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Chapter 1

Smiling happily down at her lap, Brigit decided she really was quite proud of her tiny penis.

It had taken some skill and imagination to figure out how to tweak the petals of the heather just slightly to appear to be purple-colored genitalia, and she suspected that only someone truly looking closely would be able to identify them for what they were.

If she was going to be forced to live the life of a lady-in-waiting, then by God, she was going to have fun with it! Months from now, when she used this cape as the days turned colder, she'd smirk quietly to herself, knowing what these flowers actually were.

In fact, she smirked quietly to herself now, imagining it. No one guessed that her chemises were decorated with delicate penises, as well as her stockings. ‘Twas a delightful secret.

"What are you smirking about?"

Brigit's head jerked up. "I'm no' smirking!"

"Yes, you are."

This small antechamber was one the Queen herself used when meeting with her ladies…but today ‘twas just two of her Angels; Brigit and the Lady Avaline. Since Avaline hadn't looked up from her own embroidery, Brigit decided Her Majesty was speaking to her.

With a huff, she stabbed her needle into the linen to keep it secured, then tossed it into her lap. "Fine, perhaps I am smirking. "

The Queen, of course, smirked in response. Likely because she'd been right. "Is there a new gentleman in your life?"

"A new ruffian, more likely," snorted Avaline quietly, scarred face still bent over her embroidery. "Brigit's tastes dinnae run toward gentlemen ."

Since ‘twas true, Brigit grinned and stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. "Nae new gentlemen—or ruffians."

The Queen, who seemed a bit desperate for distraction—and she certainly would be, what with the recent news—nodded wisely. "The same old ones, hmm?"

Chuckling as she was expected to chuckle, Brigit reflected on the Queen's speech, and how, even after all these years in Scone, the woman's English tones still shone through. Still, the King had made a fine choice in his spouse, and the marriage had helped to unite Scotland.

Knowing what was expected of her, Brigit said nothing, but dropped one eyelid in an exaggerated wink which caused Her Majesty to chuckle, thank goodness.

"Did you hear that, Avaline?" the Queen mused, pulling another scroll toward her across the small writing desk before her. "You might take a lesson from Brigit."

"A lesson in what, Yer Majesty?" the stately and somber former-novice asked, attention still on her sewing. "Revelry? Debauchery? Sin?"

"Fun, Ava!" burst out Brigit, well used to her partner's morality sermons. " Fun! "

The other woman just hummed. Finally, she lifted her gaze, straightened her shoulders, and turned her embroidery toward the other two women in the room. "We were no' put on this earth for fun ."

Eying her partner's embroidery—it seemed to be a depiction of St. Stephen's martyring, complete with gushes of blood from the arrow wounds and an expression of near-ecstasy on the poor bastard's face—Brigit murmured, "Well, ye werenae."

She glanced down at the tiny penises she'd been working on. Far more interesting, far more fun.

As a general rule, penises were more fun than martyrdom.

Although, in her years working with Avaline, Brigit had learned some very interesting martyrdom stories. Some of which involved penises.

Lady Avaline Klyne had been born to wealth and privilege, a younger daughter of a prominent family. Although her father had secured a marriage contract for her, young Avaline had opted to join the church. With her schooling and devout religious opinions, she would've been perfect as a nun.

But somewhere along the way, she'd been horrible scarred by fire, then wound up as a Queen's Angel. She'd been Brigit's partner all these years. When Isabel had been part of their group, things had been easier, because, as a mother of an Earl, that lady could always make peace between Brigit's coarse ways and Avaline's judgmental nature. But now that Isabel was happily married and settled into her son's estate, Brigit rarely saw her .

Which meant Her Majesty herself was the only one to soothe Avaline's ruffled feathers, or Brigit's constant boredom.

Speaking of boredom, Brigit drew on a recent subject. "Any word on the assassin, Yer Majesty? What direction are the investigations looking?"

