Chapter Three

 

 

 

A stunned silence swept around the table. It was shattered when everyone started talking at once.

“What it—”

“Bloody hell.”

“That cannae be.”

Niall held his tongue, letting the others shout for answers. Only he, Mairin, and Isolda remained mute. Mairin watched Logan, her brows knit together, while Isolda had turned an ashen shade of gray. She fumbled to bring a cup to her mouth, but her hand shook so badly that the cup slipped from her fingers and crashed against the table.

Those in the room quieted then, seeming to sense Isolda’s distress.

“What the bloody hell is this nonsense?” Ansel demanded with barely-leashed rage. “The Earl of Lancaster has more than earned a place in Hell for himself. Why in God’s name would the Bruce wish for us to protect him?”

Logan held up a hand to calm Ansel. “I was just as stunned when the Bruce told me his plan. I dislike this as much as ye.”

“I doubt that,” Ansel growled. “No’ given what that bastard did to Isolda, and what he tried to do to John—using the Order of the Shadow, yer old organization, Logan.”

Both Kirk and Logan stiffened at that, but they managed to keep their tempers. Ansel had every right to be furious. The animosity between his family and Lancaster ran especially deep.

It hadn’t taken long in the training camp for Niall to realize that John wasn’t Ansel’s blood son. The lad had brown hair like both Isolda and Ansel, yet he’d inherited neither Isolda’s pale green eyes nor Ansel’s dark brown ones. Instead, he had bright, pale blue eyes. And though the child had been raised in Scotland from the time he was five summers old, his voice still bore the traces of an English accent from his earlier years.

Niall had carefully broached the topic with Ansel several years ago, who’d explained all. Isolda had been seduced, used, and set aside by the Earl of Lancaster when she’d been a mere seventeen-year-old girl. When she’d borne his child—John—Lancaster had sent both her and the babe to a remote corner of Northumbria to be kept out of sight and out of mind.

But when Lancaster, the cousin of England’s King Edward II and likely just as rich and influential as the King himself, sought even more power, he’d hired a bounty hunter from the Order of the Shadow to kill both John and Isolda. That way, his bastard son and the woman who’d borne him could not be used against Lancaster as he positioned himself to make a play for the English throne.

Ansel had been sent by Robert the Bruce to protect John and Isolda. The Bruce had understood that not only were they innocents caught in the cross-fire of the vicious war between England and Scotland, but that they would be powerful tools in case Lancaster did indeed succeed in becoming King. Such were the workings of the Bruce’s mind—he was always planning moves and countermoves in his quest for Scotland’s freedom.

Thus far, Lancaster had been unsuccessful in dethroning his cousin, and the Bruce had held his cards close to the chest about his position in relation to the English Earl. It seemed that was about to change.

“I am only delivering the Bruce’s orders,” Logan said tightly. “I dinnae agree with his reasoning, but I can at least explain it.”

“Do,” Ansel snapped.

“Lancaster has fostered discontent amongst King Edward’s nobles for nigh on a decade,” Logan began. “An all-out civil war has been brewing for a year now.”

“And it’s been the quietest, calmest year for Scotland since Bannockburn,” Kirk said softly. “We havenae kenned peace like this since before Longshanks’s reign.”

Logan nodded. “As the Bruce wants it. The longer the English fight amongst themselves, the less time and resources they have to battle us.”

“Then why the hell is the Bruce involving us in England’s squabbles?” Ansel demanded. “Why no’ let Lancaster and Edward carry on posturing and threatening one another indefinitely?”

“It seems Lancaster is finally ready to make a move for the throne. He’s been gathering an army in the north.”

“Hasnae he been doing that for the last year?” Will asked.

“Aye, but now Lancaster has taken to sieging castles held by Englishmen loyal to Edward,” Logan replied. “Lancaster overpowered Tickhill Castle less than a fortnight past. Apparently, the Earl nearly took an arrow to the head from one of the archers on Tickhill’s wall, but it ricocheted off his helmet.”

Ansel crossed his arms over his chest. “I ask again, why is this our concern? If Lancaster wishes to siege every last one of Edward’s castles, more’s the better for us.”

Logan shook his head slowly. “The Bruce has been fanning the flames of discontent between Edward and Lancaster, encouraging this civil war for nigh on a year, but subtly so. He’s been sending missives and gathering information via Sabine MacKay’s network of spies and messengers in order to sow discontent, to keep dissatisfaction at a low simmer between the two factions. But things are reaching a boil now. Thanks to Lancaster’s latest siege, Edward is mobilizing an army of his own in the south.”

The pieces came together in Niall’s mind as Logan spoke. “But if either Lancaster or Edward wins in a direct conflict, the civil war will be over. And what’s more, if Lancaster dies in the process, his rebellion will come to an end—leaving Edward free to resume his assault on Scotland.”

“So the Bruce wants to keep Lancaster alive. He intends to send bodyguards to ensure Lancaster’s safety, guaranteeing that the rebellion is drawn out as long as possible,” Mairin concluded, her gray eyes flashing as she, too, connected the parts of the Bruce’s plan.

“Aye,” Logan said grimly. “But as with all of the Bruce’s plans, it’s more complicated than that.”

“There’s more?” Ansel grumbled.

Ignoring him, Logan continued. “The Bruce is apparently entertaining the possibility of an alliance with Lancaster.”

Isolda sucked in a breath. “Would the Bruce truly ally with the likes of that man?”

