Kieran slumped over the stallion’s neck, swaying with its gait. Each hoof-fall sent agony surging through him, but somehow he managed to keep his seat atop the animal’s back.

He lifted his head, squinting against the light even though the sun was tucked behind thick gray clouds. Through the haze enveloping him, he recognized his surroundings. Thank God in heaven, he was close.

He guided the stallion out of the denser woods and down a narrow trail that led to Scone. As he rode, his mind churned with thoughts of Vivienne. It didn’t matter if he lived or died, as long as he reached Scone in time to tell the others what had happened. He prayed she was still alive and unharmed, trusting in the belief deep in his heart that she was.

When the trees thinned and the wooden palisades appeared before him, he nudged the stallion faster for the last few strides, clinging on to consciousness with all his strength.

As he drew up to the palisades, one of the guards must have recognized him.

“MacAdams, ye’ve returned,” the man began. Then his eyes widened as he took in the full sight of him. He muttered an oath, then shouted, “Toby, fetch the King and the others in the Corps. Open the gate!”

Without stopping to dismount or even acknowledge the guards, Kieran rode through the still-opening wooden gate and into the courtyard before the palace. He slowed his horse and attempted to slide from his back, but it turned into an uncontrolled fall.

Luckily, two of the guards had followed beside him and caught him before he hit the ground. Still, he nearly knocked them both down with his large frame. As they struggled to get him on his feet, the King and several of the Corps members burst from the great hall.

“Good God,” the Bruce breathed, rushing toward Kieran. “What happened, man?”

“William de Soules took Vivienne,” Kieran ground out. Distantly, he registered the King and the others’ stunned faces before him. “I am going to get her back,” he went on, blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision. “And I need yer help.”

With that, the last of his strength failed and dark unconsciousness swallowed him whole.

 

*    *    *    *

 

Kieran slowly emerged from a deep, dreamless slumber. He was lying on his back on a soft bed. His limbs were heavy and warm, and his head felt stuffed with wool, as if he’d drank too much good whisky.

Reluctantly, he cracked his eyes open. A woman stood over him, her golden hair held back from her face. He squinted against the bright light in the chamber.

“V…Vivienne?”

The woman started in surprise at the low rumble of his voice, but then placed a hand on his arm and squeezed lightly. “Nay,” she said kindly in an English accent. She turned to someone else in the chamber. “Fetch the others and tell them he’s awake.”

As the fog in his brain continued to clear, one recollection after another began to hit him. Vivienne had been taken. De Soules had her. And Kieran was supposed to be dead. The dull pain in his chest was a reminder that he wasn’t, though. He’d made it to Scone.

“Ye are—”

“Jossalyn Sinclair,” the woman replied. “One of the King’s healers.”

“And the wife of Garrick Sinclair.” Though Kieran hadn’t met him yet, he knew Garrick was a fellow member of the Corps and one of the Bruce’s most trusted warriors.

“Aye,” she replied with a soft smile.

“What…happened?” He remembered riding into the palace courtyard, throwing the last of his foolish pride to the wind, and asking the King and Corps for help, but after that, it was all darkness.

“You are lucky I was nearby,” Jossalyn replied. “I do not always stay at the King’s side, but I was only an hour’s ride away in Perth. If I hadn’t reached you as quickly as I did, you might not be alive.”

“And what did ye do to me?”

A faint smile curved Jossalyn’s lips, as if she were pleased at the chance to explain her methods. “Your bandage likely saved your life long enough for you to get here. In fact, the initial puncture wound had already begun closing enough for you to draw air into that lung. But it was filled with blood. I made a cut on your side and placed a reed into the lung, then sucked out the blood and sealed you up again.”

Hell and damnation. He was lucky indeed.

“Your shoulder looked to be nearly healed as well,” she went on. “So I removed the stitches—and finely done they were, too.”

The memory of Vivienne, frightened but bravely facing the task, made his heart twist painfully. He had to reach her somehow, had to find her and keep her from harm.

