.

“Aye?” He pulled her even closer, making her feel precious and loved.

Despite that, she held her tongue. ’Twas much too soon for such declarations. They were in a difficult situation far from home, and their future was anything but certain.

“Nothing,” she said at last. Better that she wait and see what the days ahead held, she decided, ignoring the doubt at her logic and the squeeze it gave her heart.

 

~*~

 

Braden sighed as he saw Chanse approaching the moment he stepped out of the tent later that morn. While pleased his brother was here, he needed a few moments to gather his thoughts, to process what the hell had just happened.

He’d known that with each day that passed, his attraction to Ilisa was deepening. But the intensity of the feelings simmering inside him now scared him.

One moment, he’d been holding her while wrapped in a wonderful dream, only to fully wake to realize he held her in truth. Letting her go would’ve been impossible.

Her response to him had been unbelievable. Just the memory of her soft sighs had his body hardening once more. Perhaps nearly losing her had sharpened his awareness of how much he cared for her.

“Good morn, Hugh,” Chanse said, his never-absent smile in place. Some days ’twas annoying.

“And to you, cousin. How was the rest of your night?”

Chanse drew nearer to walk at his side. Braden felt his face heat as his brother continued to study him. “Not as good as yours, I would venture to guess.”

Braden shook his head. Damn, but Chanse knew him far too well. That didn’t mean he was willing to admit anything. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Chanse patted him on the shoulder. Hard. “You seem particularly relaxed this morn. One would say you look almost...satisfied.”

“You have a vivid imagination.”

“Need I remind you that you are only pretending to be married?”

“Aye, and yet, nay.” Braden knew he couldn’t keep the truth from Chanse much longer. ’Twas a miracle he hadn’t already uncovered the details of their marriage. Keeping secrets from his brother was a hopeless endeavor. He’d given up attempting to do so years ago. The best he could do was avoid topics he didn’t wish to discuss.

Chanse frowned. “You make no sense.”

“Neither did Prioress Matilda.” He glanced at his brother as they continued in the direction of the baker’s where he intended to purchase bread. Braden’s appetite was fierce this morn. No doubt Ilisa was hungry as well.

“Explain.” Chanse’s limited patience was obviously coming to an end.

“Prioress Matilda insisted we pose as Sir Hugh and Lady Cairstine, therefore gaining us an invitation.”

“She told me as much.”

“She also said she couldn’t allow Ilisa to accompany me, pretending to be my wife if she wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t what?”

“My wife.”

Chanse reached for Braden’s arm, dragging him to a halt. A frown marred his brow. “What are you saying?”

“Ilisa and I are truly married due to Prioress Matilda’s insistence.”

“But...” ’Twas rare to see Chanse struggle for words. He always had plenty to share.

“We will annul the marriage upon our return to Berwick.” Braden looked away, more displeased at the thought than he had the right to be.

“Huh.” Chanse slowly walked ahead only to turn back to stare at Braden. “Truly?”

“That is the plan.”

“I thought the lady intended to take her vows at St. Mary’s soon.”

“She does.”

“Assuming you end the marriage.”

“Aye.” The thought curbed his appetite.

Chanse shook his head as they continued walking. “Interesting. I would’ve said there is a certain amount of attraction on both sides.”

Braden nodded as he waved at Lord Gideon, hoping the man didn’t take the gesture as an invitation to approach. “While it isn’t anything I’m proud of as I’m aware she intends to take her vows, I can’t help but admire her.” That much was easy to admit but paled compared to what he actually felt.

“She’s been brave considering all she’s been through,” Chanse offered.

“Aye.”

“She’s beautiful with her long blonde hair and blue eyes. Stunning, in fact.”

Braden scowled, wondering if his brother was setting a trap. But thus far, he’d only stated the truth. How could Braden disagree with that? “Aye.”

Chanse drew to a halt again. “Then what the hell are you waiting for? She’s your wife. You’d be crazed not to do all in your power to keep her as such.”

Braden ran a hand over his eyes, wishing he could smooth his thoughts into some semblance of logic. “We’re very different, she and I.”

“Oh?”

“She hates English knights.”

“So did Lady Sophia, yet she found it in her heart to love Garrick.”

“Ilisa intends to take her vows come autumn.”

“Already noted. But have you asked why she wishes to do so? Or if that is still where her heart lies? Plans often change.”

“I’ve thought of doing so, but how can I compete with her devotion to God?”

