Cam heard Elise gasp, saw her eyes widen in fear and her body stiffen in preparation for flight. In the second his lust-fogged mind registered her responses, he also registered how close they were. How he loomed over her, his shadow encompassing her diminutive figure. That she felt threatened was clear. That he hadn’t noticed until this moment was despicable.

With a muffled curse, he stepped back, putting distance between them. Fuck. If he’d pressed any closer, she would have felt his cock digging into her belly. The thought of his cock digging into any part of her inflamed him further and his scowl intensified, even as his pulses hammered with desperate need.

“I wanted a moment by myself.” Elise’s voice was breathless as though terror rendered her all but incapable of coherent speech. His self-disgust deepened, twisting his gut at the notion he’d managed to intimidate a woman. A man could sink no lower. And this was why he avoided situations where charm was a requisite. The Scotswomen of his acquaintance were used to his ways. Foreigners were not. And then Elise spoke again. “To commune with my goddess.”

It took him a moment to realize she was answering his question. He had forgotten he’d asked her anything. What the hell had he asked her?

He focused on the pagan symbol on the ground. Again, an eerie shiver inched along his spine, a strange unease that whatever Elise had been doing, she had been invoking the wrath of God.

“You shouldn’t wander the countryside alone.” He made it sound like an accusation. It was an accusation. She was a princess. She shouldn’t traipse the land unattended, like a common serving girl.

“Are your fellow Scots warriors not to be trusted, then?”

He backed up another step. None of the warriors Connor had instructed to remain behind in Ce would take a woman by force. They merely had to smile at a woman and she would open her legs for them, whether she was a slave or possessed royal blood in her veins.

Elise was clearly not referring to any of the other warriors. And besides, she had firsthand experience of MacGregor’s charms, and who knew how many others who remained stationed in Ce.

She was questioning his integrity.

“You can trust each of us with your life.” Even as the words snarled from his mouth, he recognized how she could see the hypocrisy. Whatever had occurred in MacAlpin’s war chamber, no Pict believed their people had betrayed the alliance. As far as they were concerned, the Scots had attacked without provocation. Why should Elise believe Connor MacKenzie’s men were any different? That he was any different?

Why did he give a shit what she thought?

Elise gazed at him as though he was some type of fascinating insect. “Theoretically then, I should be perfectly safe without my personal guard to watch my back.”

“I don’t speak for the integrity of any Pict.”

Her eyes widened in clear affront, but he hadn’t intended it as an insult. It was simply the truth.

God damn it, why couldn’t he think before he spoke? He never saw how his comments could be taken the wrong way until it was too late. He gave her a stony stare, waiting for a counter-accusation. And whatever she said, he would accept in silence. There couldn’t be any danger in maintaining silence.

“I wouldn’t ask you to, Cameron MacNeil.” She sounded haughty. But then, she was a princess.

He remained silent. She waited, clearly expecting a response. Her breasts rose and fell with distracting purpose, as if she had been riding.

A fractured breath escaped his clenched teeth. Too late, he tried to envisage her on a horse, but instead all he could imagine was her riding him. Her golden hair tangled around her shoulders, naked breasts inches from his mouth. Her fingers gripping his shoulders for leverage and, most torturously, her tight cleft hugging his thrusting cock.

Her faint scent of late spring flowers drifted on the breeze, tormenting his senses, and underlying that, he caught the evocative musky hint of woman.

His balls ached with lust, heavy with frustrated release. If he didn’t get away from her soon—now—he feared he might drag her into his embrace and silence her horrified protests with his mouth and hands and body.

“No Pict would dare raise his hand against me.” There was a sharp edge in her voice but she still spoke in Gaelic, and the potency of her words was lost beneath her enchanting accent.

“Are no Picts starving?” Hell, he hadn’t meant to answer her. But it appeared even when he kept his mouth shut, he was more than capable of annoying her.

She blinked, as if his question made no sense. “What?”

“People will do a great deal to put food in their family’s bellies.”

This time the look she gave him suggested she thought he might have lost his mind.

“Are you truly saying, Cameron MacNeil, that a Pict would harm me because his family was starving?” She sounded incredulous. He wished to God she would stop addressing him as Cameron MacNeil. Coming from her lips, wrapped around her exotic accent, it was like a sensuous slither of silk across his throbbing shaft.