A flash of regret crossed the Queen's face, before she sighed and knocked the scroll in her hand against the small desk. "Naught, I am afraid."

"Nae news?" Avaline asked, proving she was paying attention.

"My husband…does not trust easily," the Queen finally said. "With the possibility of his Hunters compromised, he is not certain to whom he should turn."

"No' all of the King's Hunters are under suspicion, Yer Majesty," Avaline reminded her. "Only their leader, Drummond Kennedy."

Brigit winced at the reminder, lifting her embroidery to cover the expression.

The Queen murmured, "Yes, that is the problem."

When Avaline hummed, the Queen continued. "My husband believed he could trust Drummond with his life—with more than his life. As the leader of the King's Hunters, Drummond is trusted as much as I trust you, my Angels. But to think he might be responsible for this attempt on His Majesty's life…"

The Queen shook her head with something that looked like despair, and tossed down the scroll.

Avaline sat on the hard bench with her shoulders as straight as a board, a sympathetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Yer Majesty. That must be a terrible blow. "

"If only we could find evidence exonerating Drummond—"

"Who else could it be, Yer Majesty?" Avaline asked bluntly. "Only those closest to the King kenned how often he traveled that corridor at night. Only one of his personal men could have kenned his route."

The Queen wasn't the only one who sighed in despair.

Brigit lifted her embroidery higher and tried to duck behind it, pretending to focus on the tiny purple penises she was stabbing inefficiently with her needle, hoping it would hide her expression.

She wasn't even certain what her expression was.

Sorrow, certainly, for the King's grief, knowing his trusted friend and advisor had tried to kill him.

Fear, for what Drummond might do next.

And her own heartbreak, knowing her long-time lover was guilty of such a sin.

She would've never guessed Drum capable of such a thing, not the way he always spoke so highly of the King. But as Avaline said…who else was capable?

A fortnight ago, the King had almost been killed by an assassin's trap. Few people knew His Majesty visited the royal nursery every evening he was in the palace; ‘twas better that way, and no one would expect a male monarch to be involved in the lives of his children like that.

But on this night, a tripwire had been set up, with a crossbow tucked into one of the darkened niches along the corridor leading back to his chambers. It had to have been recent, which meant ‘twas someone who had access to the palace, because otherwise a servant would risk triggering it.

As ‘twas, Avaline had almost been skewered herself when she pushed His Majesty out of the way of the bolt. Thank God and all his saints she'd happened to have been passing along the corridor then!

Aye, it had been a sloppy assassination attempt, one which anyone could have triggered, and which had little hope of actually hitting the King. But it had been set up in his home , along a corridor everyone believed to be safe.

The culprit was most definitely someone Their Majesties had trusted, and Drummond Kennedy had access to weaponry, to the palace, and knew the King's schedule.

"But one thing I keep coming back to," murmured the Queen, "is why ? My husband has known Drummond for years, and trusted him almost as long. They have been together for so long, why would Drummond betray him now?"

"Money," answered Avaline immediately. When they turned her way—the Queen interested, Brigit incredulous—the slender woman nodded certainly. "The Hunters have been retiring at alarming rates, aye? Three—nay, four—married in the last year or two? He is losing his men. Perhaps he is thinking of retirement as well, and when one of the King's enemies approached him—"

"Ye think Drummond would kill the King—his friend—for money ?"

It wasn't until the words had blurted from Brigit's lips that she realized she was defending him. When Avaline frowned at her, Brigit flushed, but turned to meet the Queen's conflicted gaze.

"Yer Majesty, ye said yerself Drummond was a trusted advisor and friend of yer husband."

The Englishwoman nodded. "Yes. Was . Something has happened to change that, and I cannot guess what it might be."

