By unspoken agreement, they walked upstream toward the untamed woodland ahead. Cameron continued holding her hand and she had no desire to pull free.

His hand enveloped hers. No man had ever held her in such a manner. It was intimate. Comforting. Yet there was a thrilling undercurrent of danger that wove through her blood and caused her skin to prickle with heightened awareness.

Cameron might think they were enjoying a simple stroll. But she knew exactly where they were heading. The knowledge that she was about to embark in an illicit liaison caused molten desire to pool low in her womb and curl with delicious heat between her thighs.

“How did you fall from a crag?” His question was blunt and she knew what he really meant. How could a princess fall from a crag? And of course he was right. No young princess of Pictland would be allowed to play such dangerous games. But then, she and Droston had always loved daring each other to their limits.

“I was playing on the wet rocks and slipped.” She shivered as the memory of falling through air and nothingness rushed through her once again. “It was a harsh lesson to learn but as you can see I still evade my bodyguard and ladies on regular occasions.”

He stopped dead and turned to face her. “You were alone?” His voice was harsh. “How did you survive until you were discovered?”

His evident concern was a balm to the ragged memories that haunted her. She couldn’t help the small smile that curved her lips, even though she knew he must think her mad for it.

“I wasn’t alone. My dear friend Droston was with me. He pulled me from the rapids and carried me back to the palace. He is scarcely a year older than me.” Droston had been only twelve, but his bravery and single-minded purpose to save her had barely been acknowledged by her mother. And her mother, Elise had soon realized, ruled her father in such matters.

***

Cam watched the smile fade from Elise’s face as a shadow clouded her eyes. A sharp pain stabbed through his chest and he clenched his jaw against the unfamiliar sensation.

He ignored it. Because it was clear to him that Droston was so much more to Elise than merely her friend.

Were they lovers? Elise had told him she’d never taken a warrior to her bed and he believed her. But she had been speaking of Scots warriors. Not Picts. And the man who had saved her life as a child would not be merely a passing liaison.

Elise had shown no special favor to any Pict warrior that he could recall. But the suspicion Droston had been her lover strengthened and with it came another.

Now Elise was free of mac Uurguist, would she wed the other man?

“Will he be waiting for you in Circinn?” They had to travel close to the border of Circinn in order to reach Fortriu—and Fib.

A frown creased her brow, as though she found his question completely unexpected. “No. He—I believe he is held hostage in Dal Riada.”

The pain in her voice was obvious. Cam tried to ignore the spike of relief at the knowledge Droston wouldn’t be joining Elise in the journey from Circinn.

He didn’t know why. It wasn’t as though the existence of Droston changed anything between Cam and Elise. And yet he couldn’t shift the feeling that somehow—it did.

“You care for him.” He sounded surly. Could not help himself. Because the thought of Elise caring for another man churned his guts.

“I love him as though he—” Elise bit off her words, blushed in that entrancing manner she had, and then took a deep breath. “As though he were my brother. It grieves me that I don’t even know whether he is alive or dead.”

Why didn’t she simply tell him the truth? It was obvious she felt more for Droston than brotherly affection. She was more concerned for his fate than she appeared by the death of mac Uurguist.

Perhaps he’d been mistaken when he’d thought Elise cared for her husband. God, he hoped so. The bastard Pict hadn’t deserved a fleeting glimmer of regret from a woman such as Elise.

He didn’t want to think of Droston. But the haunted look in Elise’s eyes tore through him. “To my knowledge no Pict warrior without a claim to Fortriu died.”

The shadows miraculously cleared from Elise’s eyes and the smile she bestowed his way was like no other he had ever seen from her. It should have fired his blood. Instead only a dull sense of despair filled his chest.

“Thank you.” She took a deep breath and her relief was so great it became a tangible thing, hovering between them like a heathen specter. “I prayed he was alive but to know for certain has lifted a great weight from my heart. We were all but inseparable as children. I have four older sisters, as you know, but Droston is so much closer to me in age. We couldn’t care for each other more if were we related by blood.”

She gave him an oddly earnest look, as though willing him to believe her. Of course he believed her. Why would she lie? Her affection for the cursed Pict illuminated her like a star in the heavens.

“If he’s held in Dal Riada there’s no need to fear for his safety. The hostages are afforded all privileges their rank deserves.”

“Of course.” Her tone was oddly formal and he cursed his brusque manner for shattering her happiness. As much as the existence of Droston irked him, he had meant to comfort her. But all he had done was reinforce the fact Droston was little more than a political prisoner. “My father is also held hostage. But I doubt any ransom would secure his release.”

It was true some of the minor hostages could be released upon negotiation. It was equally true the most valuable ones would continue to be held until all of Pictland acknowledged MacAlpin’s claim to Fortriu.

