Elise made her way through the gossiping crowd under pretext of needing to speak to the musicians. In reality, she was searching for Ross MacIntosh. But the only Scot she kept catching sight of was Cameron MacNeil.

Was Kila still with him?

Distracted, she rose onto her toes to get a better look, but once again, he vanished in the throng of bodies. And really, it was none of her concern whether Kila was still with him or not. There was no need to pass on the queen’s edict to the other woman. After all, in the unlikely event Kila did manage to entice MacNeil to her bedchamber, she would be only too willing to divulge all the details tomorrow.

Except they would be of the intimate and salacious kind. Of that, Elise had no doubt. Because somehow she couldn’t imagine MacNeil ever allowing an unwary word to escape his lips, no matter how skilful his lover.

“Lady Elise.” The deep voice with the Scots accent wrenched her back to the present and she turned, to see Ross MacIntosh offering her a bow. His smile of welcome faltered, and it took significant effort to wipe the scowl from her face.

She, who never scowled, who never allowed her innermost emotions to show in public. She forced the irritating image of Cameron MacNeil to the back of her mind and took a calming breath. Even if she had become momentarily distracted, thankfully Bride was guiding her. The very one she was searching for had found her.

“Ross MacIntosh.”

“It’s very gracious of the queen to once again allow us to join the evening feasts.”

For a few moments, they bantered back and forth and before long, MacIntosh’s excruciatingly polite demeanor began to fade and he once again reminded her of the man who had entered Ce three months ago.

Droston hovered on the edge of her mind. She desperately wanted to ask whether MacIntosh knew anything of the fate of the less important hostages but knew the time was not yet right. She couldn’t rush this. She had to let the conversation flow naturally and that might take more than a single night.

If only she knew for sure how long she had before Ferelei arrived.

Strange prickles of awareness trickled over the back of her neck, and she frowned. At the same instant, MacIntosh stopped mid-sentence and raised his eyebrows in apparent astonishment. Elise stiffened as a sudden certainty gripped her.

Heart thudding, she spun about and came face-to-face—or rather, face-to-shoulder—with Cameron MacNeil.

“Cam?” MacIntosh said. “Is everything all right?” His tone conveyed that unless there was a major crisis he wanted the other man to disappear.

Elise fought the urge to take a step back. MacNeil was far too close. She didn’t like the way she had to look up at him. But to retreat would show him that his presence bothered her. And it didn’t.

At least, she didn’t want him knowing it did.

“Aye.” He responded to MacIntosh’s question but continued staring at her. The look on his face suggested he found her proximity highly unpleasant. But since he was the one who had crept up on her, and he was the one who insisted on standing so close they were almost touching, he obviously couldn’t find her that disagreeable.

The thought invaded her mind before she could prevent it. And goddess damn, she was blushing again.

In a vain attempt to distract any unwelcome attention from the heat swamping her face, she gave a dismissive flick with her hand.

“Where is Lady Kila? I thought she was with you.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. They made her sound as if she had been watching him. Spying on him. And just because she had, was no reason for him to guess such a thing.

If he was surprised by her question, he didn’t show it. Indeed, he showed nothing but his normal surly countenance. Anyone would think she had interrupted him instead of the other way around.

“No.”

And he was as communicative as ever. If he had nothing to say to her, then why had he approached her?

MacIntosh slapped Cameron on the shoulder. Elise hadn’t been aware that the other man had even moved. Although it was a friendly slap, there was power in it. And a message. A message that reinforced the unspoken order to leave.

“Perhaps you should find Lady Kila, Cam,” MacIntosh said. “I’m sure she’ll forgive your uncouth manners if you beg forgiveness.”

She wanted him to leave. She needed him to leave so she could continue to charm Ross MacIntosh. But the notion of Cameron leaving in order to continue with his unorthodox seduction of Kila did not please her in the least.

“No,” Cameron said. Was that the only word he intended to utter this night? He once again looked at her and it was as if molten gold trickled between her thighs. Hot and liquid and strangely heavy. “I have something to say to Princess Elise.”

“Then get on with it, man.” Irritation now threaded MacIntosh’s voice although he still maintained a friendly demeanor. “Princess Elise and I are reacquainting ourselves with each other.”

It was becoming harder to breathe. Desperately she clamped her lips together before she began to pant like a bitch in heat. Goddess, it was inconceivable that MacNeil could affect her so profoundly. He wasn’t even trying to seduce her, unlike Ross MacIntosh. But MacIntosh, for all his charming words, blue eyes and easy smile, didn’t affect her in the slightest.

“What I have to say is for Princess Elise’s ears only.”

She couldn’t imagine what he might want to say to her that was so private. That was so important he had deliberately sought her out and caused him to ignore the unspoken demand of his commanding officer.

She couldn’t imagine, but she couldn’t wait to find out.

