As they crested the ridge, Elaine sucked in a breath. She’d thought their retinue large with nearly two score of the King of France’s guards encircling their little party. But now she saw that their traveling caravan was far larger.

On the other side of the hill sat at least a dozen wagons along with another score of armored guards.

Now that she thought of it, the enormous retinue made sense. If a King were to travel—especially a King like Philip, who clearly favored luxuries fit for his station—he would need tents, furniture, food, clothes, and servants in tow.

“You said the King wished to provide a personal escort to Paris,” she murmured, tilting her head up to Jerome’s. “Why?”

He glanced down at her, a muscle ticking in his bristle-covered jaw. Slowly, he let a breath go. “I gather he wishes to make a show of his support for the Bruce’s message to the Pope. Things have gone sour between him and England’s King Edward. So he’s decided that the enemy of his enemy is his friend—the Bruce, in this case.”

She shifted her gaze to the wagons. “Aye, he certainly isn’t making a secret of this.”

“I believe he wishes to make it understood far and wide that we Scots are traveling across his lands with his express permission to Avignon.”

All the King’s fanfare and spectacle might make it difficult for her to steal a moment alone with Jerome to tell him what she’d learned in Scone. Still, she should be grateful that the King had arrived when he had, for she might have found herself on the Bonny Berta bound for Scotland once more.

“I cannae deny that I am glad to see ye again,” Jerome murmured, cutting into her thoughts. “But ye dinnae belong here, Elaine. Though King Philip may try to make this seem like a merry picnic, this mission is actually dangerous. We are safe among his guards, but after we reach the palace, they willnae continue to escort us to Avignon. And though France is considered a friend of Scotland, the Bruce has enemies everywhere.”

Elaine had to bite her tongue to prevent blurting just how well she understood that now. Apparently the Bruce had enemies in his own palace, for gracious’ sake.

Instead, all she said was, “I know,” keeping her voice barely above a whisper. She sensed his sharp, dark eyes on her and glanced up to find him searching her features.

“Something is wrong. I sensed it before by the docks, but now I’m sure. What is it, Elaine?”

Her gaze darted to de Soules, who rode ahead with the other men. “I can’t say—not yet, anyway.”

Jerome’s arm, which was looped around her back to allow him to hold the reins, stiffened.

“At least tell me this,” he said, his voice so low and deep that it reverberated through her where her shoulder pressed into his chest. “Are ye in danger?”

Something fluttered deep in her belly at his protectiveness, but she set it aside. There were far more serious matters to focus on for now.

“Mayhap,” she said carefully. “But it isn’t me you should worry about.”

He worked his jaw for a long moment, his brows lowered and his eyes burning with frustration—and concern. He opened his mouth to speak, but just then the King called for the wagons to be mobilized and set his horse at a brisk walk toward the rolling hills to the south.

“Later,” he murmured close to her ear.

 

*    *    *    *

 

They traveled slowly across the verdant landscape, so much more lush and fecund than anything Elaine had seen in Northern England or Scotland. The day was warm and sunny, and soon she shed her cloak, which Jerome tucked away in his saddlebags.

Without the thick layer of wool between them, she was all the more aware of his solid strength behind her—and the fact that he still radiated taut frustration. She could only hope that once he learned the truth, he would forgive her for appearing so unexpectedly—and lying about her feelings for him.

They crossed vast farmlands and skirted villages of varying sizes. Occasionally, they drew near enough to one of the little towns to draw a crown of curious onlookers. With the King riding proudly at the front of their procession, glittering in the sunlight like a jewel, the French townspeople were understandably awed and thrilled at their passing.

When at last the sun dipped toward the horizon, the King called for a halt so that their camp could be erected. As Jerome helped Elaine dismount, servants jumped down from the wagons and began unloading their supplies. They made surprisingly fast work setting up an enormous circular tent made of blue- and yellow-dyed canvas for the King. Several other, much smaller tents were assembled for the Bruce’s men, the guards, and the servants themselves.

It was dusky twilight by the time the camp was arranged. As one of the servants lit a fire, the King approached the Bruce’s men, who’d been standing aside to allow the servants to work.

“I hope you will forgive me, mes amis,” he said, adjusting his ermine-trimmed cloak around his shoulders. “I find I am weary after the day’s travels and wish to retire to my tent. I hope you will not judge French hospitality too harshly just yet, for I plan to show you all of France’s luxuries when we exchange these rustic conditions for the palace.”

