The Chief (40 page)

Dear God, the fiends are smiling!

Her gaze was riveted on the fearsome warrior leading the lightning charge. There was something…

A whisper of awareness slid down her spine. He was virtually unrecognizable, but she
knew
him. Her husband had come for her.

The English didn't know what to do. The soldiers stood there stunned, as Christina, mindful of the danger, slid out of the way of the charging warriors. She'd barely taken a few steps before pandemonium exploded around them—literally.

A series of loud booms shattered the night, horrible sounds that struck terror in their wake. She'd never heard anything like it. It sounded like thunder and lightning, but the sky was perfectly clear.

She heard the whiz of arrows fired over her head, and the four soldiers guarding the gate fell in quick succession. A moment later a warrior with a bow slung over his back jumped from the stable roof, the gate was opened, the drawbridge was down, and more of her husband's men were storming into the chaotic bailey.

Men were running everywhere, pouring out of the barracks and tower house above to see what was happening. Tor and his warriors fought like men possessed, cutting down all who stood in their path. The speed and ferocity of the attack was incredible. The stunned Englishmen didn't stand a chance.

Christina saw the cruel captain who'd killed Tor's men and captured her nearly cut in two by one powerful slash of her husband's great sword.

She turned away, having no stomach for death even when it was warranted.

The sky lit up as fires broke out all around them. Animals joined the human menagerie looking for escape. She was very nearly trampled by a horse, but a firm hand plucked her out of harm's way.

Tor. Before she could throw herself into his arms, he spun her to the side and with one hand hacked down a soldier who'd come up behind her.

But the chaos was dying down. Her husband and his men had already dispatched most of the soldiers in the bailey. A new wave of Englishmen tried to storm down the stairs from the tower house above, but as they crossed the bridge over the ditch, Tor's men were waiting to cut them down one by one. Realizing what was happening, someone—probably Lord Seagrave—gave the order to retreat to the tower house. The men outside were left to their fate as the door to the peel closed behind them.

Christina threw her arms around her husband, burying her face against his chest, too relieved to care about the mud and grime covering him. “I wasn't sure you'd come in time.”

He pulled her back, cupped her chin in his gauntleted hand, and gave her a kiss that was so fierce and desperate it left her breathless and momentarily stunned. She dare not allow herself to hope.

Breaking the kiss, he looked into her eyes. “I feared I'd be too late. Are you all right?”

She nodded, and tears sprang to her eyes. One look at him and it was as if all the fear, horror, and despair that she'd bottled up over the past few days broke free in one torrential storm. “It was horrible. Your men,” she choked, “the boat…all…dead.”

His mouth was grim beneath the steel mask. “I know. Shush,” he said, calming her. “You will tell me everything later.” He tilted her face to the light and swore, seeing the bruises around her cheek and eye. “Who did this to you? I'll kill him.”

“You already did,” she said, pointing to the captain.

“I need to get you out of here. Can you ride?”

She nodded, her throat too hot and tight to speak.

“Good. I have a man gathering horses outside the gate; I will take you to him. You will be safe until we are done here.”

He meant to take the tower house as well. With what the English had done to his men, she knew there would be no mercy. “There isn't time. You must take me to the Earl of Carrick right away. I only pray that he is at Lochmaben.”

“Bruce? What do you need with him?”

She told him about the documents she'd read, not needing to explain the implications.

“You're sure about this?”

She nodded. “The messengers must be stopped before they reach Edward.”

“Did you see them leave?”

“I think so. Two men rode out not long after the midday meal.”

“English?”

She nodded. “They will travel easier than Comyn's men once they reach the border.”

“I'll take care of the messengers.” He went over to one of the black-clad warriors and said something to him. The man gathered three more warriors, jumped on horses, and left.

A few minutes later, she was on a horse, and they were riding hell-bent-for-leather to Lochmaben.

Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick and Lord of Annandale, listened to Christina's story with increasing incredulity, and then with barely repressed anger. That he didn't question her tale was confirmation that such a dangerous document as the bond he'd signed with Comyn existed.

“I'll kill him,” he said, his blue eyes black with rage. “I knew he could not be trusted.”

“Then why did you?” Tor asked. The lapse in judgment didn't seem consistent with what he had seen so far of Scotland's would-be king. Bruce had surprised him. Immediately, Tor recognized in him the one trait guaranteed to impress any Highlander—Bruce was a warrior. Unlike most Scottish noblemen, he looked like he would be just as comfortable on a battlefield as in parliament.

The earl had shrewd eyes and a blunt tongue—a rarity for any politician. Undeniably proud, he nonetheless seemed blessedly free of the trappings of his Lowland ilk, the fur-lined brat and heavy gold brooch around his neck the only visible signs of his wealth. If he'd noticed the dirt and grime covering Tor and his men, he hadn't given any indication, welcoming them into the hall forthwith.

Bruce lowered his voice to answer Tor's question. Though he'd assured them they could speak freely in the hall, it was better to be careful. “It would have been easier to defeat Edward with a united Scotland. I hoped to avoid a civil war as well. I didn't think he'd dare confess his own treason to reveal mine. Comyn has more faith in Edward's gratitude than I do.” He gave Tor a sharp look. “The men you sent after the messengers?”

“The best,” he answered. “Lamont is leading the team; they will be found.”

Bruce held his gaze, sensed his confidence, and nodded.

“What will you do, my lord?” Christina asked.

“I don't know,” Bruce said solemnly. “But Comyn will answer for what he has attempted this day.” Ever the gallant knight, Bruce pushed aside his anger and bowed over her hand, pressing a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “I owe you a debt, Lady Christina, one that I can never hope to repay.” He glanced at Tor. “I hope your husband realizes what a fortunate man he is to not only have such a beautiful wife, but also one with unexpected—and very useful—talents. You've recounted the words of that document better than my own clerks.” His eyes twinkled. “Perhaps I should hire you.”

Christina delighted at the praise, blushing with pleasure at the honest admiration in the earl's face—a handsome face, so it was said. But it wouldn't stay that way if he didn't release her hand. Perhaps this chivalry had its merits. “He does,” Tor said through clenched teeth. “And Christina's talents, I'm afraid, are reserved for her husband.”

He spoke sharply and Christina frowned, not understanding the source of his annoyance. Bruce, however, did. He laughed and released her hand. “I thank you for your service this day, lass, and if you ever need anything, you have only to ask.”

Christina flushed a little pinker and returned his smile. “If you don't mind, I should ask you for that boon right now. A bath would be lovely.”

“It shall be arranged at once.”

She looked at Tor questioningly. “Go,” he said. “I will join you soon.”

She nodded and followed the serving woman out of the Hall. Both men watched her go.

“Our bargain has worked out well for you,” Bruce said slyly.

It had, but Tor didn't need to tell him that. “Well enough.”

“You've decided to accept the command.”

“With a few understandings.” They'd been speaking in
French when Christina was there, but had unconsciously switched to Gaelic when she left—another point in Bruce's favor.

The earl eyed him warily. “What kind of understandings?”

“We will follow your orders, but I must be in charge of the team. For a guard like this to work, I must have autonomy and complete authority in the field.”

Bruce considered him for a long time, not looking pleased by his demands. “So I tell you what I need and you decide how it is to be done?”

Tor shrugged. That was one way of looking at it.

After a few more minutes, Bruce reluctantly nodded in agreement. “Not that I'm not impressed with what you and your men did, but next time try to let me know before you decide to attack an English garrison.”

Tor smiled. “I'll do my best, but there wasn't time. The English had something very precious to me.”

“Anything else?”

“My men and I may not be bound by your knightly code—and will do your dirty work—but I won't be ordered to kill women or children.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Bruce said wryly. “You will be called upon for dangerous and unpleasant tasks, but you have my word that I will not ask you to do anything I won't do myself.”

