The Lady's Protector (Highland Bodyguards #1) (23 page)

“I betrayed ye, sire.”

The Bruce’s eyes narrowed on Ansel. “What do ye mean?”

Ansel dragged in a breath. “When Clemont held John at knifepoint and was about to take Isolda, I…” Shame burned in his throat, but he forced the words out. “I offered him information on ye and the Scottish army.”

“What?” The Bruce’s voice was suddenly sharp, his eyes piercing Ansel.

Ansel refused to shrink back under his King’s strident stare.

“I was desperate. I was attempting to stall Clemont, to find a way to save Isolda and John. I offered to tell him aught that would appease Lancaster in the stead of Isolda and John’s lives.”

The Bruce scrubbed a hand over his eyes and dropped down into his chair.

“Let me guess—ye are in love with the woman.”

Surprise crashed through Ansel. “I—we…” He took another deep breath. “Aye, sire. How did ye ken?”

“Hell, man, it’s in yer voice when ye say her name. It’s in yer eyes when ye speak of her.” The Bruce dropped his hand from over his eyes and looked hard at Ansel. “Tell me all of it. What did ye reveal to Clemont?”

“Naught,” Ansel replied. “I only offered.”

“What stopped ye?”

Pride for the woman he loved mingled with his own shameful behavior in his chest.

“Isolda. She reminded me that I am a man of honor, that I couldnae betray ye.” Ansel shook his head as if to clear the swell of love even the mere thought of Isolda prompted in him. “But I offered, nonetheless.”

“I cannae fault ye for falling in love with such a woman,” the Bruce said, his eyes flashing with something akin to respect. “From all ye’ve said of her, she sounds truly remarkable.”

The King’s gaze grew hard once again, though. “What would ye have done if ye had told Clemont my secrets? Would ye have let him report back to Lancaster?”

“Nay, sire!” Ansel blurted before he could rein in his tone.

“Would ye have let him live?”

“Nay. I would have torn him limb from limb—no’ just for Isolda and John, but for working against Scotland. I’d do the same to Lancaster, too, if I ever thought I’d get close enough to the bastard.”

“But ye willnae ever get close to him.”

Dread stabbed Ansel’s stomach. “Aye, sire. I accept whatever consequence ye would give me—even if ye wish to take my life.”

The Bruce leaned forward, placing his elbows on the wooden desk. “Nay, man. Ye willnae be getting close to Lancaster because Isolda and John still need ye—and because
I
still need ye.”

A seed of hope budded in him, but Ansel refused to trust it just yet.

“What do ye mean, sire?”

The King exhaled slowly through his nose. “I gave ye a mission to protect Lancaster’s son, Ansel. I thought such a task would help the cause of Scottish freedom by giving us an ally in Lancaster. As ye’ve discovered, I was wrong. But that doesnae change yer mission. Lancaster wanted Isolda and John dead, and by thwarting him, we are advancing Scotland’s cause.”

Ansel’s mouth fell open, but he was too dumbstruck to care. “But, Robert, I betrayed ye. I put my heart ahead of my country and King.”

“Hear me well, Ansel,” the Bruce said, narrowing his eyes on him. “Ye are one of the most loyal men I’ve ever known. Aye, I am no’ pleased to hear that ye offered Clemont information, but ye did so in the service of the mission I charged ye with—to protect Lancaster’s son.”

“What are ye saying?” Ansel breathed.

“That I still need ye. I wouldnae trust any other man to protect John and Isolda as well as ye will—call it the upshot of falling in love on yer mission. Ye will see to their safety, for as long as they are alive and well, we have a weapon to use against Lancaster.”

Involuntarily, Ansel stiffened. “Ye would use them as pawns in this war? Ye would wield them against Lancaster in the future?”

The Bruce considered Ansel for a long moment. “Ye are lucky that ye are not the King of Scotland, Ansel,” he said quietly. “For I dinnae believe ye would have the stomach for it. It is no’ my aim to ever have to use an innocent woman and child thusly, however, I willnae deny that I am no’ above using every advantage available to me to secure Scotland’s freedom. And I expect ye no’ to question me again.”

The last was spoken with a subtle edge, reminding Ansel of just how precarious a line he had walked.

“I willnae,” he vowed, dropping to one knee before the Bruce. “Ye’ll never have reason to doubt my loyalty again.”

The Bruce grunted. “Rise,” he said, though the tension swiftly drained from his weathered face, to be replaced with an ease that Ansel had rarely seen in the years since the Bruce had crowned himself King of Scotland.

“I suppose ye wish to marry the lass,” the Bruce said, a grin playing faintly behind his russet beard.

“Aye, sire,” Ansel said, quickly straightening.