“I’m saying…” What the fuck was he saying? All he could see was Elise looking at him. Focusing her entire attention on him. But she wasn’t smiling. Wasn’t flirting. Wasn’t inviting him up to her bedchamber. She was looking at him because she thought he was insane. “I’m saying that a desperate Pict wouldn’t think twice about taking you for the right price.”

“Taking me?” She repeated his words as if they were utterly obscene. “That may be the Scots way, but I can assure you that we Picts—”

Was he not making himself plain?

“For the Vikings.” He glared at her. “Do you know nothing of politics?”

She blushed, and the vision was so arousing, he clenched his fists to stop his hands from cradling her face. She didn’t blush because she was attracted to him. It was because, this time, he’d managed to deeply offend her.

“Indeed.” Her voice chilled the air. “I’m well versed in the political situation, MacNeil. The Vikings are not in the habit of bribing Picts to abduct royal hostages.”

Aye, he’d insulted her all right.

“In Viken, the practice of stealing their neighboring kingdom’s royal daughters is widespread. What makes you think they won’t extend that practice here, by whatever means they can?”

Elise glared at him. It was the first time he’d ever seen a less than pleasing expression on her face. Unfortunately, it did nothing to lessen the rampant lust still thundering through his blood.

“Nothing whatsoever.” She tilted her head at him as though he had just emitted a particularly offensive odor. “After all, is that not precisely what the Scots have done?”

How had he managed to so thoroughly raise her ire? All he’d intended was to warn her of the danger she could face by wandering the countryside alone. No matter how well protected Ce-eviot might be, in such troubled times spies could infiltrate anywhere. After all, he knew only too well it was not only the Vikings who used abduction as a way of securing a valuable foreign bride.

“And yet still you take the danger lightly.”

She stepped toward him. For a second, he thought she was going to strike his face and to his disgusted disbelief, the prospect didn’t anger him. But she didn’t touch him. She merely gave him a look that should have withered his cock but instead caused his balls to ache with tormented denial.

“You are in my way,” she said in a voice as haughty as any he had heard the queen of Ce use. He waited for her insult and tried not to notice how she only reached his shoulder. How her eyes sparkled with anger. How her breasts quivered with every uneven breath she took.

He didn’t move immediately. She was of royal blood, but she wasn’t his princess and he’d be damned if he’d allow her to speak to him like a common slave. But that wasn’t the reason he didn’t obey her implied command. He was incapable of moving. As if, by stepping toward him, she had woven a pagan enchantment around him rendering him immobile.

Her eyes darkened, swallowing the blue and her lips parted in tempting invitation. Would she push him away if he reached for her? Struggle if he crushed her against the roughness of the standing stone?

Protest if he claimed her mouth with savage intent?

The moment shimmered, a glimpse of infinity, where sanity and madness hovered on the horizon. Sanity won. Barely. He pulled back and allowed her room to pass. But she didn’t pass right away. She appeared immobilized by desire.

In his dreams. The notion caused a mirthless laugh to escape. Elise started, as if she’d just awoken from a trance.

“My lady.” He offered her a bow but maintained eye contact and saw the way she blushed once more. He hadn’t imagined her the type to blush. Couldn’t recall ever seeing her do so before and yet this afternoon she had done nothing but.

Damn it, everything she did managed to arouse him. The sooner she was back in the palace the better.

The sooner she was out of temptation’s reach, the better.

She glared at him, as if she considered his show of respect nothing but a mockery, before sweeping past him, a proud tilt to her jaw. Gritting his teeth, he fell into step beside her, hands fisted by his sides. So now, instead of fighting for his king, he was reduced to ensuring a pampered princess came to no harm.

Elise came to an abrupt halt. “There’s no need for you to accompany me.” She didn’t look at him and for a lingering moment, he allowed himself to admire her proud profile. The remnants of her blush still stained her cheeks and he knew her eyes would likely be glinting with fury.

“I’ll see you back to the palace.” Did she think he’d allow her to return by herself? The chances were, she was perfectly safe here in Ce-eviot, but he wasn’t going to risk it. If her self-indulgent ways caused her harm, it wouldn’t be because he’d neglected his duty.

Finally, she turned to him. There was an odd expression on her face. “Why?” she said at last, and although her voice was far from friendly, it no longer held that note of regal disdain. Did she truly not know why he was duty bound to ensure she returned to the palace unmolested?