Not that she intended to allow MacNeil to guess how much his odd behavior intrigued her. He still looked at her as if he wished he were anywhere but here.

“MacNeil.” There was an undercurrent of iron in MacIntosh’s voice now. “If you have something of such importance to convey, then see me in the morn and I’ll ensure the message is relayed.”

“I’ll speak to no one of this matter but Princess Elise.”

Elise couldn’t drag her fascinated gaze from him. He was openly defying MacIntosh. From the corner of her eye, she saw the other Scot stiffen in clear affront, and before she could stop herself, she turned to him and drifted the tips of her fingertips along his forearm.

“I’m sure this matter won’t take long.” She offered him one of her prettiest smiles, the smile Aila used to jest about and say no man with stones could ever hope to resist. “Perhaps I can meet with you later?” After all, he was the chosen one of Bride and her queen, and she needed to rekindle their friendship as swiftly as possible.

Renewed interest flared in MacIntosh’s eyes. She knew then that he would meet with her later. That if she chose her words wisely, he would answer her questions without even realizing he did so. The knowledge should have thrilled her, but instead she only wished he would make haste and leave her alone with Cameron MacNeil.

Only because she wanted to know what was so important about his message. It certainly had nothing to do with the way her stomach fluttered and heart thundered at the intense glare he arrowed her way. Or the hint of foreign spices that drifted from him in a tantalizing caress across her senses.

Somehow, she resisted the overpowering urge to once again look in his direction. Ross MacIntosh was the Scot she needed to charm. She couldn’t afford to insult him and possibly lose the chance of discovering crucial information.

MacIntosh took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. For all the impact it made on her, he might as well have been her father kissing her.

“Until later, my lady.” His eyes held promise of what later might involve. “Do not allow my fellow Scot to detain you overlong.”

Finally, he departed and Elise stifled a relieved sigh before she once again turned to Cameron. His eyes were narrowed and the expression on his face suggested he knew exactly what MacIntosh insinuated and the thought disgusted him.

How dare he stand in judgment of her? And why did she care that he did?

“Well?” Her voice was sharp. At least that had been the intention but instead the word soundly breathy and seductive. As if she wished to entice him into her bed this night. The thought hovered with malignant promise, a tempting glimpse of an impossible liaison.

Disbelief at her errant thought stabbed through her mind. Cameron MacNeil might make her blush like a fool and her insides tremble like a virgin, but he was the last man she would consider suitable as a lover. If that man ever appeared, and she was not convinced such a man even existed, then he would need to possess a gentle demeanor and kind heart. She had no use for warriors or pirates who masqueraded as merchants. No use for a man who made it plain he thought her beneath him.

Well? The word echoed in her mind. She might not be able to control her voice, but she could certainly control her features and angled her jaw so she could give him a disdainful glance.

Except once she caught his dark gaze, she couldn’t look away.

“Is there somewhere less conspicuous we can converse?”

For a second she stared at him in blank incomprehension. Was he propositioning her? But although awareness sizzled in the air between them, although she knew lust simmered just beneath his surly exterior, she also knew he would never act on it.

Because he despised all Picts. And unlike another man who would overlook that for the chance of parting a woman’s thighs, Cameron MacNeil appeared to have principles. Even if those principles were warped and, for her as a Pictish princess, highly insulting.

“Less conspicuous?” Her mind conjured up her bedchamber and just as swiftly, she crushed the image. And then she thought of the concealed staircase Aila had loved to use, between the inner and outer walls of the palace.

That would afford them a great deal of privacy, without the implications a bedchamber instantly suggested.

But perhaps it was too private.

“Aye.” His dark eyes roved over her face, and suddenly she wasn’t at all convinced that Cameron MacNeil’s principles were as immovable as she imagined. And instead of terrifying her, the prospect… fascinated.

She flattened her hands against her thighs so she couldn’t wrap her arms around her waist and prove to him, beyond doubt, just how thoroughly he unnerved her.

“If you insist on such theatrics, then we can converse in the time-candle nook.” Oh great goddess, had she really put such emphasis on converse? As if she didn’t believe that’s what he had in mind? Before he could respond or worse jump to the conclusion that she had more on her mind than simple conversation, she swung on her heel and hastened to the alcove on the far side of the hall.

She knew he’d caught up with her before she saw him fall into step beside her. He was just a man. A Scot. He possessed nothing that other men did not, and indeed lacked a great deal that other men did have. Such as a pleasing manner, an agreeable smile and charming words.

Why then did he affect her like no other man ever had?

She pulled up short at the alcove. If he thought she would enter the nook first, and therefore be trapped in the corner, he must think her utterly ignorant. Since that notion still stung, she thrust it from her mind and turned to give him a regal look.

