Laird of Smoke, page 26
They moved through the pavilions, garnering little attention, for they appeared to be harmless clergy. But Adam was still amazed that they’d been here only a few hours ago, and no one seemed to recognize either of them.
Adam they might overlook. Men didn’t give him a second glance.
But Eve was breathtaking, whether she was clad in a lady’s gown or a nun’s habit. That no one saw that was unfathomable.
At the far end of the camp, the king emerged from his pavilion.
“Let me speak with him,” Eve murmured.
Adam knew that was a bad idea. The men-at-arms might not realize that Sister Eve was the same woman who’d teetered by on pattens just this morn. But surely the king would.
Still, that might be for the best.
“All right,” he said, drawing the cowl close around his face. “I’ll be right behind ye.”
She hurried forward, calling out softly, “Your Grace!”
The king looked up.
“May we have a word, Your Grace?”
“Sister?”
Apparently, the king was as blind as every other man. Without her makeup, her horsetail hair, her lavish gown, and her ridiculous footwear, Eve was apparently unrecognizable to him.
“I’m Sister Eve, Your Grace,” she said, “and this is Brother…” Too late, she realized they hadn’t given him a name.
“Adam, Your Grace,” he supplied. There was no need to lie to the king. All would be revealed in a moment. “May we speak privately?”
The king looked slightly annoyed. No doubt he was tired of speaking and eager for war.
Out of Eve’s sight, Adam pulled off his cowl to show the king his face.
Now Malcolm recognized him. His brows lifted, and he waved them forward into the pavilion.
Adam had promised to let Eve speak, so despite the king looking to him for a report, Adam allowed her to break the news. Let her tighten the noose around her own neck.
“Your Grace,” she said, “’tis with great regret we must inform ye of a terrible sin committed by two o’ your men today.”
“A sin?” Malcolm sighed. “What sin?” He no doubt imagined the terrible sin was going to be skipping Mass or imbibing too much mead.
“They entered an alehouse in the woods, Your Grace, owned by the Fergus clan. Violated the alewife. Attacked the alewife’s husband. And then burned down the alehouse.”
The king made a grimace of distaste, but he didn’t seem particularly shocked. “And you have proof our men did this?”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
She took the satchel off of her shoulder, opened it, and began rummaging through the contents.
“I have the dagger used to stab the man,” she said. “It bears the royal insignia.”
“I see. And what do you have to say about this, Rivenloch?”
Adam stiffened. The king had called him by his clan name. Now Eve would know. Now she would realize who he was.
Eve’s blood grew cold.
The king had called him Rivenloch. Not Brother Adam. Malcolm must have recognized him from their earlier conversation, despite the monk’s costume.
She told herself none of that mattered. Adam might be upset that Eve knew who he was. But he could explain himself later. All that mattered at the moment was showing the king the incriminating dagger. Getting restitution for the alewife and her husband. Stopping the atrocities being carried out by his men.
Shite. Where was that damned dagger?
Adam cleared his voice and said cryptically, “I have my own suspicions, Your Grace.”
“Aye?”
“The woman is lying.”
Adam’s accusation was so unexpected, it took Eve a moment to comprehend it.
In the brief silence, the king chuckled as if Adam had made a jest. “Lying? A nun?”
“She’s not a nun, Your Grace, any more than I’m a monk,” Adam said. “She’s a spy like me.”
Adam’s confession was calculated. Icy. Heartless.
For a moment Eve couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. What was he saying? Why would he tell the king such a thing?
She tried to imagine a useful reason for Adam to pretend she was a spy.
She could think of none.
“Nay, Your Grace,” she gasped out, digging feverishly for the dagger. “I have the proof here.”
Unable to find it, she upended the satchel and shook it, spilling its contents onto the ground. Desperate, she scrabbled through the clothing and tools and foodstuffs.
The dagger was nowhere to be found.
“Look there, Your Grace,” Adam said, pointing to something strewn among the litter.
He lifted up the fine silver piece to show the king. The Rivenloch medallion.
“She stole it from me,” Adam said.
The blood left Eve’s face.
He had done this. Adam had taken the dagger out of her satchel and planted his medallion there.
Why?
She looked at him, bewildered.
For the first time in her life, she was unable to think of a single thing to say. It felt as if he’d plunged her into a bog. And the drowning mire was closing over her head.
She entreated Adam with furrowed brows, seeking some explanation for his treachery.
But he wouldn’t spare her a glance. He only stared at the king. His eyes were grim. His face was as hard as stone.
“She’s a spy for Fergus,” Adam said.
The king gasped, echoing Eve’s shock.
He continued. “She probably planned to capture me and demand ransom from Your Grace.”
Eve blinked in disbelief. Was this the man who had vowed to marry her? Who had promised to ask the king to perform their wedding?
The king growled.
Adam continued. “Does Your Grace remember the woman who came to you this morn with the Rivenloch marriage document?”
Eve could barely breathe as the king narrowed his eyes at her.
“It can’t be,” he said.
“’Tis.” Adam nodded to the twin horsetail braids and the pair of high wood pattens on the ground. “There is her costume. And here,” he said, sweeping up the rolled parchment, “is the document Your Grace signed.”
“Nay,” she managed to croak out, reaching toward him as if she could snatch it from his hand.
