Heart's Thief (Highland Bodyguards, Book 2) (18 page)

They were met at the docks by a wall of Scottish warriors.

Despite the men’s fearsome scowls, suspicious looks, and the hands resting on their sword hilts, Colin found the scene strangely comforting. It was good to be among warriors again.

Most of the men wore breeches in the style of the English and Scottish Lowlanders, but several had colorful clan plaids slung over their shoulders or draped around them like cloaks. It almost felt like being back in Scotland among the Bruce’s army.

“What is yer business here?” one of the men demanded, striding down the length of the dock. His narrowed, ice-blue eyes took in the cargo ship, the crew, and Colin and Sabine.

“I am sanctioned to trade along the Irish coast,” Duff replied, pulling a scrolled piece of parchment from the pouch on his belt. He held it up, showing the Scottish traders’ guild seal to the warrior.

“And ye?” the Scot said, shifting his gaze to Colin.

Duff began to repeat the lie Colin had given him last night, but Colin interjected.

“Mayhap I can explain everything once I get my wife on solid ground,” he said quickly. “She is carrying my bairn, and the seas seem to have unsettled her stomach this morn.”

The warrior eyed them for another long minute before at last giving them a curt nod of his dark head.

Colin hoisted his saddlebags on one shoulder, then extended his hand for a firm shake with Duff, Arran, and Keith. “Thank ye again,” he said before swinging his legs over the gunwale and landing with a thump on the docks. He lifted Sabine over after him, who mutely nodded her thanks to the crew as well.

Tucking her arm under his as an attentive husband would do, he walked her down the docks and toward the wall of large Scottish warriors.

“Does yer wife need, ahem, privacy?” the man who’d met them at the end of the docks asked, casting a wary look at her.

“I need to speak with ye away from the others,” Colin said bluntly, dropping his voice.

The man turned icy, apprehensive eyes on him, his dark brows lowering. If he’d had more time and his wits about him, Colin would have chosen a tone and words that drew less suspicion, but as it was, speed was of the essence.

Luckily, the warrior nodded again and motioned them forward. They walked through the wall of warriors and away from the docks toward a tall stone tower that Colin guessed was used for watching the sea for approaching vessels.

The man opened the door to the tower and motioned for them to head up the spiral stone staircase to the right.

Colin could feel tension radiating from Sabine, but he urged her up the stairs, following close behind.

When they reached the top, two broad Scottish warriors turned from the arrow slits in the stone wall where they’d been looking out over the water.

“Stand down, men,” the man said as he moved into the small space behind Colin. “Give us a moment.”

The two warriors glanced at each other, then lifted their eyebrows at Colin and Sabine, but finally they nodded to the man who must be their superior and shuffled to the stairs.

When the two warriors’ footsteps faded from earshot, the man turned to them, his gaze sharp and cold.

“The only reason I am affording ye such leeway is that I detect a Highland brogue on yer tongue, man,” he said. “Explain yerself before my generosity is spent.”

Colin squared his shoulders. “My name is Colin MacKay. I am working in the service of our King.”

The man’s eyes widened a hair’s breadth, recognition flickering across their pale depths.

“Colin MacKay—ye mean the Colin MacKay who is in the Bruce’s direct council?”

“Aye, the same. I’ve been sent by the Bruce to deliver a message for his brother.”

A slow smile began to spread across the man’s face, chasing away the hardened warrior who’d been glaring at them a moment before.

“I’ve heard of ye, but it’s good to finally meet ye in person.” The man extended a hand toward Colin. “I am Kirk MacLeod.”

Now it was Colin’s turn to feel his eyes widen with recognition. He clasped Kirk’s extended forearm and gave it a firm shake.

“Ye are in Edward Bruce’s inner circle, are ye no’?”

“Aye. Glad to hear ye’ve heard of me as well.”

Kirk MacLeod had been in Robert the Bruce’s service for many years. When the Bruce sent his brother Edward to Ireland in a quest to unite all Celtic peoples against the English, Kirk had been hand-selected to serve as Edward Bruce’s right-hand man. Though Edward Bruce hadn’t formed a similar organization as Robert the Bruce’s Bodyguard Corps, Kirk was nevertheless among a small and tight-knit group of elite warriors whom the Bruces kept close to their sides.

“Are ye a MacLeod of the isles?” Colin asked.

“Aye,” Kirk replied. “Is a MacKay Highlander acquainted with one of my kin?”

Colin smiled. “Angus MacLeod. He’s been looking out for me in the Bruce’s army for nigh nine years now.”

“The old bear. Angus is a distant uncle of mine.”

“It is good to meet ye,” Colin said, sobering. “I wouldnae mind updating ye on how yer uncle fares at some point, but my business is pressing.”

Kirk’s face once again fell into its hard lines. “Aye. Ye’ll need to reach Edward quickly then.”

Colin nodded, but Kirk hesitated, shifting his gaze to Sabine.

“And the lass?” he asked, his eyes keen as he scrutinized Sabine. “Is she with us?”