Unmolested. The irony echoed through his brain. She was probably right. No Pict in Ce-eviot would dare accost her. He was the only one she was in danger from.

The notion irritated him, despite the fact he’d never take an unwilling woman. And she was a Pict. The reminder slid through his brain as though he might have forgotten her heritage for a few insane moments.

He would never forget her heritage.

“Because if anything happened to a precious princess of Pictland, who do you think would be blamed?” He sounded feral and couldn’t help it. “Whatever our personal feelings over this alliance, we can’t afford any more bloodshed between our peoples.”

Her lips compressed in clear affront and with a sense of despairing inevitability, his gaze fixed on her mouth. He’d only told her the truth. Why would she take offense? Was it because his manner was too abrupt, because his words lacked the flowery phrases that fell so easily from the tongue of MacGregor?

And why the hell did he keep comparing himself unfavorably with Stuart fucking MacGregor?

***

Even hours later, as Elise accompanied the other noblewoman to the feasting hall, her temper still simmered. It was intolerable that a man, that Cameron MacNeil, had so ruffled her composure. How dare he imply she was ignorant? How dare he look down his arrogant Scots nose at her? She could trace her ancestry back for a thousand years. She knew the history of her people, the stories of their gods and could trace the intricate and interwoven lineages of all the members of the royal houses in Pictland.

She knew of the practice of abduction for the purposes of maintaining tenuous peace between one clan and the next. It had happened often enough in the past in Pictland. More often than not, the abducted princess would end up marrying her captor. It was hardly a revolutionary or astounding notion, although the practice in Pictland had been abandoned some generations ago.

It was no surprise to learn the Vikings undertook a similar strategy. Indeed, it wasn’t even shocking to discover that they might one day extend that practice into Pictland, although she fervently hoped not.

But the idea, the very suggestion that a Pict would assist in capturing and handing over a royal princess to their deadliest enemy—that enraged her. No doubt the Scots wouldn’t think twice about betraying their own. But the Picts were not Scots and Cameron MacNeil had no right to utter such slander against her people.

What had she been thinking when she imagined his fury and curt words were not personal? Everything he said and did was personal. And none of it was unintentional.

“Did you hear,” Berthe, a young noblewoman, said as they crossed the wide entrance hall. “The queen is allowing the Scots to attend the nighttime feasts once more.”

“It’s good political strategy,” Kila, recently widowed and clearly relishing her freedom, said. “One should always keep one’s enemy close.”

There were a few muffled giggles at that, and Elise flashed the culprits a dark glare. Just because the queen had decided to extend hospitality to the Scots didn’t mean they should instantly welcome them with open arms.

Even if it did make her plan of charming information from them somewhat easier.

“Do not frown so, Lady Elise,” Kila said, slipping her arm through Elise’s and giving a comforting squeeze. “How many times have you and our princess Aila told us these Scots are innocent of the crimes committed by their king?”

Too many to count. For the sake of Aila, her new husband and their unborn child it had been imperative that their people accept Connor MacKenzie and his personal band of warriors if not entirely as friends, then at least not as their deadly foes.

But that had been before Cameron MacNeil had insulted her intelligence. Yet even that wasn’t the reason she hadn’t been able to get the damned Scot from her mind. What really irked was the knowledge that, when he had insisted on seeing her back to the palace, for one insane moment she thought he had been going to say something… flattering.

But it had nothing to do with him wanting to spend a few more minutes in her company. It was because he didn’t want suspicion to fall upon his head, should anything happen to her while she was not chaperoned.

“I am greatly grieved that Ewan MacKinnon returned to Dal Riada,” whispered Lilas, whose husband had accompanied Ferelei on his last sea voyage. “I thought—I hoped we might continue our friendship from the spring.”

“Forget MacKinnon,” Kila said. “Work your charms on Stuart MacGregor. I hear his performance in the bedchamber is little short of breathtaking.” Kila nudged Elise in the ribs. “Is that not so, my lady?”

Another time she might have laughed and allowed the ladies to draw their own lascivious conclusions. But tonight she wasn’t in the mood.

“I haven’t the slightest idea, nor do I desire to know of his performance.”

“Nor I.” Lilas sighed heavily as they entered the feasting hall. “There was a special connection between Ewan and I. He is truly one of the noblest warriors I’ve ever encountered.”

