The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(124)

“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—”