Knight Protector (Knight Chronicles) (24 page)

“Aye.” She nodded.

“Then get going. Colin needs help quickly.”

“What about you?”

“I will take care of his destrier then walk back to Strathnaver.”

“ʼTwill take you half the night or more.”

“’Tis nae the first time I wandered the wood in the dark and willna be the last, Lady Sorcha. If you love Colin, see him safe and cared for and dinna worry over me.”

“I willna,” she assured him and set the horses toward home.

Home
. ʼTwas the first time she’d nae considered Dungarob her home. What did that portend for her future?

As she entered the trees and started up the slope, she heard the death cry of Colin’s destrier. She shivered. Pray heaven ʼtwas the only death that would result from this day’s events.

Colin plucked at the coverlet impatiently. He’d been abed for two days with nary a sign of fever or infection. He’d nae suffered more than a mild headache for a short time. The healer had declared him blessed with God’s own luck then insisted he remain abed until the arrow wound began to scab over.

To enforce the healer’s edict, Sorcha had taken away all his clothing, save for the one nightshirt he wore. But she didna deny him visitors, and he’d nae been forced to eat the pap that had been served to him in his first days as Brice.

He’d been glad enough to rest and think that first day. His body ached as if he’d been three days in battle. And he was now certain of one thing. He could trust Sorcha with his life. She could have killed him or left him for dead. As it was, because of her, he suffered but a few aches and pains. Worse than those was determining who was in the greatest danger: himself, Sorcha, or both, and where that danger came from.

The thought of Sorcha dead chilled him. He’d nae recognized her importance to him because he’d been dithering over her possible guilt as a traitor when he should have believed in her. ʼTwas wildly unlikely that she arranged to be shot at or threatened with being trampled to death just to throw off suspicion. No, he was as certain as he could be of her innocence and had much to apologize for. ʼTwould be good to speak frankly and be able to talk over events with her.

As if he’d called her, Sorcha walked into the room at that moment. She carried a stack of folded clothing, which she set on the corner of the bed.

His brows lifted. “Are those for me?” He felt like a child receiving a boon for good behavior.

“Aye.” She smiled at him. “Your wound is healing rapidly, and the healer says you are better about your business than abed.”

“I’m glad she’s finally being practical.” He spoke from inside the tunic he’d pulled over his head.

Sorcha ignored the remark and took up her perpetual stitchery.

“I must apologize for doubting you.” He sat and pulled on his hose.

Cloth, thread, and needle slipped from her grasp as her head jerked upward. “What did you say?”

“I said I apologize for doubting you.” Breeches followed hose.

She gave her head a shake. “I can scarce believe you admit to being wrong.”

He ground his teeth. She had every right to exact penance, but he did nae have to like it. “’Tis nae something I am proud of; please say you forgive me.” He wrapped his belt around his waist.

She bent, picking up her sewing. “I forgive you for not trusting me.”

He narrowed his gaze at her as he cinched his belt. “Your tone implies you believe I have other apologies to make.”

“I do,” she said calmly. She kept her gaze on her stitches. “But I am happy with one miracle in a day.”

Her calm irritated him. He’d show her a miracle and ruffle that serene manner. But later—they had problems to discuss.

He pulled up a stool beside her bench and gently removed her sewing. “I’ve had much time to think.” He related his conclusions. “However, I’m still nae certain who true the target of that attack was.”

Sorcha considered a while. “It seems to me the most likely target is both of us, since neither the stampede nor the rain of arrows focused on one of us alone.”

Colin nodded. “I can understand someone wanting to kill me, especially if I am getting close to finding the traitors and the letters. But why try to kill you?”

She smiled. “Because I am helping you, you dolt, and as a result ken too much—as you’ve often told me.”

“Aye, so I have.” He must take every means to protect her. He’d always been willing to sacrifice his life for Scotland, and would still, if need be. Though he’d prefer to grow old in peace with Sorcha.

He blinked rapidly. There was a novel thought—growing old with Sorcha. He couldna possibly want that, could he? Nae, she was obstinate, entirely too brave, and a much smarter woman than any man should want in a wife.

“Who do you think tried to kill us?” He must focus on the questions that needed answering and nae indulge in madness.

