Elise spent the following morning diligently working on her embroidery with several of the other noblewomen. She refused to think of Cameron MacNeil or the way she had so humiliatingly embarrassed herself in front of him.

And could think of nothing else.

Kila strolled into the chamber and took a place by her side. “Goddess, you look fit to faint,” she remarked, giving Elise a frank look. Then she leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “Did you have an enjoyable night? I would hope so, to account for the fearsome shadows beneath your eyes.” And then she smiled sweetly and picked up her needle.

It was no surprise to Elise she looked ill. She’d spent most of the night going over her encounter with Cameron in minute detail, and every time she did, her mortification multiplied.

What had possessed her to tell him that she wanted him? Except she knew the answer to that. It was because she couldn’t bear for him to think she had been merely toying with him.

Not that it mattered. He was, after all, a man. He wouldn’t care one way or another about her feelings, so why she’d had the inexplicable urge to soothe his, she couldn’t imagine.

“Come, my lady,” Kila said under her breath. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me everything. I promise not to breathe a word to anyone else.”

Elise’s needle pierced her finger and she flinched. But it was not the pain of the needle. It was the foolish pain that pierced her heart at the knowledge Cameron had already spread the rumor that they had spent the night together.

Why else would Kila be so insistent on wanting all the graphic details?

“There’s nothing to tell.” She kept her head bent over her work so Kila wouldn’t see the truth in her eyes. “I believe I’m coming down with a chill.”

Kila straightened. She clearly didn’t want to risk catching a chill. “What a pity.” Then she apparently couldn’t help herself as she once again leaned close to Elise. “I simply must tell you, my lady. I can scarcely contain myself. Two warriors. Have you ever conceived of such delight? I confess I can barely sit still, my thoughts are so scandalous.”

Elise shot her a frown, her own tumbling thoughts momentarily forgotten. “You had two warriors last night?”

Kila’s smile left Elise in no doubt of the answer. “Every woman should experience such rapture at least once in her life,” she whispered. “Can you imagine…”

Elise returned her attention to her embroidery, as Kila shared every rapturous moment in vivid detail. But her concentration wandered. Even with such delicious gossip to share, would Kila truly not have pressed Elise harder if she believed Elise had taken Cameron MacNeil as her lover?

Why couldn’t she overcome her fear and take Cameron MacNeil as her lover? She could barely conduct a conversation with him without wanting to touch him. Last night she’d been determined to discover whatever knowledge he possessed of the hostages. She’d brought the conversation around to Dal Raida—and then all thought of pressing him for information had flown her mind.

He had kissed her. A ripple of remembered desire teased her damp sheath and she shifted on the stool. Nobody would believe it, but it was the first kiss she had ever had, not counting Ferelei.

But Ferelei did not kiss. He mauled. He took. The kiss she’d shared with Cameron had been nothing like she imagined. How could a warrior as surly and unapproachable as Cameron MacNeil kiss with such tenderness? With such gentle concern for her pleasure?

It was true he possessed no finesse when it came to conversation. But the touch of his large, callused hands on her face had all but undone her. He was a contradiction she could not fathom.

He touched her as reverently as the dream lover she harbored deep in her soul. But Cameron was a warrior. And her dream lover was not and could never be.

“Mistress.” The voice of a slave who now stood before her interrupted her swirling thoughts. She blinked, and realized her embroidery lay discarded upon her lap. She looked up at the slave who dipped a curtsey. “The queen requires your presence.”

***

The queen was in her private chamber, along with several of her ladies and Elise’s grandmother. There was a subdued air of excitement, but oddly a few of the ladies avoided Elise’s eyes.

She curtseyed and waited for the queen to indicate she might sit.

“It appears we were somewhat misled in the matter of your husband’s arrival in Pictland.” The queen smiled, but it was devoid of warmth.

“Madam?” Elise kept her voice calm, but inside panic began to churn. Great Bride. Please do not let Ferelei have arrived in Ce so soon. She clasped her hands together on her lap so no one might see how they shook.

“Your husband has arrived with his band of warriors. Perhaps he will be gracious enough to allow you to continue staying with us for the remainder of the summer.”

Perhaps he would. Perhaps he would even return to Fib and leave her alone for the summer. But Bride had not heard her desperate pleas for Ferelei to stay far from her. Why should she believe he had not come here to claim her and take her back to his sprawling hill fort?

She tensed her muscles as a slave opened the door that led to the queen’s formal antechamber. Her husband strolled in, resplendent with the jewels he wore upon his plaid and on his fingers. He bowed extravagantly to the queen and with faultless eloquence conveyed his deepest condolences on the foul murder of her king.

Elise swallowed. Remain calm. But when his shrewd gaze caught hers, her stomach clenched with fear and revulsion.

On the morn of her wedding, her mother had whispered in her ear. He is old, to be sure. But it’s likely that within a year, he will be dead, and then you will inherit what is due to you from his vast estate.