He tried to sit up, but Jossalyn placed a hand on his arm, managing to hold him down with the extremely slight strength she must possess in her petite body.

“Nay, Kieran, do not rise,” she chided. “You still need a great deal of time to heal. It has only been two days since you arrived, and—”

“What?” he barked. “I have been out for two days?”

Just as he attempted to throw himself from the bed again, the chamber door opened and the King strode in, with Mairin, Niall, Will, and Jerome behind him.

Will and Jerome moved swiftly to the bed, forcing Kieran back down.

“Easy,” Jerome said. “Ye should be thanking Jossalyn, no’ biting her head off.”

“I had to give you a sleeping draught so that you would not stir or wake as I worked on you,” Jossalyn said, her brows drawing together over her green eyes. “And I thought it best to keep you under so that you could heal undisturbed.”

Though it was futile, Kieran struggled against Will and Jerome’s hold. “Then Vivienne has been in de Soules’s clutches for four days.” Pain tugged at the wound on his chest, but it was naught compared to the agony in his heart.

“Calm yerself, man,” the King said evenly, but his face was a knot of worry behind his beard. “Ye cannae help the lass by riling yerself up and undoing Jossalyn’s work. Tell us what happened.”

Kieran squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment. When he opened them, Will and Jerome warily released him and stepped back.

“We were attacked a half-day’s ride from Scone,” he began. “No’ by de Soules himself, but by his lackeys. They were aiming for Vivienne, but they only hit me.”

He nodded toward the freshly-healed pink scar on his shoulder, then continued. “We abandoned her horse and managed to lose them—or so I thought. I took her to an old plot of land in the Highlands once owned by my family, and long forgotten by even my clan. All was well until four days past, when de Soules and a small army arrived.”

“How many men did de Soules have?” the Bruce asked.

“A dozen before they attacked me. And afterwards, five unharmed and three injured, no’ counting de Soules.”

The Bruce’s eyes flashed with respect, and he nodded to Kieran before sobering once more. “And they made off with Lady Vivienne?”

“Aye,” Kieran rasped, his rage rising once more. “De Soules put a dagger through my chest before riding south with her. I didnae have a way of kenning where he was taking her, so I threw myself on a horse and rode here.” He turned a hard gaze on the Bruce. “How the bloody hell did de Soules get free in the first place?”

The King rubbed a hand over his eyes and let a long breath go. “A few days after ye departed for the Highlands, de Soules was set to be relocated to Dumbarton. As I told ye before ye left, I’d hoped to tuck him away someplace more remote to draw attention away from him and his cause. He was transported in chains with a guard of six men—more than enough to subdue him if necessary. But en route, the convoy was ambushed.”

The Bruce muttered a curse, shaking his head. “Ten men sprang upon them, catching them off-guard. They slaughtered my men and freed de Soules, then rode north. Luckily one soldier survived and managed to get back to Scone to report what had happened.”

“Hell and damnation,” Kieran hissed, the pieces shifting into place in his mind. “The men who attacked us outside Scone must have still been on our trail. De Soules and the others must have met up with them in the Highlands and hunted us down.”

“Aye, that would explain how they found ye,” the Bruce replied. “Once I learned of de Soules’s escape, I sent Colin, Garrick, and two score more soldiers to try to track him and his cronies down. But it seems they will be riding all the way to the Highlands for naught.”

The King swore again. “Sabine is working with her network of spies and messengers—with Elaine’s help—to learn aught else she can,” he continued, “but so far all we ken is that de Soules rode south from the Highlands. Which means he could be nigh anywhere else in Scotland.”

“Before ye stripped him of his title and lands, de Soules had an estate at Liddesdale in Dumfriesshire,” Will offered, his features drawn into a frown. “And his family owns Hermitage Castle in the Lowlands.”

“But would the man really go somewhere so obvious?” Niall asked quietly. “He is on the run and surely knows we will be hunting him. I doubt he would risk returning to one of his old haunts.”

