Jerome clamped his teeth down on another string of oaths. He moved in front of Elaine as if he were defending her, which was idiotic, for King Philip wasn’t attacking. Yet he couldn’t order his thoughts enough to do aught but act on instinct to protect her.

“What is the King of France doing here?” she hissed behind him.

“He is to escort us to his palace in Paris.”

He heard her pull in a breath. Aye, it had been a surprise to him as well—but not as great a surprise as seeing Elaine step foot on French soil.

Or proclaim that she loved him.

For one breathtaking moment, his heart had soared out of his chest and toward the blazing sun.

Curse him for a fool. If she truly did love him, it wouldn’t change aught. His mission awaited, and he couldn’t let anything—or anyone—get in the way of that.

Yet something in her eyes had given him pause. The shadow crossing their vivid blue depths had sent the hairs on his neck lifting. Could she be lying? If that was the case, then what the bloody hell was she doing here?

“We need to talk,” she murmured as if reading his thoughts.

“Aye—later.”

Just then, the blue and gold banners for King Philip peeked above the top of the grassy hillside. They flapped in the mild breeze blowing in from the harbor as they drew nearer.

The ground rumbled with the approaching procession, which must have been as big as an army.

A dozen mounted, armored guards crested the rise, then began streaming down toward the docks, more falling in behind them. One of the guards in the front eyed them and approached.

De Soules gave a bow. “We come in the name of King Robert the Bruce of Scotland bearing a message for the Pope.”

“Ah, you are the ones,” the guard replied in accented English, his gaze flicking over each of them.

“We are honored that His Majesty King Philip V has so graciously agreed to allow us safe passage across his fair lands,” de Soules continued in a loud, formal voice. “And we are further humbled by the privilege of his escort to ensure that—”

“Are they here?” someone asked from the top of the rise, cutting de Soules off. “Have they arrived already?”

“Oui, Majesté,” the guard replied.

Just then, a horse and rider so bedecked with gold and jewels that Jerome had to squint to make them out in the bright sun crested the hilltop and rode toward them. The horse’s saddle and bridle were encrusted with sapphires and gold filigree. The man himself wore an ermine-trimmed blue velvet cloak and a gold crown atop his head.

The dozens of guards shifted around the rider like a cloud, staying close but moving amorphously to accommodate his advance.

Instinctively, Jerome dropped into a low bow. This could be none other than the King himself. Elaine, too, dipped into a deep curtsy.

“Welcome to France, mes amis,” the King said. “Arise and let me look each of you in the eyes.”

De Soules was the first to respond. He straightened halfway, keeping his head tilted in respect. “Majesty, I am Sir William de Soules, at yer service.”

“Ah, oui, you are the one with lands here in the north, is that correct?”

“Aye, Majesty. And these men are my companions, each hand-selected by King Robert the Bruce for this most significant task. Bishop Kininmund.” De Soules motioned to the bishop, who inclined his head to the King. “Kieran MacAdams.” Typical of the Highlander, Kieran nodded in respect but didn’t genuflect as deeply as he would have for the Bruce. “And Jerome Munro.”

Jerome, too, nodded, though it was closer to a bow that Kieran’s had been.

He looked up to find King Philip’s curious, intelligent brown eyes fixed on him—or rather, fixed on Elaine, who was still lowered in her curtsy.

“And who is this lovely mademoiselle?”

“This,” de Soules replied, his voice tightening. “Is Lady Elaine Beaumore.”

The King’s light brown eyebrows winged in surprise. “And she is part of your King’s envoy as well?”

“Nay, Majesty, she only just arrived.”

King Philip’s penetrating gaze shifted to Elaine again. “Oh? And what business does she have in France?”

Just as Jerome opened his mouth to fumble for an answer, Captain MacDougal interrupted from the gangplank. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Majesty, but I just delivered yon lassie from Scotland. She came all this way for that Munro laddie. Stole her heart, he has.”

Before Jerome could refute the meddling captain’s words, the King’s eyes lit up.

“Truly? That is most bold of you, mademoiselle.”

“A-aye, Majesty,” Elaine nigh croaked behind him.

“Rise, Lady Elaine.”

Elaine obeyed, stepping to Jerome’s side.

“Munro, what response have you made to the lovely lady?”

Jerome cleared his throat, but the blasted captain spoke first again.

“He’s sendin’ her back, Majesty! Wants me to take her away as soon as possible.”

“Oh, mais non, Munro,” the King chided, his eyes dancing with amusement. “The lady must come with us to Paris.”

Propriety be damned. “Nay, Majesty,” Jerome cut in. “She cannae—”

The King continued as if Jerome hadn’t spoken.

“She shall be my personal guest. I intend to dazzle you with the beauty of the French countryside, Lady Elaine. And when we reach the palace, my darling wife and her ladies-in-waiting will undoubtedly fawn over that lovely hair and comely form. No doubt they will polish you up and parade you about court until Munro here is sick with jealousy.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her, and out of the corner of his eye, Jerome saw a blush climbing into her face.

“Thank you, Majesty,” she replied.

“Yer Majesty, I must insist that—”

The King waved him away as if he were naught more than a fly. “You Scotsmen are far too dour,” he commented. “You are in France now. As my honored guests, I insist that you enjoy your time here.”

The matter settled to his liking, the King reined his horse around. “Let us be off, then. If it were just us, it would take three days to reach Paris, but with the caravan of wagons we are sure to move slower.”

Caravan of wagons? Jerome nearly cursed but managed to bite it back. He turned to Captain MacDougal and leveled the gnarled old bear with a hard look.

“Though ye have already been most obliging with yer…help,” he said tightly, “I would request one last favor.” Jerome withdrew a scrap of parchment and a stub of charcoal from the pouch on his belt. He scrawled a quick note that Elaine was safe in France and under his protection.

“See that when ye return to Scone this is delivered to Finn Sutherland and no other,” he said, folding the note and placing a coin on top of it. He extended it to MacDougal. “Understood?”

“Aye,” the captain replied, giving Jerome a wide smile that revealed more than a few missing teeth. He was loath to trust the man with such an important task, but then again, MacDougal had seen Elaine safely across the North Sea. Besides, Jerome had no other choice.

Jerome turned to find King Philip and his guards ascending the hill over Calais once more. The other three members of the Bruce’s envoy were mounting their horses reluctantly and casting glances at Elaine. The bishop, in particular, wore a sour look, as he had for much of the sea crossing.

Jerome took Elaine’s arm and guided her to his horse. Once he’d swung into the saddle, he pulled her up in front of him, settling her across his lap. Despite his anger and confusion, aching heat jumped in his veins to have her so near.

“I can explain,” she murmured as he spurred his horse after the others.

“Oh aye,” he ground out. “Ye will.”