“That I cannae say with certainty,” Logan replied. “They both share Edward as an enemy. And Lancaster has publicly announced that when he becomes King of England, he will cease all military engagement with Scotland. But the Bruce is also a man of principle. He doesnae take Lancaster’s atrocities lightly.”

Ansel took Isolda’s hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “The Bruce allowed Lancaster to believe that I was dead and ye and John were in the wind to protect us all. He let Lancaster think he had a secret ally in Scotland then. Mayhap that is what he intends now as well.”

“And we all ken what elaborate webs the Bruce weaves,” Logan added, glancing around the table. “He always thinks several moves ahead, and has more than one piece in motion across the board at any given time.”

Kirk pursed his lips and ran a hand over the dark stubble on his jaw. “True enough. If the Bruce is considering an alliance with Lancaster—either in earnest, or as a mere posture—it would make sense to send a bodyguard to protect the Earl. He must want someone he can trust to get close to Lancaster.”

“Aye, exactly,” Logan said. “Whomever is sent from the Corps will be in charge of no’ only keeping Lancaster and his rebellion alive, but also sending reports on Lancaster’s position and plans.”

“The pigeons,” Mairin interjected. “Ye said they arenae for my dovecote. They are homing pigeons, arenae they? For delivering missives back to the Bruce at Scone Palace?”

“Ye have it, Little Bird,” Logan replied, yet all the warmth had suddenly drained from his voice. “The Bruce has heard that ye’ve taken an interest in raising and caring for pigeons here at the camp. He…” Logan swallowed hard, his eyes pinching with frustration. “He wishes for ye to be the one to infiltrate Lancaster’s inner circle.”

“Nay.” Niall stood up so abruptly that his chair clattered to the ground behind him. He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken until all eyes fixed on him—except for Mairin’s.

She stared at Logan, her lips slowly parting in shock.

“W-what?” she breathed.

“It’s too dangerous,” Niall said almost on top of her.

“I agree, English,” Logan ground out, his gaze remaining on Mairin. “And I told the Bruce as much. But he wouldnae listen. He insisted that she must go to look after the birds.”

“Look after the…” Mairin shook her head, her brows lowering. Niall saw a storm of emotion rising in her eyes. Anger. Fear. Confusion. Frustration.

“Then another member of the Corps will need to accompany her to guard Lancaster,” Ansel said, pinning Logan with a fierce look. “I’ll go.”

“Nay,” Logan said, at last tearing his eyes from Mairin. “The Bruce gave an explicit order regarding ye. He said ye are too close to the situation, too emotionally volatile when it comes to Lancaster.”

“Ye’re damn right I am,” Ansel barked, pounding his fist into the table.

“Ye arenae going,” Logan said flatly. “But I agree, someone else ought to—I’ll no’ have my sister heading to England alone.” Logan turned back to Mairin, dropping his voice. “I practically ordered the King to let me come with ye, Little Bird, but he insisted that I return to Scone Palace after delivering his directive.”

“I’ll go,” Niall blurted. At the skeptical silence that met his declaration, he clenched his fists.

“No offense, English,” Will said after a moment, apparently speaking for all of them, “but it doesnae seem wise to send ye to England as a representative of the Bruce and Scotland.”

“Why?” Niall said, his voice deceptively calm even while anger flared hot within his gut. “Because you think I’ll turn traitor to the cause? Because I’m English, and therefore I cannot be trusted on a mission in England?”

Despite six long years training alongside these men, dedicating his life to Scotland’s cause for freedom, they still didn’t trust him. That knowledge burned Niall’s pride, his honor.

“I’ll go,” Will replied, blatantly ignoring Niall’s questions. He turned to Logan. “I can keep an eye on Lancaster without being compromised by my emotions. And I’ll ensure Mairin’s safety.”

“I dinnae need protecting,” Mairin hissed.

No one seemed to hear her, though. “I dinnae like aught about this damn mission,” Logan murmured. “But if Mairin must go, then I would be glad to have ye watch her back, Will.”

Ansel began to grumble once more, but Logan cut him off.

“Lancaster has apparently turned Pontefract Castle into his base of operations,” he said. “It is less than a fortnight’s ride from here.”

Will nodded. “We’ll leave at first light tomorrow and ride to England with all haste.”

Mairin made a soft sound in the back of her throat, part gasp, part moan. Abruptly, she jerked up from the table and hurried out of the dining hall, snatching a lit candlestick as she went. The cottage door clicked behind her as she slipped out into the night.

Logan muttered a curse, his gaze filled with pain as it lingered where Mairin had just been sitting.

“I warned the Bruce that this would be too much for her,” he muttered. “She is a skilled fighter, aye, but returning to England…”

He pushed up from the table and began to trudge after her, but Niall caught his arm as he passed.

“I know where she’s headed,” Niall said. “Let me talk to her.”

Surprise, followed by suspicion, flashed in Logan’s steely eyes. “I think I ken my sister better than ye, English.”

The moniker was a reminder that Mairin had never warmed to Niall—would never warm to him, for he would always represent what she’d suffered in his home country all those years ago.

Still, if this was to be the last night Niall had with Mairin for God knew how long, the last opportunity to talk to her, he needed to take it.

“Please,” he said simply.

Logan scrutinized him for a long moment. At last, he relented with a single nod.

A heartbeat later, Niall was striding from the keep and into the frigid night—toward Mairin.