"Gold is a reasonable explanation," Avaline pointed out, far too calmly. "He has nae home of his own, aye? He left his clan to follow the King, so nae holding, nae way to retire. If he was offered money to kill His Majesty…"

When she trailed off suggestively, the Queen shook her head and slumped back against her tall chair. "Is it bad that I almost hope that is the case? 'Twould mean it had been someone else's idea to betray my husband, and Drummond was acting on purely selfish motives."

"Ye would prefer the assassin's motives be selfish?" Brigit asked in surprise.

The Queen nodded. "'Twould be better than having to explain to my husband that his oldest friend hates him enough to murder him."

Brigit winced at the word murder .

Had Drummond truly turned on the King? Or had he done it, as Avaline suggested, purely for profit? And would it matter either way?

Ye've been sleeping with a traitor .

Still, of all the people in Scone, Brigit was likely the person who knew Drummond the best, outside of his own men. A year ago, after months of flirting, she allowed him to finally convince her to come to his bed. She hadn't expected anything earth-shattering, but she'd been surprised.

Very surprised.

The man could use his tongue.

And his fingers.

And his cock.

He was, not to be too blunt about it, a fooking amazing lover, one who cared about her pleasure. Often he made certain she found release two or three times before thinking of his own pleasure, and Brigit had never been with a man like him before.

A man who gained pleasure from her pleasure.

But the results were impossible to deny, and she was certain his responses to her own seductions were honest and true.

So, aye, ‘twas heartbreaking to think all these months there'd been something lurking beneath Drummond's surface that she hadn't been able to see. Something dark, something twisted. Anger, bitterness, greed? Why would he turn traitor?

But…

Had he turned traitor ?

The Queen seemed certain he had, but until they could find evidence against him, the King was reluctant to punish the man he'd trusted.

So Brigit had taken it upon herself to find said evidence…and been unlucky so far. Her interlude with Drummond the other evening had felt…wrong. Sullied.

She'd gone to his office—the office of the head of the King's Hunters—looking for evidence, but found a drunk Drummond instead. Thinking she could use his state to pump him for information, she'd been surprised when he seemed to notice the direction of her questions.

He could not know who she really was, who she really worked for.

So she'd distracted him, and it had worked. It always worked.

And the dear man had brought her to climax twice with only his tongue, before falling asleep holding her. She'd stroked his hair as he snored, pillowed on her breasts, and wondered how many other men in the world were caring enough to forego their own pleasure like that.

Or had he suspected her, thanks to her questions, and was trying to waylay suspicion?

But Avaline was right: there were a limited number of people who not only had access to weaponry like that, but knew how to use it. And knew the King's schedule.

It had to be one of the King's Hunters, and Drummond was the only one left in Scone right now.

"My Angels," the Queen began quietly, and Brigit startled, realizing she'd been staring unseeing at her embroidery. "I need you."

Brigit straightened at the same time Avaline lowered her own stitching. Her partner always managed to look calm and composed, and now was no different; Avaline's scars only twitched slightly as she settled her expression into one of slight interest.

The Queen held their gazes, one after the other as she straightened. "My husband has no one to trust at this moment. He has requested help from the guards, but the investigations are turning up naught. He wants me—and by extension you—to find who is responsible for this. He knows I trust my Angels."

As Avaline nodded, Brigit took a deep breath, readying herself for what she had to do. "I'll do it," she announced quietly. "I…ken Drummond. I'll find the evidence we need to execute him."

Just saying the words sent a spike of sorrow and helplessness through her chest, and something must've shown in her eyes or in her voice, because the Queen's voice turned pitying.

"Oh, Brigit. I am sorry."

Avaline, on the other hand, seemed excited. "He's one of yer ruffians? Of course he is—ye always did have a soft spot for a tall, braw warrior with fine forearms."

And one who smiled softly when he was alone, and who cared about his lover's pleasure.

It wasn't enough to base a relationship on, but Brigit would always remember Drummond Kennedy as the man she'd first fallen for.