Surprisingly, Tor could see that he meant it. His estimation of the lauded knight had just increased twofold. Initially, Tor's decision to lead the team was not so much about joining Bruce as it was about defeating Edward. But the young earl had made an impression on him. Robert Bruce was no weak lordling, but a noble warrior determined to take back a kingdom. Unlike most of his chivalric brethren, Bruce was not afraid to get his hands dirty. It was a quality he would need if they were to have any hope of success. To win this war, he was going to get filthy.

Tor met his gaze. “And Comyn? Shall I take care of him?”

Bruce did not pretend to misunderstand the question. His path to the throne was not blocked by just King Edward, but also by the Red Comyn—arguably the most powerful noble in the land. “Nay. I shall deal with Comyn myself.”

Tor nodded, knowing the first strike in a long war was about to be felt.

“Go,” Bruce said, “see to your wife.” He smiled. “Though I would suggest a good dunking and a change of clothes first.”

Tor's mouth twisted. “A wise suggestion.” He might have more success convincing his wife to forgive him if he didn't reek of a bog.

“And MacLeod?” Tor turned, and Bruce gave him a hard, meaningful look. “Be ready.”

“Aye, my lord,” Tor said with a bow of his head. “At your command.”

The relaxing lull of her bath had vanished by the time the water was taken away, and Christina was dressed in a fresh chemise and cotte borrowed from Bruce's wife, Lady Elizabeth De Burgh. Barely noticing the luxurious furnishings surrounding her, she waited anxiously in a chair by the fireplace, drying her hair, not sure what to expect when her husband finally joined her.

He'd seemed so relieved to see her. But she knew he had to be furious with her for leaving. She hoped she could make him see why it was the only thing that she could do. Why they would both be better off apart. She knew it had been cowardly, leaving him like that without explanation. But saying good-bye the first time had been hard enough; she wasn't looking forward to doing it face to face.

What was keeping him?

When the door finally opened a few minutes later, the
reason for delay was obvious. She sucked in her breath, her chest tightened to burning. Like her, he'd bathed. His damp golden-brown hair glistened in the firelight and the fresh scent of soap wafted through the sultry air.

Her heart lurched. Did he have to make it so hard by looking so ridiculously handsome all the time?

Their gazes caught. She opened her mouth to apologize, but was stunned to find herself swept up in a fierce embrace.

“Jesu, Christina, you scared the life out of me.” He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her a little tighter. “I thought I'd lost you.”

He sounded different. His voice seemed softer, thick with emotion. Wishful thinking. Nothing had changed. He'd come for her—rescued her—but he'd done so before. This time she would not let her romantic fantasies carry her away. It did not mean he loved her.

She inhaled deeply, wanting to hold on to his warm, masculine scent, then forced herself to push away from him. “I know you must want to know what happened to your men,” she said. “It was so horrible.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “All gone…”

His mouth fell in a grim line. “They died doing what they were trained for, Christina. What they loved. Highlanders live to die in battle. To a warrior it is the greatest honor.”

Christina would never understand it. Warriors were a different breed.

“Tell me what happened,” he said gently.

She explained how the boats had followed them, then attacked without provocation. He listened to her story without interruption, smiling when he heard how his men had circled her and protected her with their bodies. “Maybe if I hadn't—”

“Nay,” he stopped her. “They would have died whether you were there are not. No one could have foreseen what
happened. My men make that journey a few times a month; attacks at sea are very rare. I can only guess that the MacDougalls recognized my banner and thought to continue in their efforts to destroy me.”

“It was the MacDougalls behind the attacks?”

He nodded.

That meant…“You caught Brother John before he could pass on what he learned.”

“We did.”
Thank God
. At least she would not be responsible for that. “Turns out my new clerk was John of Lorne's nephew, and my previous clerk did not meet with an accident.”