Knight Protector (Knight Chronicles) (7 page)

He cared for his horse in the lean-to behind the hut. Once accepted at Strathnaver, one of his men would get the gelding into the stables. The stronghold had so many horses now, one more would cause little notice. Those horses were a problem, for most—nae all—truly belonged to Sorcha’s brother, Baron Raeb MacKai. How the old earl had gotten hold of the MacKai breeding herd, Colin couldna know. He dinna doubt his father had done something underhanded to gain the MacKai fortune on the hoof. Whatever he’d done, Colin would make every effort to set it right.

With his horse sleepily munching on some oats, Colin let himself inside the hut. The hearth cast a man’s shadow on the far wall. Colin drew his blade, and the shadow did too.

“Who goes there?” challenged a familiar voice.

Colin sheathed his weapon. “’Tis Colin Marr.”

Sir Ranulf MacFearann stepped out of the shadows and sheathed his blade as well. “Lady Sorcha is very lovely. Brice was a lucky man.”

The last thing Colin wanted was to discuss Sorcha with anyone, but Ranulf needed a warning that he could carry to the rest of the men. “Not so lucky, since he’s dead. As will be anyone else who thinks to gain Sorcha’s notice.”

“Oh ho, so you are smitten?” The big man smiled.

“Nae, but I am pretending to be her husband, and any attention from another man—whether she welcomes it or no—will place her in danger from the people of Clan Marr. They are less than happy with a MacKai as their countess. I will nae risk her safety more than absolutely necessary to find the traitors and letters from France.”

Ranulf nodded, pulled a couple of mugs from a shelf, filled them from a small cask of ale, handed one to Colin, and sat. He indicated the opposite chair. “Sit a while, my lord, we’ve things to discuss. How goes that search for traitors?”

“I’ve only a little time before darkness fades and makes entering the stronghold unnoticed impossible. As for our search, we failed to find the badge tonight and will have to try again during daylight. In the dark, Sorcha could not distinguish which tree was the right one. Until we have that badge, leave Davey here to watch the comings and goings from the piney copse and report them to me through you or one of the others.”

Ranulf drank then nodded. “It might be well to have one of us outside the stronghold walls. Davey is a good choice because he is still small enough to hide easily and fleet enough of foot to outrun any pursuers. He’s also the least likely to get hired at the stronghold.”

“I agree. Now tell me what you do here. I ordered all of you to disperse once Sorcha and I left and Brice’s body had been buried.”

“Your brother has been taken care of. Davey is making certain the grave will nae be found by anyone besides us. The others are heading separately for the town and the far end of the loch, where they will behave as knights errant are expected to behave.”

“And you?”

Ranulf worried a thumbnail between his teeth.

“I came back to be certain all trace of our visit had been removed. ’Twould nae do for some Marr clansman or servant to come and find signs that strangers had been here.”

“They probably wouldna notice. Nearly everyone at Strathnaver uses this hut as a retreat in bad weather or for a discreet meeting between lovers.”

“Is that why you wanted us away before you got back?”

“Had I swiving in mind, do you nae think the woman would be with me?” Colin growled. They were friends, compatriots—they had never bothered to keep secret their encounters with women. Yet he was unaccountably irritated at Ranulf’s curiosity where Sorcha was concerned.
But Sorcha is nae an ordinary woman. Clan Marr and I may owe her a debt.

“True,” Ranulf mumbled into his mug. Then he lifted his head to show a sly grin. “’Tis nae as if we have no shared before, either.”

Colin felt his neck heat and grew even more irritated. He’d been proud of those encounters and the prowess they proved. Why feel shame now when they were long past?

“I’ve no time to chatter over ancient history.” He stood, drained his mug, and thumped it back onto the table. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Aye”—Ranulf stood as well— “and gladly.”

• • •

A bright pearly pink shone on the horizon as Colin neared the stronghold. Keeping to the shadows was difficult because all the deep shade lay on the wrong side of his path. Having watched the clearing before the curtain wall door for long moments and seen no sign of anyone—the absence of a roving sentry was disturbing—Colin left his last bit of shelter headed for the door roughly twenty strides distant. Seven steps from his goal a horse and rider cantered into the clearing.

Colin turned his head toward the rider and froze. The chamberlain? What was the man doing riding out this early in the morning?

