Jerome had done this two dozen times in the last three sennights, but for some reason he found his stomach clenched with nerves as he descended the spiral stairs toward Trellham’s great hall.

Finn had kept him busy in the keep’s solar for most of the afternoon while preparations for the celebration were being made. They’d discussed the state of affairs in Scone where the Bruce was holding parliament until Lady Rosamond had entered and informed them that the villagers were gathering and a hastily prepared feast was nearly completed.

Lady Rosamond had kindly insisted that he use her and Finn’s chamber to wash away his travels and change into a clean shirt. He hadn’t had time to scrape away the dark bristle on his cheeks, though. But why should he care about his appearance when he ought to be focused on his assignment?

Damn it all, he knew why—it had everything to do with the blue-eyed, copper-haired beauty who’d tugged at his thoughts all afternoon.

He cursed himself for a fool as he drew closer to the great hall. He would be leaving in a matter of hours for Scone. Aye, if the festivities dragged on, he might stay the night here at Trellham, but even still, what was the point in letting himself long for Elaine when he would likely never see her again?

He needed to focus on his mission, he told himself firmly as he descended the final steps. The Bruce had entrusted him with this gravely important task. No lass—no matter how bonny and spirited—could get in the way of that.

Despite his silent chastisement, he found himself scanning Trellham’s small, modest hall for the russet-haired gem all the same.

The hall was abuzz with excitement. Several dozen simply-clad villagers were filing in through the double doors, which were thrown wide, letting the sweet, fresh spring air mingle with the smells of roasted boar and baking bread wafting from the kitchens.

The high-vaulted ceilings gave the space a lofty feel, yet the hall boasted no raised dais or other lavish adornment. Jerome had gathered from what little time he’d spent with Lord Beaumore that those at Trellham, including the noble family, did not put on airs. That explained Elaine’s plain garb and free-spirited abandon when he’d first laid eyes on her.

The large wooden table he’d sat at before remained pulled away from the back wall, and Lord Beaumore was already seated, along with Lady Rosamond. Finn stood protectively by her shoulder, yet to Jerome’s frustration, he didn’t see Elaine anywhere.

As he crossed the hall, the villagers parted for him, murmurs rippling in his wake.

“I can begin whenever ye like,” he said to Lord Beaumore when he reached the table.

Lord Beaumore nodded, pushing up from the bench. He coughed into his fist a few times, giving the hall a chance to quiet.

“Jerome Munro comes to Trellham bearing a request from King Robert the Bruce,” Lord Beaumore stated. He fixed Jerome with his bright blue gaze and tilted his head.

At the cue, Jerome pulled a rolled parchment from the pouch on his belt and lifted his voice so that all those gathered could hear.

“These are the sentiments King Robert the Bruce sends to the Pope, and which he asks Lord Beaumore to co-sign.” He raised the scroll and began reading. “To the most Holy Father and Lord in Christ, the Lord John, by divine providence Supreme Pontiff of the Holy Roman and Universal Church…”

Jerome had read these words many times, yet they never failed to stir him. Once the initial preambles were completed, he recited the atrocities committed by the English against the Scots, and of the Bruce’s ongoing fight for independence.

Though the villagers in attendance had no doubt once thought of themselves as English, they, mayhap more than anyone, knew the cost of the former King Edward’s obsession with controlling the Scots, and of the bloody struggles that had ensued. Edward II could have let his father’s campaign go, yet he’d pursued it, and sacrificed the Borderlands and their people in the process.

They might not be Scots, but those gathered listened in rapt silence as Jerome continued, recounting the Bruce’s commitment to freedom and his dedication to all those who had placed their trust and safety in his hands.

When he reached the section of the declaration that proclaimed that if the Bruce failed his people in their fight for sovereignty, then it was their right to replace him, whispers of surprise traveled through the crowd. It was unheard of for a monarch to place so much control in the hands of the people, yet the Bruce was committed to something far larger than his own power. He didn’t just want to rule Scotland—he fought for the country’s freedom above all else.

