by Rue Allyn
“Was that Ranulf?”
“Aye, it was.” Colin opened a chest and took out a flask and two small cups.
She’d never heard him so closed off, so . . . disturbed. “What are you doing? What did Ranulf want?”
He set the cups on the table, opened the flask, and filled the cups half full of golden liquid.
“ʼTis a drink I discovered in my travels across Scotland. The man who made it called it usquebaugh and told me his family had the recipe from the Romans who called it aqua vitae. He told as fine a tale as the drink he made. Wherever it came from, ʼtis a powerful cure for pain.” His tone was flat and curt.
“Are you hurt?” Wrinkling her brow, she went to him, touching his arm.
“Nae in body, muirnean.” He sighed, capped the flask, set it on the table, and gave her one of the cups. “Take small sips until you are used to it.”
“I’m not in pain and have yet to understand why you are doing this.” Their loving this morning had been so full of life, even joyous. What could Ranulf have said to cause such a change in Colin?
“You will be when I tell you that Alex’s body was found in Loch Naver before dawn today.”
“How?” She sat on the bed with a thump.
“Drowned.”
“Oh nae.” Tears dampened her eyes, and she had nae even known the man.
“Aye.” He raised his glass. “To Alex.”
Sorcha echoed his words and motion. “Does he have family who need care?” The drink burned fire and warmth into a belly gone cold. The man was too young to have harmed anyone.
Colin shook his head. “Alex was like many errant knights, little or no family—beyond his cousin Davey—and no expectations. His only fault, if he had one, was youth. He gained his spurs but a year past. He’d no enough experience of the hazards of life and perhaps trusted too easily.” Colin stared into his cup. “Be certain whoever did this will pay. I’ll make sure of it.”
“You dinna think it was an accident? Sometimes, too much drink can. . . .”
“Alex didna drink. Claimed he was having too much fun to spend his time drunk and miss any of his life.”
“Do you think Sir Fitzsimmons did it?”
“I think our spies are responsible, and ʼtis more likely than ever that our English steward is one of them.”
“Then we should set a trap for him.” Sorcha sat up straight and put her sorrow aside with her empty cup.
“Aye, but we must plot carefully. I dinna for a moment believe that Sir Fitzsimmons is acting alone. I want all of the traitors, nae just one of them.” Colin put his cup next to hers and picked up the scroll.
“How do we snare people we canna even identify?” She stroked her braid.
“I think we will have to find the letters from France, or at least let it be thought we found them.” He broke the seal, unrolled the scroll, and read.
“But the letters are supposed to be secret. How do we get word of our discovery to the spies?”
“Well, this is interesting.” Colin frowned, joining her and sitting opposite.
“You’re nae focusing on the problem to hand.”
“Oh, but I am, muirnean. This letter may just help us bait our trap.”
“Unless ʼtis the missing letter from France, I doubt a letter will be much help.”
“Maybe and maybe not. Do you recall when I said last night that we could expect a visitor?”
“Aye, I thought it odd at the time.”
“Nae, ʼtis quite logical. If Sir Fitzsimmons is one of our spies, we know he’s had as little success finding those letters as we have. He must report that failure. I suspect ʼtis why he goes secretly to the village at the south end of Loch Naver. He must also report that Brice still lives but has nae contacted him to turn over the letters. At the very least Sir Fitzsimmons must question Brice’s loyalty to England’s cause and pass those doubts on to his superiors.”
“That seems plausible. What’s in the missive you hold that causes you to frown?”
“In a week or so we’ll have nae just one visitor but two. Lord Aidan Dublochan, Earl Coillteach, and Lord John MacBirnum, Lord of Badechabar travel here from Inverness. They come ostensibly to help us celebrate our marriage and the peace it will bring to our clans.”
“Two of Scotland’s guardians?” She stroked her braid faster. The mere idea of a visit from such men intimidated her. “They’ve a long journey in the cold with a fair chance of snow. We’ll have plenty of time to prepare.”
