Vivienne woke disoriented and hungry much later. She rose and pulled back the shutters on her small window. The sapphire-blue color of the sky told her that it was still an hour or two before sunrise.
Because it had been early evening when she’d fallen asleep, she’d missed the evening meal. But now that she was awake, nerves replaced the hunger in her belly at what lay ahead.
Today was the day she would leave court, her home for the last seven years. Her whole life seemed to hang in the balance—a stable marriage with a nobleman like Thierry, her position as one of the Queen’s ladies, and her father’s wellbeing all wavered with uncertainty. And of course her life was now literally in danger, with only Kieran MacAdams to protect her.
She donned one of her favorite midnight-blue silk gowns, then dragged a trunk from beneath her bed and slowly began to fill it with all her worldly belongings. She had no idea where Kieran was taking her, so she tried to pack with numerous occasions in mind.
First she folded an assortment of silk and brocade gowns, along with chemises, stockings for cooler weather, and a variety of silk slippers, into the trunk. Then she wrapped her treasured books into a heavier fur-trimmed cloak and added them in. Last, she carefully folded her various vials and jars of oils and flower waters into a spare coverlet and tucked them in beside the rest.
The trunk was now far too heavy for her to move, and it only closed if she sat on it, but thankfully she’d just managed to secure the latch when she heard Kieran’s distinct sharp rap on the door.
At her call, he entered, his features particularly stony this morning. He wore his usual plain shirt and belted plaid, but he also carried a set of leather saddlebags over one shoulder.
“The sun is nearly up,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Ye’d best begin preparing to depart.”
She blinked. “But I already have.” She gestured toward the enormous trunk, which took up a good portion of the chamber’s floor space.
He swept the trunk with his gaze, then leveled her with a look. “Ye must be jesting.”
Vivienne bristled. Apparently the intense kiss they’d shared last eve was forgotten and they were back to taut verbal sparring.
It was just as well. If she were to set out with him for an indeterminate length of time to an unknown location, it would be better to have walls and boundaries between them once more. Kieran’s fortification of choice seemed to be a mocking disdain for Vivienne and all she held dear. For her part, Vivienne would be the cool, mannered woman of court Kieran seemed to hate so much.
“What is the jest?” she asked, lifting her brows at him. “I rose early and packed what I need for our journey.”
“More like ye packed half the damn palace,” he grumbled.
“I wasn’t sure what circumstances I would find myself in, so I selected an array of—”
He tossed the saddlebags from his shoulder. They landed with a dull smack on the stones before her feet. “Ye can take what will fit in there. Naught more.”
She stared at the saddlebags. “That…that is all?”
“We arenae going on some lavish pleasure-tour as the King and Queen do when they travel,” he replied. “We are on the run from those who wish to see ye dead.”
Vivienne swallowed. “But even on the run, I will still be expected to wear clothes, will I not?”
As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. His eyes flashed with heat before they turned cold once more, and she knew he was thinking of being naked together, as she was now as well.
“A-and I will still have want of my books and my beauty tonics and tinctures,” she went on hastily. “I cannot fit all of that in those small bags.”
“Let me help ye then,” he said, closing the distance between them in two swift steps. She jumped out of the way so as not to be bowled over as he halted before the trunk and threw back the lid.
He snatched up the coverlet filled with her vials and bottles and dropped it on her bed. Luckily, her mattress cushioned the glass well enough that none of them broke.
“First off, ye dinnae need any of this rubbish.”
She began to object, but before she got far, he’d already returned to the trunk. He unceremoniously shook out her cloak, sending her carefully-packed books tumbling over the folded gowns below.
“This cloak could come in handy, but all these books will only take up space and weigh yer horse down.”
“There is no need to—”
“And we arenae going to some grand feast every night,” he interrupted, lifting a handful of her gowns and holding them up. “We will be riding, mayhap sleeping on the ground, and most importantly trying no’ to draw attention.”
A lump had risen to Vivienne’s throat at his callous treatment, but luckily an equal portion of anger kept her fright and hurt at bay.
In truth, she should be thanking him. It made it much easier to remember what a detestable brute he was when he behaved like this. And thinking him a brute was far better than thinking him dangerously handsome and devastatingly enthralling.
She willed herself to hold her tongue as he dropped her gowns and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. Brute though he may be, he had saved her life. She’d promised herself yesterday not to oppose him in his efforts to protect her anymore. If that meant swallowing her pride and somehow managing to cram her entire life into two small saddlebags, then so be it.
Holding her head high and keeping her features smooth, she glided to the bed and unfolded the coverlet containing all her cherished beauty potions. She sifted through them, rationally assessing which she actually used and which were simply nice to have.
“I told ye already, ye dinnae need all that nonsense,” Kieran muttered, stepping toward her.
“Oui, but it is good to smell agreeable whenever one can—especially when one is traveling,” she countered calmly.
To her shock, he moved closer still, until hardly a sliver of air separated them. He encircled her wrist with one of his big hands and lifted it to his nose. He inhaled deeply against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist, then released her.
But he wasn’t done with her yet. He dipped his head, and for a heart-stopping moment, Vivienne thought he meant to kiss her again. But instead, he dropped his nose to her neck, inhaling once more against her skin.
He straightened, his eyes flashing with a challenge. “Ye smell fine to me. Leave them.”
Thank goodness her skirts hid the wobbling of her knees. Yet if he meant to unnerve her with his overpowering presence and rude manners, she refused to be so easily cowed.
