Page 47 of My Highland Bride

“We will meet here after the melee,” he continues, “and I will tell you of what they plan.”

Another bitter laugh, this time from Warin. “So you can return with those bastards to kill us all for discovering your treachery?”

“Why would we do such a thing?” I ask, studying him.

The Elderman lowers his hood.

One word comes to mind: deadly. His eyes, most especially.

“If you do not, those who believe as these men do, and there are more of them, will carry out the very attack you are here to prevent. Arrest them with no proof of anything other than conducting a secret meeting, and you accomplish nothing. Would you have the blood of another Saitford on your hands?”

I can feel the anger oozing off both men beside me, but I keep my eyes on Aiken, looking for any sign of treachery. He is too skilled to reveal anything, however.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

His answer is immediate. “That”—he nods toward the dovecote—“is my mission.”

“To discover the men who plan an attack on innocent people?” Warin guesses.

Aiken looks directly at me. “To help them carry out that attack.”

Gille gasps. “You . . .”

For the first time since he appeared, I relax my stance, defeated. Aiken represents the Prima, which means the church is indeed involved. They are supporting Lord Hinton as the heir to King Galfrid, and now they are trying to goad us into battle with Meria. Why?

“They knew Saitford would happen?” I ask.

“We helped,” he says calmly, as if not wishing to admit he took part in a massacre against innocents.

“We? The church?”

“The Prima,” he clarifies.

It is an important distinction. Although the Prima is the head of the church and the one person who should perpetuate its teachings, Father Silvester’s extreme views have alienated some.

Maybe even within their own ranks?

“You are the devil,” Gille spits, and I do not disagree.

Aiken keeps his gaze on me. “Will you deal with the devil, then? You must decide, and quickly.”

I could ask why he does this, why he so obviously goes against the orders of the man he serves, if Aiken’s true purpose is to stop the next attack. But I have a feeling he won’t freely reveal his motivations.

Our choice is a simple one. We march across the field in front of us, arrest the men within the dovecote, and take them back to the capital for punishment. One they will receive, for Cettina will certainly believe us.

But will anyone else? Those who oppose the queen could use this as a reason to condemn her . . . especially if she punishes these men and the attack happens anyway.

Our other choice? As Aiken so aptly put it, a deal with the devil. If we agree to treat with him, we may learn enough to prevent the slaughter from happening at all—and to completely hamstring those who would wish for another Saitford.

Or we may be cut down this very night by an ambush of men wishing to silence those who would expose them.

“I raise suspicions by being late,” he says in that deadly calm, deadpan voice.

There is no good choice here, but one must be made.

“Go. We will return when the melee has ended.”

Gille and Warin immediately begin to protest, but I put my hand up to silence them. I’ve made my decision and will not waver.