“Good weather or bad, I trust Coillteach’s determination to get them here. ʼTis what makes him the best man to manage Scotland’s loyal spies. I’ll meet with him to discuss ways to trap our traitors.”
“You have nae doubts about the earl’s loyalty?”
“None.”
“Then what of Lord Badechabar? MacBirnum is family to King John Balloil, and even I have heard of his staunch support of our king.”
“’Tis a puzzle, certainly. Normally, I would nae have expected Edward’s spymaster to show himself so plainly, but accompanying Coillteach is an excellent way of masking MacBirnum’s true purpose here.”
“If he is indeed the traitor you suspect. What if the English spymaster, as you call him, is nae traveling with Earl Coillteach? What if this man, or woman, sees nae need to come to Strathnaver but continues to work through one or more of the spies here?”
“Those are definite possibilities and reason to put our plan into place before Coillteach gets here in a week at the earliest, giving us that much time to identify the Strathnaver spies.”
“Again, assuming MacBirnum is a traitor, will he decide nae to come if he knows his people are caught?”
“We’ll nae catch them, simply identify them. We’ll wait for Earl Coillteach before we close the net and snare the traitors.”
“Meanwhile they’ll have a week to escape.”
“Nae with Ranulf and the other men watching.”
“Watching got one of those men killed.”
“Aye, Alex was our friend. Ranulf and the others will want to be certain those responsible for Alex’s death are caught and punished.”
“That gives us even more reason to identify those spies with all speed.”
They stared at each other, frowning. God’s curses on this flood of questions pulling her deeper into deceit. She wanted naught more than to leave Strathnaver and make a peaceful life for herself. Truly, she wanted to go home to Dungarob, but without peace between MacKai and Marr, that solace was closed to her forever.
“If only one of us were a friend to Sir MacClaren or Sir Fitzsimmons. They might let something useful slip.” Sorcha sighed.
Colin sat up straight, looking at her as if she were fey touched. Then he grabbed her shoulders and kissed her.
Unthinking, she kissed him back. When he finally released her, she took a deep breath, blinked as she tried to regain her senses, and asked, “What was that for?”
He grinned. “For the pleasure of doing it, muirnean, and because you are brilliant. You solved our problem.”
“I did?”
“Aye. We will each befriend one of our two suspects—seek their advice, pump them with subtle flatteries. Then we’ll share a confidence that—if they are spies—they must act on by going somewhere specific. I and my men will be waiting at that destination. Once we have at least one spy in our grip, we can force him to reveal the others.”
“Do you honestly think Sir MacClarenn or Sir Fitzsimmons would put faith in a friendship of only a few days?”
“Brice is not an ally of a few days. As long as they believe me to be Brice, I should not have any problem.”
“But you just said they may have doubts about his loyalty.” She couldna keep worry from tightening her voice.
“Sharing such a confidence would reassure a fellow traitor and reduce those doubts a great deal.”
“I have only known these men for a few weeks and have been so busy tending my husband, I have nae foundation on which to build even
a false friendship.”
“Play up to our chamberlain with how you need someone strong and capable to depend on while your husband is so weak. Say that you have none to confide your troubles to; your husband is still recovering, and Clan Marr may never accept you. You might even suggest that my bed play does not please you.”
She rolled her eyes. “After all we’ve gone through to make certain Clan Marr thinks we do little but swive all day and all night, I might have a difficult time making a believable tale of your lack of prowess.”
His lips twisted in something between a frown and a sneer. “’Tis nae need to be insulting. Simply because a man doesna please his wife doesna mean he is lacking.”
“Hmph. I’d be better off pretending you are unfaithful. ʼTis a lie I could believe more than casting doubts on your manliness.”
He shrugged. “Use whatever works.”
“You make it sound easy. Were I a spy, I would doubt even that sort of plea. In fact, I’d be suspicious of any new friendship or sudden change in an existing relationship.”
