Elise strolled around the perimeter of the feasting hall and hoped she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. Her nerves had been on edge enough at the thought of confronting Cameron again. But when the queen had reminded her of her duty should simple flirting not extract the information required, her half-formed plans had disintegrated.

Now all she could think about was taking Cameron to her bedchamber. She swallowed and licked her lips. It would never happen, of course. Even if the prospect of taking the Scot as her lover was strangely enticing, she knew in her heart she wasn’t that brave.

For Ferelei to mock her was one thing. She had long ago hardened her senses against his verbal insults. But for another man to recoil at her unsightly scars—for Cameron to recoil—she wasn’t sure her fragile veneer of pride could take it.

Before her marriage, she had naively imagined her damaged leg wouldn’t matter to her husband or a lover. But Ferelei had shattered that hope on their wedding night. His shocked disgust at her flaw had been enough to discourage her from ever seeking a lover who might also be repelled by the sight.

Her subsequent introduction to the horrors of the marriage bed had only strengthened her resolve to avoid intimate contact with any man. And although, as the years had passed, she’d known not all men would treat her the way Ferelei did, she’d never been able to overcome the deep-rooted fear of seeing admiration turn into revulsion.

Far better to flirt and laugh and enjoy an uncomplicated dalliance that didn’t involve her removing her gown. And besides, until Cameron MacNeil had entered Pictland she’d never wanted to take things any further with any of her admirers.

She caught sight of Kila holding court with three Scots warriors, but there was no sign of Cameron. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ross march purposefully across the hall toward her and she hastily slipped behind a couple of noblewomen.

Ross clearly intended to continue his pursuit of her. She didn’t feel up to meaningless banter with him when she needed to find Cameron.

Where in the name of the gods was he?

Then she saw him, disappearing through the great doors. She frowned and followed him, ignoring the pain in her leg. The cursed thing had been giving her grief all day since her stumble that morning.

As she left the feasting hall, she caught sight of him marching outside. For a moment, she hesitated. Although the outside of the palace was well guarded, it was also a favorite place for ladies and the object of their admiration to enjoy the night air. Of course, the main reason was so they could find a secluded nook away from the guards’ watchful eyes and the glow of the countless torches.

Elise had always been scrupulous in never accompanying a warrior outside after dusk had fallen. No matter that there were plenty of guards about. After an evening of suggestive banter, it was a tacit prelude to a bedchamber invitation.

But she wasn’t accompanying a warrior outside. She was trying to find Cameron so she could discover what useful information he possessed.

She stepped outside and realized her bodyguard hadn’t accompanied her across the hall. But why would he? He would never imagine she intended to leave the palace. And if not for Cameron’s unsubtle disapproval the previous day, such a thought wouldn’t even have crossed her mind in the first place.

A touch of irritation fired her blood and she embraced it. It was better than the nerves that seethed in the pit of her belly. She would not have her movements dictated to by a Scot.

She surreptitiously massaged her thigh as she glanced around. Although torches blazed, the sun had not yet set, and shadows spread like dark pools, inviting danger. And then she saw him. Beyond the glow of the torches, it appeared he’d been making his way around the side of the palace.

But he wasn’t walking anywhere now. His attention was riveted on her.

***

Cam had escaped the confines of the palace as soon as he was able. The feast hadn’t been unduly long or elaborate, but it had dragged interminably. The subdued conversation at the tables, in deference to the Pict queen’s recent widowhood, scraped along his senses and the undercurrent of flirtatious intrigue caused his head to throb.

And throughout it all, he was acutely aware of Elise at the high table, with her royal relatives, as aloof and untouchable as a star in the sky.

He dragged in a deep breath of the fresh Highland air. Already couples were strolling from the palace, but a quick glance confirmed Elise was not among them. God, this was intolerable. It was as if she had bewitched him. He turned and marched away, along the side of the palace that, due to its impenetrable face, was unguarded.

A strange prickling sensation drifted across the back of his neck and he froze. In battle, such unnamed senses were essential for keeping one’s head, but right now there was no reason to obey the overwhelming imperative to turn around.

Yet slowly he pivoted, and saw Elise emerge from the palace.

He stiffened, waiting. Surely Ross would follow her. His commanding officer had made no secret of his displeasure in the way Cameron had interfered in his affairs last night. Ross had told him in no uncertain terms that he intended to make Elise his, and Cameron could turn his frustrated lust elsewhere.

But no Scot warrior followed Elise. She paused and glanced around as though she was seeking something. Someone.

He couldn’t believe he was the one she sought. And yet, as she pressed her hand against her thigh as though it pained her, her gaze caught his.

And held.