“It makes no sense for Ranulf to be the archer,” she said.

“True, why save my life if he wanted to kill me? Why nae kill me and you as well when he had the chance?”

“But what was he doing in that glen at that time?”

“I dinna ken, so we must ask him while watching his expression and gestures carefully.”

Sorcha studied him a moment. “We are nae likely to discover anything new, but I agree that questioning Ranulf is worth trying. I wonder, though, if you’ve asked yourself who might want us both dead? ʼTis nae Ranulf. A man doesna save the life of someone he wishes in the grave.”

“ʼTis an excellent question
muirnean
, but one with nae answer. Any of the traitors here could wish our deaths and plot to that end.”

She sighed. “And we’ve yet to identify a single traitor with any certainty.”

That, he knew, must change for Sorcha’s sake and Scotland’s. He slipped his hand in hers, for some reason needing her touch, “We’ve other questions unresolved.”

“Lady Agnes?” she asked.

“Precisely. We know she, Sir Broc, and Henry have all disappeared along with every valuable she could lay her hands on. A goodly sum, but nae enough to match what is in the treasure room. What we dinna ken is why she left.”

“’Tis possible she anticipated that you would nae welcome her here, and sooner or later, you would toss her out without half a groat to her name. She may have decided to have the horses stolen so she could sell them and continue living as the rich woman she always tried to be.”

“They dinna belong to me but to Raeb. I will send men in search of the herd, Lady Agnes and her cohort. I pray we find Henry with them. I fear what such an unloving mother would do, especially to a child who is no her own.”

She squeezed his hand. “With a killer about, you need your men here. And after two days even a herd of horses will be difficult to trace. Had I an inheritance, I would give it to Raeb to pay the thief price. But now that you have the inheritance ring, I must depend on your good will.”

“I would beggar Clan Marr if I used its wealth to pay the price owed Clan MacKai. With the best will in the world, I’ll nae allow innocents to go hungry to right my father’s wrongdoing. Raeb will have to be satisfied with my share of the Marr wealth.”

She released his hand. “Are you willing to compromise? We could work that out when Raeb gets here.” Sorcha took up her sewing.

“Which could be any day now, if he accepted the invitation. I asked Davey to send word back, but I’ve nae heard from him.”

“And that worries you as much as the identity of the traitors.”

“I sent Alex off on an errand and he died. What if the same happened to Davey? What if our letters never reached your brother?”

“’Tis possible, and I share your concerns, but nothing we do will change what has already gone forward. We must deal with those things we are certain of.”

A knock sounded.

“Enter,” Colin called.

The chamberlain came in carrying a tray loaded with food.

“My lord, I have brought your breakfast.” Sir MacClaren set the tray on the table. “Also the roving sentinels send word that Baron MacKai and a troop of thirty MacKai warriors are heading this way. They should arrive with the sunset.”

“Excellent. Welcome them with all courtesy and let nae man of our clan raise sword, fist or voice against the MacKais.”

The chamberlain bowed. “I’ll see your orders delivered, my lord.”

Colin stood and Sorcha rose at the same time.

“Well, we’ve an answer to one of our concerns. Our letters were received,” he said.

“’Tis good to know, but now I must hurry. ʼTis much to do before Raeb comes, and I’m already having trouble with some of the chambermaids.”

“What kind of trouble?” He headed for the table.

She bustled about the room, doing her usual routine of straightening and putting away. “’Tis pure silliness. I want Lady Agnes’s former chamber cleaned for Lord Coillteach to use. ʼTis the finest after this one.”

“And this is a problem because?” Colin shoveled eggs and bread into his mouth.

Apparently satisfied that the room would nae shame her, Sorcha sat on the edge of the bench across from him. “The maids claim ʼtis haunted. They think Lady Agnes did nae leave Strathnaver but was killed by Sir Broc. Your stepmother’s spirit lingers in the room because Sir Broc stole the silver and jewels she wanted.”

“St. Andrew’s Cross. If the servants have time to dream up such fanciful tales, we must find more work for them to do. What do they imagine he did with Henry?”

“Some of the
faoine
idiots say Henry was killed with Lady Agnes. Some would have it that Sir Broc took the boy with him and will try to ransom the lad back to you for more treasure.”