“’Tis exactly what a good spy would do, and gaining the confidence of our steward and chamberlain willna be easy.” He stared into the distance for a moment then nodded. “Our suspects need nae believe us to be true friends. They only need to believe we might be stupid enough to think they would. Just dropping information on the spur of the moment wouldna work. They must believe that we gave them something vital by accident.”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve been subject of just such a deception yourself. You know it will work.”
Her palm itched to slap him. The knave had essentially just called her a fool. But then she had been a fool—once. “You’re talking about my belief that Brice loved me when we were betrothed.”
“He could do nae wrong in your eyes.”
“I was a love-maddened girl, easy prey for anyone to deceive—even you,” she challenged. Colin’s deception had led to the kiss that had destroyed everything. “Neither Sir MacClarenn or Sir Fitzsimmons are that innocent.”
“True, both are very experienced. But we can use that experience to our advantage. For all the years I’ve been gone, our chamberlain and steward have had things exactly as they wanted. They even had Lady Agnes to draw the clan’s attention away from any suspicious activity on their part. They will not believe you, a woman, could outwit them, and even if they dinna believe Brice is completely loyal, they will think I am still too weak to be a threat.” He’d chosen to pursue the subject of baiting their prime suspects, but his shuttered expression told her she’d hit the mark with her accusation.
Very well, if he could ignore their mutual past, she would too. “How do we enact this plot?”
Colin was silent for some time. “We should have that argument you suggested more than a week ago. And to get the most use of it, we should start today.”
“Today is as well as any other day I suppose, but what changed your mind?”
“You need a reason to spend more time away from this room and a fairly obvious desire to unburden yourself about the husband who doesna appreciate your efforts to help him recover his health.”
“For that to work, you will have to be unappreciative.”
His eyes sparkled. “I can be as querulous as any man recovering from a deathly illness. ʼTwill be easy to act impatient with everything around me, especially when my wife refuses to let me leave my chamber without escort and move about freely on my own. She’s trying to kill me with kindness.”
Sorcha rolled her eyes and smiled back. “If only that were possible.”
He reached for her. “Come now, muirnean, confess. You’d be devastated if I died.”
She slipped out of reach. She couldna bear the thought of his death, but telling him so would swell his head and give him ideas. “Hmpf. I’ll nae let you distract me.”
“But we’ve finished making our plans.”
“Nay, we have not. I have conditions that must be met.”
He thrust his hands through his hair and pulled on the ends. His eyelids narrowed. “What conditions?”
She sighed. Her time in Colin’s bed had shown her how great her need for him was. Separating for a while might be best. She would miss his arms, his kisses, but she would also regain her balance and some control. “I suggested more than an argument. I must move to another room, or I’ll nae be part of this plot.”
“I could do it without you.”
“Perhaps, but could you do it as well or as quickly? Time is short before Earl Coillteach and Lord MacBirnum arrive.”
His jaw flexed. “Searching for spies is a dangerous enterprise. In this room, we are both safer than apart. We can bring back the pallet if proof of the argument is still needed.”
She inhaled deeply. He was being entirely too reasonable. He even implied that she kept him safe as much as he did her. Having sampled the delights of his bed, could she remain in the same room and resist? It seemed she must.
“Very well, we will bring back the pallet, and you may sleep there.” Getting a comfortable bed was only fair exchange for sacrificing her serenity. “Two more conditions. We must invite Raeb and any of Clan MacKai who wish to attend a celebration in honor of our guests and your recovery.”
He stared at her. “Are you mad?”
“Nae,” ʼTwas the reason she’d married Brice in the first place. She would nae lose a chance to make peace between her two clans, especially if it would mend the breach between her and Raeb, allowing her to return to Dungarob. “If Coillteach and MacBirnum come here on the excuse of congratulating us on our marriage, we must show them the marriage has achieved its goal. Peace must be made between Marr and MacKai. In addition, if Raeb brings as many warriors as he can, we’ll have battle-hardened men we can trust to help us.”
