Chapter 11
A shiver swept through Aiden. Wrapped within the tangles of erotic dreams, he reached for the covers. His arm brushed warm flesh.
Through the groggy haze, he forced his eyes open.
Gwendolyn lay against him, her gentle breath feathering his chest.
The muffled roar of the falls sounded in the distance as he struggled against the rightness of this moment, of how natural it felt having her cradled in his arms. Contentment settled in his chest, a peaceful serenity he’d never experienced before. ’Twas like coming home, finding peace, and being wrapped within the miracle of such, of belonging.
He sucked in a deep breath. ’Twas wrong to think of her in any regard other than that of duty. God’s sword, last night hadn’t he weighed every reason why allowing her close, in any way, was wrong?
On a soft exhale, she shifted and rested her cheek in the crook of his neck.
Heat shot straight to his loins. Her moan of ecstasy as he’d taken her over the edge last night stormed his mind. ’Twould be effortless to awaken her with a kiss, touch her until she arched against him, and then bury himself deep inside her.
On a hard swallow, Aiden eased her head onto the blanket. However tempted, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to tread down that dangerous, sensual path.
Last night’s teasing her had left a heavy price. For hours he’d feigned sleep, each one enticing him to awaken her to make love.
Within the shimmer of firelight, her thick lashes flickered and then stilled.
An ache built in his chest as he watched her, savoring this unguarded moment before she awoke.
On a quiet sigh, Gwendolyn’s lids lifted. Gray sleep-laden eyes met his. Confusion, then a slow smile curved her lips. “Good morning, Bróccín.”
Bróccín. Aiden’s gut wrenched. “Good morning.” With a scowl, he shoved to his feet, dragged on his garb, and then crossed the cavern. He tossed several pieces of wood atop the waning fire, damning his foolish thoughts. “While you break your fast,” he growled, “I will look to see if the duke’s men have departed.”
Silence.
He glanced back.
Confusion and hurt darkened her gaze.
Aiden took a step toward her. On a muttered curse, he turned and strode into the tunnel. Several paces down the passageway, he leaned against the damp, timeworn stone. He dragged in a deep breath, the cool scent of water and earth far from smothering the burn of desire.
God’s teeth, they couldn’t remain here. Last night had been torment, pure and simple. Wanting her, yet not succumbing to her seduction was tearing him apart.
Aiden pushed from the wall and headed toward the exit. Sunlight drenched him as he pushed aside the disguised entry and then crawled to where he had a clear sight to the side of the falls. He scoured the surroundings.
Naught.
Far from convinced that the entire English force had departed, he crept to the other side of the hillock.
A movement at his side had him glancing over. Gwendolyn. A muscle worked in his jaw as she halted beside him.
“I see nay one,” she mouthed.
He worked his way to a higher position, her on his heels, the rumble of water softer now. He paused. “Nor I, but I suspect the duke has left a few of his knights behind to continue their search. Before we go, I need to locate the positions of the remaining guards.”
“I will accompany you.”
He shook his head. “’Tis too dangerous. Stay inside the cave until I return.”
Gray eyes narrowed. “And you decide this because…”
“As your husband ’tis my right,” he stated, finding her outrage preferable to the tenderness that made him want.
Her brows narrowed. “When you go, I will be by your side.”
Blast her! “You willna defy me.”
“Outnumbered and given my skills with a knife and a sword, one would think you would welcome my accompaniment.” She angled her chin. “Nor will I remain.”
He clenched his fingers, unsure if it was with the need to strangle her for her stubbornness or to pull her against him and kiss her.
Shaken by fierce desire slamming through him, too aware of how at this precise moment he was on dangerous ground, Aiden leaned toward her with a fierce scowl. “You will accompany me. If for naught else, to save the time ’twould take to return for you.”
“How noble,” she said, her voice dry.
Jaw tight, he moved back, aware if she touched him now, asked him to make love, he would likely be unable to deny the blaze burning between them.
“I will retrieve the few supplies we will need.” Gwendolyn stormed off.
Aiden rubbed the back of his neck. That had gone blasted well. Aye, her temper should help keep his mind on his mission, where it should have remained from the start.
A short while later, she returned.
The rumble of water roared around them as they slipped into the dense cover. Aiden held up his hand. Alone, he crept to the ledge above, peered through the clutter of brush, rocks, and grass.
