by Kate Forrest
“I know, but after what happened by the loch—”
“A man could do without so many reminders of his failings.”
“I didn’t mean to—” All she wanted to do was say goodbye, but somehow she kept saying the wrong thing.
“Isobel, the thief could have traveled miles by now. I must hurry if I’m going catch him.”
“Of course, I just—”
He shifted on his feet and glanced to the woods before looking back at her, showing his impatience. Isobel knew she was wasting precious time, but she couldn’t leave things like this. She launched herself against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, dangling nearly a foot off the ground. Almost instantly, his solid arms wrapped around her waist, and she was surrounded by his warmth.
She held onto him as though he was a lifeline, the only thing keeping her grounded to the earth. He smelled of cloves, pine, and something intrinsically male—a powerful combination. Isobel savored his scent as she pressed her cheek to his neck.
“I’ll be fine, Isobel. I’ll come back,” he assured her.
“I know,” she whispered. He still held her tightly, but she needed to let him go. Before she could think on the repercussions, she kissed his neck, letting her lips linger against his warm skin. He stiffened and she wondered what could happen next, but the moo of a cow brought her back to the moment and the urgency of their mission. She quickly released him, as though she’d touched fire, but he held on, gently setting her back on solid ground. She looked up at the fierce crusader before her; his expression was unreadable, but the tension between them was easy to recognize. Before she could do anything else foolish, she fled.
Chapter 11
Alex stood dumbfounded as Isobel ran back to the cottage. She’d kissed him. Yes, on the neck, but she’d still kissed him. What the hell was she thinking? And what the hell was I thinking? He had that bastard to catch up with, and he was standing in a field looking longingly after a woman.
Alex was grateful she’d agreed to stay behind. He needed to focus on the new mission, not be distracted, and Isobel was definitely a distraction. He wouldn’t fear for her safety either—Katy and Tom would take good care of her.
The grazing cow nearby snorted as it munched on the dewy morning grass. The interruption cleared Alex’s mind and reminded him of the immediacy of his duty. With one final glimpse at the cottage, he turned and ran into the forest.
****
Robbie could run no farther. The pain in his side had left him weak, and the forest seemed to spin around him. He recognized the signs that he was going to pass out and managed to hunker down against the trunk of a tree before he fell. He finally allowed himself to inspect the wound. His tunic was matted down with blood. Bracing for the worst, he pulled the fabric back and examined the wound on his stomach. She’d stabbed him with only a small dagger, but he could tell the cut was deep. The blood was still pulsating from the wound; he needed to make the bleeding stop.
Robbie grabbed for the knife he kept at his side and cut through the fabric of his tunic. Once he’d cut several strips, he folded one into a square and pressed it against his stomach.
“Christ.”
He inhaled and exhaled sharply as the pain intensified. As he swallowed back a wave of nausea, he made quick work of binding his side. With one last look around the forest floor, he succumbed to the blackness.
****
Alex was in luck. He’d picked up the trail easily back at their campsite along the loch and followed it several miles east through the forest. Initially, he’d regretted leaving the horse behind. He could have traveled faster, but he might have missed the trail. He needed to be on the ground to track. At first there had been no blood, but into the third mile, he’d spotted drops on the underbrush and ground. As the drops became closer and closer together, Alex slowed his pace. The thief must have stopped to tend the wound. He couldn’t keep going like this. Alex searched the trees for signs of the man. Just as he was about to move on, he heard a soft moan. He listened carefully and heard it again. ’Tis not a moan. It’s a snore.
Alex cautiously walked around the trees, following the sound of the sleeping thief. He found him out cold, with his tunic soaked in blood.
Alex searched around the man and found Isobel’s cloak tucked under his legs. With extreme care, Alex pulled the garment out from underneath the wounded thief and inspected it for the Rood. His breath caught when he found the box tucked safely inside an inner pocket.
“Thanks to God.”
