Beside him, Vivienne gasped and abruptly dropped into a deep curtsy.

Even in a damp cloak, travel-worn wool dress, and muddy boots, she managed to make the gesture look both humble and preposterously graceful at the same time.

“Vivienne, ye dinnae need to—”

From her lowered position, she shot him a look that could have frosted over a midsummer sun.

Well, she would understand soon enough that they weren’t in her high and mighty French court anymore. God, it was good to be back in Scotland.

The Bruce hurried toward them. “Nay, nay,” he said with a frown. “Dinnae do that, Lady Vivienne.”

Vivienne kept her gaze lowered, but her delicate brows drew together, clearly uncertain of what she’d done to offend the King, and what she should do instead.

“Rise, milady,” the King said, a grin playing behind his beard as he offered a hand to help her up. “And let me do the genuflecting. I owe ye much.”

Hesitantly, Vivienne took the King’s proffered hand and let him assist her in straightening.

“Och, that’s better,” the Bruce said, smiling warmly at Vivienne. “Allow me to extend my deepest thanks, milady. If it hadnae been for yer aid, I might be six feet beneath the ground rather than beholding yer lovely face.” The Bruce turned to Kieran. “Ye didnae tell me what a great beauty Lady Vivienne is, man. No wonder ye were so eager to fetch her.”

Kieran made a choking sound that turned into a cough. At least Vivienne managed to only delicately clear her throat.

They were both saved from having to form a response, for at that moment, Elaine burst from one of the corridors behind the King.

“Vivienne!” She launched herself at Vivienne, colliding into her with a hard embrace. “Welcome to Scotland. I’m so glad you’re well. Are you well?” Elaine drew back, her blue eyes filled with sudden worry as she scanned Vivienne.

“Oui,” Vivienne breathed, but before she could say more, Jerome strode into the hall behind Elaine.

“Forgive my betrothed. When she got word ye’d arrived, there was no stopping her.”

From the way her head snapped between the King, Elaine, and Jerome, Vivienne was clearly overwhelmed. It was time Kieran put a stop to this. He stepped to Vivienne’s side, leveling Elaine with a scowl fierce enough that she released Vivienne of her own accord. That earned him a glare from Jerome, but he didn’t care.

“Vivienne needs rest. She didnae fair well on the sea crossing.”

“Forgive me, of course,” the Bruce said. “I’ll want a report on matters in France, but that can wait until this evening when the others are gathered.”

Kieran nodded grimly. “There is much to tell, unfortunately.”

The Bruce’s eyes clouded with worry, yet when he turned back to Vivienne, he smoothed his features. “I’ll have ye both shown to yer rooms so that ye can refresh yerselves after yer—”

“One room,” Kieran cut in. When the King blinked at him in confusion, he added, “Ye said ‘rooms’ but we only need one.”

A slow, knowing smile began to spread over Elaine’s features. Jerome coughed, clearly trying to hide a grin. The King’s eyes widened a fraction, his gaze flicking to Vivienne.

Belatedly, Kieran realized what they all must be thinking. Hell and damnation.

“I’ll be sleeping outside,” he snapped. “To ensure Lady Vivienne’s safety. Bloody hell, Jerome, do ye need me to pound that tickle out of yer throat?”

Jerome swallowed his next cough, but his dark eyes pinned Kieran with a wry look. “Nay, that willnae be necessary.”

“I’ll see you settled,” Elaine said brightly, looping her arm through Vivienne’s and pulling her away toward one of the many corridors that branched from the hall.

Vivienne attempted to curtsy again to the Bruce as Elaine tugged her away. The King only waved a hand. “No’ necessary, milady.”

Kieran gave the Bruce a nod before falling in with Jerome behind the ladies.

“Don’t worry,” Elaine was saying to Vivienne. “When I first met the King, I was travel-weary and bedraggled as well—not that you are bedraggled. Gracious, even after what sounds like a trying journey, you look fit for a grand court feast!”

Damn if Jerome’s wee English fiancée wasn’t right. How Vivienne managed to look elegant and bonny even after nigh a sennight of being seasick Kieran would never understand.

Vivienne relaxed in the presence of Elaine’s warm, easy air. She dipped her flaxen head to Elaine’s copper one and breathed a chuckle. “You are far too generous, mon amie. All the same, I cannot wait for a hot bath and a change of clothes.”

Jerome gripped Kieran’s arm, slowing him so that the women began to pull away slightly.

“Ye ken we were teasing ye earlier,” Jerome said, keeping his voice low. “And I expect to hear the whole story later, but do ye truly believe ye must remain posted outside Lady Vivienne’s door even within Scone’s walls?”

Kieran jerked his head in a nod. “She’s a target. There isnae any doubt now. And I willnae take any chances with her safety.”

Jerome’s dark brows rose. He opened his mouth to say more, but just then they caught up with the ladies, who’d halted before a chamber door.

“He prefers when I let him do this part,” Vivienne commented to Elaine.

“It isnae a bloody preference,” Kieran muttered as he moved to the door. “It is for yer safety.”

Mayhap it was all the knowing looks passing between Jerome and Elaine, or mayhap it was being back in a palace, even one more modest than France’s, with curious stares and questions to answer. Whatever the case, a sour temper was building within him. The sooner they could leave Scone the better—not only for Vivienne’s protection, but for his own sanity.

He pushed into the chamber, giving it a quick sweep with his gaze, then moved slowly around the space. It was simply appointed but functional and comfortable, with a four-poster bed, a table and chair with a pitcher and basin for washing, and a fire laid in a brazier.

“I’ll call for a bath,” Elaine said, squeezing Vivienne’s arm before slipping down the corridor. With a curt nod, Jerome followed, leaving them alone.

With naught to do but stand awkwardly in the middle of her chamber, Kieran’s heart leapt against his ribs. Elaine was right—Vivienne was so damn lovely, even travel-worn and rumpled.

But she was so much more than bonny. He watched as she ran her fingers longingly over the bed linens, clearly eager for a night of sleep in a real bed, but then straightened and clasped her hands before her. The steely composure he’d once found so grating had somehow become a source of his admiration for her.

Here she was meeting the King of Scotland—who’d unnerved more than one iron-willed Scot with his uncouth ways, Kieran included—and being thrown headlong into the unknown every step of the way. Yet she met each new challenge with poise, determination, and grace.

She lifted her dark blue gaze to him then, and his heart lurched again. Luckily, Kieran was saved from having to explain why he’d been staring at her, for at that moment, a servant arrived with their bags. At Kieran’s instruction, the lad deposited the saddlebags near the table.

Close on the lad’s heels were the other servants with Vivienne’s bath. They rolled a large wooden tub on its side into the chamber, then began filling it with a stream of buckets. Kieran oversaw the process, arms crossed over his chest and eyes sharp on all those who came and went.

Elaine slipped in, promising to have Vivienne’s favorite night-blue silk gown cleaned for her. Then there was naught left to do but for Vivienne to bathe. With a mumbled word about being right outside the door if she needed him, Kieran made a hasty retreat.

Once he’d closed her inside, safe and sound, he leaned against the door and tried to think of anything other than Vivienne stripping bare and easing each creamy inch of skin into the hot water.