Elise shot Lilas an incredulous glance. But the other woman looked utterly serious and more than a little heartbroken.

“Ewan MacKinnon,” she felt compelled to point out, “bedded half our friends, Lilas. Please tell me you didn’t take his pretty lies and flattering ways to mean any more than they did.”

“The others meant nothing.” Lilas sounded defensive. “He told me I was different.”

“And you believed him?” Elise could scarcely believe her ears. She had lost count of the times warriors had murmured in her ear that she was different. Special. A thousand other meaningless words, all designed to entice her to lift her skirts.

She enjoyed the banter, but none of it ever touched her. Even her friends who took lovers didn’t believe any of the sweet talk. It was simply a part of the seduction ritual.

“Lilas, my poor love,” Kila said. “All the Scots have silken tongues. Ewan MacKinnon took what you offered but alas, he most certainly gave you nothing but his body in return.”

“Not all the Scots have silken tongues,” Berthe said, and she gave a disdainful sniff that was so out of character that even Lilas stopped glaring at Kila and stared at the younger woman. “That MacNeil never attempts to charm or flatter. Indeed, I do believe he goes out of his way to deliberately insult with his foul manner.”

Although Elise agreed with every word, a flicker of irritation heated her at Berthe’s accusation. She couldn’t imagine why. Berthe was, after all, only stating the obvious. Everyone knew Cameron MacNeil was a rude bastard who thought he was too good to socialize with Picts.

“Dear goddess.” Kila sounded both scandalized and intrigued. “You didn’t try to entice MacNeil into your bed last spring, did you? Of all the Scots in Ce you could have experimented on, you chose him?”

Elise forgot she was annoyed with Berthe and reached out to take her hand. At scarcely sixteen, and married almost a year, Berthe often still behaved like a dreamy maid of twelve. But she was a woman, and she possessed a woman’s needs. Needs that her husband, with his preference for young boys, rarely bothered to address.

Berthe blushed and looked as if she wished she hadn’t said anything.

“He was the only one not panting after everyone else.” She smoothed down her gown in a nervous gesture. “I thought he might be agreeable to an eve of flirtation but…” She suddenly looked very young and very inexperienced.

“It’s not you.” Elise squeezed Berthe’s hand. How well she understood the younger girl’s lack of confidence in her powers of seduction. “It’s Cameron MacNeil. He’s incapable of stringing two civilized words together. You had a fortunate escape, for if his manners in the bedchamber are anything like his manners in public, he likely ruts like a wild boar.”

“I wouldn’t be averse to such an experience,” Kila murmured as they paused by the high table. “Have you seen the muscles on his arms? I certainly wouldn’t say no to a night crushed against that hard chest of his.”

An inexplicable flash of anger whipped through Elise’s breast at the vision of Kila wrapped around Cameron MacNeil’s naked body. Of MacNeil once again abandoning his grim exterior and smiling.

Somehow, the notion of him smiling at Kila, of him voluntarily dropping his permanent scowl instead of it momentarily cracking by accident, was even more potent than the image of hot, sweaty sex. Not that it would ever happen. MacNeil, to her knowledge, hadn’t bedded any woman, noble or slave, during his stays in Ce.

Perhaps he, also, preferred to fuck men?

The thought only caused her ire to rise further. Which didn’t make sense. In fact, she couldn’t imagine why she was spending so much time thinking about Cameron MacNeil at all. Especially when he was the reason Berthe’s already fragile self-confidence had taken another battering three months ago.

“That will never happen.” She couldn’t help the waspish sting in her voice as she glared at the older woman.

Kila’s eyes gleamed. “Would you care to make a wager, my lady? I feel up to a challenge.”

Elise offered her a tight smile. “I have no interest in taking your wager when the outcome is patently obvious.”

Kila smiled and tugged at her gown so her ample cleavage was more readily exposed. If she so much as leaned over, her nipples would be on full display. A man would need to be dead not to notice such blatant invitation.

“Observe,” Kila said to Berthe, who looked both resigned and forlorn. “And learn.” Then she flashed another knowing smile at Elise and sauntered off.

***

Would this night never end? Elise sat at the high table next to her grandmother and attempted to focus on the food and not a certain Scot warrior. Usually she sat with everyone else, but since the betrayal in Dunadd the queen had insisted she take her place at the royal table.

Unfortunately, her elevated position meant she had a clear view of the rest of the hall. And that included MacNeil whom Kila had managed to sit next to.