"Dinnae ye see?" Avaline was still speaking. "Ye can go to his bed, find the evidence we need. Bring it here, and we can tell the King we've found the traitor. Mayhap set a trap. Ye must seduce him, Brigit. ‘Tis the best way to get close to him."

It was the Queen who spoke in her defense. "Let us not whore out our fellow Angels too often, Avaline."

The tall and slender woman rolled her eyes and picked up her embroidery. "Brigit needs none of my help."

It stung more than usual .

Brigit had been on many missions for the Queen with Avaline and Isabel at her side. But since Isabel's retirement, their little trio-turned-duo had been relegated to Her Majesty's side. Brigit missed the excitement of a mission, of trusting her fellow Angels.

In the time since Isabel had left them, Brigit had become bored .

Avaline, as well, had changed. The other woman had always been pious and proper, but now she was at court more often, paying attention to the political intrigues and nuances and who was angling for more power…and she'd become more judgmental.

So Brigit forced herself to tell the truth. "Seducing Drummond willnae be enough. He's let none of his secrets slip—he claims loyalty to the King, and wouldnae tell such things to a mere bedmate."

Avaline snorted as the Queen studied her quietly. Finally she said, "I take it you speak from experience. Fine then. Perhaps…you could offer to help? Do you think you could insinuate yourself into his life outside of the bedroom?"

Slowly, Brigit nodded as she considered. "Aye…I think that could work. But what—?"

"He would want to clear his name, aye?" Avaline offered without looking up. "Offer to help with his investigations. While he thinks he's being clever, ye'll be gathering evidence against him."

If there is evidence against him .

Brigit wasn't certain if she actually believed he might be innocent, or if she just didn't want to think of herself as so easily duped .

The Queen was nodding eagerly. "Bring him the crossbow and bolt!"

Avaline gasped. "‘Tis evidence! I thought ‘twas destroyed?"

"No, my husband would not allow it. Surely Drummond will react to holding the evidence of his crime in his hands, and you can bring us the news of that reaction. It might be all we need to convict him."

Heart aching, Brigit nodded in agreement. It would work. It would be devastating, but it would work. For certes, if she handed Drummond the bolt he'd used to try to kill the King, he would react.

But what if he doesnae? What if he isnae the traitor? He'll be confused .

Well, if he was confused, then she'd be thrilled.

Or he's verra, verra good at playacting .

Brigit hid her sigh, hating arguing with her own subconscious. ‘Twas bad enough arguing with Avaline.

It willnae be the first time ye've had to go deeper undercover to find evidence ye need .

Aye, that was true.

Unlike Avaline or Isabel, Brigit hadn't been born a lady. Her mother had been a palace maid, her father a man-at-arms to the old King. She'd been raised working in the kitchens, then as her skill with coiffures had become known, she'd come to the attention of the Queen.

Her association with royalty had begun slowly; at first, ‘twas her ability to bring Her Majesty the palace gossip which had made her a favorite. Brigit had set out to find out all the best and most interesting gossip, and if that meant sticking her nose where it didn't belong, well then. ‘Twas worth it to gain the praise of the English Queen.

It was only after several years of this that she learned the Queen had her own cadre of agents: spies who worked for her in many capacities.

The Queen's Angels.

Some Angels were proficient in fighting, in battle skills and weaponry.

Some were highly intelligent, who used their wits and wisdom for the sake of a united Scotland.

And some, like Brigit, were known for their skills with people : gossip, flirtation, infiltration. Spying .

She'd been given assignments which took her all over Scotland and twice down into England itself. She'd seen much, but Scone and Edinburgh would always be her home. And most importantly, the Queen trusted her. Trusted her to do what was right, trusted her honor and loyalty…and trusted her to save Scotland.

It was a heavy responsibility, but one Brigit adored.

She would do this. She would find the evidence against Drummond, even if it meant breaking her own heart.

So she took a deep breath and met the Queen's gaze. "I'll no' let ye down, Yer Majesty."

As her Queen nodded, eyes softening slightly, there was a knock at the door.

