The Highlander’s Angel Read online

  Only Court and her team knew his visit was a lie.

  They ran, their skirts held above their knees, desperate to get to the throne room in time to hear what was said. Court cursed their lateness; it would’ve behooved the Queen to hear their report before the laird’s arrival. As it was, Her Majesty would be going into this meeting blind, believing the Frasers were still loyal.

  It wasn’t until they hit the public halls that they slowed to a sedate pace, knowing eyes were upon them.

  “What’s the plan?” Rosalind was breathing heavily, but her eyes were bright with anticipation. “I want to hear what’s being said in there.”

  “We need ye hearing what’s being said. Her Majesty will demand yer observations after, ye ken,” Mellie reminded in a low voice. As they passed a pair of scribes, she smiled and nodded politely.

  When the two men slowed and frowned at the trio—likely to reprimand their unladylike haste—Court scowled and shooed them on their way.

  They were Angels; the Queen’s ladies. And more than just ladies-in-waiting, they were her agents. Her Majesty had pulled them all into her confidence years before, and most of her court knew they—and the others like them—were special.

  Courtney would do anything for the Queen, and the woman knew it. That’s why she’d pulled Court from that gaol, after all.

  Mayhap the men had finally recognized them, because one clucked his tongue to the other, then they both lifted their noses in the air, before hurrying away.

  “Prigs,” Mellie muttered under her breath.

  “Court?” Rosalind prompted, reminding them her mind was on their mission, as theirs should be.

  Court nodded as they rounded the corner, to find the doors to the large throne room already closed. “Aye, Mellie’s right.”

  “They’re prigs?”

  A reluctant smile tugged at Court’s lips at the younger woman’s teasing tone. “About that too, I suspect. But she’s also right about ye needing to be in there.”

  As they reached the doors and stopped to catch their breaths, Mellie ran a hand down her bodice to check to see she was laced correctly. “I usually am right, ye ken. ‘Tis good of ye to notice.”

  Court ignored her. “Ye’ll stand out dressed like that.” They were all still in their disguises from the night before, although Court had a better chance of blending in than in her usual trewes. “Stay in back of the rest of the ladies, aright?”

  Rosalind was shaking her head, even as she tucked her hair up under her coif and made sure her wimple was pinned correctly. “Like this, I can get closer.”

  Court frowned as she examined her friend. After a moment, she nodded slowly. “Aye, keep yer face down as much as possible, but I think ye’ll be able to get closer than Mellie.” She shot the third Angel a glance. “Donae allow her to get too far away. If Fraser tries something…”

  Mellie nodded, her expression unusually serious. “We’ll be there. And ye?”

  Glancing down at herself, Court hesitated. She still carried her bow—she preferred not to be without it—and as such, was rarely at the Queen’s side. Not only would it raise suspicions, and more than a few eyebrows, it made her less useful. Usually, when the Queen entertained, Court contented herself to watching for danger from afar.

  She blew out a breath. “With all this mud, I might no’ even be able to pass as a servant. But I can guard the doors.”

  Mellie grasped her forearm. “We might have need of yer bow.”

  Rosalind nodded and placed her own hand atop Mellie’s arm. “Give us a moment to get into place, then sneak in. I’ll want all our eyes on Queen Elizabeth.”

  Aye, they were right. With a nod, Court grasped Rosalind’s arm with her gloved hand, so now all three were clutching the others’ forearms in an unbroken circle. They were one team, and after working together for so long, understood how the others thought.

  They were better together.

  They were… “Angels.”

  Mellie and Rosalind repeated the word with determined nods, then the three of them broke apart.

  Watching her two friends slip through the great doors to the throne room, Court said a silent prayer. It was possible all this worrying of theirs was unnecessary; Laird Lachlan Fraser was unlikely to order any action against the royal family while he was in their presence. But it rankled Court she and her team hadn’t been able to deliver the news to the Queen faster.

  Carefully, she eased the door shut behind the two of them, knowing, dressed as she was, she’d need to sneak in another entrance. Her gloved hand tightened around the shaft of her bow, hoping it wouldn’t be needed.

