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They strode into the castle through the front double doors, the crowd of courtiers expounding loudly for those who hadn’t seen.
“We could have all been set aflame.”
“Barbaric custom that tests courage.”
“Complete foolishness.”
When Lucy had handed him the fireballs, he’d hoped to teach them about one of Scotland’s unique customs.Mo chreach. They would only remember the danger to their queen.
“You were so brave.”
Greer looked down to see one of Elizabeth’s ladies pouting up at him. As he met her gaze, she smiled. “I can tend your burns, Highlander.”
“Thank you, Lady Bixby,” Lucy said. “Master Buchanan is being tended by Master Darby.”
The woman’s gaze did not shift away from Greer’s, and her smile turned into an open invitation to her bed. “I am sure I could tend to his pains better than Master Darby.”
Lucy snorted softly. “Licking them will do nothing but make them fester.”
“Perhaps,” Anne Bixby said. “But he will fester while feeling no pain.”
“To my laboratory,” Reginald said, beckoning him to follow.
“Thank ye, lass, but pain lets a man know he’s still alive.” He nodded to her, and Anne Bixby smiled.
“Pish,” Lucy said, walking beside him.
Behind him, Anne whispered. “He called me ‘lass’ like I was his lover. We would do well together.”
“If you ever made it out of bed,” another woman said.
Lucy snorted again, apparently having heard. They walked side by side toward the glow of Reginald’s candle up ahead. Was she jealous? The idea drew his attention from his burns. He leaned toward the shadow of Lucy’s ear, pausing slightly. “Doing well together is nothing compared to being magnificent together.”
He watched her profile as she stared straight ahead. A mischievous smile blossomed. “Perhaps two nights would be best,” she whispered. She turned her face to him. Shadows and the golden glow of a lit sconce cut along her lovely features. “In order to make sure you suffer no pain.”
*
“Trust me,” Lucywhispered, pulling Greer’s arm to get him to follow her toward the kitchens. It was late, after everyone had finished their guarded meals, sweetmeats, and wine. Dancing and games, with just the courtiers this night, had dragged on until Lucy thought she would scream.
“Jam, ye say? How do ye know ’tis free of poison?” he asked.
“I made the jam myself, four months ago. The crocks are sealed and in the storeroom beside the hearths. I will know if they’ve been tampered with.” She glanced back at him, her heart beating faster. “’Tis delicious jam, strawberry.” She said the words with heat like Anne Bixby’s suggestive comment.
“I do love strawberry,” Greer murmured, sending lightning through Lucy. Her heart pattered, and the ache below intensified.
She took his hand, which was bandaged around the palm, leaving his fingers thankfully free of burns. She’d left her gloves off, and his skin was warm. They moved on silent feet across the dark kitchen, the glowing coals in the three large hearths making the room warm. No food sat out, all of it being accounted for and locked away for safe keeping against poisoners.
They wove between the broad tables set about as workstations to the storeroom door. Lucy brandished her taper before her and pushed into the windowless room that smelled of fall apples. Crates of the hardy fruit sat in the coolness, and shelves ran the length of each wall. Lucy let go of Greer’s hand and bent to the lowest shelf in the back corner where her labeled clay pots sat. The wax seal on the one she pulled was perfectly intact. Not that anyone would try to poison her anyway. She wasn’t important enough to be a target.
She turned to see Greer’s broad back as he lit a sconce near the door. Her stomach squeezed in a giddy pinch. A second amazing tryst with him would surely help when he left her to return to his mother and young king in Scotland. The thought of him leaving pressed against her heart.
As if feeling her gaze, he stretched his arms over his head to rest on the low timbers holding up the ceiling. The press of his muscles against the white linen tunic made her mouth go dry, and she wet her lips. He turned around, and she walked forward, the undone jam in her hand. Did Greer throb as much as she?
“Ye found your jam, lass,” he said, his voice like a sweep of velvet against her skin.
“Yes,” she said, holding the cool clay pot in one hand. She sunk her finger into it, feeling the cold, sweet jam. Pulling it out slowly, she held it to his lips. “Taste.”
Without hesitation, Greer’s warm mouth came down on her finger, his gaze never leaving her. Everything inside Lucy clenched as he sucked along her digit, his clever tongue pulling the sweet from her. A smile softened the serious lines of his face. “Lucy Cranfield, your jam is as delicious as ye.”