His gut tightened and blood stirred. She was too far away for him to see the blue of her eyes or inhale her elusive fragrance. There was no reason why his body should respond merely at the sight of her. Yet it did. He was powerless to resist.

For a long agonizing moment, she remained motionless. Did she expect him to go to her? Fall at her feet the way Ross and Stuart and who knew who else had?

He would never fall at her feet. He should turn and walk away. Elise was wedded to his bitterest enemy, the man he had vowed to kill. How could he even contemplate conversing with her, let alone anything else?

With a sense of inevitability, he watched her slowly walk toward him.

Had she truly followed him outside? Why would she do such a thing? He knew, from watching his fellow warriors that a twilight stroll with a Pictish noblewoman often led to her bedchamber.

Graphic images flashed across his mind. Elise, naked in his arms, her hair cocooning them in a haze of golden silk. His heart hammered and chest constricted, making it hard to breathe. Hard even to think. She was barely an arm’s length from him, and now he could see the mesmeric blue of her eyes and her evocative scent drifted on the summer breeze, mocking his principles and turning his resolve to dust.

“Are you alone, Cameron MacNeil?” Her voice was soft, her accent enchanting, and every word simmered with sin.

“Aye.” He sounded gruff. But it was the best he could do. It seemed a rock was lodged in his chest. He was amazed he managed to say anything at all.

“No assignation with Lady Kila tonight?” She lowered her lashes, before looking up at him in a manner so provocative it scrambled what remained of his senses.

“I have no assignation with Lady Kila.”

She smiled, as though his answer pleased her. “Then perhaps you would allow me to keep you company this eve.”

He stared at her. Why was she going out of her way to be agreeable? Was it solely because he’d returned her heathen crystals to her? Somehow he found that unlikely. But why then had she sought his company tonight, when in the spring she’d done everything possible to avoid even looking at him?

“If you wish.” He knew he sounded ungracious, even without witnessing the way Elise’s smile wavered. She likely wished she had never bothered following him. Which brought him back to his original thought.

Why in the name of God had she?

“I wanted some air. But if you would rather be alone…” Her voice trailed away and she glanced away from him, apparently fascinated by the wall of the palace.

He could not believe it possible, but he had the strangest impression that Elise wasn’t nearly as confident as he’d always imagined.

She was a practiced flirt. He’d seen her many times with many different warriors. But never had he seen her look the way she did now.

Uncertain. As though she expected to be rebuffed. Was his reputation really so bad?

He could feel a dark glare twisting his features yet again and made a monumental effort to keep the glower from his face. Elise was well aware of his reputation and that hadn’t stopped her from approaching him. It was his own hostile nature that caused her to retreat.

He didn’t want her to retreat. It didn’t matter that she was bound to mac Uurguist. It was clear from her many liaisons she harbored little loyalty toward her husband. Why should he reject what she offered when what she offered was something that had tormented his sanity from the first moment he’d seen her?

“I welcome some company.” He hoped he didn’t sound as surly to Elise as he did to himself. Why could he not charm a woman the way his fellow warriors did? It had never bothered him before that all Picts thought him uncouth and disagreeable. It still didn’t. It was only this woman he wished to charm and to think of him in less scathing terms.

Only this woman, despite her Pictish blood and heritage.

Elise smiled at him. It wasn’t one that illuminated her face that she so freely bestowed upon her many admirers. It appeared hesitant, as though she didn’t quite trust his words, but it was at least a smile.

“You must have traveled widely, Cameron. As befits a warrior.”

He wasn’t conversant in the arts of flirting but he was certain it didn’t involve discussing the merits of what being a warrior might entail. Or did it? He’d imagined it consisted entirely of pretty compliments and meaningless banter. He didn’t understand meaningless banter but he could surely speak of being a warrior, if that was Elise’s preference.

“Aye.” He knew that wasn’t a sufficient response on its own and struggled to be more forthcoming. “Aside from Pictland and subduing the savage Northumbrians, I’ve been to the Isle of Iona twice.”

“I’ve never ventured beyond the borders of Fib in the south and Ce-eviot is the farthest north I’ve ever been. The thought of crossing the sea quite terrifies me.”

He didn’t want to think of the kingdom of Fib. The place her husband came from. “Why are you not in Circinn?” That was the kingdom of her birth, situated between Fib and Ce. If she wasn’t overseeing the hill fort of her cursed husband, then why wasn’t she under the protection of her royal parents?

“I came to visit my cousin Aila in the spring and… events overtook us. The queen is happy for me to stay here until I must leave.”

He could feel a frown gathering on his brow. He knew what events she spoke of. The massacre in Dunadd. But instead of giving him a disdainful glance and stalking off, Elise appeared to accept that he, like all the other Scots warriors in Ce-eviot, had not been a part of that outrage.