  She was just turning down the hall, her attention locked on one of the servant doors, when she heard the noises behind her. It was a combination of odd sounds; the boots slapping against the floor and the labored breathing she recognized as a man running, but what the hell was that soft, heavy, damp sound?

  As she twisted into a crouch, something barreled into her from the side, and her bow went flying. She went down in a flurry of shirts, cursing, and—fur?

  The animal—and surely it was a large one—had planted its feet on her shoulders, pressing her face-down into the polished floor of the palace’s hallway.

  Court stiffened as something loud and wet snuffled close to her right ear.

  Her hands were pinned under her, so she tried to leverage herself upward using her stomach muscles and forearms. The animal shifted its weight, forcing her back down again and—

  Was that a growl?

  Did the damn thing just growl at her?

  What was this thing? A bear?

  When had her enemies begun training bears to fight their battles?

  From what sounded a fair distance away, she heard a man calling, “Honor! Honor!” and whispered her own curse.

  Honor?

  The man was…what?

  Calling in a debt of honor? Claiming killing her would be an honor?

  To hell with that!

  Only a few moments had passed—Mellie and Rosalind likely weren’t even to the Queen’s side yet—but Court knew every second counted. She’d not let some cowardly assassin use an animal, no matter how large and heavy and—

  Blessed Virgin! Was that drool?

  With a grunt, she forced her right hand out from underneath her, and the animal’s weight shifted again to pin her shoulder. She wouldn’t be able to push it off, but if she could just reach a blade…

  Her fingers brushed against the underside of her quiver, and she likely bruised her knuckles as she twisted awkwardly to reach the knife hidden in the leather lining. It wasn’t as long as the one strapped to the back of her belt, but the animal had made reaching that one impossible.

  This one, however…

  She exhaled softly as she slipped in from its sheath. With one swipe, even from an arm bent awkwardly such as hers was, she should be able to get the animal’s attention at least. It wouldn’t hurt the beast much, but mayhap a prick at one of those massive paws would cause it to rear back, just long enough for her to scramble upright and assess the situation.

  Court cleared her mind, preparing for her attack…and heard the man’s voice again.

  “Honor! Damnation, Honor, ye have the manners of a goat!”

  And that’s when the thing above her—the noisy, wet, panting beast—gave a gentle woof and pushed itself off her.

  Quick as a blink, Courtney rolled to one side and planted her feet under her. Her gloved hand balanced against the floor as she held the knife at the ready with her other, then lunged toward her attacker, but was jerked to a stop when a masculine hand wrapped around her wrist, pinning it to her side, even as the man’s other forearm rose to block her secondary strike.

  That’s when her mind caught up to her eyes, and she sucked in a breath.

  Ross Fraser.

  Deep green eyes widened with surprise, and she knew the exact moment he recognized her, because his lips—those horrible, gorgeous, full lips—twitched upward at one co
rner.

  God help her, but she’d always been more than a little smitten with those lips.

  Ross Fraser, the man who’d once guarded the Queen as fervently as Court herself did. He’d returned to his clan two years ago to help the new laird transition to his position, but Court hadn’t forgotten him.

  Or the one night they’d spent together.

  “Courtney,” he drawled, in that teasing way of his, even as he loosened his hold on her wrist.

  Scowling, she jerked her arm free and made a production of re-sheathing her blade, even though she wasn’t certain the danger was past.

  “When I saw my little pet take down a person, I assumed ‘twas a guard. Then I got closer and saw yer skirts, and I worried ‘twas a serving wench. Now, I see ‘tis both.”

  Court snapped her frown back to his face, only to see the teasing light in those mesmerizing eyes of his. “What?”

  Damn him, she thought, as his smirk transformed into a full grin. “Only that ye’re dressed as a wench, Court, but any fool can see ye’re a guard.”

  She blew out a frustrated breath, even as she bent to retrieve her bow. “I meant, what in damnation do ye mean, yer little pet?”

