An Oath Sworn (13 page)

He tensed. As daunting as the thought of again trusting his heart, he acknowledged that she had awakened sensations he'd never believed possible.

But did they equal love?

Before he met with her father he would be sure. “The vessel is nae designed for comfort but speed.”

A relieved smile touched her mouth as she reached for her cloak. “Comfort matters not.”

“I am going alone,” he stated. “ 'Tis too risky to take you along.”

She pulled on her cloak. “As if we have not already faced more than our share of dangers?”

A sword's wrath. “Before we did nae have a choice.”

Her eyes widened in panic. “I must sail for France immediately.”

The blend of fear and sadness in her voice had him moving closer. “The bishop will ensure you board a ship soon on which you will be safe.”

“But—”

“I will nae argue.” At her stricken expression, needing to offer her comfort, Colyne strode to her and claimed her mouth. His body trembled beneath the onslaught of emotions she inspired, needs that shook him to the core. Grief at having to leave her tearing through him, he pulled away. He stroked his thumb against her cheek. “I shall miss you greatly.”

 

Marie drew in a shaky breath and fought back the tears. How could she convince him to take her with him to France? It would give them a few more days together. Not long, but when faced with being apart for a lifetime, she would claim each moment possible.

She cringed at the idea of becoming another man's wife, allowing intimacy with someone other than Colyne.

“I must leave.”

The raw emotion in his words stopped her cold. As if in compliance, Marie removed her cloak, and then tossed it on the bed. She despised the secret of her heritage, of the threat it had brought to Colyne's life. Would there ever come a time when her royal blood wouldn't dictate her fate?

Neither could she forget her greatest need—to reach her father and explain her abduction. It outweighed everything else.

Even her love for Colyne.

His expression softened into regret. “I do nae want to leave with anger between us. Know that if I could take you with me, I would.”

At the weariness on his face, she reached out. “I know. Kiss me,” she whispered.

“I . . .” He muttered a curse. Then Colyne caught her mouth in a fierce kiss.

Marie gave in to her desire until her body ignited beneath his in a hunger only he could quench.

On a rough breath, he broke away. “ 'Tis time to go. I have already stayed overlong.”

Sadness washed through her. He believed he was keeping her safe, but what he didn't understand was that her own mission outweighed the protection the bishop offered. Each passing day brought greater peril to Scotland's cause.

Aware of what she must do, Marie watched Colyne prepare to go. Once he left the cathedral, with the materials she'd found within a desk shielded by the cloth, she would ink an explanation of her actions to the bishop so he wouldn't worry about her disappearance. After, she would follow Colyne to the docks. Somehow, she would make her way aboard.

“My blessings for your journey.” They wouldn't be parting, but he didn't know that.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “I wish it could be different.”

“As do I.”

“I care about you, Alesia. I am trying to keep you safe.”

“I know, but you will not always be there for me.”

As the door closed behind Colyne, Marie dipped the quill in the ink and wrote a missive to the bishop explaining her absence. Setting her note on the bed, Marie tugged on her cloak and slipped into the hallway.

Empty.

Anxiousness slid through her. Had he used the cellar door? The main cathedral exit above? Mayhap he'd left through the back of the building? She started forward.

“He is gone,” the bishop stated, his steps a confident tap as he descended the stairs.

Marie halted, surprised by the cleric's appearance, further unnerved by the seriousness of his voice. He spoke to her as if he knew who she was. She frowned. Which was impossible. They'd never met.

“I was hoping to catch up with Colyne.”

“You are safe here.”

At the emphasis of his words, she swallowed hard. If he had recognized her when introduced, wouldn't he have used her proper address? Slowly, praying she was wrong and he hadn't identified her, she turned.

The bishop had halted several paces away, his face cast in shadows.

She wished she could see his expression. “I deeply appreciate your offer of protection,” she said, grateful her voice revealed none of her distress. “Colyne has informed me of your making arrangements for my departure. I am thankful to you for those as well.”