He gave the nook a cursory glance. It was an ideal location for the time-candle, set back in the thickness of the wall and protected from the general bustle of the hall so its flame would not inadvertently be extinguished. It also afforded privacy without seclusion.

After a moment where he appeared to be waiting for her to enter first, he finally stepped into the recess. Refusing to glance over her shoulder to see who might be watching this bizarre performance, she followed him.

Thanks to the sturdy candle set upon its plinth, there were no shadows in the nook. But the confined space caused Cameron MacNeil to loom over her, despite the fact he had retreated as far as possible.

She let out a measured breath between her lips and hoped he hadn’t noticed. It was hard enough to maintain a semblance of detachment in the hall, but when his presence all but swallowed this tiny space, it was a major effort not to slump against the wall for additional support.

His gaze slid from her face and focused on her breasts. White-hot flame licked through her pussy, curling with lustful disregard around her sensitive bud. Her breasts were strangely heavy and between her thighs, for the second time this night, unwanted dampness bloomed.

He had no right to look at her in such a manner. She struggled to regulate her breathing, to form a coherent sentence, but the more she struggled the more erratic her breath became. Her bodice had become so tight for a horrified moment she imagined her breasts would spill from her gown.

“What is your message?” The words tumbled from her tongue, and her voice wasn’t calm or measured as befit her status. She sounded like a lust-soaked serving girl.

His eyes meshed with hers. They were almost black, and for a wild second she imagined he was going to crush her against the wall, capture her lips with his and cradle her aching breasts in his large, calloused hands.

Her fingers clawed against the fabric of her gown. If he didn’t answer her instantly, she was going to leave. In fact, she was going to leave now.

If only her legs didn’t feel as if they might collapse if she so much as moved a muscle.

“I don’t have a message,” Cameron said. His Scots accent sank into her mind, sent illicit quivers along her nape, over her shoulders and across her damn treacherous breasts. Then his words penetrated her fogged brain. He didn’t have a message?

Desperately she dragged the tattered remnants of her composure together. She wasn’t a slave to be trifled with or a serving wench to tease. Despite the fact she could scarcely comprehend Cameron MacNeil was the type of man to do either, why else had he lied in order to speak to her without Ross MacIntosh being present?

“In that case”—thank the goddess she no longer sounded like a desire-drenched half-wit—“I demand to know the reason why you insisted on seeing me alone.”

His gaze scorched her, and although he didn’t make a move toward her, she had the insane notion that the space between them vanished. If she lifted her hand, she could trail her fingers across his broad chest. Feel the steady—erratic?—thud of his heart.

She could wind her arms around his neck. Pull him down toward her. Savor the taste of a man who didn’t reek of decay. A man who was only three or four years her senior.

The image was so real, so intensely carnal, that for a second she felt his lips on hers, felt his hands span her waist. Only when he shifted did the mirage splinter and she realized she had inadvertently swayed toward him.

Mortified she froze before she could further shame herself. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed. She had not, after all, stepped toward him.

Just swayed. As if she was about to faint. Perhaps he thought she was about to faint? And that was why he looked at her with such taut wariness?

It irked her that he might think such of her. But she would rather him think that, than ever guess the truth.

“I thought to return something to you.” His voice was gruff and a ferocious frown darkened his brow. “I didn’t think you’d want MacIntosh to bear witness.”

Her scattered wits attempted to make sense of his words. But he spoke in riddles. What on earth could Cameron MacNeil have in his possession that belonged to her?

“I don’t know what you—” Her words lodged in her throat as he reached for his leather belt. Transfixed, she watched. He’s not removing his belt. Logically she knew, and yet still icy terror snaked through the pit of her stomach, coiled around her heart, and froze her ability to think beyond the panicked thunder in her head.

He loosened a pouch that hung from his belt and handed it to her. She stared at it, unable to look into his face in case he saw the remnants of fear that still scudded through her blood. But neither could she reach out and take whatever it was he offered her.

Her fingers were still clutching her gown, embedded in her thigh.

With a disgruntled growl, Cameron MacNeil pulled open the pouch and balanced it on his palm before once again shoving his hand under her nose. She blinked, frowned, and peered into the leather pouch.

Her paralysis shattered with a startled gasp, and her hand clamped across her mouth as her gaze collided with his. Still he frowned, but it was not as fierce, as though her reaction was not as he’d expected.

With great effort, she forced her hand from her mouth. It was too late to hide her shock from him. Too late to pretend she had not entirely forgotten about the sacred crystals she had used by the standing stones earlier that day.

The sacred crystals that now nestled in Cameron’s leather pouch.

Heat washed through her, followed instantly by feather light chills. Bride could not be any clearer. Not only had she pointed MacNeil out that very morning, but to reinforce her choice she had sent him to Elise with a message that couldn’t be ignored.

It was Cameron MacNeil and not Ross MacIntosh who would help her discover the fate of Droston.