Thomas grimaced. Watching a bloody leaf. A fine way to get oneself killed with the enemy about. He tugged his mount forward.
As he rounded the next tree, the break in the clouds thickened. Gloom settled upon the forest. With a wary eye, he scanned the ridge above. Once he reached the top, he couldâ
A flash hissed past, a finger's width before his heart.
An arrow lodged in a tree to his left.
God's teeth! Thomas clasped the hilt of his sword.
“Withdraw your blade and die!”
Furious, he glared at the slip of a woman emerging from the tree line paces away. With her skill, neither had the lass wanted him dead.
A bird's cry sounded from behind him.
Relief edged through Thomas. His men had heard him, understood trouble was about. Now to keep the lass talking until his warriors seized her. Then, by God, he would have answers. “I am nae a threat.”
“Remove your hand from your weapon, state your name and your loyalty.”
Bloody damn. Unsure if her fealty was to Comyn or the Bruce, a wrong answer could hold a fatal consequence. “Sir Thomas MacKelloch.”
“Release your sword and state your loyalty!”
A hand flashed to his far right, alerting him that his knights had surrounded her and were closing in. “Lass, I am but passing through.”
Another arrow whipped past, slicing the first straight down the center.
In disbelief he stared at the severed shaft. An expert archer, he was proud of his ability and could match her skill, a proficiency held by very few. Who was she? More important, why was she so close to King Robert's encampment? God's teeth, if her intention was to kill the Bruce, with her accuracy, the lass would need only one attempt.
With quiet steps, his knights moved behind the lass.
“I would be asking for your loyalty as well,” Thomas said.
With a panther's grace, the slender lass drew back the bowstring.
His knights lunged.
The lass screamed as Rónán caught the woman's hands, jerked them behind her back. “Release me,” she demanded, her legs kicking out with dangerous accuracy.
Rónán held tight.
Aiden retrieved her bow, while Cailin made a quick search and removed several daggers hidden within her garb.
Cailin held up the dagger she'd hidden in her boot, grimaced. “
A sgian dubh
. The lass is well armed.”
Furious at placing himself and potentially his men in danger, Thomas stormed over.
Blond hair tugged free from her braid and whipped against his adversary's comely face. Furious eyes held his.
“Who are you?” Thomas demanded.
Bewitching moss green eyes narrowed.
Impressed by her daring, neither would his questions go unanswered. “Your name.”
The lass tried to free her arm; Rónán held tight.
“Alesone MacNiven.”
“Why did you threaten me?”
“I only sought your name and loyalty.”
Thomas grunted. “You have an interesting way of asking. Who are you loyal to?”
Fear edged her eyes.
A dose of nerves would serve him well. “Tell me, by God, or I will haul you before King Robert and state your plans to assassinate him.”
At his words, her face paled. “Never would I harm Scotland's king.”
“You are loyal to the Bruce?”
She nodded. “I am his personal healer and beneath his protection.”
An untruth. He'd received a detailed brief on those of importance who traveled with the king. Never was a woman mentioned, certainly not one who was a healer. “Indeed?” he said, his voice ripe with suspicion. “With Scotland at war, I find it odd that the Bruce would allow a woman under his protection to leave camp without a proper guard.”
“He doesna know I left,” she said, her words unapologetic. “I needed but a few herbs. I was returning to camp when I heard you tramping up the knoll.”
Tramping? Thomas bit back a smile at her daring. “'Twould seem a fortuitous day.” He nodded toward his men. “We are en route to meet with the king. 'Twill be interesting to hear our sovereign's response to your claim.” Thomas glanced at his friend. “Cailin, how many weapons did the lass carry?”
“Nae counting the bow and arrows, seven.”
“'Tis dangerous away from the encampment,” she said, temper sliding into her voice.
“Aye, but nae for a mercenary intent on killing the king.”
Shock widened her eyes, and then they narrowed. “I told you my reason for being here.”
“You did, a claim I find of great interest.” Thomas caught her wrist, damning a shot of awareness. He nodded to Rónán. “I will escort Mistress Alesone, if indeed that is the lass's name.”
His friend released her and stepped back.
Alesone struggled against his hold. “I dinna need an escort!”
“What you need is yet to be determined,” Thomas warned, far from pleased by the delay, even less so at being saddled with a stubborn lass he couldna trust. “If you continue to fight me, you will be tied and carried to camp. How you meet the king is your choice.”
Outrage flashed in her eyes. “How dare you treat me with such disrespect, you . . . you ill-bred lout! I am nae a criminal.”
“A decision I will allow our king to make.” Though beautiful, this woman promised to be naught but trouble. With a muttered curse, Thomas tugged her with him and headed toward their sovereign's encampment.