The chamberlain pulled his horse to a halt. “My Lord Marr?”

Colin did the only thing he could think to do. He burped loudly, took a wobbly step toward the chamberlain, and then crumpled to the ground. He’d never expected to be glad of his brother’s renown as a drunk. He could only pray that the small odor of ale on his breath would be enough to convince the chamberlain.

“My lord!” Hoofbeats hurried toward Colin.

St. Andrew, dinna let the man call for aid.

The shadow of the horse blocked the weak dawn light. A corner of the chamberlain’s cloak swept over Colin’s face as the older man knelt.

“What ails you, my lord? Shall I send for help?” The chamberlain’s hands searched Colin’s body for broken bones. When the man’s hand felt the raised scar of Colin’s upper left arm, the chamberlain frowned and paused for the space of a single breath.

Alarm rushed through Colin. That scar was the only evidence he knew that could distinguish him from Brice—the man who’d given him the scar in the first place. He’d nae notion what the chamberlain might know about Brice’s scars or lack thereof, but Colin couldna risk exposure.

Weakly, as a drunk might, he beat the searching hands away, rolled onto his back, and belched once more. A cloud of ale-scented air rose satisfactorily from his mouth.

The chamberlain turned his head and uttered a soft “Ugh” before turning back. But the man’s eyes had narrowed, and his mouth thinned. “Does Lady Sorcha know you have left your bed, my lord?”

Had the chamberlain discovered Colin’s secret? The answer must wait. Colin issued a vapid grin. “N . . . nae. Too tired to swive—damned woman thinks of naught but cleaning. Decid . . . cided to fuck chambermaid at wood . . . woodcutter’s hut.” He let his voice get progressively weaker and went slack when he’d finished his story.

“My lord, my lord.” The chamberlain shook Colin’s shoulder. “You must wake up, my lord.”

“Wha . . . what?” Colin fought his way to a sitting position.

“My lord, have you been deceiving your wife as to your recovery so you could slip out to swive while she slept?”

Colin beamed his idiot’s grin once more. “Aye. Sorcha neglects me. A man has needs.” As he spoke he made a fumbling and unsuccessful attempt to stand.

“Allow me to help.”

He let himself be hoisted to his feet. “Th . . . thank you.” He pushed himself away from the chamberlain then took several unsteady steps toward his goal.

“My lord, you canna go that way. It has been locked since before I came here and the key lost.”

Colin frowned, fumbled in his belt pouch. Withdrawing the key, he held it up for the chamberlain to see. “’Tis nae a door to be used by any but the earl.”

“Ah, I understand. Shall I assist you to your bed?”

Colin shook his head. “I shall be fine, thank you. Promise me you’ll nae mention this encounter to anyone.”

“Of course I shall keep silent,” the chamberlain vowed.

What else could the man say if he wished to keep his post? “Excellent, now I must hurry.” Colin turned his back on the chamberlain, passed through the door. He locked it behind him, resolving to be more careful as long as caution didna interfere with his mission.

By full light, Colin sat in bed leaning against pillows Sorcha had just fluffed and watched her bustle about the room. She claimed to be straightening up. It looked to him like she tried to avoid talking with him by staying in constant motion.

“I dinna understand why you willna speak of the months after your betrothal with Brice was broken.”

“You left,” she accused. “You were nae there, so you’ve nae need to understand. Those events are in the past, and there they will stay. Naught you can say will change them or make me change my mind, so you might as well forget the subject entirely.”

Colin clenched his teeth. If she wouldna speak with him, he’d find someone who would. But no with Sorcha about. The woman had more secrets than pharaoh had slaves, and she clung to them just as tightly. He would have to play Moses and get her to let her secrets go.

He shrugged with pretended indifference and changed the subject. Let her think he’d forget; he wouldna. ’Twas too important. ’Twas vital, he assured himself, that he know every detail about Sorcha to be able to convince her to trust him completely. Nor could he protect her properly from traitors if she hid potential threats from him.
You are neither father, brother, nor husband to her
.

He didna care. He’d put her in this situation and protect her he would. He’d do the same for any of his men.