“'Tis my pleasure. I only wish that danger wasna about and I could offer you a room more deserving of your station.”

Unease trickled through her. “The chamber you provided is adequate.”

He stepped into the light, his gaze shrewd. “It would be if your father was nae King Philip.”

M
arie's legs trembled, but pride held her still. “You know who I am?”

The bishop gave a slow nod. “I visited your father two years past. While there, I saw a painting of you in the solar.” His mouth settled into a tempered frown. “Why have you nae told Colyne?”

As much as she wished to deny the truth, 'twould serve no purpose. “At first,” she admitted, “because he was a stranger.”

“After Elizabet, your deception will be a great blow to him.” He quirked a brow. “I assume you know of her?”

Grief welled inside her. “I never meant to hurt him.”

His mouth tightened. “But you will.”

“I must. If my father learned of our . . .”

“Indiscretions?” the bishop supplied.

Heat warmed her face. “
Oui.
If my father knew, he might unleash his anger by demanding Colyne's life. A risk I cannot take.”

“I have known Colyne since childhood. He is a good man and holds a formidable title. Mayhap if I speak with your father, 'tis possible—”

Marie shook her head, gathered every ounce of courage as she faced this man of God, needing to admit her sin. “I am betrothed to Gaston de Croix, Duke of Vocette.” Her heart ached as she waited for the bishop to speak, to mete out the condemnation she'd earned.

His fingers rubbed the cross hanging from his neck as sad understanding shadowed his gaze. “Colyne cares for you more than he realizes.” He watched her closely. “And what of you?”

A traitorous tear slid down her cheek. “I am in love with him, but it excuses me of naught.”

“You have nae told Colyne of your feelings?”

“
Non.
It would only complicate an already dire situation.”

Strain tightened the bishop's face. “After what has passed between the two of you, Colyne has the right to know your identity.”

“Under normal circumstances, I would agree. But with my father being the king of France, nothing about this situation is normal. And telling Colyne will change naught. It is safest for him if I disappear.”

“Is it? I am nae so sure.” He motioned toward the hidden chamber. “Try to rest. I will ponder the situation. A night's sleep may offer a solution you have nae considered.”

With her throat clogged with emotion, Marie nodded but found little enthusiasm at his words. Turning away, she reentered the chamber, frustrated by the delay. Regardless of the fact that the bishop had recognized her, naught had changed. As planned, she would wait a few moments and then slip out.

 

Colyne reached the docks as the first wisps of dawn cut through the layer of clouds. The scent of the sea hung in the air, thick with the promise of rain. He gave a rueful smile. He'd outmaneuvered the English duke's men again.

Beneath the wavering torchlight, Logan's sailors hustled to load crates aboard the Kincaid. Several paces away, another man staggered up the plank, as if having celebrated too much throughout the night.

From the shadows, Colyne studied the ongoing activity, taking in every nuance but hunting for . . . there. In the far corner, near a stack of crates, several English knights lurked, and three more stood guard near the ship.

He'd anticipated the English duke having instructed his men to keep watch over the port, but he'd hoped he was wrong. Their presence complicated everything.

A splotch of rain slapped his face. Thunder boomed and the rain pounded the docks. The knights' bolted for the overhangs of nearby buildings.

Taking advantage of their preoccupation, Colyne tugged his cloak tighter and stepped onto the wharf amongst the sailors, who, used to the adverse weather, continued to work.

As he neared several men carrying a container, he hefted an edge, kept his face toward the cargo, and fell in step. At the Kincaid, he hurried up the plank.

Near the top of the quarterdeck, a muscled sailor with a scraggly rain-sodden beard blocked his path. “State your business.”

Though shielded by the rain, the coming dawn would aid in exposing him to the English. Colyne stepped forward. “I need to see Lord Logan immediately.”

Cold warning flashed in the sailor's eyes a second before he unsheathed his dagger. “The captain is busy.”