He tightened his grip on Elise’s hand as they continued to walk through the woodland. Not that she’d tried to pull free, even after his inept attempt to ease her concern. He stole a sideways glance at her.

She was looking ahead, but he noticed how she scanned the ground and how carefully she stepped over tangled roots and shallow dips in her path. In her scarlet gown and white veil with a plain gold circlet upon her head, she looked every inch a princess.

Untouchable.

Yet she had no objection to holding his hand.

He edged closer to her so their entwined fingers pressed against his thigh. He had never walked hand in hand with a woman—or a girl—before. A sad reflection on his past. But after mac Uurguist had destroyed Isla, Cam had lost what little social graces he’d ever possessed. Girls were not enamored of his terse manners and while his friends broke countless young hearts as they practiced their seduction techniques, he had plotted dark retribution.

Elise led them farther into the woods. He had no idea where they were going and didn’t care. The sunlight filtered through the dense canopy of leaves overhead, giving a mystical diffused illumination. She looked like a mythical fae from a child’s tale, an ethereal wood nymph from pagan times and for once, the thought didn’t fill him with a nameless fear.

Elise might worship pagan gods. But she wasn’t evil. She wasn’t a witch. While there was breath in his body no man would harm her for her beliefs.

She glanced at him and offered a smile of such sweetness that his chest ached. Her elusive scent drifted in the air, spinning through his blood and stirring his ever-present lust. He battled the primitive need to pull her into his arms, to feel her body meld with his. To sink his cock deep into her silken pussy.

He would do none of it. No matter that she had taken him deep into the woods where the only sound came from birdsong and the breeze rustling through the leaves.

She brought him here because, God help him, she trusted him.

“We have arrived, Cameron MacNeil.”

He realized he had been staring at her profile as they walked and had no idea where it was they had arrived. He dragged his gaze from her to look up ahead.

An ancient stone roundhouse nestled among the trees. Its roof had long gone and ivy twined around the structure. Far from looking out of place, the roundhouse gave the impression that the woodland had embraced its presence and was as much a part of the landscape as the trees themselves.

They might have arrived. But he still had no idea where they were.

“This place is inhabited?” His disbelief was evident in his tone. A chilling thought struck. Had Elise brought him to visit an ancient one who communed with her illusory gods? But why would she do that?

Elise tugged on his hand. “Why do you look so fierce? It’s only a deserted roundhouse. Not a secret outpost of Vikings.”

He looked at her. She was smiling up at him, but her earlier easy demeanor had vanished, and there was an undercurrent of tension radiating from her.

A memory stirred. In the spring, Stuart MacGregor had told of a deserted roundhouse deep in the woodland where he’d enjoyed the favors of two Pictish noblewomen. Cam’s mouth dried and cock thickened as he recalled Stuart’s indiscreet boasts.

Just because Elise had brought him here did not mean she intended to fuck him.

He cleared his throat and tried to gather his scattered senses. But all he could think of was lifting Elise’s skirts. Tasting her succulent pussy.

Making her his.

“I thought perhaps,” Elise hesitated and looked back the way they had come. “But it does not matter. If you would rather continue our walk that would be most—”

“Elise.” Her name burned through his chest and he cradled her face with his hand. Her skin was warm and smooth as silk. She looked back at him, wariness clouding her beautiful blue eyes and he cursed himself for making her believe, for even a second, that he didn’t want her. “If we enter the roundhouse I fear I might never let you leave.”

The guarded expression on her face vanished. She leaned very slightly into his palm and he caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Such a fleeting touch. Yet it scorched through his blood, constricting his chest and gripping his vitals.

He had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Elise.

“I may never wish to leave.” Her soft whisper threaded through his pounding head. He raised their entwined hands between their bodies and pressed his lips against her knuckles. Somewhere in the lust soaked depths of his mind, a sliver of caution stirred. A primal warning that echoed through his soul. If he entered the primitive Pictish ruin with Elise, the course of his life would be irrevocably changed.

But his life had already been turned inside out from the moment he’d first seen Elise. All his nighttime fantasies of having her in his arms collided in his mind. If MacAlpin himself appeared and forbade him to enter the roundhouse, he doubted he could obey.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” His voice was uneven. She had led him here and she looked at him with desire. But a thread of disbelief tugged on his senses.

She was a princess. All his compatriots lusted for her. Yet she had chosen him.

He could not truly fathom it.

For answer, she bent her head and pressed her lips against his knuckles. A mirror image of his own action. Her lips were soft and her breath drifted across his fingers. It was a chaste kiss, but exquisite promise swirled beneath the surface.

“I have never wanted anything more,” she whispered and led him through the open door.