A small contingent of men was camped on the opposite side of the clearing.
Aiden climbed down to where Gwendolyn was hidden.
“Did you see anyone?”
“Aye. They are some way back from the falls, the reason we didna spot them from below.”
Gwendolyn’s face paled. “We must find a way past them and reach Lord Comyn.”
“’Tis too dangerous to chance our course now. For now, ’tis safest to continue southeast and follow the river.”
After a brief hesitation, she nodded.
The tension in his body eased a bit. “If you see anything as we travel, tell me.” After glancing at the morning sun to get his bearings, he started down the incline. As before, he kept to the rocks whenever possible.
Masculine voices sounded ahead.
Aiden waved her to follow him behind a dense fir. Squatting, he caught his breath as he parted the needled boughs. Ahead, a sizable force was riding along the bank.
“They are too close to the river for us to sneak past,” Gwendolyn whispered.
“Aye. We must go inland and then farther south.” A move that would suit his plans even better.
“But we overheard the duke’s man say King Robert’s camp isna far.”
“Trust me, all will be well.” For the Bruce, aye. As for Gwendolyn’s attitude toward him once she learned the truth, that was another matter.
Though her eyes had darkened with worry, she nodded. “I trust you with my life.”
Guilt welled within him. However much he despised the thought of breaking her faith in him, of never seeing her again, he would find comfort in knowing the Bruce would ensure that she was well cared for.
Before he muddled his mind further with dangerous thoughts of her, Aiden refocused on their escape.
A warm breeze rustled the leaves overhead at midday as he halted beneath an overhang of rock shielded by trees. “We will rest here to eat. Though we havena seen English troops since this morning, we must be careful.”
* * * *
Stifling a groan at her sore muscles, Gwendolyn settled on a smooth stone, appreciating the sun’s warmth. She unpacked a loaf of bread and cheese, sliced off a wedge of each, and then handed him both. After taking a portion for herself, she stowed the fare.
Clouds slid over the sun, enshrouding the earth within a murky gloom.
She grimaced against the doubts creeping through her resolve. Was the loss of her father, as Latharn Castle, the death knell of the way of life she loved?
Gwendolyn glanced at Bróccín. Hope blossomed, and a small smile creased her lips. No, all hadn’t gone awry. In the mayhem, he had promised to reclaim her home. How he’d tried to dismiss her help this morning smothered the warmth, a potent reminder of how little she knew about him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She took a bite of bread layered with cheese, swallowed. “After wanting me to hide within the cave like a foolish lass, I find it odd you would think me capable of thought.”
Green eyes narrowed. “My intention was to keep you safe. When I tell you to do something, I expect you to obey.”
She stiffened. “I am not one of your men to order about.”
“Nay,” Bróccín said, his gaze sliding along her curves, lingering before lifting to again meet hers. He gave a rough breath with a decidedly disgruntled male look. “That you are not.”
The appreciation in his voice caught her off guard, more so the tinge of regret. Confused, she watched his throat work as he swallowed a bite of bread. Memories of last night, of how she’d shuddered beneath his touch, returned tenfold.
Aye, he wanted her, but after their confrontation this morning, ’twould seem his logic did not extend beyond intimacy. How had she misjudged him to such a degree?
Or had she?
The cold warrior this morning was the arrogant earl she had first met
So, who was the man last night, the one who had left her body burning with need, the one who, if he hadn’t stepped away, she would have given herself to without hesitation?
Nay, they were one and the same. Between her unwanted marriage, her home being seized by the English, and with them desperate to reach Lord Comyn, ’twas her mind that had twisted her thoughts into believing more existed between them.
A rueful laugh threatened to escape her. If naught else, their desire for the other put them on an even plane. Despite their situation, her body still responded to his potent masculinity.
Gwendolyn again searched their surroundings. Though most of the duke’s contingent had moved on, she and Bróccín were still in danger. Neither had a night’s sleep given either of them the rest they needed.
She grimaced. A night’s sleep? Far from it. She’d dozed a bit. After he’d taken her over the edge with his touch, and with the memories of how right his body had felt pressed intimately against her, how could she have slept?
“With the Bruce raising forces to overwhelm Lord Comyn,” she asked, shifting the topic to safer ground, “do you think Scotland will ever find peace?”