Elaine hid her tired smile by dipping into a curtsy of acknowledgement. King Philip’s tent hardly seemed rustic, but he was royalty after all, and had been born into extravagance. Still, she was surprised to see him up close and out of his saddle, for he was far younger and more physically commanding on his own two feet that she would have expected the French King to be.

He looked of an age with Jerome, and of a height with him as well. She’d heard him called Philip the Tall by her father before, and the epithet proved true. Though he still wore his crown, rich cloak, and a ceremonial jewel-encrusted sword belted to his waist, he didn’t appear foppish or arrogant for all the opulence. Instead, his keen, dancing brown eyes spoke of intelligence and good humor.

“Of course, Majesty,” de Soules answered with a bow. “We are most honored.”

“Come, I will show you your accommodations.” The King motioned the bishop toward one of the tents, followed by Kieran and de Soules.

“And for you, my lovebirds,” the King said, his gaze settling on Jerome and Elaine. He gestured toward a tent no different from the first three, except that it sat at the very edge of their little camp, slightly apart from the others.

“The comforts will be limited, unfortunately,” King Philip said as he walked them to the tent. “But then again, I imagine you two will be so occupied with other more…pressing matters that you will hardly notice.” He chuckled, holding back the tent flap.

Elaine peered inside. A wooden folding table sat on one side of the small space, a pitcher and basin placed atop it. On the other side sat a cot. A single cot. A narrow cot.

Elaine tried to cover an unladylike choking sound with a cough. “You are…most kind, Majesty.”

The King’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “I instructed the servants to give you a little extra space as well. I have heard you English ladies can be shy.”

Before Elaine could choke again, Jerome gave the King a formal bow. “Thank ye, Majesty. This is most appreciated.”

“I’ll send someone with food,” the King commented as he strode toward his own enormous tent. “But I’ll instruct them not to disturb you. Bonne nuit, mes amis.”

Cheeks blazing, Elaine ducked into the tent. Jerome followed, dropping the tent flap behind him. Without the blue glow of twilight coming through the tent’s opening, they were cast into darkness.

With a muttered curse, Jerome fumbled for something, then she saw a spark from the striking of his flint stones. He lit a candle she hadn’t noticed beside the pitcher and basin, then turned to her.

“What the hell are ye doing here?” he demanded unceremoniously.

She drew in a deep breath. “The day you left for France, I overheard David de Brechin say something…disturbing.”

Jerome’s dark eyes flared. “Did he speak against ye? Or try to attack ye agai—”

“Nay,” Elaine cut in hastily. “Nothing like that.” She swallowed. “Something far worse. He spoke William de Soules’s name in connection with some plot against the Bruce.”

“What?” he snapped.

“He called you ‘the Munro lapdog’ and said you might hinder them, but that de Soules would ‘handle’ you and the others.”

Jerome’s hands clenched at his sides. “What else?”

“De Soules is supposed to send word to de Brechin and the man he spoke with—and possibly others. De Brechin said that once the plan had been put into motion, the Bruce wouldn’t realize until it was too late to stop them.”

“Bloody hell,” Jerome hissed. He began pacing in the small space, forcing Elaine to step back or be bowled over. She bumped into the edge of the cot and sat down.

“What of the other man?” Jerome asked, not looking at her.

“I don’t know, but he was likely a Lowlander.”

“Did de Brechin see ye?”

“Nay, I don’t think so. He left the great hall after that, and he didn’t cast me a look as he departed.”

Jerome halted, facing her. “And then ye simply—what? Threw yerself on the nearest ship and came after me?”

She knew he was overwhelmed by what she’d just told him, but the blunt words still stung. She straightened to her feet once more. “Nay, I am not so foolish as that, despite what you might think of me. I told Finn and the King.”

He started pacing again. “Good. And what did they say?”

“Finn believes de Brechin is the key. He went after him that night with the intent of capturing him and forcing him to reveal their plans. For all I know he’s already dragged de Brechin back to Scone.”

“And the Bruce?”

“He wishes to keep this quiet. If anyone linked to de Brechin—including de Soules—suspects we are on to them, the others, however many there are, might disappear into the woodwork once more.”

Jerome grunting, swiping a hand over his face as he continued to pace.

