The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(112)

“Who did this to you?” his voice was as cold and deadly as she’d ever heard it.

“I don’t know, but you must listen—there isn’t much time.” In her eagerness to tell him, it all came out in a jumbled mess. Noticing his growing impatience, she simply handed him the note. He held it up to a torch. “It’s Rhuairi’s handwriting,” she said, not knowing how much he would be able to read. “He knows where you are and is planning an attack for tonight.”

“It looks like Rhuairi’s handwriting, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

She didn’t have a chance to ask why. He called out, and a moment later two men emerged from the broch. She paled, recognizing Rhuairi as one and Colyne as the other.

If Rhuairi was the spy, what was he doing here? He should be long gone by now.

She’d been so certain she was right that even when the possibility that she wasn’t hit, it didn’t quite sink in.

Rhuairi came over to read the note. He scanned it quickly and handed it back to Tor. “It’s a good likeness of my writing, but I did not write this.”

Tor’s voice was deceptively calm, but she sensed the burgeoning storm. “How did you say you came by this note?”

She explained about her exchange with Brother John.

“And he said he was going into the village?” Tor asked.

She nodded, and he swore. The look he gave her was not full of gratitude, but of derision—as if he couldn’t believe she could be so stupid.

“When?” he asked, shaking her shoulders. “How long were you unconscious?”

Her eyes widened, completely taken aback by the reaction that was so different from the one she expected. “I d-don’t know,” she stuttered. “An hour, maybe longer.”

He looked to the man Raider for confirmation. “I was patrolling to the east, Seton to the west. When the Englishman didn’t answer the call, I went looking for him. It could have been an hour, maybe more.”

“You didn’t think to go after whoever did this?”

Raider’s mouth clamped in a hard line. “I thought it more important not to leave the lass alone and to bring her to you.”

Even when the truth that she’d been tricked stared her in the face, she didn’t want to believe it. There had to be some explanation. “You’re wrong about Brother John. It couldn’t be him.” He wouldn’t do this to me. “He doesn’t know I can read.”

“Are you absolutely sure about that?” The look her husband gave her could have cut a diamond. “You’d better hope you are right. You have no idea what you might have done.”

Without another word to her, he ordered two of the men to the village via the woods to see what they could find, and the others to ready the birlinn to return to Dunvegan by boat.

Christina was numb with horror. Had she led the spy right to her husband? “Sorry.” The voice in the darkness made sense now. She wanted to put her hand over her ears and block out the truth. Dear Lord, there has to be a mistake. Please let there be a mistake.

Tor was grim as he waited for Lamont and MacLean to return from the village. But he already knew. The clerk had followed Christina through the woods and was long gone by now. It had been dark, but Tor had to assume he’d seen enough to jeopardize everything.

Christina’s interference had put both his clan and the secrecy of Bruce’s guard at grave risk. Twenty years of war and struggle to restore his clan, the lives of his clansmen, and his own life hung in the balance. If the clerk connected him to Bruce, his life, if King Edward got hold of him, wouldn’t be worth spit. But he wouldn’t suffer alone. His clan would go down with him. And if the clerk had recognized any of Bruce’s secret guard, they would have targets on their heads as well.

How could he allow this to happen? He knew better. He’d wanted to think he and Christina were different. Had he learned nothing from his parents’ deaths?

This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid.

He was a damned fool. He thought she’d understood. He never should have confided in her. In trying to please her, he’d let down his guard and allowed her to get too close. He’d allowed a woman to come between him and duty to his clan.

He was so furious that he didn’t trust himself to talk to or even look at her. But he was painfully aware of her seated beside him on the dais, wide-eyed and pale. He hardened his heart, not letting the quiver of her lip or the slight shaking of her shoulders get to him. Never again would she get to him.

Blood pounded in his ears, and he was barely able to hear as the men returned and confirmed what he’d already known. The clerk was gone. No one had seen him leave, but Tor had to assume he’d had help getting away.

His jaw locked, clenching so tight he could feel the veins in his neck bulge. He barked out orders to ready the ships. They had to find the traitor before he could pass on whatever information he’d learned. Failure wasn’t an option.

The men cleared the solar. He gave some last-minute instructions to Colyne and Murdoch to prepare the castle for war and stood to leave. The room was empty except for his wife.

She should have just let him go, but she never knew when to stop. She grabbed his arm, the soft press of her hand like a brand. On his skin. In his chest. But his continuing weakness for her only fueled his anger.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wringing her hands and gazing up at him with those big, beseeching eyes. “I was only trying to help.”