Conflicting emotions twined together to form a knot in Colin’s stomach. He glanced at Sabine, who stood stock-still behind him. Her compressed lips were faintly lined in white.

“I’ll vouch for her,” Colin said at last. “There is much to explain, but later.”

Kirk nodded curtly and turned to descend the tower stairs. Before following, Colin tried to catch Sabine’s eye to give her a reassuring look, but she dropped her gaze to the stone floor.

When they stepped from the watch tower, Kirk was already barking orders to the warriors stationed there.

“Henry, fetch us three horses. Darrach and William, return to your posts in the tower.”

The men were quick to do their leader’s bidding, though several sent sideways looks at Colin and Sabine.

When the one named Henry appeared leading three large horses, he shot an openly suspicious look in Colin’s direction.

“Milord, are ye sure ye can trust this man? Mayhap ye should bring an additional contingent to keep watch over them—and protect yer back.”

Kirk snatched one of the reins from Henry’s proffered hand and swung into the saddle. “This man is Colin MacKay, of King Robert the Bruce’s inner council,” he said loud enough for all those nearby to hear. “The King trusts this man with his life, so therefore I do as well.”

Murmurs rippled through the gathered warriors. Colin felt the stares of many men land on him.

Henry extended him the reins to another horse, his eyes wide. As Colin accepted the reins, Henry gave him a bow.

Colin left his horse standing before the tower for a moment to help Sabine mount her own steed, then swung into his saddle.

“Be vigilant, men,” Kirk called to the warriors.

The soldiers called ayes in response, but someone’s voice rose above the rest.

“
Manu
forti
!”

One of the warriors in the front of the group placed his fist over his heart, then lifted it toward Colin. “
Manu forti
!” he said, taking up the call.

Soon all the warriors had pounded their chests with a fist and then raised their hands to Colin, shouting the same phrase.

Sabine reined her horse close to his, leaning over so that her low voice would be heard over the chants.

“What are they saying?”

Colin’s throat had tightened with emotion at the display his fellow Scottish warriors had given him. He swallowed, turning to Sabine.

“
Manu forti
is the MacKay clan’s motto. It means ‘with a strong hand.’”

“But why? Why are they saluting you?”

Colin felt a humble smile curl his lips. “Like Kirk, they have heard of my service to King Robert. These warriors are honoring me with this send-off.”

Sabine’s eyes rounded, and something that looked like anguish flashed there before it quickly disappeared. “I…I didn’t know just how important you are to your country—to your cause.”

Pride swelled in his chest as he shifted his gaze from Sabine to the men, all from different clans, with the MacKay motto on their lips and their fists raised in salute. Aye, he’d fought for his place at the Bruce’s side and would never take the honor of that place for granted.

Kirk spurred his horse and set a southwesterly course. Colin followed Sabine after him, watching her hair ripple with the horse’s strides. As the warriors’ chant faded behind him, the dark foreboding that had plagued him since he first met Sabine descended again.

Aye, he was the Bruce’s loyal servant. But what did that mean for Sabine’s future?

As a sea of off-white canvas tents emerged in the distance, Sabine had to clench her teeth to keep them from chattering in fear.

She’d been on dangerous assignments before. She’d had to knock out men twice her size and pray that they remained unconscious as she worked. She’d even once had to drug an English nobleman so that he would sleep soundly as she rummaged through his stacks of missives and ledgers.

But never had she ridden directly into the middle of an army—an army that would likely tear her limb from limb when they found out that an English spy was in their midst.

Colin had said that he would vouch for her, but he would undoubtedly be the first in line to tighten the noose around her neck when he discovered that the missive he’d been sent to deliver was gone.

As inconspicuously as she could, she let her eyes dart over the landscape in the hopes that some out, some escape, would present itself before they reached the cluster of tents.

Like the northern regions of England and the Scottish Lowlands, Ireland was lushly green. Softly rolling hills carpeted in emerald grasses were broken up by clumps of trees and the small tract lands of farmsteads.

The vast expanse of tents was tucked in a valley between two larger hills. A stream trailed through the middle of the camp. In the overcast light of the late afternoon, Sabine could see that the camp swarmed with the activity of warriors, who were mere black dots from this distance.

Nay, there was no way to escape now. Coward that she was, she’d hoped for a fleeting moment that she could simply flee from what she had done to Colin, but she would have to bear the consequences now.

“I hope I havenae pushed yer wife too hard today,” Kirk said over his shoulder to Colin. “What with her carrying a bairn, we shouldnae have ridden so hard, but ye said yer business is urgent, and Edward Bruce is preparing to move his camp.”

Colin cleared his throat before answering. “Her name is Sabine, and she isnae my wife, nor is she with child.”

Kirk spun in the saddle, gaze sharp on the two of them.

Colin held up a staying hand. “It is complicated, but I still vouch for her. Mayhap there will be time to explain some day.”

Kirk’s dark brows remained lowered, but he grunted after a moment and turned forward in the saddle once more. “Aye, mayhap.”

