The Highlander’s Angel Read online

  The Highlander’s Angel

  Caroline Lee

  About this book

  Three beautiful agents for the crown, three prime suspects, and one sinister plot to destroy a fledgling kingdom... Meet the Queen's Angels!

  When Robert the Bruce's queen formed the Angels, an elite group of spies masquerading as her ladies-in-waiting, she probably didn't imagine they'd be called on to save her life. But that's what happens when Queen Elizabeth is entertaining the Fraser delegation.

  Luckily, her lady Courtney is deadly with a bow, and recognizes the assassin. Court's history with the band of thieves and murderers who raised her means she has a very different skill set than most women in the queen's retinue, and she's not afraid to employ it. But she is used to working alone, and the idea of being saddled with an unwanted partner--particularly when that man is gorgeous, dangerous, and a prime suspect--is galling.

  Ross Fraser, the queen's longtime bodyguard, can't believe one of his kinsmen could be involved in this treacherous plot. He'll do everything in his power to prove his clan is innocent of treason, even if it means partnering with a testy and deadly thief-turned-spy... One who holds his heart after that single night they spent together years ago.

  Ross must choose between his loyalty to his laird and his loyalty to his heart, as Court's reuniting with her "family" makes her question everything she thought she understood. When metal hits meat, can this unlikely duo learn to trust each other, or will the plot to bring down the Scottish monarchy succeed?

  Warning: Contains a bad@ss heroine, an adorable sheepdog with more hair than sense, and some super-steamy scenes.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Other Books by Caroline Lee

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  AUTHOR’S NOTE on historical accuracy

  The Laird’s Angel excerpt

  Other Books by Caroline Lee

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2020, Caroline Lee

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  First edition: 2020

  This work is made available in e-book format by Amazon Kindle at www.amazon.com

  Printing/manufacturing information for this book may be found on the last page

  Cover: EDHGraphics

  Other Books by Caroline Lee

  Steamy Scottish Historicals:

  The Sinclair Hound

  The MacKenzie Regent

  The Sutherland Devil

  The MacLeod Pirate

  Sensual Historical Westerns:

  Black Aces (3 books)

  Sunset Valley (3 books)

  Everland Ever After (10 books)

  The Sweet Chyenne Quartet (6 books)

  Sweet Contemporary Westerns

  Quinn Valley Ranch (5 books)

  River’s End Ranch (13 books)

  Click here to find a complete list of Caroline’s books.

  Sign up for Caroline’s Newsletter to receive exclusive content and freebies, as well as first dibs on her books! Or if newsletters aren’t your thing, follow her on Bookbub for a quick, concise new release alert every time she publishes a book!

  Prologue

  When the giggling started, Courtney rolled her eyes.

  She trusted Melisandre—and Court didn’t trust easily—but sometimes her friend’s methods were a little…unorthodox. Of course, that’s likely why they worked.

  From her spot in the shadows along the back wall of the tavern, Court watched Mellie shift her position on the Grant warrior’s lap. He was big and brawny, and in possession of information they needed.

  Which is why Mellie was employing her particularly bold brand of interrogation.

  “Have ye met the Fraser? Personal-like, I mean?” Mellie tittered, twisting to throw one arm around the man’s shoulders. “ ’Tis said he’s handsome.”

  As she likely intended, the man’s attention was caught by her low-cut bodice. It was a disguise Mellie had worn before—with great success—but it appeared as if she’d un-laced it a bit further than usual tonight.

  The Grant’s face was only inches from her breasts, yet he leaned his nose even closer.

  Was he sniffing her?

  Court shifted her weight forward and tightened her hold on the bowstring, ready to whip the weapon up if needed.

  She kens what she’s doing. Stand down.

  Court swallowed, the reminder necessary to keep her from charging in to save her friend and teammate. Mellie’s methods worked, even if they were hard to watch.

  A hungry-sounding growl came from the warrior’s throat as he bent even closer to all that skin Mellie had on display. “Why d’ye care about that arse? I’ve got all the weapon ye need, lass.”

  Mellie giggled again—God help them all—and began to play with the hair at the man’s neck. “I just thought, since ye kenned so much, ye might have met him.” She shrugged nonchalantly, which caused her breasts to wriggle enticingly, and the Grant for certes noticed. “Is it true he’s following in his da’s footsteps? Because I only play with men who support the Bruce.”

  Holding her breath, Court leaned forward, intent on the man’s answer. Mellie’s question had been innocuous enough, especially playing the possibility of a tumble against a mythical rival, but would it work?

  The man wrapped one beefy arm around Mellie’s waist, pulling her against him, and lowered his lips to the skin falling out of her bodice. “Then ye don’ have to worry about the Fraser, luv, he’s…”

  Whatever else he said was muffled as he burrowed his face into Mellie’s cleavage.