Every time Elise glanced their way, which was far too often, but she couldn’t seem to help herself, Kila was smiling, touching MacNeil’s forearm or gazing at him in an intense manner that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but raw primal lust.

While she had yet to catch MacNeil responding to Kila’s overtures, she could imagine what was occurring under the table. Kila’s hand sliding up beneath his plaid. Curling around his cock. His hand between her thighs, fingers exploring.

Elise shifted on the hard timber chair. No matter how she told herself she was imagining such things, the truth was pooling between her thighs. She was damp. With lust. For a man she had no intention of ever speaking to again.

She shot him another surreptitious glance. He appeared oblivious to Kila and her all but naked breasts, although he did respond to her comments in his usual monosyllabic manner. But then, Kila wasn’t interested in his conversation. She merely wanted to sample his body. Simply to prove she could.

When the final platters were removed, Elise stood and prepared to follow her aunt and grandmother from the hall, as she had every eve since news of the king’s murder had reached them. But tonight the queen paused and turned toward her.

“Elise.” Her voice was low. “You will stay here for the entertainment. Observe the Scots. Encourage liaisons. I want to know everything they know. Do you understand?”

For a second Elise stared at her queen, not at all sure she understood.

“Madam?” She glanced at her grandmother, but the dowager said nothing. “You want me—all of us—to spy on the Scots?”

“Of course.” The queen flicked a disdainful glance down the hall where the residents of Ce-eviot mingled freely with the Scots and remaining warriors of Ce.

But there was a stark lack of noble warriors of Ce. So many remained hostage in Dunadd.

“Oh.” Elise knew her response was inadequate, but she was at a loss as to what she should say.

The queen gave an impatient sigh. “Open your eyes.” Her voice was hard. “Already our ladies invite the Scots to their bedchambers with seductive glances and coy smiles. They think a more overt display would offend me.”

Was she speaking only of Kila? With a jolt of disbelief, Elise realized she had no idea whether any other noblewoman had spent the evening flirting with the Scots. Her entire attention had been riveted in one direction only.

“But you—are not offended?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I am offended or not. That won’t give me any answers. And if the goddess won’t help, then I must find a way to discover information myself.”

“My love.” Her grandmother took her hand. “We’re not suggesting you take a Scots lover. Merely let it be known that, should any lady do so, it is their duty to pass on any gossip they learn. Men will reveal a great deal more in the bedchamber, under appropriate coaxing, than they would in normal circumstances.”

Elise felt her face heat. She knew it was true. Her friends often confided the most scandalous of secrets they had learned in just such a way. But she had never mastered the art herself.

Then again, the only man whose bedchamber she had shared was Ferelei’s, and the less she knew about his secrets the better.

“Although,” her aunt said, leaning in close. “You have my blessing should you decide to do so. Perhaps you could engage the interest of Ross MacIntosh since he is the leader now that Connor has departed.”

Was her aunt suggesting she seduce Ross MacIntosh for information? Was she ordering her to bed a man in order to gain strategic advantage?

The breath tightened in her lungs, as if a band of iron wrapped around her chest, crushing her. Suffocating her. A terrifying buzzing filled her head, the noise of the hall receded and the faces of her kin blurred.

Before she could thoroughly disgrace herself by fainting, her aunt grasped hold of her arms and gave her a quick shake.

“Goddess preserve us.” The queen sounded irritated. “If the thought of bedding a Scot distresses you so, then pray do not even consider it. Perhaps you can discover another means of extracting information from MacIntosh.”

Elise stared at her aunt as the full implication of her words finally sank in. The queen was commanding her to renew her friendship with Ross MacIntosh. To spend time in his company. To extract information from him.

It was exactly what she had wanted to do in order to discover the fate of Droston. And now that she had her aunt’s permission, she wouldn’t need to use subterfuge or feel she was betraying her aunt by going behind her back. It could all be out in the open.

It didn’t matter that her aunt wouldn’t know the full reasons for Elise’s compliance.

She drew in a shaky breath. Relief thudded through her breast at this additional sign that it was Ross MacIntosh and not Cameron MacNeil who was the answer to her prayers. For one lingering second, doubt hovered, but she shoved it aside. Of course this odd sensation was relief. How could it be anything else? Because it most certainly couldn’t be a strange, unformed regret.