Brigit reached for a dagger hidden at her waist at the same time she saw Avaline reach for her bodice.

An Angel's reflexes are never dulled.

The Queen only hesitated a moment before calling, "Yes? "

The door swung open to reveal Lawrence, the royal household's seneschal. "Yer Majesty, I have yer afternoon wine."

After waiting for the Queen to nod in welcome, the older man shuffled in, holding the silver tray. Brigit, tucking her blade away once more, jumped to her feet.

"Let me help ye, Larry," she said as she took the heavy tray from him. "For certes, someone of yer stature doesnae need to be lifting and toting." She accompanied the admonishment with a saucy wink, to show she meant no insult.

But the seneschal straightened regally. "I am honored to do it, my lady, and my name is Lawrence ."

"Och, is it?" Brigit said brightly, pouring the wine for the Queen with a cheeky smile. "I'll try to remember that, Larry."

The Queen stifled her own snort of laughter and managed a serene nod to the seneschal. "Thank you, Lawrence. What would we do without you?"

"I'm certain I dinnae ken," he replied stiffly.

"Perhaps I should speak with my husband about a reward for your duties?" the Queen began gently. "A man of your years is surely looking to retire. Perhaps a young wife to keep you occupied?"

While the seneschal's expression had turned acerbic at the mention of retirement, the idea of a young wife caused said expression to melt into contemplation. But all he said was, "I live to serve, Yer Majesty," before bowing his way out.

As the door closed, Brigit's giggles escaped. "He was no' happy at the suggestion of ye giving his power to someone younger, Yer Majesty." She poured herself a glass of the wine as well.

"Yes," she chuckled in response. "But you saw he did not mind the offer of a wife?"

Avaline thrust herself to her feet with a disapproving hum. "Who would marry someone like that?" she snapped as she took the glass from Brigit's hand.

Brigit shrugged good-naturedly and poured herself another. "Someone who saw the benefits of marriage—and the marriage bed—and was looking for a royal reward." She winked at the Queen. "Want me to start asking—discretely—among the chambermaids?"

Her Majesty's eyes twinkled teasingly as she shot a glance at Avaline. "Nay, but thank you. I will put the suggestion to my husband and see if he has another in mind for the seneschal position—it is a heavy responsibility, to be in charge of the royal household. Lawrence deserves a reward."

"A reward better than marriage ," muttered Avaline, plopping herself down.

"Oh, Avaline," the Queen sighed, finally addressing the woman's snark. "Marriage is not the horror you have in your mind. Yes, it is the lot in life of most women, and few are lucky enough to find love within its bounds. But it is a partnership, in the same way you are partnered with your fellow Angels. Having a spouse you can trust and lean on is one of the gifts of life."

Avaline just dropped her gaze to her wine and didn't respond, a sure sign she didn't agree but didn't want to argue with Her Majesty. Brigit, meanwhile, was considering the Queen's words.

A partnership.

Aye, that was what the King and Queen had. ‘Twas what Brigit's own parents had had; a partnership where each trusted the other to do what was right and necessary to care for the family.

But Brigit had never considered that life for herself.

For the one thing, she already had responsibilities and danger as a Queen's Angel…how could she find time for a husband who wasn't already part of that life? And she couldn't imagine limiting herself to only one man for the rest of her life!

But a treasonous little voice in the back of her mind whispered: Ye could if he were like Drummond, and cared about ye .

Well, aye. But Drummond was a traitor, which just proved she was shite at choosing men, right?

The Queen sipped her wine, then hummed in satisfaction. "Sit, Brigit. Let us make plans to trap a traitor."

The reminder fell like a bucket of cold water splashed over her, and Brigit plopped back down onto the bench, cradling the goblet between her palms. The surface of the wine reflected the despair in her eyes.

"Aye, Yer Majesty," she managed. "We'll take down Drummond Kennedy. We'll keep the King safe."

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