Sabine felt herself sink a little deeper into the pit of shame engulfing her. All the lies, all the secrets in her life seemed to have tangled themselves around her neck. With each of the horse’s strides drawing her closer to Edward Bruce’s camp, she felt the strings tightening.

As they reached the outskirts of the tent village, Sabine’s pulse quickened. Kirk had spoken true—the camp buzzed with activity as Scottish warriors lowered tents, loaded wagons, and harnessed horses. Edward Bruce was preparing to move.

Kirk sent up a whistle, and a younger lad appeared to take their horses’ reins.

Even before Sabine’s boots had squelched in the churned mud, Kirk was striding into the heart of the camp.

“We’ve been stationed here for a fortnight,” he said over his shoulder to Colin. “Edward has been waiting for word from his brother, though he began to fear that his last missive asking for counsel didn’t reach the King.”

Sabine ducked her head, wincing. She hadn’t been privy to any missive sent between Edward Bruce and the King, though she wouldn’t put it past Fabian to have intercepted it.

To her utter relief, Colin shook his head and spoke. “Nay, the Bruce received Edward’s missive, but we were in the middle of a siege on Carlisle castle in the Borderlands. He sent me with all haste once he’d crafted his message in response.”

Kirk nodded, leading them deeper into the maze-like paths between the tents. “Let us hope that the message ye bear is of some aid. When this cursed weather hasnae pinned us down, the Irish forces still loyal to the English have.”

Sabine quickened her step to try to keep up with Colin and Kirk’s long strides. Canvas tents swirled all around her, but she hardly noticed, for her mind shot back to the contents of the missive.

Hold your position in Inniskeen.

Was this Inniskeen, then? If it was, Edward’s decision to move would be going against the Bruce’s advice to remain.

De Burgh is not your only enemy.

What did that mean? Would Edward be walking into a trap if he moved?

Sabine’s blood hammered in her ears. Her dread at Colin learning of her betrayal was chased away by the deepening realization that the information she bore in her head could save men’s lives—or lead to men’s deaths, depending on what she did with her knowledge.

The thought sent an icy chill down her spine. Before she could contemplate the implications of the information she carried, however, Kirk made a sharp turn and suddenly came to a halt in front of a tent that was taller and longer than the others around it.

He murmured something to the guard posted outside the tent, who then slipped between the canvas flaps. A moment later, the guard re-emerged and motioned them all inside.

Sabine tried to swallow the fear that rose in her throat, but it lodged there, nigh choking her.

The interior of the tent was slightly dimmer than the overcast evening outside, though a candle flickered on a wooden table, creating a warm glow within. The table was strewn with what appeared to be several maps, though Sabine couldn’t make them out from where she stood.

Before she had time to scan the rest of the tent’s interior, a man stood from a chair positioned near the table and strode toward them.

Edward Bruce
. It had to be. Though Sabine had never laid eyes on King Robert the Bruce, she’d heard that his physical appearance matched his role as warrior-King. He was said to possess a large frame, graying russet hair, and keen dark eyes.

The man before her lacked the gray in his reddish-brown hair, but otherwise, he fit the King’s description as only a brother could.

Edward was tall—as tall as both Colin and Kirk, making Sabine feel like a sapling surrounded by towering oaks. He wore chainmail over his tunic as if he were about to step into battle, though his head was uncovered.

He was likely only a handful of years older than Colin, but his eyes bore traces of strain around them. His gaze skittered over them to Kirk, a russet brow lifted in inquiry.

“This is Colin MacKay, milord, and Sabine, his…a trusted companion.” Kirk frowned, but luckily for Sabine, he didn’t shoot her another one of his cutting stares.

“Colin MacKay,” Edward Bruce said, a weary smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “My brother speaks very highly of ye.”

“Thank ye, milord,” Colin said, bowing deeply.

Remembering herself, Sabine dropped into a low curtsy, suddenly ashamed of her mud-covered, travel-worn dress and boots.

“Let’s no’ waste time with formalities,” Edward said, motioning them both up. “Ye have word from my brother.”

“Aye,” Colin replied. Without further preamble, he reached under the neckline of his tunic and moved his hand over his heart.

Sabine’s breath suddenly came shallow, making the room tilt slightly. It was happening. Colin would know what she’d done in a matter of moments, and then her life—and his love—would be over.

She heard the faint crinkle of waxed parchment as Colin’s fingers dug in the hidden pocket sewn into his tunic. He withdrew his hand, and in his grasp he bore the protective wrapping that had once concealed the missive.

Colin extended the little packet of waxed parchment to Edward Bruce’s waiting hand.

“We’ll leave ye, milord,” Colin said, turning to the tent’s flaps.

Edward waved at him distractedly, making Colin halt. “Aught that I ken, Kirk kens as well. I imagine it is the same between ye and my brother, Colin.” He glanced at Sabine for a heartbeat, but then seemed to disregard her. “And if ye trust the lass, then so will I.”

Sabine’s heart hammered against her ribcage, unable to tear her gaze away from the parchment in Edward’s hand.

Slowly, he began to unfold it.

At last the wax paper lay open—revealing naught but air within.