“Samhain is as good a time as any. What would ye say to having the King attend yer wedding?”

Ansel felt a smile break across his face even as his heart leapt into his throat.

“I’ll have to ask my bride, but I imagine she’ll have no objections.”

“Good.” The Bruce leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ll get to that happy occasion shortly. But before then, I have another task for ye.”

*    *    *

Night had fallen in earnest several hours ago, yet still Ansel did not appear.

Isolda gnawed her thumbnail distractedly, her eyes tugging relentlessly toward the tower Ansel had entered earlier that evening. Several large Highlanders had emerged just as the ale was being passed around to the Samhain revelers, yet Ansel remained absent.

Meredith caught Isolda’s hand and gently pulled the nail away from her teeth.

“Dinnae fash yerself, Isolda,” she said softly. “The King likely just wanted to take extra time to thank Ansel for doing his duty and protecting ye and John.”

Isolda sank her teeth into her lip. Meredith didn’t know that Ansel thought himself disloyal, and that he was prepared to face the King’s punishment. But Isolda did. No matter what she’d said, no matter how she’d tried to convince him over the last sennight that he was still a good man, he would only shake his dark head and turn away in shame.

“Come, enjoy the celebration with the others,” Meredith said, though concern creased her brow.

Despite the merriment all around, Isolda simply couldn’t put aside her worry. Even when Alwin, Rona, and Jossalyn had kindly tried alongside Meredith to draw her out of her dark mood, she had excused herself as politely as she could and stood in the shadows watching the northwest tower.

“Forgive me, Meredith, but—”

“Ah, there he is!” Meredith interrupted, her gaze fixing beyond Isolda on the tower.

Isolda whirled around to find Ansel striding toward her stiffly. His face was drawn taut and his eyes were fatigued as they locked onto her.

Dread coiled in her belly. She sent up a silent prayer, her heart hammering against her ribcage as she waited for him to reach her.

“It seems ye two would like yer privacy,” Meredith said, her astute eyes shifting between Ansel and Isolda. “I’ll be with the others.” She slipped toward the bonfire, where Burke and several other towering Highland warriors stood with the women Isolda had met earlier.

“What did he say?” she breathed when Ansel at last halted before her. “What did he decide?”

Ansel cracked a wearied smile. “I’m sorry to have kept ye waiting and worrying,” he said. “All is well. In fact, all is better than well.”

Isolda let out a shaky breath as relief flooded her.

“All is forgiven,” he went on. “The Bruce wishes for me to continue to watch over ye and John.”

He might have had more to say, but Isolda launched herself into his arms and claimed his mouth in a kiss. When at last she released him, they were both breathless.

“Then it is truly over? We may live our lives in peace?”

“Aye, though we won’t be receiving a plot of land from Kenneth Sutherland.”

She felt her smile falter at that. “Where are we to live, then?”

“The Bruce thought it safer for us to remain closer to Roslin Castle. If Lancaster wishes to reach ye again, he’ll have to go through all of Scotland to get to this remote corner of the Highlands. Laird Robert Sinclair has agreed and has a cottage in mind no’ far from here.”

A swell of gratitude and joy replaced the trickle of doubt from a moment before, nigh choking her. She hugged Ansel hard for another long moment, relishing in the feel of his strong, hard arms engulfing her.

But then uncertainty fluttered in the back of her mind again.

“You said if Lancaster wishes to reach us again. Do you think he will keep searching for us, hunting us?”

Ansel’s hard features softened in the flickering light from the bonfire. “Nay, lass. I truly believe it is over.”

“But…but how do you know?”

He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The reason I am so late in joining ye for the festivities is because the Bruce wanted me to aid him in crafting a letter to Lancaster.”

Surprise slashed through her. “King Robert is still willing to maintain their alliance?”

“Nay—or no’ exactly. I think the Bruce is sore over the fact that he placed his trust in Lancaster and ended up getting played in the Earl’s scheme like the rest of us. However, he is willing to let Lancaster think that he still has an ally in the Scots. If he ever seeks the Bruce’s aid again, Lancaster will be sorely surprised to learn that he has been played in return.”

Isolda shook her head slowly. She would be grateful to escape such political maneuverings shortly and slip into a simpler life. “And what of us? Will Lancaster know that we are still alive and hiding in Scotland?”

Ansel’s lips curled into a roguish smile. “The missive informs Lancaster that the bodyguard he hired was found dead, but no signs remain of the boy he sought or his mother. Lancaster will surmise soon enough that Clemont has been lost as well, for his bounty hunter will never report back to him again.”

The smile widened on Ansel’s face as he went on. “The Bruce promised in the missive to continue the search for Lancaster’s son, but the prospects arenae promising. This is the Highlands, after all. All manner of things can befall a man, and he is never seen again.”