“Do you think Henry forgot? ’Tis pure famished I am.” Colin let his empty stomach distract him from his circling thoughts. ’Twould nae be the first time he used hunger to distract himself. With winter arriving early and turning harsh, food had been scarce coming north in November. Sometimes hunger had been the only thing standing between him and a misery of regret. Still, he’d anticipated enjoying good food when he arrived home. Instead, necessity forced him to indulge in an invalid’s meals and pretend to tolerate poisonous porridge from Lady Agnes.

“You’ll nae starve,” Sorcha commented, breaking in on his thoughts. “If Henry doesna bring you a tray before I’m done picking up this mess, I’ll get you food myself. Those who visit you talk, and I’ll nae have every person in the clan thinking I allow my husband to lie sick in a pigsty.”

Colin’s patience all but broke. Perhaps Brice had died of starvation. If his stepmother’s swill from last night was any example of the fare Strathnaver served to the sick, could the fare for the hale be much better? Nonetheless, keeping to his vow of caution, he waited as Sorcha bent, lifted, folded, put away, and in general did everything she could to avoid him while being in the same room. She was folding the coverlet on her pallet when a knock sounded.

“Sir Henry Marr to see his brother,” announced a deep male voice.

“Just a moment.” She headed for the door but turned to look at Colin before she opened it.

He sank down into the bed, nodding at her.

Colin’s mouth began to water the moment the door opened. The scent of sausage, potatoes, and what he hoped was buttered honey buns nearly propelled him from the bed.
Keep still. A man but a short walk from death’s door doesna find new life from a mere whiff of food
.

“Good morning, Henry,” Sorcha was saying. “I’m surprised your mother dinna send her fortifying porridge.”

“She did.” The younger male voice chuckled. “But cook changed out the tray when mother said she would be talking with the priest for a while.”

“Then the earl’s prayers have been answered, for he was little pleased with last night’s supper.”

Colin could hear the smile in Sorcha’s voice.

“No one could be pleased with my mother’s porridge. Sir Broc, put the tray on that table over by the window. I would break my fast with my brother. And my sister-in-law may have some much needed time to herself in the fresh air.”

“Oh, I don’t know if the earl is strong enough…”

“Do nae worry, Sorcha. If need be, I will feed Brice. I promise to nae tire him,” Henry said.

Please, please, please go, Colin mentally begged, though some base part of him wanted her to stay.

“Very well, but I must check on Brice first and make sure he feels able to visit. Wait at the table. If he’s awake, I’ll bring him to you.”

“Are you certain you don’t wish my help?”

“Absolutely.”

Footsteps shuffled about the room and soon Sorcha turned back the bedcovers. She bent to help Colin sit, as she would for a patient just starting to recover. “I’ll guide you to the corner chair where the light is weakest,” she whispered. “We dinna want Henry to see how healthy you are.”

“Aye.” Colin clasped her shoulders and tried to look as if he depended upon her for support.

They made their slow way to the table, passing Henry who—for reasons known only to a boy’s mind—sat on Sorcha’s pallet, fiddling with one of the corners.

As she helped Colin sit, she called to the boy. “Henry, would you be kind enough to bring me the two quilts from my pallet?”

“I am happy to aid you and see to my brother’s comfort,” came the cheerful reply.

She took the quilts and practically swaddled Colin so that only his face and hands showed, while Henry occupied a seat on the opposite side of the table.

“Stop fussing, woman. I’m nae dying any longer.” Colin kept his voice faint but irritated. He actually enjoyed her fussing, for it forced her to touch him. However, much more touching, and even two blankets would not disguise his body’s lust.

“I’ll return as quickly as possible.”

“’Tis no need, Lady Sorcha,” said Henry. “Sir Broc will remain outside the door until I leave. If Brice tires, he will have plenty of help.”

She nodded. “Well enough.”

Colin prayed that Sorcha’s quick return would take a very long time. He had a great many questions to ask Henry and the last thing he needed was her interference.

• • •

Sorcha went to the kitchen and requested some stew, fresh bread, and a bowl of spiced cider.

“My lady, is th’ breakfast I sent wi’ Sir ’enry nae t’ th’ earl’s likin’?” the cook asked.

Sorcha smiled at the woman. “I’m certain the meal is satisfactory. I want the stew and bread for later. ’Tis nae good for my husband to have too many visitors. He’s just begun to recover. With the stew in a small pot, I’ll be able to keep it warm on the hob of the chamber’s hearth. Thus he may eat when he pleases, and no one need disturb his rest.”