  “Ah.” With a chuckle, he moved to one side, enough so she could see the beast behind him.

  It was a…dog?

  When it sat thus, on its haunches, its head reached past her waist, and she was no small woman.

  It was huge, aye, but how much of that was hair?

  Its fur was shaggy, and Court wondered how the poor beast could even see, with so much fur covering its eyes.

  As she watched, the thing cocked its head to one side and let out an inquisitive little woof, much like it had when it’d been drooling in her ear.

  Aye, a dog.

  “This is Honor,” Fraser said proudly. “Honor, meet Courtney. Court, meet Honor.” He paused, then added helpfully, “He’s a dog.”

  “I ken he’s a dog,” she snapped, then turned her scowl to the man. “I donae like dogs.”

  “As I recall, ye donae like much of anything.”

  That wasn’t true. She liked warm brown bread with butter, and cold nights in front of a fire, and listening to harp music. She loved the Queen for giving her all those things, not to mention, a second chance at life. Though she would give up that life, and everything she adored, for the other Angels.

  But she didn’t like him.

  Or rather, she had liked him once, a bit too much.

  The memory of Mellie’s teasing last night, about having a man’s face in her cleavage, caused Court to flush slightly. She’d been with other men, before and after Fraser, but he was the only one she hadn’t minded being a distraction to her.

  But it hadn’t taken long before she realized just how dangerous such a distraction could be, and had been thankful when he’d been called home. “What in damnation are ye doing here?”

  Fraser crossed his arms in front of his chest, and Court hated the way her gaze dropped to those arms. He was the heaviest-muscled man she’d ever met and had to admit it was what had drawn her to him in the first place. At her height, she appreciated a man who could make her feel small, and Fraser was definitely that man.

  The fact he was gorgeous was merely a bonus.

  When he cleared his throat, her gaze snapped up to his. And damn him again, but he was smirking at her. Of course, smirking seemed to be the man’s default state of being, but now she could see the amused glint in those deep green eyes as well.

  Her mind seemed mired in mud as she tried to remember what the hell she’d asked him.

  Why was he laughing at her?

  Oh.

  She rolled her eyes. “Ye’re here with the Fraser delegation, are ye no’?”

  His single nod in response was only a little mocking.

  Is yer laird a traitor?

  She wanted to snap the question, but didn’t. First of all, their one night of shared history wouldn’t make him loyal to her, any more than it made her loyal to him. And secondly, she couldn’t afford to hint their suspicions to a possible enemy.

  Even if her fingers itched to play with that auburn hair.

  Her knuckles tightened around the bow in her left hand, although she doubted he could tell through her ubiquitous glove.

  If Laird Fraser is plotting against the Queen, then his kinsmen are all suspect as well. Ross Fraser once gave his loyalty to Elizabeth, but no longer.

  He’d been a member of the elite group of guardsmen Liam Bruce, the King’s cousin, had put together. All of them had sworn to protect Elizabeth with their life, and had stood between her and danger more than once. In fact, the scar Fraser now sported along his right bicep came from the pirate attack where Elizabeth and Charlotte Bruce met—

  Eyes up top, Court!

  Chagrined to catch herself admiring the man’s arms again, she snapped her attention back to his face. To her surprise, he was no longer smirking, but watching her with concern.

  “What is it, Court?” he asked softly.

  So softly, she wanted to tell him.

  Damnation!

  “I have to go,” she barked instead. “My team needs me.”

  It was the truth, and Fraser had once been at the Queen’s side enough to understand the bond the Angels shared. He nodded slowly.

  “They’re inside? With my laird?” He jerked his chin toward the beast now watching both of them, its tongue dangling happily. “I had to attend to Honor, but told Lachlan I’d join them as soon as possible.”

  Court leaned to one side to see around him and eye the beast more clearly. It turned its attention to her, and she could swear she saw the thing smile.

  “Honor? Yer laird doesnae mind ye playing with a—a—”

  “Dog,” Fraser supplied helpfully.

