Page 71 of My Highland Bride

Cettina spurs her mount ahead without a backward glance.

“This is suddenly so real,” Reyne says, “not just some discussion of traitors and battles.” She swallows. “Will you be safe, Erik?”

“Aye.” And then, remembering I vowed never again to lie to her, I amend my answer. “As safe as one can be in a battle. You are the daughter of a warrior and know the way of things, Reyne.”

We ride across the drawbridge, a wet moat under us. One Reyne does not so much as glance at.

“We will know more in the coming days,” I add.

I can tell she’s worried, but I’ve no words of comfort for her. The truth is we have only the word of a man who admitted to his involvement in the Saitford slaughter. In truth, I worry more that naught will happen. We will be forced to move against Rawlins and Whitley with little proof of wrongdoing other than a few whispered words and a secret meeting at the tournament.

Enough for an arrest? Aye. But to quell the chest pounding of noblemen unhappy with a woman as their leader? Likely not.

I am about to tell Reyne how we might distract ourselves this eve when Scott appears from seemingly nowhere, having apparently ridden forward from the back as we approached.

“Stokerton,” he says in the gruff manner to which I’ve become accustomed. “We need you in the hall. Immediately.”

He says nothing more.

Although we have not yet reached the inner courtyard yet, Carwell is a large circle and easy to navigate, so I respond to the urgency of his tone and say to Reyne, “You will be well taken care of here.”

“Go,” she says, “I will find Gille.”

I don’t see my friend but know he is somewhere behind us. Perhaps I should have taken Bradyn. The poor boy begged to come, but someone needs to keep Breywood safe while we are gone. He did not believe my excuse for a moment, but I have Reyne to protect now and cannot worry about both of them. There are too many uncertainties with this mission.

“Go,” she repeats.

I follow Scott through the second, smaller, gatehouse and into the inner courtyard. He leads me to the stables, and we both dismount in quick succession. Handing off our reins, I follow him into the keep, which he has obviously already entered. Like most here along the border, it is tall and rectangular, impossible to properly enter without a ladder.

Thankfully, more permanent stone steps have been added since the original keep was fortified by two curtain walls. We climb them now, Scott yelling back down to me.

“The queen is inside already. With a visitor.”

I think immediately of her sister. But of course it is not Lady Hilla. She doesn’t know we’re here. In fact, none but Lord Carwell and his men knew of our attention. We were careful to avoid well-traveled roads, so who is this visitor?

“Who?” I ask as Scott leads me through an arched but open doorway into darkness. Have they no knowledge of torches and candlelight here? Following the only bit of light ahead, we emerge into the great hall.

There, seated on a dais, is Lord Carwell, a border lord whose family has retained this castle since the days when the two kingdoms were one. Despite its location, Carwell Castle has managed to avoid being overtaken due to their control of the bridge. They collect taxes from those who would cross. The Carwells’ support of the kings of Edingham extends from those sovereigns’ tolerance of this tactic.

I’d not seen the man in years, but he had been old then, and is even older now.

By his side, in a high-backed chair as ornate as his own, sat Cettina. And in front of them both, his back to me . . . nay, it could not be.

29

Erik

“There he is,” Cettina says. “Will you speak to us now?” she asks as the hooded Elderman turns toward me. But I don’t need to see Father Aiken’s face to recognize him.

“I will speak to Stokerton, and he alone,” the priest says.

Such flagrant disregard for the queen’s authority, and that of our host, to whom I incline my head in greeting, makes me rash.

“That is my queen,” I remind him. “Anything you say to me, you say to her as well.”

That his hood is still raised is an insult I’m willing to forgive, but his disrespect to Cettina cannot stand.

“Would you dismiss King Malcom so easily?”