The English lad made a good point, but Kieran was losing his battle to remain calm. “Damn it all, he has Vivienne,” he growled. “He vowed to make her pay for the suffering she caused him. We cannae waste time wandering to every bloody corner of Scotland looking for her.”

Just then, Mairin, who had remained quiet and watchful as always, stepped forward. “De Soules clearly had help,” she began, her voice tight as if she wasn’t used to speaking. “He managed to arrange an attack in Paris, and another just outside Scone. And he must have had a hand in organizing his escape. But he has been locked away in the dungeon this whole time.”

Niall turned keen blue eyes on her. “What are you thinking, Mairin?”

She darted a glance at him before looking away. “Someone has likely been paying him visits.”

The Bruce’s features hardened. “I’ll have the guards questioned.”

Mairin held up a slim hand. “Aye, do, but mayhap first we should ask the only other inhabitant of the dungeon what she kens—Agnes of Strathearn.”

The King’s lips parted on a stunned exhale, and the other men all muttered curses. Kieran jerked upright in the bed.

“Bring her here,” he rumbled.

Niall ducked out of the room and said a quick word to one of the guards positioned outside the door. The guard must have understood the urgency of the situation, for in no time, there was a rap on the door.

Niall opened it to admit two hulking guards flanking the much smaller, wide-eyed former Countess of Strathearn.

Agnes had once been a grand lady, swathed in fine silks and lavished with all the luxuries of a Lowland noble. Now she stood before them in a simple, ill-fitting wool gown, dirt under her nails and her face drawn as if the events of the last year had aged her a decade.

“Agnes,” the Bruce said coolly.

The woman instantly lowered into a curtsy so deep that she was nearly huddled on the floor. “Sire,” she said in a small, pleading voice. “I hope I havenae done aught to offend ye in any wa—”

“Nay,” the Bruce cut in. “But we have some questions for ye about what ye may have overheard in yer cell.”

Agnes looked up with dark, obsequious eyes. “Aye, Sire, I am yer humble servant.”

Kieran nearly snorted. The woman had been imprisoned because she’d participated in de Soules’s conspiracy to dethrone the Bruce. She was only alive now because she had confessed instantly upon being caught and had turned over the names of all the others she’d known had been involved.

But he had to admit, though he’d spoken against the Bruce leaving any of the conspirators alive, Kieran was now glad Agnes was at their disposal—and grateful that the woman clearly wished to prove herself useful and compliant, if only to gain a sliver more of the Bruce’s mercy.

He pushed himself up to sitting in the bed, ignoring the discomfort in his chest.

“Yer cell shared a wall with de Soules’s, did it no’?” he began.

Agnes nodded eagerly.

“Do ye ken that he escaped while being transported to Dumbarton?”

The woman’s eyes rounded.

Kieran leveled her with a hard look. “Someone was visiting him, isnae that right?” he demanded. “He was plotting something even from his cell. Speak, Agnes, or God help me, all the leniency the King has shown ye will be wiped away.”

The threat landed true. Agnes blanched and suddenly began to babble. “It was Bevin,” she blurted. “The big brute who worked in the stables. De Soules had something on him—something about his cousin, I dinnae ken—so Bevin did his bidding. At first he only visited to report to de Soules what went on aboveground, the state of the palace and such. But one night I overheard them speaking of a man named St. Giles—a Frenchman sent to kill that lady.”

Hot anticipation surged in Kieran’s veins. “What else?” he snapped.

“After St. Giles’s failure, de Soules ordered Bevin to hire men to attack ye and the woman outside of Scone,” she went on, nodding toward Kieran. “A few days later—the night before de Soules was taken away from his cell—Bevin returned and said the attack had failed. De Soules told Bevin to gather all those still loyal to him and set upon his convoy to Dumbarton.”

The Bruce stiffened at that. “And how many was that?”

Agnes shook her head, her gaze darting between the King and Kieran. “None, Sire. Bevin said he’d tried to rustle up all their allies, but none would step forward. So de Soules told him to spend coin to hire however many he could.”

The Bruce let out a breath, his gaze flicking to the others. “It is a small victory in light of the circumstances, but now we ken that de Soules is on his own without a friend left in Scotland.”

