Knight Protector (Knight Chronicles) (3 page)

“I did.” She straightened.

“Then what else am I to think, save that you welcomed him to your bed?”

She rolled her eyes then strode to look out the nearest window. “Think what you like.”

He was quiet for so long that she thought perhaps he’d left as silently as he’d come. She turned back to the room, but there he was, staring at her, a frown on his chiseled face.

“Perhaps you should explain this spy business and leave the past alone,” she suggested.

He nodded. “Aye, let us bury the past with the dead.”

She waited. Whatever was said, the past stood like a fortress wall between them and could never be buried—only avoided for a few moments.

“During my last task in England, I learned Strathnaver sheltered spies. ’Twas what sent me to seek out Brice and confirmation of his perfidy. Ironically, seeking him gave him the opportunity to steal the papers I carried.”

“Let me be certain I understand what you are telling me.” She seated herself, taking time to smooth her skirts and gather her thoughts, then stroking her braid. “When you left Strathnaver ten years ago you went straight to Scotland’s Guardians and offered to spy for them? Brice did the same some months later, but went to Edward of England.”

Colin leaned against one of the thick bedposts. “I dinna ken how Brice came to betray Scotland. As for me, becoming a spy ’twas nae as simple as you suggest. I intended to earn my keep as a knight errant, and I first offered my services to the High Steward. He thanked me but suggested I might do better in service to Lord Alexander Dubhlochan, Earl Coillteach.” The earl took me on as a knight in his household. After I’d been with him several months, I was asked to carry a message. When I returned, Lord Coillteach questioned me about my observations. From then on he assigned tasks to me at random. It wasna until more than a year later that I began to recognize a pattern. Then I was asked to take messages and make observations on an almost regular basis. I confronted the earl with my suspicions. He dinna directly confirm those, but he did say that sometimes uncertainty was useful.”

Sorcha gave a quiet snort of disgust. She’d now spent ten years of uncertainty nae knowing if either of the Marr twins lived, nae knowing if she would welcome the sight of either of them, and nae knowing which she most longed to see. As a younger woman, she’d thought she knew her mind. Then Colin had begged that kiss of farewell from her, blown storms of doubt onto her sea of calm assurance, and left her family shattered in the wake. But she didna wish to debate the matter now and risk exposing a weakness.

“Let us assume you know whereof you speak,” she said. “How does one go about finding a nest of spies, and why would you need my help?”

“The best way to expose them is to discover who tries to contact Brice with the intent to betray Scotland. To do that he must be alive. Hence I must take his place, and you must behave as if I am your husband.”

“Nae!” She shot from her seat. “I’ll no share your bed.”

Colin dropped his gaze from hers and studied his fingernails. “I didna ask that of you. However, if you wish bed play, I am certain we would both enjoy it.”

“Mary, Queen of Heaven, save me from this fool.” She rolled her eyes, then returned a seething gaze to Colin. “Did I nae just say I refuse to lay with you?”

“I heard you.” He lifted his head. His features shouted innocence.

She knew it for a lie. “Then why did you say, if I wished—”

He straightened and grasped her chin between thumb and forefinger then eased a knuckle along her lower lip. “Because I know you better than you know yourself. When your parents betrothed you to Brice, you were too young to recognize the difference between passion and love. You’ve been wed, so you should understand now. But,” he paused, searching her expression. “I am nae certain you do. ’Tis reason enough to nae pressure you. Sooner or later, your true desires will win out as they once did.”

He dropped his hand and turned away.

So he had nae forgotten, either. She used those memories to fuel her anger.

“My true desire is to be done with you and all things Marr.” She turned to the window, staring out into the darkness once more, nae wanting him to see her pain. “In fact, I prefer to return home.” She did nae lie, but much as she might wish for the peace of Dungarob, that haven was denied her by her own actions.

“That will nae be possible.”

“You canna make me stay.” She glared at him, her body shaking with the conflict between wish and reality. “Clan Marr will be so glad to see a hated MacKai leave, they will help me.”

He studied his nails again. “I doubt they will wish to upset their earl by denying him the wife he loves and whose tender nursing saved his life.”

“I’ll tell them you’re Colin. I’ll show them Brice’s body.”

