The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(123)

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.