Tears of happiness brimmed in Isolda’s eyes, blurring Ansel’s handsome face. At last, it was over. She and John were safe.

“And speaking of losing oneself in the Highlands,” Ansel said, “the King has instructed us to live a quiet life as man and wife to avoid notice. In fact, he insists that we wed as soon as possible. What say ye, my lady?”

The tears began streaming down her cheeks in earnest as she shook with laughter.

“I say aye.”

“It’s snowing!”

Isolda was jerked from a peaceful sleep by John’s shrill cry.

“Come look, Mama, it’s snowing!” he shouted again.

“Does it never snow in England?” Ansel groaned, rolling over and draping an arm around Isolda’s waist.

“Not like this, it doesn’t,” she replied, allowing Ansel to pull her deeper into the warm cocoon of their bed.

But John would not be dissuaded. “Mama!” he shouted again. “When do you think it will stop?”

Ansel finally poked his head out of the blankets. He glanced at John, who stood in front of the window in the little private bedchamber attached to the back of their cottage. The shutters were thrown back and snow flurries swirled around John’s dark head.

“Judging by the clouds coming in from the west, I doubt it will stop anytime soon, lad,” Ansel said, winking at John. The boy squealed with glee and clapped his hands.

“Close the shutters, please!” Isolda called, but John had already dashed from the bedchamber and to the cottage’s door, where his woolen cloak hung on a peg.

“May I go out, please, Mama? Ansel?”

“Wait for us, my dove,” Isolda called through the bedchamber’s half-closed door. From where she lay, she could see John swing his cloak over his slim shoulders. He practically pranced in front of the door as he waited for them to join him.

“I’ll take him with me to Roslin Castle today, if ye like,” Ansel said, throwing back the blankets and slipping from the bed. “He can play with the other children there.”

Warmth surged in Isolda’s heart. How she loved this man, who had embraced her son as his own.

“Aye, if you are sure he will not be in your way.”

“Nay, of course no’,” Ansel replied, quickly clicking the shutters closed against the cold and donning a linen shirt. “I’ll just be training the Bruce’s corps.”

That was how he spent most of his days—training the small, elite handful of men who would serve the King of Scotland as Ansel had: as a bodyguard for those most at risk from an English attack.

To facilitate his new role alongside Laird Robert Sinclair, Burke, and the other warriors who occasionally visited Roslin to train the Bruce’s men, most days he took Eachann on a short ride from their little cottage to the castle. Ansel grumbled almost daily about how absurd it was for a Sutherland to make a home on Sinclair land, but Isolda saw in the sparkle of his chestnut eyes how happy he was with their simple life together.

She watched idly as he pleated his Sutherland plaid around his hips, tossing the extra length of wool over his shoulder.

“You don’t think that the weather will hamper the messenger, do you?” she asked as he pulled on his thick winter hose and boots.

Once they’d gotten settled in their new home, Isolda had requested to get word to Mary and Bertram letting them know that they were safe. Ansel had insisted on carefully sending Isolda’s letter through several routes to avoid even the slightest chance it could be traced back to them.

The letter she’d sent to York had taken over a month to reach them, according to Mary’s responding missive. And of course Mary had followed Isolda’s example, using code names and no identifying information. But Isolda was relieved to learn, almost three months after their emotional farewell, that Bertram was recovering nicely and that both he and Mary were safe and well in York.

Only a few days ago, she’d sent another missive through Ansel’s elaborate channels, but from the glimpse she’d had out the window, the snow already lay thick, with the promise of more on the way, which would undoubtedly hamper the messenger.

“Nay, I think no’.” Ansel said. “The messenger willnae mind a wee bit of this white stuff. He’s a Highlander after all.”

She snorted and he shot her a roguish grin, but then he let his lips fall. “The snow will keep ye indoors all day, though. Will ye be all right here by yerself?” he asked softly.

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Mayhap I will join you in venturing to the castle as well. Lady Alwin told me on our last visit that she has recently purchased some fabrics and wants my opinion on them.”

“Och, but if ye go to the castle, I cannae imagine ye lying in our bed as ye are now, hair tousled and cheeks glowing from the loving I gave ye last night.” Ansel’s voice dropped to barely more than a whisper, but even still heat crept up her neck at his words.

“I suppose ye’ll just have to find a way to lure me back to bed this evening,” she shot back, her saucy words undercut by the blush she felt rising to her cheeks.

Ansel’s rich chuckle reverberated through their bedchamber. “Is that a challenge, my lady wife?” he asked, cocking a dark brow at her.

“Aye, husband,” she said, her own husky laugh joining his. “A challenge I’m sure you’ll gladly meet.”

The End