Her husband wiped his hands, lifted the water pouch. “’Tis a possibility.”
Mayhap, but she heard the tension in his voice. Like her, he had doubts.
He took a long drink, then offered her the pouch.
“Nay, I have drunk enough.” A slow pounding started in her head. She closed her eyes and focused on the sun’s warmth falling across her face. Her thoughts wandered back to soothing memories of walks along the beach, of listening to the waves tumble ashore. How she yearned to feel the slide of sand between her toes, to run into an oncoming swell and dive beneath, and, if only for a moment, to lose herself within the rolls of white.
“Come,” her husband said, severing her thoughts, his voice sharp, “’tis time to go. The clouds grow dark; a storm is coming.”
With regret and slight resignation, she stood, reminding herself of all that was at stake.
* * * *
Rain pelted Aiden, and he pushed branches aside to allow Gwendolyn to pass, as he had for the last several hours. “I intended to travel farther before we stopped for the night,” he said over his shoulder, “but we must find cover before it grows dark.”
“If only the English hadna blocked our path,” she said, a little breathless as she followed, “we wouldna have had to go even farther south before turning east to follow the river.”
Nor had that been their only brush with the enemy as they’d traveled. Several times, they’d spotted small contingents of English knights, their aggressive search in the foul weather a testament to the duke’s determination to catch them before they reached Lord Comyn.
Another gust of wind howled through the trees. Rain stinging his skin, Aiden glanced back, proud of how she had followed without complaint.
Blond hair clung to her wet face and smears of dirt shadowed the dark circles beneath her eyes. Mouth tight, she pushed on. However strong she tried to appear, he’d seen her stumble earlier, and tiredness was reflected in her eyes. He wouldn’t push her much farther.
As he reached the next brae, the pounding water of the swollen river surged past. He searched the bank for a safe crossing, scowled.
The raging water collided against the lash of grass and rocks as it hauled limbs and small trees within the strangled rush.
Wiping her brow, she glanced at him. “I see no place to safely cross.”
“Nor I. We will find something ahead.” Frustrated, he started down the incline, half-slipping with each step. “Take care,” he called back, “’tis treacherous.”
The cool slap of rain filled the air as they followed the bank. Around the next curve, he halted.
White water churned around rocks and slammed against a fallen tree, mired in the river, long since dead.
He pointed toward the weathered trunk extending over halfway across the powerful torrent. “Once across,” Aiden said, “we will stop for the night.”
She nodded.
Rain slid down her face, her sodden clothes clinging to her slender frame, but to him she had never looked more beautiful. Aching to reach out and draw her against him, he trudged forward, prayed that the downpour had washed away their trail before any of the Englishmen rode past.
As they neared the roots of the downed tree, he frowned at the violent swirl of water. ’Twas stronger than it had appeared from above. “’Tis still too dangerous.” Aiden smothered his frustration, pushed on.
A short distance ahead, the roar of water grew. Aiden stepped up on a thick slab.
Gwendolyn moved to his side, gasped. “A waterfall.”
Another delay. “A small one. At least,” he said as he slanted a look toward the sky, “the clouds are thinning. Mayhap we will see a bit of sun this day.”
A weary smile creased her mouth. “I doubt ’twill be enough to dry our clothes.”
“We can hope.” He climbed down the bank, reached up to take her hand.
“There!” a man’s deep voice boomed.
Aiden whirled.
On a distant knoll, one of several mounted knights was pointing toward them.
“Run!” Brush slapped his face, cut at his arms as he led her toward the falls. Gasping for breath, at the bottom of the knoll, he glanced back. “Blast it!”
Frantic eyes followed his gaze, widened. “They are going to catch us.”
“Nay.” He caught her hand. “When I tell you to, jump.”
Her face paled. “You want to go over the falls?”
Aiden refused to voice his own doubts; they had little choice. “’Tisna far, and the pool is deep. Once you surface, if we are separated, swim with the current and allow it to carry you downstream. Though on horseback, they canna keep up.” He paused, silently cursed. “Can you swim?”
With a wary eye, she studied the white water colliding against the boulders and the half-fallen tree as it rushed down the river. She swallowed hard. “Aye.”
Thankful, he exhaled. “Keep your feet together when you hit the water below.” Damning his decision, he laced his fingers with hers. “Whatever you do, keep hold of my hand.”