He shook his head. “Brice’s body will disappear before you can show anyone. And you said yourself that I was supposed to have died years ago.”

She opened her mouth to protest then closed it. Could the cur be right? She had nae doubt that Colin would make Brice’s body vanish thoroughly. Even with the corpse, none would believe her, save perhaps the chamberlain, and surely his loyalty belonged to his earl. Brice had even ordered Colin’s plaque for the front of the Marr tomb.

She would have to submit to Colin’s plans.

He captured her hand and eased his thumb over her stiff fingers. “I see you realize you’ve nae alternative.”

She pressed her lips together then lifted her chin. “Fine. I shall help you, but on condition that once the spies and letters are found, you will let me go where I wish and you will never attempt to see or communicate with me again.” Where she went when she left mattered little, since he was correct. She had nae alternative.

He studied her for a long time. “I agree to your conditions.”

“Very well, tell me what we must do to catch these supposed spies, for I would end this sham quickly.”

“You need only behave as my loving wife when others are present. And, of course, you will call me Brice. We must forget the name of Colin Marr.”

“Since you are supposed to be dead, banishing your name should be easy. However, I canna believe that a ruse as husband and wife is all that is needed to flush a covey of spies.”

“While I am pretending to recover my health, we will search this room and all of Brice’s belongings for clues. Once we have gathered every scrap of information we can find—”

A loud banging interrupted him.

“Sorcha MacKai, I insist you unlock this door immediately!”

The strident female voice made Sorcha wince.

“Not Countess Strathnaver?” murmured Colin.

“’Tis your stepmother.” Sorcha lowered her voice and spoke rapidly. “She hates me for displacing her as Strathnaver’s countess. ’Tis worse in her eyes that the Marr clan favors me over her, especially since our clans are enemies. She doesna understand that any Scot—even an enemy—is better than any English. Now hide, or your plans for spy-catching will be for naught.”

“SORCHA! I demand to see my stepson.”

“Get rid of her. She canna know that Brice is dead.” Colin disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the room near the head of the bed.

Sorcha thought she saw the bed curtains gathered there billow then fall still. Satisfied he would nae be seen, she went to speak with her dead husband’s English stepmother.

Squeezing through the portal was nae easy with Lady Agnes pounding on the door, but Sorcha managed.

“Silence,” she hissed. “Brice finally sleeps; do you wish to wake him when he needs his rest?”

“Is that why you neglected to send for his supper?” the woman accused. Unhappy frown lines marked her face

Had she a more pleasant nature, Lady Agnes’s faded beauty might have shone brighter. But bitterness and resentment soured her soul, and age drew the truth of her character on a face and body that once graced Edward Plantagenet’s bed.

Sorcha had often wondered if the old earl had wed the woman to curry favor with Edward and to claim for Strathnaver a child fathered by the king of England. Certainly the old earl had been beyond the age of siring babes, and the disagreements between him and his twin sons would make having another possible heir very attractive. The old earl had been as vain and grasping as his new wife. Giving a royal bastard the Marr name would have appealed to the man’s vanity.

 ’Twas ironic justice that Lady Agnes made the old earl’s final years a misery.

“Well! Answer me, you lame Scot.”

Sorcha plastered on her most pleasant smile and replied in an exaggerated accent. “Aye, ’tis th’ verra reason. Dinna
dragh
yerself; I’ve soup warmin’ on th’ hearth.”

Lady Agnes curled a lip and looked as if she wished to spit. “No wonder he does not recover. I insist he eat nourishment from my own hand.”

Sorcha shuddered inwardly. “’Tis nae need,
Mathair
. Dinna weary yerself wi’ work an’ care. T’ cook will prepare any
bidh
ye ask of ’er. She’s doted on th’ earl since he was a wee babe an’ loves carin’ fer ’im.”

Lady Agnes hated being called mother as much as she despised all things Scottish.

The older woman drew herself up and sniffed. “Hmpf. I suppose I will allow that slattern in the kitchen to prepare a good English porridge to replace that Scottish swill you constantly pour down the earl’s throat. But I’ll watch every move the cook makes. It would not surprise me if you are trying to poison your husband.”

