Crown Jewels (Off-Limits Romance #1)

“Gael-ish. Because I’m not meaning Gaelic like the language. I mean Gael-ish, like your country. Were you guys ever part of Scotland? You weren’t, were you?”

“No. Gael was settled by the—people you might call the Irish,” he corrects, “in the twelfth century. People living in Gaelic Ireland who fled after the Norman invasion and all that trouble. Technically, there were some Scots here at that time as well.”

I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t remember the historical details of the Norman invasion of Ireland, but Liam goes on.

“King Henry II backed the Anglo-Norman invasion and the battling that went on after. Religious and other reasons. Henry and his crew wanted to control the Irish Church. Also, think of it as empire-building. Why wouldn’t Henry want to add Ireland to his empire?”

“I guess he would.”

“He would,” Liam says. “And Henry had the backing of the Pope. It was a rough time to live in Ireland. The people who set off and wound up here were peaceful.”

“Your ancestors were peaceful?” I tease.

“Some of them. Some not.” Liam stops off to store his bow in a nook inside the castle’s base, then leads me to a side entrance. “What do you think?” he asks as he pushes the door open. “Do you want to stay the night on Pirate Island?”

“That’s the name of it?”

He nods, and as we step inside, a delicious smell fills my head. I’m going to ask if there are pirates, but we’re in the kitchen. Not a dining hall, but the kitchen—same as last night. Only today, it’s bustling with people, including a tall, big-boned, gray-haired woman who marches right up to Liam and me with a ladle in her hand, looking at me first, and then Liam.

“So here she is, the reason our vacation was cut short.”

My mouth drops open, and Liam reaches out and slaps the woman in the arm. “Mora.” He laughs. “She’s joking, Lucy. Mora, go back to your stew.”

“Is that an order, little king?”

“It’s an order, big Mora.”

It’s a struggle to keep my mouth from hanging open.

“Big and beautiful,” the woman smiles.

“Of course,” Liam says. He looks to me, as Mora steps back toward the stove, where three are three simmering pots. I watch her give orders to a few other people in the kitchen as Liam turns to me. “Mora is like a mother to me, if you couldn’t tell.”

“How old is she?”

“Fifty last month. My mother hired her when she was much younger. We’ve never let her go. She’s trained all over the world at this point. One of the best chefs anywhere.”

“God, the smell.”

“It’s a twist on Irish Beef stew, but Mora adds cheese.”

“God. I love cheese.”

Liam grins. His arm goes around me, and he leads me past the bar area where we sat last night. Today, two youngish looking guys are chopping veggies there. A blonde girl who looks a little younger than us is telling them an animated story while she works what looks like dough.

“Hello, Liam,” she says as we pass. Her eyes jerk to me. “You’re the girl from telly. Rhodes of Concord,” she says in what I realize is an English accent.

I nod.

“Just Lucy while she’s here, Beth.”

“Right.” The girl nods, then gives me a wink. “Don’t worry. Liam will have my head if I violate the NDA. Says so right there in the contract.”

Liam snorts. “Beth is a bit dramatic, if you couldn’t tell.”

She flings her arms out. “I’m exciting. Unlike Liam.”

He shakes his head, and we walk into the hall. “Beth is Mora’s adopted daughter. Mora found her in an alley in London when she was four. She’s fifteen now. And don’t worry, they really do sign NDAs. No one will know you’re here.”

“It’s okay.”

I’m surprised when Liam’s hand closes around mine. His arm presses against mine as he leads me toward the stairs we took up last night.

“I meant it when I said you’ll have a good time here. No worries, Lucy Su.” His eyes find mine as our fingers twine together, and I give him a funny look.

“How’d you know to call me that?”

“What, Lucy Su?”

I nod.

“Lucille Sutton Rhodes. That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but Lucy Su?”

He smirks. “How do you think?”

“TV?”

“Guilty as charged.” His hand squeezes mine.

“Was that really on the show? I didn’t realize.”

“Sometime in season two, I think.”

“You watched more than one season?”

“Didn’t everyone?”

“But you?”

“What’s so special about me?”

He stops as we reach the landing to the second floor, giving me a cheesy smile that makes my heart pound slightly harder.

“I don’t know.” I smile back. “Just seems like you’re always busy, traveling and stuff.”

“Only this summer. Wanted to get away,” he says as we start down the lavish hallway.

“Bored?” I ask.

“Something like that.”





TWENTY Liam





“Is it stressful, all the royal stuff?”

I look down at Lucy, finding her eyes bright and curious, her lips pursed slightly—so I want to kiss them.

Is it stressful? My pulse races at the question. I have to fight the urge to shut my eyes and take a deep, slow breath. One of the ones I learned on the yoga video I’ve watched a few times in my rooms.

“Sometimes,” I manage.

Her thumb strokes the top of my hand. “I remember you said you had trouble sleeping.”

“Did I?”

“Well, you called me in the middle of the night. I think you said that.” She leans her head against my arm. “Every family has its stresses. I just figured yours might have more than average. Mine does too, in a way.”

“I’m sure.” I can’t help leaning my down, so my cheek is pressed against the top of her head. Damn, she smells so fucking good.

“Are you smelling my hair?” she asks me in a teasing tone.

“What do you put in it?” My own voice is low and gruff.

“Magic love potion. Is it working?” She looks up at me, batting her lashes.

“No.”

Her eyes widen in mock hurt. I give her a grin that lets her know I’m lying. Then I lean away from her and let go of her hand.

“You want to take a nap or something? Read a book? I’m going to work out. You could come with me too. There’s a gym upstairs, right under the roof garden. Glass walls and stuff.”

“Roof-top garden? That’s what I’m talking about. Is anybody up there?”

“Only the birds.” I smile at her again, a stupid smile that I can’t stop. Why can’t I stop smiling at her?

“Well, I think I’m going to lay out with the birds. I bet it feels amazing! I love a cool breeze. Don’t tell anyone, but I hate the heat.”

“Why can’t I tell?” I flip a piece of her hair. Lucy grabs my hand, curling her fingers around it.

“Because I’m from Georgia.”

“Are you a traitor to the Confederacy?”

“Yes, totally a secret traitor. I don’t do sweet tea or grits either, but those are also secrets.”

I can’t help laughing my ass off at that. More so, because she actually looks guilty.

“Fried okra?” I ask.

“Now that I like.” Her brows rumple and her head tilts slightly. “How do you know about fried okra?”

I tap my temple. “Smart like that. What about fried green tomatoes?”

“Yes.”

“Fried Oreos?”

“No way.” Her face sours. “That’s not a Southern food.”