Fear flickered in her eyes, but she nodded.
“Jump!”
Together, they leaped.
Mist-driven air rammed down his throat as Aiden flailed his arm to help balance their fall.
A blast of frigid water erupted around them, tore her from his grasp. Fighting panic, the surge of bubbles erasing her from his view, Aiden kicked to the surface. Gulping a deep breath, he scanned the churn of white.
Water splashed as Gwendolyn surfaced nearby.
Angry shouts from above had him glancing up.
Several riders peered down from the rocky ledge they’d stood on moments before.
Bedamned! With several hard strokes, he reached her, hauled her against him. “Are you hurt?”
“Nay,” she gasped.
Thank God. “Swim toward the center of the river.” The spray from the falls splattered them as they worked in unison to guide themselves into the main flow. “Remember, once the current catches us, dinna fight it, but let it carry you. Use your hands to push yourself away from anything dangerous. Once the banks widen out, the flow will lessen and we can swim to shore.”
She nodded.
After two more kicks, the rush of water sucked them in. “Hang on!” Fingers entwined with hers, Aiden matched his strokes with hers as they swam, thankful the deep water kept them well above the rocks.
As they were carried around the bend, Aiden caught the fury on the Englishmen’s faces before they disappeared from sight. The rough terrain would buy them distance and time. He prayed both were enough.
Water swirled around them as the current cast them about with ruthless glee. The bank raced past. Muscles burned in his arms as he fought to keep them afloat.
“Look ahead,” she shouted.
Amid the roar, plumes of white surged in towering blasts as waves slammed against a large tree jammed in the middle of the flow.
“I am going to try to get hold of a branch as we pass,” he yelled. “Once I have a firm hold, climb over the trunk and move to shore. I will be just behind you.”
A hand’s length away, Aiden grabbed a slick branch, braced himself as Gwendolyn rushed past; her body jerked hard. Water streamed down her pale face as the powerful flow threatened to break his hold. “Wrap your hands around me!” he yelled.
She reached out.
The branch snapped.
* * * *
Gwendolyn screamed as water sucked her under. Fighting the wash of panic, she kicked hard.
Strong hands caught her wrist, dragged her upward. She resurfaced, gasping for air.
Bróccín pulled her against his chest. “Hold on!”
She caught his forearm as they rushed down the torrent.
The greens and browns of the shore streaked past. An unexpected shift in the current threatened to rip her from Bróccín, and he tightened his hold.
By slow degrees, the current weakened. In unison, she swam beside her husband, avoiding the outcrops of rock, limbs and other debris that had fallen prey to the river’s merciless bite.
Around the next curve, the bank again narrowed and the current increased.
“Bedamned!” her husband cursed.
Bedraggled hair slapping her face, she followed his gaze. Gasped.
Within the violent swirl, clusters of boulders loomed ahead. Large waves hit the massive rocks, erupting into powerful columns of white.
Bróccín’s muscles coiled, and then he shoved her sideways. “Swim hard to the left,” he shouted over the roar.
Her body aching and exhaustion weakening her arms, Gwendolyn fought against the tireless churn. An eddy ripped her free and threw her into the violent surge, and with a scream, she was hurled upward.
His hand clamped hard on hers. “Hold on!”
Fighting for each breath as she tried to keep hold, a dip in the flow again tore them apart. “Bróccín!” Flailing to keep afloat, Gwendolyn searched the water for her husband.
Past the white tips of the waves ahead, she gasped in horror. Caught in the water’s rage, he was speeding toward several rocks jutting from the river.
“Watch out!” she screamed.
He slammed against the rocks. Shoulders slumped, he bobbed within the batter of waves.
Fighting back terror, pain cramping her muscles, she swam hard toward him.
The current swept them around a corner, with him several lengths ahead.
The banks widened, and the flow flattened until the riotous mayhem of moments before calmed to ripples.
Heart pounding, she caught his arm. Fighting the weight of his sopping clothing, she hauled him against her. His eyes were closed, a deep gash lay across his head, and blood streamed down the side of his face.
“Bróccín!”
He moaned.
Thank God he was still alive. She trod water. “Can you swim?”
Silence.
Her hold tight, she swam toward shore. Gwendolyn’s foot hit silt, and she could have wept with relief.