A chill inched along his spine at his treacherous thought. It was one thing to find something amiss with the official version of that event. It was another to openly challenge it. Even if that challenge existed solely inside his mind.

“At least Ce-eviot is well protected.” He growled the words, intending them as comfort. It was only as they left his mouth he realized how they could sound.

Aye, Ce-eviot was well protected—by Scots warriors. Because so many of their noble Picts were still imprisoned in Dunadd.

“Indeed.” There was a strained note in Elise’s voice, but she didn’t appear unduly offended by his thoughtless remark. She looked away from the palace toward the distant mountains. The sun had sunk low in the western sky and Elise’s profile was strangely ethereal in the pre-twilight glow. He couldn’t drag his gaze from her. “Is your Dal Riada anything like the Highlands, Cameron? I cannot imagine a land without mountains.”

“We have mountains. Why do you think we do not?”

She turned to him then, and looked intrigued by his words. “I heard Dal Riada was a barren rock where nothing flourished. Of course, before the Scots invasion that part of Pictland was beautiful beyond measure.”

He laughed, the sound startling him, but not enough to quell his amusement. Elise also smiled as though she couldn’t help herself. He took a step toward her. She did not retreat.

“Dal Riada is still beautiful beyond measure, Elise.” Her name came easily to his tongue and she didn’t look affronted by his liberty. “A different beauty to the Highlands, maybe, but she is the only home I’ve known.” Dunmar had been a poor excuse for a home, with his tyrannical father and the tragedy of his sister. But there had been a time, long ago before his mother’s death, when a fragmented memory of love and happiness illuminated his young life.

If only he could recall the details…

Roughly he pulled himself back to the present. Elise was gazing at him as though she found him fascinating. It had to be a trick of the light. He hadn’t flattered her or even uttered a witty remark. Yet she looked at him as he’d imagined her looking at him.

As if she was unaware of everything but him.

“I should like to see Dal Riada.” Her whisper was soft, husky, and his cock thickened as desire coiled through him like a serpent. Insane words hovered in his mind and tangled on his tongue.

Let me take you to Dal Riada.

But he would never ask her. She was not a village lass who’d caught his eye and was eager for adventure. Elise was a princess and even if she truly did want to go to Dal Riada she wouldn’t wish to go with him.

“Maybe someday you will.”

“If the goddess wills it.”

She said the words so simply it was hard to remember they were blasphemous. A hard knot tightened deep in his chest as the unformed certainty she was drawing disaster upon her gripped his senses.

There was no goddess. There were no gods but one. Her beliefs shouldn’t disturb him the way they did. But he couldn’t shift the soul deep fear that her carefree disregard wrapped chains of death around her.

Around them both.

A shudder crawled over his arms. He couldn’t fathom where the thought came from. Elise might worship pagan idols. But she wasn’t a witch.

Elise glanced over her shoulder. Although they were some distance from the others who had left the great hall, they enjoyed no real privacy. Was she giving him a subtle hint that she wanted to walk a little farther, where shadows hugged the ancient stone walls?

He turned, so he was once again facing the dark side of the palace. Elise fell into step beside him, and without looking at her, he began to stroll away from the guarded entrance. There were fewer torches blazing, and if they followed the palace wall along its southern length, they were unlikely to be disturbed.

At the corner of the palace, Elise came to a halt. He looked down at her. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She was so close it would take no effort to wrap his arm around her and pull her lush body against him.

He remained rooted to the spot, arms welded to his sides. In the half-light she looked like a vision from a dream, a fantasy made flesh. But she was no insubstantial illusion. And no matter how innocent she looked, he knew she was well versed in the pleasures of sex.

His mouth dried. There could be only one reason why she had silently agreed to walk with him. He still couldn’t fathom why she had chosen him. Not when Ross MacIntosh had set his sights on her.

He reached out and took the gossamer wisp of her veil where it rested on her shoulder. She swallowed, and as he slowly tugged the length of veil across her breasts, he felt her tremble.

For a heartbeat he paused, her delicate veil trapped between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head, an oddly nervous gesture. But this was Princess Elise, the jewel of all Pictish noblewomen, and it was inconceivable that she was nervous. The fine fabric slid through his fingers and trailed over the swell of her breasts, fully exposing her throat and the curve of her shoulder.

Two long tresses tumbled over that shoulder. Before he could stop himself, he closed his fingers around one tempting lock. So silky soft. His gaze meshed with hers and if it wasn’t such a ludicrous notion, he imagined he saw apprehension shift in those beautiful blue eyes.

But she didn’t slap his hand away for his insolence. Or demand that he release her, this instant. She simply stood there, as if she had been turned to stone.