Alex silently backed away from the man, preparing to turn and run, but something made him stop. He glanced back at the warrior. Judging by his looks, the man appeared close to his own age. His clothes were worn, but his weaponry was well made. It confirmed his suspicion that the man was a mercenary. Not many would respect a hired sword, but Alex did. Alex’s uncle was an elite gallowglass warrior, part of an army of Irish warriors contracted by feuding kings and clans. His skill with a sword was unmatched by any other MacKinnon; Alex had strived to become his equal. Something he still couldn’t claim to have achieved.
“Ah, hell,” Alex muttered, running a hand through his unkempt hair. I could leave him for dead. On Crusade, he’d seen countless warriors cut men down but not finish them. The sight was worse than seeing the dead. The horror in the eyes of those close to death would carry with him all his days. He’d not leave a man near the end. He’d kill him or help him.
And Alex could not justify killing him. He’d stolen the Rood and given Alex a good beating, but the man did not harm Isobel and he hadn’t mortally injured Alex, something he could have easily done when Alex was knocked out cold at the campsite. The man was a thief, but he was no murderer. Though the penalty for stealing in David’s court would land your head at the Mercat Cross, Alex never felt the punishment was equal to the offense.
Alex sat down on a fallen log near the man and studied him carefully. He checked the wound on the thief’s side. The man was fortunate the bleeding had stopped.
Alex would learn why he’d come for the Rood and who betrayed David. With resolve, Alex bound the thief’s hands and waited for him to wake.
****
Isobel was nervous. Nearly midday, and Alex was still gone. What if he can’t find the man? What if the Rood is lost forever? What if he does find the man and the man kills Alex?
“Lady Isobel,” Katherine called, interrupting her thoughts.
Isobel turned as her hostess approached carrying a tray covered with bread, cheese, and two tin cups.
“Please, call me Isobel,” she offered and helped her set the tray down on the ground. After being cooped up inside all morning, Isobel had excused herself for some fresh air, promising Katherine and Thomas she’d keep to the kitchen garden off the side of the cottage. She’d found a lovely spot near the corner of the garden where she could watch the cows graze and keep an eye on the forest.
Katherine sat down beside her on the ground. “I thought you would be hungry.”
“I confess I am.” She helped herself to bread and cheese, savoring the taste of the freshly baked loaf and the soft blue cheese.
“Your garments are nearly dry,” Katherine said.
Isobel nodded as she ate. Katherine had taken her and Alex’s clothes and laundered them.
“I am ever so grateful, Katherine,” Isobel said, after swallowing her food. It had been several days since her hostess at Doune washed her clothes, and she ached for a fresh gown. Normally, her dresses would not need washed so frequently, but the travel took its toll on everything.
“ ’Tis nothing,” Katherine said, waving her hand. “They’ll be ready soon with all this sunshine and the breeze.”
“I am sure Alex will be grateful too.”
“Forgive me,” Katherine began, “but I have to ask—” Katherine was giving her a rather peculiar stare. “What are you to him?”
“To Alex?” Isobel asked.
Katherine nodded.
“Well, he and I—” Wh
at am I to him? Nothing. Just a task. “He’s my escort to a nunnery.”
“Oh, goodness. I had this all very wrong.” Katherine blushed. “I imagined you were his bride.”
“No, no. I’m not—we’re not.” Isobel felt herself blushing too.
“Ah,” Katherine said, an easy smile spreading across her face. “I see.”
“See what?”
“There’s clearly something between the two of you, but I suppose if you are for the cloth, then that’s that.”
“I am for the cloth,” Isobel said. “Besides, Alex doesn’t seem the marrying kind.” In truth, she hadn’t considered whether he was or wasn’t, but she wanted to know what Katherine thought.
“He’ll marry and soon. He must.”
“Must?”