“You think I should place my trust in MacKai clansmen?”
“In Raeb, and through him, his men.”
“Think you Raeb will trust me?”
“’Tis possible,” she hedged. “And as a gesture of good faith, we should tell him Brice is dead.”
“I know Raeb can keep a secret. He did so many times when we were young. But what if he uses it against me?”
“Then he’s nae the man I believe him to be. But I will include an extra plea in my letter for his cooperation on that point.”
Colin folded his arms across his chest. “I dinna like it, but I’ll do it.”
“Excellent.”
“Is that your last condition?”
“Only one more. When Raeb comes we use the occasion to return the MacKai horses to him.”
Colin sighed. “I had always intended to do that, and I suppose a celebration of peace and marriage would be an appropriate time to do so.”
“I’d nae idea you thought to return the herd to Clan MacKai.”
“I knew Clan Marr had nae right to those horses the instant you told of my father and brother stealing them. But I’ve been a bit busy trying to catch spies and keep Scotland from Edward Plantagenet’s greedy grasp. ”
“True enough.” The tightness she’d been carrying in her chest for weeks loosened a wee bit. “Now that we have all the conditions settled, we’d best write our letters to Raeb.”
“Aye. I’ve missed him, you know.”
“I’d better get vellum, quills and ink,” she said into the silence that had fallen.
“Thank you.”
She left, hopeful yet worried, feeling as if nothing had been settled, when she and Colin stood on the brink of achieving every desire.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Colin watched her leave. It seemed he was always watching her turn away. Had she felt like this when he’d left her? Had she felt abandoned and alone with her parents and his father shouting and throwing threats around her? For ten years he’d carried the image of her howling curses, dagger drawn to protect the man she thought she loved. He knew she blamed him for the fight. Since his return to Strathnaver, he’d thought she blamed him for he
r broken betrothal. Did she also blame him for leaving? St. Andrew knew he was guilty of both, and which had been the greater crime he could not say.
She’d trusted him, before that kiss, so long ago. Now, it seemed as if she trusted him once more. But it was no innocent trusting. She had conditions and insisted on keeping them. He prayed she was right about Raeb and the rest of Clan MacKai, but he had his doubts. The best to hope for from Raeb MacKai, if he accepted the invitation, was that he would protect Sorcha. I’ll then be free to see to the traitors without fear for her life. Whatever happened when Coillteach and MacBirnum arrived, he’d best prepare to face it with help only from the few men he had faith in. ʼTwas past time he had a long talk with Ranulf, Davey, and Robert. Recently wed, Clarwyn must be chafing at the delay in what they originally thought would be a quick and easy task. If I had a wife like Juliana Verault, who is nearly the equal of Sorcha, I would nae want to linger far from her arms.
Sorcha returned, and they each concentrated on composing their letters. Colin struggled to find the right words. How did you apologize to a man for murdering his parents—even if indirectly done—and plead for that man’s aid in the same breath? He mentioned the possible return of the MacKai horses to sweeten the invitation. Letter or no, horses or no, Colin would have to beg Raeb’s forgiveness and help in person.
Then there was Sorcha. All should be finished when that celebration ended, and one way or the other, Sorcha would leave Strathnaver. Colin would have nae reason to keep her here, and since he wanted her happiness nearly as much as he wanted to make Scotland safe, he would bow to her wishes when the time came. If that left him with a stark and lonely future, well, ʼtwould be little different than the past ten years.
With both letters sealed and in his hand, Colin went in search of his friends. He would send Davey—whose grief over Alex’s murder might yet boil over into violence—off to deliver the letters and stay at Dungarob to encourage Raeb to come to Strathnaver.
Colin found the knights in the kitchens. Davey sat frowning into a mug of ale. Robert penned one of his daily letters to his wife. Ranulf flirted with the maids and filled a trencher with any tidbits he could filch when he thought the cook was not looking.