  “With a dog? Instead of attending him?”

  He shrugged, his smirk back in place. “Nay, why would he? He gave me the dog after all. Named him too.”

  His laird had named the dog Honor?

  And had given it to his loyal man?

  Court shook her head slightly, then scrubbed her free hand down her face. She was tired. Surely that was why she couldn’t get her mind to work properly.

  The Fraser laird had named his warrior’s dog Honor, then had arrived to pledge loyalty to the Queen…all the while planning to betray the monarchy as his father had done?

  His actions seemed to contradict one another.

  She sighed. Rosalind would be able to figure it out, Court was certain.

  “I have to…” She shook her head, knowing she was repeating herself. Blessed Virgin, she needed to sleep.

  Mayhap he could sense that, because he nodded gently. “Aye, I ken. Let us find an entrance then, eh?”

  It felt odd to be leading him as they followed the hall to an alcove, and there to a side door to the large chamber. Not because she wasn’t used to leading, but because she hated the idea of an enemy at her back.

  But he wasn’t an enemy, was he?

  He’d been loyal to Elizabeth once—and Liam and the rest of the guardsmen—for so long, surely he wouldn’t betray them all now, just because his laird demanded it?

  Or had his laird demanded it at all?

  She blew out a breath, then pushed the door open, just enough to slip through, and forced herself to focus on what was in front of her, rather than behind.

  And Ross Fraser was behind her, in more ways than one.

  She slipped along the wall until she stood apart from the small crowd watching the dais. From here, she could keep her eyes on both the Queen and the Highland delegation, as well as on Ross Fraser and that massive beast of his.

  A dog?

  She sniffed and watched the thing pad beside its master, then settle on its haunches as Fraser crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. If that beast was a dog, its mother had mated with a Highland cow. Or possibly a bear.

  And damn her, but she felt a smile tugging at her lips as Fraser clucked his tongue quietly at t
he thing. Fighting down the impulse to continue watching them, she shook her head and turned back to the dais.

  The Queen was looking just as regal as she’d been five years ago, when she herself had pulled Court from that dank condemned cell. Elizabeth was in her mid-thirties, and the years had been kind. The luster of her dark hair had faded somewhat, but age hadn’t lightened it yet. Her eyes were still sharp with intelligence and wit, and Court knew the woman was analyzing everything as it occurred.

  Thankfully, Rosalind had managed to approach near enough to be useful. The youngest Angel, still in her holy sister’s disguise, stood near the throne, her head bowed and hands tucked into her wide sleeves.

  That’s where she’s hiding her blade.

  The reminder set Court’s mind at ease, and she was able to scan the rest of those present, looking for threats.

  There was a group of men in matching plaid standing in front of the dais. The Fraser stood with his fist pressed against his heart and his head bowed, speaking low and fervently. The white-haired man to his side nodded in approval, but with their backs to her, that was all Court could see.

  She hoped Rosalind and Mellie—who was now visible and was tucked behind three more of Elizabeth’s ladies—were hearing more.

  Court’s gaze lingered on those ladies, trying to recall their names. Her team, unusual as they were, had kept themselves apart over the years. They’d watched Elizabeth’s ladies come and go, and even now, Courtney wasn’t sure if there were other teams like hers.

  Other Angels.

  Suddenly, Rosalind’s head snapped up.

  Mellie reacted instantly, moving among the gathered crowd to reach the disguised nun. And Court, in the rear of the expansive room, could do naught but pull an arrow from her quiver and nock it. She didn’t raise the weapon yet, knowing once she did, a guard would see it and pandemonium would break loose.

  There was no way she’d be able to see the threat Rosalind had detected, not from where she stood. So Court kept her attention on her teammates and willed them to show her where she was needed.

  And they did.

  Rosalind was watching one man in particular, and Court followed her gaze to see a bearded Fraser retainer frowning at one of the servants. The man was dressed in royal livery and carried a tray with small cups. He moved among Elizabeth’s ladies, offering them refreshments.