  In frustration, Court eased from the shadows, hoping the man’s companions wouldn’t notice or care about her. With the small bow held low, and her hair in a simple braid, she blended with the few other women in the tavern. Exchanging her customary trewes for a simple skirt, she was hopeful a watcher might mistake her for a serving wench.

  It didn’t work—she was still too far away to hear whatever the Grant was murmuring against her friend’s skin. Mellie was making cooing noises and squirming convincingly, but if he’d given her the answer they suspected—that Fraser was a traitor, like his father—then she needed to extricate herself from the situation.

  The Queen needed this information before her meeting with the Fraser delegation tomorrow.

  Court glanced sideways to where the third member of their team was doing a convincing job of feigning sleep. Rosalind was dressed in a nun’s habit; with the empty flagon in front of her, and her chin tucked low to her chest like that, everyone was respecting the “sister’s” right to a wee nap. But Court knew her ears were trained on the conversation, and her sharp mind already working through the implications of the Grant’s claim.

  When Mellie gasped, Court’s eyes darted back to her friend.

  “Ow!” Mellie playfully swatted at the man’s head as she pulled away. “A lady doesnae like to be bitten, sir!”

  Her tone was still light, but Court could tell something had changed.

  “Ye’re nae lady, anymore th
an I’m a sir, and ye ken it, wench.”

  When the man lowered his head to her skin once more, Mellie squirmed back even farther, dropping her hand to his shoulder.

  “I donae want ye to do that,” she said, in a suddenly serious tone, “and I expect ye to respect my limits.”

  The man’s arm was still around her, but his other hand rose to squeeze her breast. “Respect? Ha!”

  Court could tell from the flicker of Mellie’s eyes that it hurt, even if she didn’t say so, and began easing toward the pair.

  “Let go of me,” Mellie said firmly.

  The words weren’t a request, but a warning, and when she shifted her grip to the sensitive spot between the man’s shoulder and neck, Court knew Mellie had had enough.

  When the man didn’t heed her warning and release her, Mellie squeezed.

  He jerked with a yelp, the arm around her going slack. But at the same time, he pulled her closer by his grip on her breast, causing her to hiss in pain.

  Then Court was there, and without losing her left-handed grip on her short bow and nocked arrow, pulled another from the quiver at her hip and gripped it right below the point.

  As Mellie dug her fingers into the man’s neck, Court jabbed the arrowhead up under his chin, the point not-quite penetrating the skin.

  “Release her,” Court snarled into the man’s ear.

  That was all she needed to say. Mayhap it was her tone, or mayhap the man thought her weapon a longer blade. She didn’t see his expression, but Mellie jumped up from his lap.

  “Thank ye, luv,” she said with a wink, reaching down to pat the man’s cheek. “If ye learned to respect a lady, she might treat ye like a sir, if ye ken my meaning.”

  “Mellie,” Court growled in warning.

  Her friend merely smiled at her, then whirled out of the man’s reach as she laced up her bodice. As Court hustled her friend toward the kitchen, she nudged Rosalind with her foot.

  “Time to go, Sister.”

  “So I see,” the younger woman murmured, as she jumped to her feet and slid from behind her table. “I was just contemplating sin and eternity, ye ken.”

  “Ye looked as if ye were contemplating the inside of that ale flagon,” Mellie teased.

  As Court slipped the extra arrow back into the quiver, and turned to cover their retreat, she heard Rosalind hum in agreement.

  “That too.”

  “Next time, I’ll let ye seduce the mark, Rosalind.”

  “Bless ye, my daughter.”

  The sound of Mellie’s laughter accompanied them through the rear of the tavern and out into an alley, which reeked of mud and piss.

  As always, her partners’ laughter wrapped around Court’s heart, making the weight of the mission seem not quite as heavy. She’d been with these two women, her best friends, for close to five years now…and she’d do anything and everything to keep them safe.

  Which is why, as they sidled through the fetid alley between the tavern and a chandler’s shop, Court kept an arrow nocked, and her eyes open for danger. “Rosalind,” she hissed over her shoulder, “ye slip out and fetch the horses.” Their youngest team member’s disguise would serve best for that task.

  But it was Mellie who answered. “Too late.”

  The warning in her tone had Court whirling around in time to see Mellie’s “sir,” the Grant warrior, step from the tavern with two of his friends.

  She already had a nocked arrow, so it was just a simple matter of wrapping the forefinger of her gloved left hand around it to keep tension on the bowstring, as she dropped her right hand to her quiver.

  Court grasped two shafts by the nocks above the fletching, tucking them into her knuckles, so when she swung her hand around, they protruded point-first from the outside of her fist.

  From the corner of her eye, Court watched Mellie pull her long dirk from its sheath on her calf and step in front of Rosalind.

  Good.

  Dear Rosalind’s mind was their team’s most precious weapon, and Court and Mellie would use their more conventional weapons to protect it at all cost.