Though the Bruce was right, that knowledge was little comfort to Kieran given the fact that Vivienne was still in the madman’s clutches. “What else, Agnes?”

“De Soules said that after Bevin and the hired men set him free, they were to ride north—to find ye and the woman. And…and that is all.”

“Bloody hell and damnation.” Kieran pounded his fist against the bed so hard that the wooden frame shook. “He didnae say aught else—aught about where he would go after he got the woman?”

Agnes’s brows drew together, her eyes fluttering rapidly over the floor. “He mentioned…”

“Speak!” Kieran roared, making Agnes, as well as Jossalyn, who still stood beside the bed, jump with fright.

“He told Bevin that if aught went wrong with the attack on the convoy or if they became separated, to meet him on the isle of Ailsa Craig,” Agnes cried hurriedly.

The air seemed to whoosh from the room as everyone froze.

“That is all I ken, I swear,” Agnes whispered.

“Thank ye for yer cooperation,” the Bruce said, waving distractedly at the guards to take Agnes away. “I may see fit to reward ye if yer words prove useful.”

Agnes was led out of the room, curtsying and praising the King’s mercy repeatedly until the door closed behind her.

When the Bruce turned back to the others, his dark eyes were flinty.

“I should never have let that weasel de Soules live,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Martyr or nay, I should have put his head on a pike atop the palisades to show the world the fate of traitors against Scotland.”

The Bruce drew in a fortifying breath, smoothing a hand over his beard. “I cannae change the past, but I damn well intend to bring the might of the entire Scottish army down on the bastard’s head.”

“Nay,” Kieran replied. “An army will be far too slow. And he’d see them coming with plenty of time to finish Vivienne off.” The words made bile rise in the back of his throat, but he forced it down. He needed to think clearly, not lose himself in his rage and fear once more.

“What are ye suggesting, then?” the King asked. “At best, the island is a several-hours’ sail from Girvan, which is a two-day ride from here.”

“We can make it in a day and a half,” Kieran bit out.

“We?” The Bruce fixed him with a sharp stare. “It is obvious that yer concern for the lass goes beyond yer duty as her protector, Kieran.”

“I love her,” Kieran said baldly.

“Be that as it may, ye are in no condition to—”

“I am going.”

The Bruce worked his jaw for a moment, but he couldn’t quite seem to form a response to Kieran’s blunt declaration. In the ensuing silence, Jossalyn stepped forward tentatively.

“You need to rest and heal, Kieran,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t be riding, let alone wielding a sword.”

“I am going,” he repeated stubbornly. “It isnae up for debate. If I remain here, I will tear the palace apart stewing over Vivienne’s wellbeing.”

“I am going, too,” Mairin said abruptly, lifting her chin.

“Mairin, nay,” Niall said softly, his worried gaze fixing on the lass. “It is too dangerous.”

“I have been training in the Highlands just like ye, English,” she snapped, her dove-gray eyes flashing. “I am a member of the Corps, arenae I? Besides, I cannae sit idly by while that bastard hurts a woman.”

“I won’t let you go without someone to watch your back,” Niall replied. “I’ll go, too.”

“As will I,” Will said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jerome turned to the King. “Someone ought to stay close to ye, Robert,” he said. “Though I hope ye and the others find de Soules on Ailsa Craig, Kieran, the King is still one of his main targets.”

“Aye,” the Bruce replied with a nod of assent to Jerome. “Ye’ll stay, Jerome. And when they return to Scone, Colin and Garrick will remain by my side as well.” He turned to Kieran. “Ye’ll have my fastest horses and all the coin ye need to reach Ailsa Craig. I only wish I could take that bloody traitorous bastard’s head myself.”

Kieran rose slowly from the bed, his limbs stiff and his chest aching, but his blood fired with determination. “Oh, ye’ll have his head, I vow it.” He turned to the others. “I only have one request.”

Will assessed him with his good eye. “What is that?”

“De Soules is mine.”