Before the sailor realized his intention, Colyne snared the man's wrist. “Tell your captain Lord Strathcliff requests his presence.” The wind gusting through the wharf calmed, and the rain began to ease. To his right, English knights moved onto the docks. “Now!”

“Colyne?”

At Logan's voice, Colyne dropped his hold on the sailor's arm. “Aye.”

“Let him pass,” the captain ordered.

“A warm welcome,” Colyne muttered as he strode on deck and clasped hands with his friend, whose long black hair and piercing ebony eyes reminded him of a brigand's. A title against the English his friend often fulfilled.

The captain's gaze narrowed on the English duke's knights, scouring the pier below. “They have been combing the wharf ever since I arrived in port. Whoever they search for, they are determined to find.”

Colyne grimaced. “They want me.”

Amusement trickled into his friend's eyes. “Come to my cabin where we can speak freely.”

In his private quarters, Logan shoved back his hood. Water dripped onto a wooden deck stained by salty sea spray and the passage of time. “I am surprised you are in Glasgow. When I saw you a month past, you were headed to the Highlands.”

Colyne shook the rain from his cloak. “Which is where I was until an issue forced my hand.”

“An issue?” He lifted a brow. “Would it have anything to do with the abduction of King Philip's bastard daughter?”

“So you have heard?” Colyne asked, nae surprised. Like the bishop, his friend had many well-informed connections.

“Do nae worry. 'Tis nae common knowledge. The information came to me through . . . how shall I say it? Discreet but reliable channels.”

Humor tugged at Colyne's mouth. “Robert Bruce needs to have your ear on more than random occasions.”

Logan folded his arms across his chest. “My mistress is the sea.”

“There is a comfort to be found on land as well,” Colyne said, intrigued to find the proposition of spending time with Alesia brought him only happiness. “Do you think you will ever give up sailing?”

“Never. I have all I need beneath my feet.”

Colyne understood his friend's reason for finding succor out to sea—the woman who'd broken his heart.

If asked a month before, Colyne would have agreed that his duties as earl and to his country's fight for freedom fulfilled his needs. Alesia had changed everything. “Mayhap you shall meet a woman who will convince you otherwise.”

The captain uncrossed his arms. “Are those the words of experience, my friend?”

He nodded and gave a rueful grin. “Her name is Lady Alesia.”

“Ah. Perhaps 'tis nae only the king's business that brings you to Glasgow, then?”

Colyne sobered at the reminder of his mission, along with Alesia, whom he'd left at the cathedral. “Nay. We met en route. She and other missionaries had delivered supplies to Beauly Priory. While traveling through the Highlands, their party was attacked.”

“By the English?”

Colyne nodded, remembering Alesia's horror at the telling, and aching at her loss. “Aye.”

“The bastards.”

“I couldna leave her alone.”

“The blasted cur. 'Tis nae a sight for anyone to witness, much less a lass.” Logan paused. “Has she nay family nearby?”

“Her party sailed from France.”

“France?” His friend scratched his chin. “'Twill put a burr beneath King Philip's arse when he learns of the attack.”

“If only the attack on the missionaries was the French king's biggest problem.”

“Has his daughter been found, then?”

“Not that I am aware.”

He grimaced. “You are fortunate to have caught me in port. I would have departed yesterday, but I awaited several shipments of wool. They have arrived and my men are loading them now. I sail for Portugal with the morning tide.” He studied Colyne with interest. “And how did you know where to find me?”

“The Bishop of Glasgow.”

Logan gave a hearty chuckle. “I see I am nae the only one with his ear to the ground. So, what is it that I can do for you? That is why you are here, is it nae?”

“I need to sail to France.”

“France?” He winced. “Bloody hell, why do you need to sail there?”

“On a matter of grave import.”

“Ah . . . So you are delivering the writ to King Philip?”

Why had he believed his friend wouldna know? “So much for keeping my mission a secret.”

A wicked grin curved his friend's mouth. “An educated guess.” Deep lines furrowed his brow. “Though I had heard Robert Bruce sent Sir Douglas for the task.”