“He’s to be chief soon and our clan—” Katherine paused, and her eyes clouded over. For one brief moment, Katherine looked as though her heart might break. “I meant his clan…” Katherine had once been a MacKinnon but was no more. “His clan is in need of—” Her eyes went wide. “I should nae speak of it.”
“Speak of what, Katherine?” What did his people need?
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “But a future chief needs a wife. He’ll need heirs. Of course he will marry.”
“No doubt someone has already been chosen for him then.”
“Indeed, someone has been. But if you are here, I dinnae think a contract was made.”
Had the mission for David cost him a bride? “I do not understand.”
“I just mean Alex was to visit his betrothed before returning home. That’s why I asked what you were to him. I thought you were his intended.”
“Perhaps he plans to return for her later,” Isobel said, trying to conceal her interest.
Katherine shrugged. “Perhaps. From what I hear, she is a fine catch.”
Isobel did not know what to say. Is Alex in love with someone? Or perhaps this woman can give his clan whatever they are lacking. It should not matter to her, but Isobel was curious. She hated to think this mission could cost him a wife. The thought brought a lump to her throat.
“With the way he was looking at you, I wasn’t certain what had passed between you both.”
How does he look at me? Most of the time when he looked at her, he appeared perplexed. She did not consider herself to be a complicated woman, so those peculiar looks he gave her did not seem warranted. Though, the other night at the fort in Doune, that look had been clear—he’d wanted her.
“Nothing has passed between us,” Isobel assured her. “I’ve only known him a few days.”
“Sometimes that is all it takes,” Katherine said. “That’s all it took for me to know Tom was the one.”
Katherine’s face transformed. Her eyes twinkled, and she wore the happiest smile Isobel had ever seen. This woman is utterly and completely in love.
How Isobel envied her. “You are fortunate. I know few women who would have that look upon their face when thinking on their husband.”
“Is that why you have chosen the church? You have seen too many unhappy marriages?”
“No, that’s not why I intend to take my vows. The church suits me,” Isobel said.
“I hope it’s what you really want,” Katherine said. “ ’Twould be awful to spend your life yearning for something that could have been.”
“As I said, I’ve only known Alex a few days.”
“It was out of place for me to say anything. I apologize for being intrusive. Alex used to always tell me I spoke too freely.”
“You were curious,” Isobel said. “I can understand that.”
Katherine nodded and reclined against the garden fence. “Let’s enjoy this fine day. I have some time yet before I need to help Tom tend the animals.” She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun.
While Isobel understood Katherine’s curiosity, she still felt conflicted about their conversation. She does not know me or anything about my situation with Alex. Unfortunately, Katherine’s words only affected Isobel because there was truth in them. There was something between her and Alex. She knew it from the first time they met. But falling in love with the crusader was not part of her mission. The Rood came first, and then she would decide her path forward. Besides, Alex already had someone waiting for him, didn’t he? How could she let her feelings grow for a man betrothed to another?
Chapter 12
Stirling, the same day
The Duke of Lincoln’s men, Rolf and Watkin, stood with the king’s baker, listening to his tale of serving, they assumed, Isobel Campbell. They had needed only a few well-placed inquiries with the merchants and craftsmen to find someone who had interacted with her. The blacksmith said the king’s baker spoke of a noblewoman stopping by his shop some days ago. “Brags about how much gingerbread the damn lass bought,” the smith said. He wasn’t wrong.
“Bought twelve dozen gingerbread slices,” the baker claimed.
The English soldiers glanced at each other skeptically but urged him to continue the story.
“She then went up to the castle and met some warrior,” he finished.
“How do you know the man was a warrior?” asked Rolf, the senior guardsman to the duke.
“By the way he was dressed,” the baker explained. “He was a few yards off, but I could tell he carried a large sword strapped to his back. They headed off together, going northwest.”
Rolf and his partner, Watkin, nodded.
“Is there anything else?” Watkin asked.
“Mayhaps,” the baker said, looking down at the table in the bake shop where Rolf and Watkin had placed a few coins.