She continued kicking until her toes hit solid ground. Through will alone, she dragged him onto the bank, then collapsed at his side.
Muscles aching, her breaths coming fast, and exhaustion blurring her thoughts, she glanced around, unsure how far they had gone. With the time they had remained in the river and the speed of the current, they should have traveled quite a distance. Given the rough terrain, even on horseback, ’twould take the duke’s men hours to reach them, if not a day. Time enough for them to be long gone.
She shoved to her knees. Body trembling, she touched his shoulder. “Bróccín.”
Silence.
Gwendolyn smothered the surge of panic and shook his shoulder.
His head lolled to the side, and an ominous stream of red trickled down his pale cheek.
God help her, she needed to stop the bleeding. First, she had to get him out of the open. Pulse racing, she scanned the area. Along the shore, mud-caked grass lay smeared against the earth, outcroppings of rocks ending where thick fir towered before the forest.
Her throat tightened as she stared at the dense swath of trees. On horseback ’twould be a difficult trek. On foot, an even greater challenge.
Legs shaking, she got to her feet and lifted him to a sitting position. Gritting her teeth, she slid her arms beneath his shoulders, tugged him with her as she staggered back.
He slid a hand’s width.
Again, she pulled. On the fourth try, her legs gave and she sprawled backward into the muck. As if mocking her efforts, mud-stained droplets rolled down her face.
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to give up. Bróccín needed her, and after all he’d sacrificed, by God, she’d do whatever it took to take care of him.
With a hard shove, Gwendolyn pushed to her knees. A sense of being watched shivered up her spine, and she glanced around. Stilled.
Across the short clearing, several mounted knights watched her.
Breaths coming fast, she jerked her dagger from its sodden sheath, stood. “Stay back!”
Anger clouded the closest rider’s face, a tall, muscled warrior, his long brown hair secured by a leather tie at the nape of his neck. “Move away from him!”
Far from relieved by the Scottish burr, too aware of their proximity in regard to the Bruce’s encampment, she searched his garb and the others for a sign of his loyalty.
Naught.
“To whom do you swear fealty?” she demanded.
The daunting knight gaze narrowed on her. “King Robert.”
The enemy!
“And you?” the fearsome warrior demanded.
Pulse racing, she fought for calm. There were only three men. If she allowed their leader to come near, she could fight him with her blade, toss the dagger hidden in her boot into the second warrior, and, with luck, grab the third knight’s weapon and end his threat. Then, she and Bróccín could use their mounts to escape.
“King Robert,” she forced out, the name vile upon her tongue, but to save their lives she would say what she must.
With a grunt, the first knight guided his destrier toward her.
Gwendolyn tightened her grip on her blade.
The fierce man halted his mount.
Mary’s will, he was still too far away for her to throw her dagger, nor could she leave Bróccín unprotected. Her sgian dubh raised, Gwendolyn moved before her husband.
“Lower your weapon, lass. We willna harm you.”
She scoffed. “And I am to believe you?”
“I dinna lie,” the warrior ground out.
Dark brows pulled together, and the knight gave her a curt nod.
The squish of mud sounded a moment before strong arms caught her from behind. With ease, her captor ripped her blade free, and then pinned her against his muscled body.
“Release me!” she shouted, twisting against him.
“Cease,” her captor warned, his arms tightening around her like bands of steel. “If you continue to try to escape, I will tie you up.”
She stilled, furious she hadn’t heard him. Nor was she a lackwit. If they bound her hands, ’twould end any chance of escape.
“As Sir Quentin stated,” the man holding her continued, “we willna harm you.”
Far from trusting the word of her enemy, she remained silent.
Sir Quentin shot her a warning look, dismounted, then knelt beside Bróccín. “Aiden, wake up.”
Through a daze of exhaustion and fear, she frowned. Why had he called her husband Aiden? Not that the reason mattered. Once he awoke, their captor would discover he wasna the man he believed. God help them then.
A second man dismounted and joined the first. He pressed a cloth against the cut in Bróccín’s head. “’Tis a nasty gash.” His gaze went to her with suspicion. “What happened?”
“We were crossing the river and I fell in,” she explained, deciding on half-truths until they could escape. “He dove in to save me, but the strong current swept us downstream. A short distance from here, he hit a rock.”
