“Must you depart so soon, mes amis?” King Philip stood at the gates to his private garden, a velvet cloak draped jauntily over one shoulder and his hands planted on his hips.
Jerome bowed his head but kept his voice firm. “Aye, Majesty. The Pope waits for no man. And nor, it seems, will my bride.”
His gaze flashed to Elaine, who stood a few paces back with Lady Vivienne. She’d molded her features into a smile, and though he was familiar enough with her to know it was an act, he doubted anyone else noticed.
“But what of Sir William?” the King persisted. “Surely you should wait for your companion to recover his health before leaving.”
Just as she’d promised, Lady Vivienne’s potion had done its job. Less than a quarter hour after taking his first sip of the tainted wine, de Soules had excused himself from the feast. He never returned, and was found by a servant sometime later locked inside the garderobe.
“I am afraid he will miss Avignon,” Jerome replied with a shrug.
Lady Vivienne stepped forward then. “I’ll look after your compatriot, monsieur. He’ll be well tended until he regains his strength.” The faintest flicker of one blonde eyebrow confirmed their plan: Vivienne would ensure de Soules was forced to remain at court until Jerome and Elaine could determine exactly how far his treachery went—and what to do with him.
“Many thanks for yer kind attentions, Lady Vivienne,” Jerome said with a bow to her. “And to ye, Majesty, for yer hospitality in allowing him to recover here.”
“Of course, of course,” the King said with an airy wave. “But I cannot help disliking all the changes in plans. With one visit to my palace, your King’s envoy has been cut in half. It reflects poorly on me.”
“Aye, well, Sir William and I will have to visit Avignon some other time. But Kieran and Bishop Kininmund will see the Bruce’s declaration delivered safely.” He plastered a conspiratorial smile onto his own features. “After all, a wise man once insisted that when pleasure and beauty present themselves, one had better seize them while one can.”
The King’s weak frown dissolved into a grin. “That is the silver lining, I suppose. I am so happy for you and Lady Elaine. And I gladly take at least some credit for your impending union—though some must go to belle France herself as well. But won’t your King be displeased that you are abandoning his envoy?”
“I’d rather beg his forgiveness than ask his permission in this case. I cannae let aught threaten my chance to secure my bonny love once and for all.”
“For a Scotsman, you have a flourish for romance.” King Philip pounded Jerome on the shoulder. “Be off with you then, mon ami, and give my best to your King. If there is aught else I can do to help him, I am at his disposal.”
The King walked with Jerome, Elaine, and Lady Vivienne to the stables, where Kieran and Bishop Kininmund were preparing the horses. Jerome had waited until the last possible moment, but the time had finally come to hand over the declaration.
While the bishop mounted and arranged his robes, Jerome pulled Kieran aside.
“Ye ken there arenae many men into whose hands I would place my fate—and my life,” Jerome began, his voice gruff.
“And there arenae many whose duty I would take on as my own, but under the circumstances, I’ll do it gladly,” Kieran replied quietly.
With a nod, Jerome reached into the pouch on his belt and felt the familiar rasp of parchment against his fingers. He withdrew the carefully folded and wrapped packet containing the Bruce’s prized declaration of Scottish freedom.
Jerome held it for a moment, measuring the inconsequential lightness of the parchment against the heft of all it implied—and the weight of his own responsibility to deliver it safely.
It felt like a betrayal of all he stood for to turn it over now. Jerome’s whole life had hinged on seeing his duty done, never failing in his loyal devotion to first his Laird and now his King. And now he was willfully deserting his mission.
It was a bitter truth to swallow, but much more than his honor and good name hung in the balance now. In handing over the declaration, he was serving the greater good, he reminded himself firmly. He couldn’t simply follow orders anymore. His pledge to protect King and country went beyond that.
And if he had to drag his name through the mud to accomplish his larger goals, he would find a way to survive it. He was strong enough. Elaine had taught him that.
“See it done,” he said at last, extending the packet to Kieran.
Kieran wore a somber frown as he accepted the folded parchment. “From one Highlander to another and in the name of King Robert the Bruce—ye can count on me, Jerome Munro.”