Rolf arched a brow but sat another coin down beside the rest.
“You aren’t the first to ask after this lass.” The baker took the coins off the table and hid them away in a pocket on the front of his apron. “Another warrior was also asking after her.”
The guards knew he spoke of the bishop’s man.
“Have you seen him pass by here again?” Rolf asked.
“Nae,” the baker said, shaking his head.
“We thank you for the information,” Rolf said, nodding to his companion. Watkin went to the shop’s door and closed it. He remained facing the street, standing guard so no one else could enter.
“What’s he about?” the baker asked, looking to Rolf.
Rolf ignored the question and approached the baker.
“What are ye doing?” the baker shouted.
Rolf put a hand over his mouth and reached into his apron pocket, fishing out the coins he’d just given the man. Once he’d put the coins away, he stared down at the frightened man before him. Rolf crowded him, holding his hand firmly over the baker’s mouth, and backed him into the corner of the shop.
“Do all Scotsman lie?” Rolf asked, moving his hand away so the baker could answer.
“I didnae lie to ye,” the baker explained, his eyes wild with fear.
“Why would a woman buy twelve dozen gingerbread slices?” Rolf asked.
“That was just a wee bit of an exaggeration.”
“What else was exaggerated?” Rolf demanded.
“Nae a word,” the baker said. “I swear it.”
Rolf stared down at the man for a few more moments, finally deciding that the man spoke the truth. He backed away and returned to the front of the shop. Watkin opened the door, and the men left. Climbing onto their horses, they galloped up the street heading northwest.
Chapter 13
In the forest near Loch Lomond
Around midday, the man finally came to. He struggled against the bindings but stopped when Alex pressed his sword to the center of the man’s chest.
“I want answers,” he said evenly, when he had the thief’s attention. “Who are you?”
The man said nothing but looked Alex straight in the eye.
“Your name,” he demanded.
Again, the man said nothing. Instead of pressing him for more information, Alex reclined back on the log and
waited. He kept his blade out but did not extend it toward the thief.
“That’s rare,” Alex commented, nodding to the sword that lay beside the man. “I have not come across such fine craftsmanship since I left Skye.”
The man tensed. Alex knew a few clans who called Skye home. Alex had fostered there as a child with the MacLeods, who happened to have some of the finest blacksmiths in the Isles. The man’s sword also bore some Celtic ornamentation, like Alex’s own sword. The Celtic design was more common in the Isles than in other parts of Scotland.
“An islander on a mission, but for whom and why?” Alex leaned forward on the log and studied the man. The man stared back, unblinking and focused. Though he fought exhaustion, he did not show any weakness. Alex admired him for it, but he was also tired and he wanted to know who was after him and Isobel. All signs pointed to Edinburgh, but he needed to know exactly who was coming for the Rood.
“I know a healer who can mend that,” Alex offered, pointing his sword tip toward the man’s wound. “Or we can sit out here for the rest of the day and night and let it bleed and fester until the blackness takes you.”
Alex didn’t expect the words to have any impact, but it seemed the injured warrior had the sense to recognize defeat and his own need for help, for he looked to Alex and said, “My name is Robbie MacDonald.”
“Of the MacDonalds of Skye?”
Robbie nodded.
“Why were you after this?” Alex asked, holding up the black case that held the Rood.
“It belongs in Edinburgh.”
“Who sent you?”
Silence stretched out between them, but Alex knew to be patient.
“The bishop,” Robbie finally said.
Alex had never seen or met the man, but he knew he was a powerful figure in Scotland.
“You did not finish me off or kill the lass. Why?” His gut told him this man was not evil, but something was pushing him to help the bishop.
Robbie shrugged.
“What is he offering you in return for bringing this back?” If Alex hadn’t been watching carefully, he would have missed the flash of pain in the man’s eyes. It’s personal. “You’ve put me in a difficult position, MacDonald.”