  “There they are!” The Grant gestured to his friends to start forward. “The golden-haired one is mine.”

  “I was never yers,” Mellie called out, as the three women began to back up.

  One of the other Grants drew his sword, and the third, the one to her left, leered at Courtney. Carefully, deliberately, she moved her right foot backward, making sure her footing was solid, before committing to the step. As her friends and teammates retreated beside her, she took another cautious step.

  “Well, Angels?” she murmured, wanting their input before she made a decision.

  Rosalind immediately answered. “We don’ have time for a fight, Court. The Queen’s meeting with the Fraser delegation is tomorrow morn.”

  “And I don’ particularly want to get close to that man again,” Mellie said lightly, her tone belying the seriousness of the situation.

  The two women shuffled backward toward the front of the alley.

  “Take them down, Lady Ranged-Weapon,” Rosalind teased.

  Court grunted an acknowledgment and stopped her retreat. She planted her feet and lifted her chin. “Ye have a chance to turn around and forget ye ever saw us,” she called, knowing the men wouldn’t take her up on her wise suggestion. “Nae one needs to ken we were all here.”

  “I’ll take ye down first, ye bitch,” the one on the left called out.

  Court shrugged. “Aye, fair enough,” she murmured, just as she loosed her first arrow.

  She had no intention of killing the man; she just wanted to make it impossible for him to follow. So when the arrow found its target in the Grant’s knee, he went down with a pained grunt.

  Years ago, Cam had taught her to hold her arrows this way: the second and third clenched upside down by the fletching. With minimal movements, she had the second arrow nocked against the bowstring and was pulling back with the same knuckle.

  Her targets were moving ever closer, running now, and she had no need to pull hard; distance and speed weren’t an issue at this proximity.

  Accuracy was.

  The second and third arrows found their marks in the knees of the other two warriors, and the second man actually screamed as he fell to the ground. They’d likely be able to walk again, but not for a while.

  Whirling, Court found her friends watching the mouth of the alley for anyone who might’ve heard the disturbance. The Grant who had been after Mellie had begun to bellow and curse, and Court knew it was only a matter of time before someone came to investigate.

  “Rosalind?” she prompted with a nod.

  “Horses. On it,” the younger woman called, as she slipped out to the main street.

  “Bless ye, Sister.”

  Rosalind made a rude—and very un-nun-like—gesture over her shoulder as she hurried for the stables. With a chuckle, Mellie and Court followed at a more leisurely pace, knowing three running women would attract more attention than a single harried nun.

  Court tucked her bow against the side of her leg, hoping the skirts of her drab kirtle would hide it. Mellie tucked herself up next to Court, her own skirts adding to the weapon’s disguise.

  “What do ye think?” Mellie asked in a low voice, her eyes scanning the surrounding buildings for signs of pursuit.

  Court was doing the same, her knuckles white around her bow, wishing she could carry it openly. “What did he say about the Frasers? I thought I heard him say the laird wasnae loyal to the Bruce, but it was hard to hear with his face in yer tits like that.”

  Mellie snorted softly and bumped her hip against Court’s in a playful move, which pushed the quiver deeper into their skirts. “Mayhap ye should try it sometime, luv.”

  “Having a man’s face in my tits? Too distracting.”

  “Aye, it can be,” Mellie agreed. “In all the best ways.”

  “What did he say?”

  Mellie tsked. “Ye’re a real grump sometimes, ye ken?”
<
br />   “Aye,” Court growled, her attention on the tavern they were passing, searching for dangers amid the shadows the torch out front couldn’t penetrate. “What did the Grant say about the Frasers?”

  “Just what ye heard: the laird followed in his da’s footsteps and is a traitor to the crown.”

  Stifling a groan, Court shook her head. “Queen Elizabeth willnae like to hear that. No’ with Robert dealing with the aftermath of Faughart in Ireland, and her being diplomatic all alone.”

  Ahead, Rosalind stepped into the road, tugging the reins of three horses. Her wimple hid her hair as well as the dark habit hid the rest of her, so all that showed was a circle of dark skin as she turned her worried gaze their way.

  “Well then,” Mellie said, picking up her pace and tugging Court along with her. “We need to reach Scone by daybreak.”

  It was possible the entire fate of Scotland depended on it.

  Chapter 1

  They were going to arrive too late.

  Rosalind knew the Queen’s schedule, and it was she who urged the three of them to faster speeds throughout the night. They arrived at the castle just in time to hand over their near-collapsed horses to the stablemaster, then rush toward the throne room.

  Though Queen Elizabeth preferred to receive visitors in her more informal solar, this morning’s delegation was different.

  The Fraser laird’s visit was a deliberate political move, designed to show his support of the Bruce name and rule, and as such, he would arrive with all the pomp such an event warranted.