With a sweep of skirts Lady Agnes left.

Sorcha slumped against the door. That was close. She hated to even think she could need Colin’s sudden appearance and desire to pretend he was Brice. Without him, how could she prove to anyone Brice died of natural causes? As a MacKai, as Brice’s heir, and because of her past, she would have the greatest motive for murder. Lady Agnes’s accusation could become a hanging matter.

Sorcha shivered. She truly had no choice. Without Colin to act as Brice, she was a dead woman. Like it or not, she needed him as much as he needed her.

From behind the bed curtains, Colin heard every word. Sorcha must have left the door ajar. He’d seen her limp in her hurry to head off Lady Agnes. What had caused that, and if he asked, would she tell him? She hadn’t believed him when he’d told her about the spies or Brice’s treason, but she’d been quick to condemn his own activities for the past ten years. She was inclined to cast him in the worst possible light. He couldn’t blame her, but he was nae longer a callow, lovesick lad.

As he waited for her to send the dowager away, he steeled himself for the difficulties to come. Pretending to be Brice was nothing. Too many times to count over his lifetime, Colin had worn Brice’s character like a second skin. But pretending to be Sorcha’s husband might try his patience past the bounds of endurance. Lovely as she was, she was the last woman he should lust after.

Rumor had reached him that Brice—in typically selfish fashion—had broken the betrothal, thereby infuriating their father. Had Sorcha continued to love Brice, even after that horrible day? If nae, why marry the man? Had she been after some sort of twisted revenge against his brother? Would she turn her vengeance on him next?

Once Colin had thought he loved her, even before she was betrothed to Brice. She was kind, thoughtful, bright, and full of laughter. Her beauty stunned him, and he’d often been awkward and speechless with her where he was talkative and charming with lesser women. When Brice boasted of the betrothal, Colin kept his feelings to himself so Sorcha would be happy. For she appeared to love Brice every bit as much as Colin loved her. Watching the two of them had been unbearable, so he’d decided to leave. Now the evils of that parting haunted his present, and he may well have made a deal with the devil.

The door closed. Colin emerged from behind the bed curtains as Sorcha bolted the oaken barrier. “What a harpy. So that’s why you bar the entry to this chamber.”

“One of many reasons.” She halted halfway to the hearth where he’d first seen her and drilled him with her gaze. “By the way, how did you manage to get into this chamber?”

Colin considered lying, but one brief look at her flinty-eyed face decided the matter.

“’Tis a stair known only to family hidden behind the tapestry.” He gestured toward the heavy cloth. “Had your eyes not been closed, you might have seen me. This corner of the room is very dark, however, and the chance is good all you would see is a movement of the bed curtains.”

Her eyes widened. “It shouldn’t surprise me that the earl would have the entrance to his escape route in his bedchamber.”

“Other floors have entrances as well.”

Moving with measured steps toward the window seat, Sorcha nodded. “Dungarob has its own means for escape. You, Brice, and Raeb used to play in the passages leading from inside Dungarob Keep down to the Selkie’s Grave.”

“Those were simpler times; you remember surely, we lads were inseparable.”

Her limp was much less pronounced when she took her time. Colin returned to lean against the bedpost nearest her seat and studied her.

She was still the most beautiful woman he knew. Her dark hair lay over her shoulder in a braid. Set loose, those silky strands might ensnare a less cautious man. Even when angry, her voice was as dulcet as a choir. Her neck was long and elegant. Her tall frame was lush. Her hands, long-fingered and graceful. She smelled like an entire field of heather. She was as familiar to him as the highlands where he’d grown up and as exotic as lands he’d only heard of. Except when her emotions ran high, her MacKai gray eyes looked at him with a frankness that called to a man’s soul yet told nothing of what she felt.

Someday she would hide nothing from him. Then they could part ways without any lingering regrets.

“Someone, mayhap even Lady Agnes, will return with that porridge; let us not waste time on visiting a past no one wishes to remember.”

So be it. He was no courtier to dwell on dead memories. He had more immediate concerns. Pulling the covers to the bottom of the bed, he spread his cloak along the far side of the mattress then began to remove Brice’s rings. Sorcha gasped.