As Jerome neared the most rousing passage in the declaration, he lifted his gaze from the parchment. These words were etched on his heart and he could recite them from memory.

“…As long as but a hundred of us remain alive, never will we on any conditions be brought under English rule. It is in truth no’ for glory, nor riches, nor honors that we are fighting, but for freedom—for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself.”

Just as in every corner of Scotland, those gathered broke into cheers of support, drowning out Jerome’s voice for a long moment. He let his gaze sweep across the villagers, their earnest faces hopeful at the King’s message.

When his eyes landed on the arched entryway to the east tower stairs, he froze. Elaine stood on the lowest stair, her bright gaze riveted on him. To his surprise, those vibrant eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He read in her unguarded features a swirl of emotion—awe, respect, and most of all a reverent sincerity that made something like pride tighten his chest.

From the moment the Bruce had called Jerome from Munro lands with the assignment to gather seals of support for this declaration, Jerome had been acutely aware of just how heavy a responsibility he bore—and just what an honor it was to be selected for the task.

Yet standing here in this small, modest hall somewhere along the English border, a jolt of powerful emotion shot through him at Elaine’s transfixed gaze. He was humbled to see so clearly what the words he spoke meant to her. And in that moment, he longed to learn more about the soulful, spirited lass who made the hall and all those in it fall away for a long heartbeat.

As the cheers died down, Jerome ended the recitation, reading from the scroll once more.

“This declaration was given at the monastery of Arbroath in Scotland on the sixth day of the month of April in the year of grace thirteen hundred and twenty and the fifteenth year of the reign of our King aforesaid,” he concluded. “Directed to our Lord the Supreme Pontiff by the community of Scotland, and endorsed by all who freely give their seal.”

He lowered the scroll and turned to Lord Beaumore.

“Do ye willingly give yer seal of approval, Lord Beaumore?”

“Aye,” he replied loudly, bringing on another round of cheers and stomping feet.

Lord Beaumore lowered himself to the bench once more, muffling a few more coughs with his fist while Jerome returned the scroll to his pouch and removed two strips of parchment.

“One for the Pope’s copy, and one for the King’s,” he said, sliding them across the table to Lord Beaumore.

The older man took up a stick of red wax and held it into a nearby candle’s flame, then smudged first one and then the other strip of parchment with a blob of melted wax. He clenched his right hand and pressed his signet ring into each of the cooling dollops of wax, then nodded, a pleased smile lifting his mouth behind his graying beard.

As those in the hall roared their approval once more, Jerome carefully lifted the two seals. Just as he dropped them into his pouch and secured the fastening, Elaine was suddenly at the table. Her tears were gone, replaces with a radiant smile.

“What a moment,” she said, her eyes shyly darting to his before returning to her family. “And what an honor to witness it.”

“We are entering a new stage of warfare,” Finn replied, ever serious.

“Aye,” Jerome replied. “One in which the weapons are no longer blades and pikes but ink and parchment.”

Finn eyed him with guarded calculation. “From what I hear of yer time serving the Munro Laird, ye’ve done yer share of fighting, man.”

“Sometimes honor and loyalty demand it,” Jerome said carefully. He’d heard rumors of just how distrustful Finn Sutherland was. The man was clearly testing Jerome, but whether it was because whispers about Jerome’s past had reached him or simply because he was a Munro, Jerome couldn’t be sure.

Finn tilted his head toward Jerome, but his eyes still probed. “We need men committed to honor and loyalty at the heart of the cause.”

Such words seemed to be the closest thing to acceptance he’d get from the stoic, wary Highlander, so Jerome let them stand with naught more than a nod.

He felt Elaine’s curious, intent gaze on him, but just as he turned to her, Lady Rosamond rose with some effort from the bench.

“Come, enough of this serious talk,” she said, smiling warmly. “This is a joyous occasion—let us celebrate.”

Finn smoothed his hard features and gave his wife a bow. “As my lady requests, so it shall be.”