She’d thought her mother’s words cold and somewhat cruel. Certainly Ferelei was far older than she had dreamed her husband would be. But she wasn’t ignorant. She knew how few warriors were both suitable and available for royal marriages.

Ferelei had always been kind to her. Flattered and complimented her. She had foolishly imagined she could wrap him around her little finger. That he would adore her and let no harm befall her.

How quickly that illusion had shattered.

How swiftly she had secretly echoed her mother’s prediction for an early widowhood.

But Ferelei would not die. Perhaps in the end, he would outlive her as he had outlived his previous wives.

“My lady.” Ferelei bowed before her. “You grow more beautiful every time I see you.”

Elise offered him a thin smile. Beautiful was not the word he used when he looked at her scars. “You are too kind.”

He took her hand. She forced herself not to snatch it back and wipe her palm on her gown. “I am the most fortunate of men.” He brushed his dry lips across her knuckles and she couldn’t help the shudder that racked her body. If he noticed, he chose to ignore it. “My wife is the star that leads my ship home. I’ve brought you many exotic treasures, my sweet. I trust you will greatly enjoy them.”

Elise inclined her head. She couldn’t trust herself to answer. She only hoped he hadn’t discovered yet another exotic aphrodisiac that promised to restore a man’s vigor. No matter how many strange powders and concoctions he’d used over the years, none had worked. At least she could thank Bride for that small concession.

But it was only a small concession. Ferelei made up for his inability to fuck her with a multitude of degrading humiliations.

She stifled the shudder that threatened to claim her again and remained frozen in place as the queen beckoned Ferelei toward her. The conversation flowed over her head, unheeded. Only one thought thudded through her mind and kept her from losing her fragile veneer of calm.

Escape.

***

That afternoon, when her husband had left the palace to attend to the mercenaries who accompanied him, Elise once again eluded her bodyguard. Thunderclouds scudded across the grey sky and she shivered as she hurried from the shadow of the palace.

She sank to the ground in front of the sacred standing stone and with shaking fingers arranged her crystals. But even though she had cleansed and purified them after Cameron had handled them, his essence permeated every glittering facet.

She closed her eyes, and his unsmiling face flooded into her mind. How could she bear Ferelei’s demands when the memory of Cameron’s touch haunted every waking moment?

Great goddess, hear my prayer. Her fist closed over one of her crystals, its sharp edges grazing her palm. I will do anything you command, if only you send Ferelei far from here.

A strange vibration radiated across her palm and slowly she straightened her fingers.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her breath lodged in her throat. The crystal was no longer pure. Smears of crimson marred its translucent beauty. Elise gasped and dropped the crystal, her gaze riveted on her open palm.

At the blood that seeped from half a dozen tiny scratches across her hand.

***

Cam drew back from his opponent, sweat blinding him, his broadsword heavy in his hand. For what seemed like hours, he and Ross had fought on this distant field, neither one willing to yield. But now they faced each other, and it was exhaustion that forced the impasse.

Ross had been spoiling for a fight all day. But until Cam had seen mac Uurguist arrive at Ce-eviot he’d been disinclined to feed Ross’ aggrieved pride.

That had changed as he’d watched the murdering bastard enter the palace as though he owned it. And since he could hardly storm the stone walls and relieve mac Uurguist of his head, he’d accepted Ross’ challenge instead.

But despite the ferocity of the sparring session, his mind had not been fully engaged. And he hadn’t always been thinking of the bastard Pict.

It was Elise who occupied his thoughts. Elise, who belonged to mac Uurguist, and could even now be parting her thighs for her despicable husband.

The thought turned his stomach.

Ross came to his side and thumped him on his shoulder. “Women.” He gave a short laugh. “It appears the princess is now beyond both of our reaches, Cam. You should have pushed forward with your advantage when you had the chance with her.”

Cam grunted and shrugged Ross’s hand from his shoulder. It appeared Elise’s return to the hall last night, alone, had not gone unnoticed. He didn’t know what Ross thought had happened between him and the princess and he didn’t care.

If only he could forget that kiss. But it had haunted him throughout the night.

“Join me in the tavern,” Ross said. “Who knows, one of the serving wenches might look past your glower and raise her skirts for you, if you’re lucky.”

Cam looked up at the darkening skies and welcomed the first cold drops of rain that splattered across his face. “I have no use for serving wenches.”

The man he’d sworn to slaughter had saved him the trouble of hunting him down. He didn’t believe in omens, but this could be nothing but a good sign.

Elise’s face swam into his mind, distracting his purpose. Brutally he shoved the memory of her gentle touch and evocative scent aside. He couldn’t let the unfathomable attraction between them alter his course.

He needed to plan how to get mac Uurguist away from his heathen mercenaries. And then, God help him, he would avenge his sweet sister’s death.