Colyne swallowed hard. “The English duke's men caught him. He is dead.”

“Christ's wounds. Douglas was a decent man.”

“Aye, he was. Which is why I must depart for France immediately.”

Logan swore as he walked to the table. He turned, his eyes blazing. “If anyone else had asked me to divert the Kincaid, he could go to the devil.”

“I know.”

“What of the woman you escorted from the Highlands? Will I have a lass in tow as well?”

As much as he wanted to bring Alesia with him, travel aboard the Kincaid was too dangerous. After he'd delivered the writ, Colyne would find her. “Nay. Robert will care for her.”

“That is something, then,” he muttered.

“How many hours before the morning tide?”

A hard rap sounded on the door.

Colyne slid a questioning glance toward Logan.

The captain shook his head in silent warning. “Enter.”

A sailor they'd passed earlier hurried inside. “Captain, the knights who were here yesterday are demanding another search.”

Logan cursed. “I will be along in a moment. Ensure they do nae come onboard until I arrive. As before, inform them I will escort them through the ship personally.”

“Aye, Captain.” The sailor hurried out.

“Another search?”

Logan quirked his brow. “Indeed.”

Colyne's temper spiked. “How can you be calm when they are sure to find me? Or do you think they will nae want to be checking every inch of your ship?” With nae way to escape, within the next few minutes he could be imprisoned.

Or dead.

The captain walked to a chest in the corner of his cabin, shoved it aside. A trapdoor lay beneath. He opened the hatch. “I will have one of my men hide you in a crate on the docks until the knights have departed.”

Relief swept through him. “My thanks.”

“Go on with you now, while I deal with the Sassenach.”

Colyne smiled at his friend's less than flattering term for the English. “Aye, I will.” He slipped through the opening and landed in the cargo hold. He disliked that his presence aboard the Kincaid added to the dangers his friend faced by daring to sail into Glasgow harbor. But Logan entered port prepared for trouble. Unlike Alesia, a noblewoman stranded in a foreign country.

However much she believed otherwise, her strong will and determination wouldna defend her against those who, for whatever their reason, sought her.

Climbing out through a hatch, Colyne worked his way down a rope ladder to the dock. The English duke's men would have been informed of his past association with Logan, no doubt a fact that had led them to again search the Kincaid.

Logan came into view at the top of the gangway and started speaking with one of the knights as a sailor who'd helped him above quickly pulled up the woven rope

Noting his friend's easy stance, Colyne relaxed. They'd nae seen him leave. If they had, the English knights would have seized the ship. Thankful, he tugged up his hood and followed one of Logan's men toward a large stack of crates.

By the time one of Logan's men helped Colyne from the crate and told him it was safe to board, waves, spawned by a brisk wind, raked the bay. Above the water, the sun appeared as if a circle of fire. Blood-red rays seeped through the jagged clouds that dared slide across their path. The bastards had taken their time in their search of the Kincaid.

Nerves tingled up his neck and he searched the street behind him. Naught. Unable to dispel the feelings of unease, he tugged his hood close against his face and followed the sailor through the bustling crowd.

Halfway down the pier, two of the English duke's men stepped into view.

Colyne tensed. As he moved past, he caught part of their conversation. From one of the men's description of a charming wench he'd bedded last eve, their interest at this moment far from involved searching for him.

On the Kincaid, he noted Logan giving orders to a sailor.

The captain spotted him, made a subtle gesture for him to hurry aboard, then resumed his task.

“Over here!” a knight shouted from behind him.

They'd seen him! Colyne reached for his sword, hidden beneath his cape. When the pounding of steps grew distant, he turned.

The knights ran toward the alley.

Relieved, he picked up his stride, heading for the plank. The diversion would allow him to board without event.

A woman's scream ripped through the shouts.

Alesia? His heart pounding, he whirled, stared past the sailors now halted in their tasks and straining to see who the knights had captured.