Colin swallowed some ale. “At least the maids are creative. Are they so certain I’d want my half brother back when his supposed dam caused such strife while she lived here?”

The smile left Sorcha’s face. “Dinna joke about such things. You’ll have the entire household wanting me to search every cupboard for ghosts and ghoulies.”

“Are you searching cupboards now?”

“As soon as I have my breakfast.” She ladled eggs and sausage onto a trencher. “I’ve promised the maids I will go to Lady Agnes’s former room and search the entire place in their sight, so they’ll have nae doubt that any spirits are long departed.”

Before Sorcha left moments later to return the tray to the kitchens and then play ghost-hunter for the chambermaids, Colin asked her to send Ranulf to him and braced himself for a very uncomfortable discussion. ʼTwas nae every day a man accused his best friend of being a thief, a traitor—or worse. The big knight’s actions were beyond comprehension. On one hand it looked as if he were helping Colin. On the other, Ranulf appeared to be fomenting strife and discord. His presence during the stampede and his actions after baffled as well. Only Ranulf’s return as promised and his aid in saving Colin’s life kept the big man from being cast, manacled, into the dungeons.

Colin’s private feelings were far from calm and steady. Nonetheless, he didna allow his voice to shake nor did he break eye contact as he invited the knight to have a seat across from him at the hearth. Colin wasted no time in stating the problem facing him.

“Were you the person trying to kill me and Sorcha by frightening the horse herd and shooting arrows at us?”

“Do you doubt I’m your friend, Colin?”

ʼTwas nae an answer. “Should I think you a true friend when you tell my wife I am nae what I seem and imply I might be in league with Edward I of England?”

“Sorcha’s nae your wife.”

Colin shrugged and ignored the jab. He wasn’t about to be distracted. He wanted this thing settled. He wanted to be able to trust his friend again. “You made certain I believed she lied about Brice’s clan badge. You spent the entire journey to the
tabhairn
trying to make me think she’s faithless. Next you show up on the heels of a deadly frenzy of horses. You’re the only man I know who can handle a bow and ride at the same time.”

Ranulf grinned sheepishly and worried his thumbnail. “’Tis only because I use a short bow and am tall enough to fire over the head of my horse.”

“I know that,” Colin snapped. “Saint Andrew’s Cross! Be serious for just one moment, please! What I dinna ken is why Lady Agnes, her son, her servant, and a good portion of Strathnaver’s wealth have disappeared at the same time you are skulking about where you dinna belong. Nor do I ken why you work so hard to cause strife between me and Sorcha. Or what you were doing in the same area at the same time that we were nearly trampled to death.”

In his experience, Ranulf was always in motion. Now the man went stone still, and Colin had never seen eyes so cold.

“I belong wherever I take myself.” Low menace filled Ranulf’s voice. “As for the disappearing valuables, would I tell you or Sorcha of that if I’d taken them or had any part in it? And I’ve nae notion where that hag Lady Agnes has taken herself, that boy, and her servant. But you might ask her where your precious valuables went.”

Frustrated, Colin clenched a fist and stamped the floor with one foot. “Could I find the English fiend, I would.”

Ranulf shifted in his seat then stood to pace beside the hearth. “Have you spoken with the master of horse?”

Colin sighed. He had nae answers, and debated whether to have Ranulf placed in irons. If the man was a threat as all evidence indicated, locking him away would eliminate one danger. However, other unidentified dangers remained. Letting Ranulf keep his freedom might lead to those who threatened from secret. “Nay, I ....”

“Brice.” Sorcha swept into the room, holding the door open. “Henry has news of Lady Agnes.”

Colin leapt to his feet and rushed to the boy just entering the room.

The lad cringed away. “Nae, dinna hit me. I done naught wrong. I swear.”

Colin knelt in front of the lad and took him by the shoulders. The boy was filthy and stank. Tear tracks stained his pale face beneath the dirt. A bruise decorated one eye, and he shook like a storm-blown tree. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve then stared at Colin.

“I will nae hurt any who tell me the truth, remember, Henry?”

The lad nodded, but tears brimmed on his lashes and his trembling increased.