Mustering all her composure, she stared at him coolly for a moment before returning her attention to the pile of tinctures. After feigning a measured consideration, she selected the purple-tinted glass bottle of violet oil.
It was her favorite scent, and she treasured it all the more because it had been a gift from the Queen. But more than that, her thoughts flitted back to that first night when Kieran had sniffed it and commented about her wearing it often. He’d remembered from several months before that she preferred it.
Perhaps he found it as unnerving as she found his own scent, of soap and leather and warm male skin. Two could play at his little game of intimidation.
She moved to the tumbled pile of books heaped atop her disheveled clothes. It would be far harder to leave them than her flower waters and oils. She removed them one by one and replaced them into the drawers of her dressing table, all save one. Nothing—not even the foul-tempered Highland warrior glowering at her—would prevent her from taking the copy of The Song of Roland her father had given her.
That decision made, she crouched on the floor beside the trunk and slowly removed each rumpled garment. Everything from the gowns to the slippers to the silk chemises and stockings had been hand-made for her. They befitted her station as one of the Queen of France’s closest companions, and showed the world her valued position.
To her surprise, a knot tightened her throat as she set each garment aside one by one. No doubt Kieran, who loomed over her, watching her closely, took her for a silly, vain chit. He likely thought her head so full of air that she would grow misty-eyed over a few scraps of silk and brocade when her very life was in danger.
But it wasn’t the gowns and finery she cared about. It was what they represented. She’d nearly lost everything seven years past—her good name, her family’s honor, and any hope for a future free of scandal and shame.
Yet when the Queen had taken her on as a lady-in-waiting, she’d been given a second chance. She’d remade herself as the perfect lady of court: well-mannered, demure, graceful, and restrained. And she’d proven it with her outward appearance. The gowns, the hair, the façade of cool control—they all covered her past mistakes.
So what was she without her fine clothes, her fancy fragrances, her position at court? She was a girl from a humble estate who had made a terrible error in judgment. She was nothing. It burned her pride to admit it, but far worse was the knowledge that in abandoning the palace, she didn’t just hurt her own standing. Her father would pay as well.
Forcing herself to maintain her composure, she selected two practical gowns—the gray dress she’d worn yesterday evening and another of green-dyed wool that was warm and comfortable—and slipped them into the saddlebags.
When she held up two linen chemises, Kieran cleared his throat, but she ignored him. She tucked them, along with a pair of stockings and her book and violet oil, into the bags as well. Once she’d added a comb, a small pouch of coins, and a few other small personal items, there was no more room.
“Do ye have riding boots?” Kieran asked behind her.
She rose, kicking off her slippers and dragging out a pair of leather half-boots she normally wore in the winter.
Kieran eyed the blue silk gown she wore but decided—wisely—to refrain from commenting. Instead, he held out the fur-trimmed cloak she’d used to bundle her books together. When she took it and slung it around her shoulders, he hoisted up the saddlebags she’d just filled and strode out of the room.
Vivienne hesitated a moment, casting her eyes over her chamber. There was a chance she’d never see it again. There wasn’t time to be sentimental, though. With a silent farewell to all that she had created for herself here at court over the last seven years, she stepped out of the chamber and hurried after Kieran.
He strode straight to the palace’s stables, where a stable lad was already holding the reins to two horses. One was clearly Kieran’s. It was a bay gelding large enough to hold his giant frame. The other was a smaller yet spritely looking white mare that must have been meant for her.
As Kieran went about fastening the saddlebags to her horse’s saddle, a movement at the palace’s double doors caught her eye. Hesitantly, the seven other ladies-in-waiting shuffled out and approached. Some eyed Kieran as if they expected him to snap at them to be gone again, yet he didn’t seem to pay them any mind.
“Safe travels,” Marie said, coming forward and pulling Vivienne into a tight hug.
“We’ll miss you,” Aveline murmured, moving in to embrace her as well.
One by one, the ladies hugged her and bid her well. Vivienne blinked back the tears as she reassured them that she would see them all again soon.
And then suddenly the Queen, who never rose at this hour, was gliding from the palace. The ladies all dropped into practiced curtsies, including Vivienne, but the Queen moved forward and took her hand, giving it a squeeze.
“Be brave, ma chère, and remember that you have our love.”
Vivienne mumbled her thanks in a voice thick with emotion. When the Queen released her hand, Kieran suddenly grasped her around the waist and lifted her into the saddle. He mounted his own horse in one fluid movement and set the animal into motion.
As the others waved and called out their farewells, Vivienne trailed after him through the palace’s thick walls and toward the bridge that led into the heart of Paris. She still didn’t know where they were headed, and to give herself something to focus on other than her breaking heart, she nudged her mount alongside his.
“Where are you taking me?”
He gave her an assessing look for a moment. “Scotland.”
A thought occurred to her that had hope surging past her sadness. “Will we sail via Calais?”
“Aye.”
“Then I would make a request.”
He lifted a brow at her. “A request, or a demand?”
She ignored the comment and said, “My family’s estate in Picardy is on the way to Calais. I’d like to stop and see my father.”
Kieran grunted, his rugged features darkening with a frown. “I told ye before, this isnae some grand tour for making social calls.”
“Please,” she said, unable to control the edge of desperation tinging her voice. “I…I may not have another chance to see him.”
He hesitated another moment, but at last relented. “Verra well.”
Vivienne breathed a sigh of relief. Her family’s estate was only a two-day’s ride from the palace, but it had been many long months since she’d had the opportunity to visit.
She could only pray that all would be well when they arrived.