Page 44 of The Knight’s Reward

“Training?”

“My father had many friends. He had established a few safe places for me to go, no matter where our location, should something happen to him.” Her voice thick, Kathryn stopped. She’d dealt with the grief of her father’s loss by focusing on her intention to catch his killer. But when she thought about Edinburgh, about the last time she’d seen him, it felt again as if all the air had left her body . . .

Neill was there, suddenly, next to her. And though she knew that everything about their situation was wrong, Kathryn welcomed his presence. She welcomed his hand, which wrapped around hers in a now-familiar embrace, and also his heat, a respite from the cool night breeze that wafted in from the open shutters.

Still, she couldn’t look at him, and so Kathryn stared down at her road-weary kirtle instead. She’d brought only two others, ones Magge had procured for her. Kathryn’s own gowns had been discarded, too fine for a serving woman at The Wild Boar.

“I’d chastised him for worrying, convinced I would never be forced to travel alone to find one of his safe havens. Or to make my way south to my mother’s relatives.”

Her hand sat on his lap, their fingers entwined, and it suddenly occurred to her that she’d never held a man’s hand before.

Well, before Neill.

“When he returned from his audience with the lord chancellor that night, he told me . . .” She did look up then. Neill waited patiently, and she realized once these words were said, there would be no going back. “Are you certain you want to hear this?”

“I’m certain.”

“He told me that the chancellor had refused to grant him direct access to the king. And since his orders were to ensure the king received his message, my father would not leave Edinburgh. He expressed mistrust of Bothwell and told me we would be staying a bit longer than usual.”

His gaze did not waver. The confidence with which Neill carried himself was never more evident than in this moment. He would accept whatever she said as truth, and the fact that he trusted her—she could see in his eyes that he did—emboldened her to finish.

“That was the last time I saw him.”

She shivered, remembering. And then Neill’s arm circled around her shoulder, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to lean into him. Kathryn stared straight ahead, watching the light play across the stone wall as the torch flickered in the breeze.

“The next day, I waited, expecting him by the midday meal. By supper, I grew worried, and when darkness fell . . .”

She thought of the night she’d spent pacing the room. She’d thought, at the time, it was the worst night of her life.

Until the next day.

“I’d not ventured far, staying at the abbey as my father had instructed, speaking only with Father Peton. And it was he who found me just before dusk to tell me . . .” She closed her eyes, ignoring the tingling in her cheeks. “My father’s body had been found along the bank of the Firth of Forth.”

She would not cry.

Opening her eyes, she met Neill’s gaze, and the sympathy there was her undoing. The tears began to flow, so fast and thick she barely even noticed the handkerchief Neill had given her or the tightening of his arm around her shoulders. She only knew that the man who had loved her so fiercely was gone, and she’d never even said goodbye. Or confirmed the priest’s words.

When she collected herself enough to look at him again, Neill reached out and wiped an errant tear from just under her eye with his thumb. So gentle a gesture for a celebrated knight.

“I did not need Father Peton’s urging to leave the abbey at once.”

“You traveled to England, alone?” Neill asked, incredulous.

“Nay. As I was leaving, Father Peton introduced me to a younger man, one who was both priest and warrior. He escorted me to The Wild Boar, where my father had always urged me to go if I found myself alone in the north.”

She swallowed.

“Which is where I’ve been for the past seven months.”

“Seven months? This must have happened just after King Edward finally returned from the East.” He tightened his fingers around hers.

“Aye.”

“Your father was murdered for the message he carried.”

“More like the knowledge. Often his letters were sealed, as this one most assuredly was. But he also knew its contents. ’Twas the reason he’d insisted on a direct audience with the king.”

“I am very sorry, Kathryn.” His tone, low. His voice, uneven.