“Who you are?” the man she deduced was their leader asked. At her silence, Sir Quentin stood. “I told you, you willna be harmed. On that you have my word.”
Unsure what to say, but for an unexplainable reason believing him, she nodded. “His wife.”
Astonishment, and something more—humor, perhaps—widened his eyes, and he burst out in laughter.
The surrounding men joined him in his merriment.
She glared at their leader. “I dinna lie.”
“Lass,” Sir Quentin said, the humor fading, “Sir Aiden MacConnell”— he nodded to the others—“as my men and I, have fought together for many years. Well we know who he is. Though I find myself extremely curious to discover why you would claim such when I know for a fact that he isna married.”
Coldness rippled through her. They knew Bróccín? Impossible. Whoever the man called Aiden was, his looks must favor her husband’s. Nor would she admit more.’Twould bode ill if they learned Balfour was a powerful noble within Lord Comyn’s ranks.
At her silence, Sir Quentin exhaled a frustrated sigh. “Until Aiden awakens and explains who you are, you will remain with us.”
She swallowed hard.
“I am Sir Quentin,” the leader continued, “and these are my men: Sir Torrance, Sir Vide, and Sir David who is holding you.”
Gwendolyn gave a curt nod.
“And you are…?” the daunting man asked.
“Sarah,” she lied. Without their knowing her or of Bróccín’s nobility, when they slipped away, ’twould aid in their escape.
“Sir David will release you,” Sir Quentin said, “but first you must swear that you willna try to run.” At her hesitation, his thick brows lowered.
Eyeing Sir Torrance carefully tending Bróccín, she gave a slow exhale. “I—”
The soft thud of hooves sounded a moment before a man with a shock of red hair and ice-blue eyes rode into the clearing.
Relief swept her. Sir Cailin, one of the two men who had arrived with Bróccín at Latharn Castle! She looked behind him, expecting to see Sir Rónán and others loyal to Comyn in his wake, men who would save them.
He rode alone, cantering toward the men without fear.
As if he belonged.
Fear edged through her, but she damned the doubts. He was loyal to Bróccín, his fealty was given to Lord Comyn, and—
Cailin’s gaze shifted to her, and his eyes widened with shock. He drew his mount to a halt. “Lady Gwendolyn?”
Panic rioted inside. Why had he revealed her real name?
Quentin frowned. “You know her?”
“Aye.” Regret flashed in Cailin’s eyes. “I am sorry, my lady.”
“Sorry?” she asked, further confused by his apology. Why would he… Fury flowed through her as she understood. She glared at the traitor, wishing she had her blade to cut out his black heart. She tried to throw herself forward.
Strong arms tightened around her, preventing her from moving.
“For what,” she spat, needing to hear confirmation of his deception, “that you betrayed your friend? Bróccín trusted you and you repaid him by conspiring with the enemy?”
“You are wrong.” Cailin muttered a curse. “Lady Gwendolyn, never were you to be involved.”
“But I am,” she seethed, damning him with her every breath, “and I deserve an explanation.”
“You do.” Cailin glanced at the first knight. “What has she been told?”
Quentin frowned. “Naught except Aiden’s name and that we are loyal to the Bruce. Why?”
On a rough sigh, Cailin rubbed the back of his neck. “Why indeed?”
She scowled at the man she’d believed was her husband’s friend, one she, too, had liked.
“His name isna Bróccín,” Cailin continued, his voice softening, “but Aiden MacConnell.”
Her whole life stilled. “You lie!”
Expression solemn, Cailin shook his head. “Nay.”
Pain slashed her heart as the pieces emerged, painting the brutal picture of the truth. She glared down at the man who was her husband. She had wondered about the dichotomy of his character, of how he seemed to be two men at once.
Fury built, roared within her until she trembled with outrage. “And h-he is loyal to the Bruce?”
“Aye.”
Like an anvil to her chest, the remembrance of how she and Bróccín had kissed, of how he’d touched her, and how she’d begged him to take her to bed crushed her until she struggled to breathe.
Bróccín?
Nay, Aiden.
A stranger, a man she did not know.
“We were never married?” she hissed, struggling against the ultimate lie, that he’d allowed her to care, and how she’d foolishly given him her trust.
Expression grim, Cailin slowly shook his head. “Nay, my lady, ’twas all a ruse.”