“Valid point. Do you care for her?”

Braden nearly squirmed at the question as he knew what Chanse would ask next. “Aye.”

“Do you trust her?”

He looked at Chanse in surprise. That wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

“You’ve always been slow to trust others, and for good reason,” Chanse said with a casual lift of one shoulder. “You must guard your secret closely.”

Chanse wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.

Did he trust Ilisa? That was not a question to be taken lightly.

But yet the answer came easily. Aye.

He might be a healer, but Ilisa was the one healing him by easing his mistrust of others and giving him hope for a future. In truth, there was more to what he felt than simple hope.

“Once you know that, you’ll have your answer as to what to do,” Chanse advised. “Hard to believe that my brother is a married man.” He held up his hand before Braden could protest. “At least for the moment.”

“Aye. For now.”

“Wish me luck. I’ll be going to the lists soon. There’s a competition to win.”

“You have no need for luck with your skill.”

“Care to place a wager?”

Braden laughed as he waved off his brother and continued toward the baker’s.

After breaking his fast with Ilisa, Braden watched from the side of the lists where the jousting would soon begin. The competitors had gathered on the opposite side, their steeds restless, stomping the ground and jerking the reins, as anxious to get started as their riders.

Chanse was among them, easily visible. His response to the truth about the marriage had given Braden much to think upon. Nothing could be decided while they remained at Lord Graham’s. When they returned to Berwick, he would better understand what he felt for her. He needed to know if she intended to take her vows before he shared the extent of his feelings as he would not stand between her and God.

Meanwhile, he needed to find a way to make certain nothing further happened between him and Ilisa until they left this place.

“Is he any good?” Sir Niall asked, coming to stand next to him, pulling him from his thoughts.

Braden had yet to speak with the older man, other than exchanging the normal pleasantries but had learned a little about the knight.

Niall had a holding in the northern Lowlands. Considering its location, Braden guessed the man’s loyalty would be to Scotland and mayhap sided with Graham’s ideas. How to test that assumption?

“Jousting is one of his strong suits.”

“Excellent. I’ll be sure to place a wager on him.”

Braden chuckled. “Chanse will be pleased to hear that. He’ll make even more of an effort to win.”

“Then I shall tell him myself when he comes off the lists from his practice pass,” Niall said with a smile. “He has a fine horse under him.”

Braden debated, wondering how much to say without taking too much of a risk. Yet this mission was about taking risks, he reminded himself. “Don’t tell Lord Graham, but he purchased it in England.”

Niall smiled. “That would anger Graham to no end. Everyone knows the only horses of value are those bred in Scotland.”

“For certain.” Braden waited, keeping his gaze on the riders on the field in an effort to not reveal how much he wanted Niall to share more.

“Our host has some interesting ideas on how Scotland’s future should look,” Niall said.

“He’s a man who believes he knows what’s best for the country, regardless of how many agree.” Braden felt as if he were playing a complicated chess game. One wrong move and the match would be lost. Too many of those, and the battle would be lost as well.

“Has Rothton approached you?”

Braden studied Niall, wishing he knew where he was taking the conversation. “He suggested those with Scotland’s best interests at heart would be willing to unite behind the right man.”

“And do you agree?”

“Do you?”

Niall held his silence, a not-so-subtle method of encouraging Braden to answer first.

“Many would be willing to support the right man,” Braden said at last. “My only question is who gets the honor of choosing that man? Why should we trust them to select the best future king?”

“I thought you appeared to be a logical man.”

“Does that mean you don’t intend to support Graham’s choice blindly?” Braden asked.

“Graham and Rothton appear to have their own motives for whatever they’re planning. I’m not certain those motives make for clear thinking.”

Braden nodded. That would probably be as much of an answer as he could expect. No one was willing to say too much regardless of what side they were on. “Do you happen to know who else sides with Graham and Rothton? Knowing might help clarify the reason for who they select and whether I would lend support.”

Niall remained silent for so long that Braden decided he wasn’t going to answer. “Rumors say that the Bishop of Moray has traveled far to meet with Graham on more than one occasion. What reason has he to do so if not for a discussion of such importance?”

Braden swallowed back his excitement. That was exactly what he needed to know. Now he had two names to add to Lord Graham’s. Added to that was the fact that Sir Niall wasn’t enamored with their plans either.

One more piece of the puzzle. But did they have enough to solve it?