“Both the King and Finn believe this must have something to do with the delivery of the declaration,” she went on. “As do I. Which is why I came. Finn said that if he’d had another man he could trust, he would have sent him to warn you, but as there was not, he would focus on de Brechin.”

“Does he ken ye’re here?”

Elaine hesitated. “Nay.” Jerome rounded on her, but before he could admonish her, she hurried on. “But de Soules is clearly part of some scheme against the King. I heard de Brechin say so myself. I couldn’t simply sit in my chamber with the door barred, twiddling my thumbs and hoping the mission—and you—would be fine. I needed to warn you.”

When Jerome remained silent, his restless steps growing faster, Elaine hitched her chin.

“I would have told you all this straightaway, but de Soules was right behind you at the docks. I had to think of some way to explain my presence that wouldn’t rouse his suspicion.”

Jerome faltered mid-step, his gaze sharp on her. “Then what ye said—that ye loved me—” He cleared his throat. “It was a lie to cover yer true purpose.”

Heat climbed into her face and a knot of conflicting emotion tightened her throat. Frustration. Indignation. And something dangerously close to regret.

“Aye,” she replied. “And apparently it worked, because everyone, even the King of France, believed it. Even you believed I was foolish enough to have done something so rash. I saw it in your eyes when I spoke the words.”

He ripped his gaze away, turning his back to her so that she couldn’t again read his features.

“You can think me idiotic if you wish, but I did what needed to be done,” she said, fighting back a surge of embarrassment.

He fell silent for a long moment, his shoulders stiff and his broad back like a wall separating them. “Nay,” he replied at last. “No’ idiotic, lass.” Slowly, he faced her. His features were tight and guarded, but he kept his voice soft. “Brave? Aye. Rash and mad? Aye, a wee bit of each. But no’ idiotic.”

Elaine released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“There’ll be hell to pay when this is all over,” he muttered. “But that cannae be our concern now. What are we to do about de Soules?”

Elaine blinked. “You are asking me?”

He leveled her with a stern look. “Well, ye’re here, arenae ye? This is both of our problem now.”

“I-I’m not sure,” she admitted. She’d been so focused on reaching Jerome and telling him what she’d overheard that she hadn’t thought beyond that.

“I cannae figure why de Soules and de Brechin would want to thwart the delivery of the declaration,” he said, “but it does seem the most logical explanation.”

“Has he done aught to raise your suspicion so far?”

“Nay,” he said, raking his hand through his hair. “The declaration has been secure with me this whole time, and de Soules hasnae once tried to take it.”

Elaine thought for another moment, but when naught came to her, she sighed. “Whatever his plan, something is afoot. I agree with the Bruce that this must be kept quiet.”

Jerome nodded. “Aye. We’ll need to be cautious, but we must watch his every move.”

“Isn’t there more we should do?” she asked. “If he means to steal the declaration or harm you in any way—”

“Dinnae fash, lass. I can take care of myself. It’s more important to try to uncover whatever he is about. There are at least three men—Scotsmen, no less—involved in this scheme. Who kens how many more there might be.”

“Then we simply…wait?” The five days it had taken to reach France had felt like an eternity, her stomach in knots and her mind running wild with fears that she would be too late. And now all they could do was wait?

“And watch,” Jerome said. “If we act rashly, any others working with de Brechin and de Soules could take to the wind, and we’ll never ken just how deep this plot—whatever it may be—runs.”

“Then we are to carry on as if I am truly here because…”

The words died in Elaine’s throat. Their gazes locked, and she swallowed involuntarily.

“Aye, we’ll pretend we are lovers.”

Lovers. That was different than pretending to be in love. Elaine didn’t have experience in either, yet in her mind, being in love meant writing verses to each other, picking flowers and holding hands. Being lovers, on the other hand, meant…what they’d done outside her chamber back in Scone. And more.

Her skin prickled with awareness. The tent was so small that for both of them to stand as they were, they had to be nearly touching. And then there was the problem of the cot.

“Ye neednae look so horrified,” Jerome said evenly. “It is only pretend.”

Elaine cursed her easily read features, yet for once, they hadn’t betrayed her true thoughts. She wasn’t horrified. Nay, instead, she felt a pang of longing. Her face heated with embarrassment—for her wayward thoughts, and for the seed of curiosity at just what such pretend would entail. “A-aye, of course.”

“Ye can take the cot. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

She nodded mutely.

This was going to be a long night—and a long journey to Avignon.