As Kieran tucked the declaration into his own belt pouch, he extended his forearm to Jerome and they shared a firm shake. In his gruff way, Kieran thanked King Philip for his hospitality, then mounted alongside the bishop. His blue gaze lingered on Lady Vivienne before he gave her a curt nod and reined his horse toward the arching bridge leading off the island-palace.
Jerome watched as they rode into the city and turned south—toward Avignon—until they were swallowed by the throng of activity in the busy streets. He turned to find Elaine and Vivienne embracing in a farewell. He was close enough to hear what Vivienne murmured to Elaine.
“I’ll pray that the peace in both our countries holds,” the lady-in-waiting said quietly. “And for your safety, Elaine.”
“Thank you, dear Vivienne,” Elaine replied, her voice low with emotion. “For everything.”
“I am glad to play my part for the greater good.” Vivienne withdrew, giving Elaine a faint smile. “The world need not be brought to its knees by the schemes of men like William de Soules.” The King approached, so Vivienne drew her mouth into a practiced smile and raised her voice. “Come and visit me anytime, mes amis. You’ve barely tasted the delights of France.”
Giving a nod of thanks to Lady Vivienne, Jerome helped Elaine mount the spritely bay mare King Philip had graciously provided for her, then swung onto his steed’s back.
With their final farewells and thanks on their lips, they set out toward the bridge. Elaine twisted in the saddle, gazing back at the magnificent palace as their horses clopped across the bridge’s stones. The dazzling May sun reflected off the slow-moving river, illuminating her smiling face, yet her blue eyes were clouded with worry.
As they began to wind their way through the cramped Paris streets, Jerome reined his horse close to hers.
“It will be all right,” he said simply.
She met his gaze, and though she nodded, her teeth worked her lower lip in apprehension.
“I’ve been thinking…depending on how favorable the winds were for Captain MacDougal on his voyage back to Scotland, your missive telling Finn that I am with you should have arrived before we reached Paris.”
“Aye,” Jerome replied, unsure where her thoughts were headed.
“I’m sure he was furious when he discovered I’d fled, and likely isn’t too happy to know that I’m in France with you, either—but I realize now that would be assuming he’s received your missive.”
“And why wouldnae he have?”
Elaine shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. It’s just…shouldn’t we have heard back from him by now? If he is detained in Scone, wouldn’t he at least have sent an angry note warning you to look after me?”
Considering all Jerome knew of Finn’s character, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the surly Highlander had charged straight to France upon hearing what Elaine had gotten up to in his absence. A strongly worded missive would’ve been the least he could have done.
“Do you doubt Captain MacDougal?” he asked cautiously.
“Nay,” Elaine replied without hesitation. “He would have seen your missive delivered, I’m sure of it. I only fear…” She turned fretful eyes on him. “What if Finn hasn’t captured David de Brechin yet? Or what if something has happened to him that has prevented him from returning to Scone?”
Jerome clenched the leather reins in his hands tight enough that his horse tossed his head in annoyance. Elaine had every reason to worry for Finn’s safety—he was family, after all—but if Finn truly had been waylaid or hindered somehow, they were in far graver trouble.
It was possible that Finn simply hadn’t received Jerome’s missive yet. The seas could have been rough, delaying MacDougal’s ship. Or mayhap Finn had crafted a scathing response, but it hadn’t reached Paris yet.
The darker possibility was that Finn might have been ambushed by de Brechin or others who were in on the scheme to overthrow the Bruce. Or de Brechin could be leading him on a merry chase away from Scone, leaving the Bruce vulnerable and unprotected. Either way, Finn’s silence didn’t bode well.
Damn it all, there were too many unknowns still—what did de Soules intend with Balliol? How many were involved in the plot? And when did they mean to act?
“Finn kens how to take care of himself,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if the words were meant to reassure Elaine or himself. “I’m sure he’s fine. And we are close to unraveling this scheme at last. We’ll ken more once we speak to Balliol.”
God in heaven, he hoped he was right.