He handed it to the king.
Her throat ached with the pain of treachery. Tears burned behind her eyes. Why was he betraying her?
“Adam?” she begged.
He made no reply.
“Adam,” she sobbed.
“Guards!” the king called out.
Two royal guards rushed through the pavilion flap, their hands at the ready, clapped on their sheathed swords.
“Take her,” the king instructed.
Finally, Eve’s instincts for survival overcame her wounded heart. Adam might have crushed her with his cruelty. But she would not go quietly.
She tore off her coif and veil. Sweeping up the hard cheese that had spilled from her satchel, she withdrew the wee eating dagger she’d stabbed into it earlier. Then, kicking aside the skirts of her habit, she faced the two guards with fight in her blood and fire in her eyes.
They drew their swords.
She gulped.
The blades were long. Sharp. Gleaming. Her puny knife was no match for them.
Still, she blew out a forceful breath, steadying herself.
“Wait!”
It was Adam.
The king raised his hand, halting his men.
“By rights as a Rivenloch, Your Grace,” Adam said, “I claim this captive.”
The gears clicked in Eve’s head. Was he trying to rescue her after all? Did he mean to spirit her away from the king? But why hadn’t he just let her explain to Malcolm about his men and their crime? Why had he changed the plan?
“I may have a use for her,” he continued.
“Indeed?” the king said.
“She’s a beautiful woman and a talented trickster,” Adam said. “She’s likely valuable to Fergus. She may be a useful pawn against him.”
What the Devil was he trying to do?
“What do you suggest?” the king asked.
“Belay the attack on the morrow,” Adam said. “I’ll go to Fergus and tell him his spy was captured. I’ll say Your Grace is willing to negotiate her safe return, but only if there are no clan raids in the next fortnight.”
“A truce?” The king scoffed. “Our men are eager for battle. The rebellion cannot continue. Fergus is wreaking havoc. The war must be won as soon as possible.”
“But would it not be more chivalrous, Your Grace, to make a bloodless end to the rebellion? Earn the loyalty and admiration of your subjects by not…killing them?”
Eve understood what he was trying to do. It was the same thing he’d done at Perth. Avoid battle and bloodshed through diplomacy.
It was a worthwhile endeavor. An honorable effort. Maybe peacemaking was Adam’s Greater Purpose.
The king chortled. “A Rivenloch advocating for peace?”
Eve tensed. The king was right to doubt him. The Rivenlochs were a warring clan. Negotiation was the last thing a warrior of Rivenloch would suggest.
“We may be a clan of warriors, Your Grace,” Adam replied, “but our motto is Amor vincit omnia.”
“Love conquers all,” the king translated, amused.
Adam gave a further assurance. “If Fergus breaks the truce, Your Grace, summon my clan. They can be here by the new month, and together we can lay siege.”
Eve wondered how he was going to pull that off. And how did she figure into his scheme? Was she just meant to be, as he’d said, a “useful pawn”? Did Adam intend to sacrifice her to protect the king?
If he deserted her, leaving her with Malcolm, she was doomed. A ransom from Fergus for her safe return would never come. Fergus didn’t know her, much less value her. The king would eventually execute her as a spy.
Eve stared at Adam, unable to decipher his intentions. It seemed he was willing to dismiss her as a sacrificial lamb. He refused to look at her, and she could read nothing in his expressionless eyes.
“Very well,” Malcolm said. “The Rivenlochs have served us faithfully for generations. We will entrust this matter to you. We will wait till after All Souls Day…as long as Fergus abides by the truce.”
Adam bowed his head in thanks. “Your Grace will keep the lass safe and unharmed?”
Eve’s heart lightened with hope. If he was concerned for her welfare, perhaps he did care for her.
Then he added, “Her value must be retained. Otherwise, leverage will be useless.”
Her value? Leverage? Was that all she was?
Eve began trembling then. Whether it was from hurt or fear or fury, she wasn’t sure.
Adam still wouldn’t look at her. She knew why now. Guilt had made a coward of him. He meant to abandon her and couldn’t look her in the eye to do it.
“We’ll keep her safe,” the king said, “if she’ll put away her weapon.”
Eve had forgotten she was gripping the eating knife in her fist. At the moment, she wanted to hurl it at Adam. But that would gain nothing.
Instead, she dropped it to the ground.
“Take her to the physician’s pavilion,” the king commanded.
“She’s a wily wench,” Adam warned. “Your Grace would be wise to put her in chains.”
Eve’s trembling was definitely rage now. Chains?
“Do so,” the king ordered.
The guards sheathed their swords and grabbed her by the arms.
“Wait,” Adam said. “I’ll need proof for Fergus.”
He picked up her dropped knife, seized a lock of her hair, and cut it off.
Then, before she could glare and spit out an epithet at the man who had condemned her to imprisonment for the next fortnight, they marched her roughly out of the pavilion.
Thank God she was too furious to feel the pain of her broken heart.
Chapter 21
Adam rubbed his fingers again over the silky lock of hair he’d tucked into the top of his hauberk, against his heart.
He was miserable.
He trudged toward the Fergus stronghold, wondering if he’d done the right thing.
He may have ruined his chances to live happily ever after with the woman of his dreams.
She might never forgive him for betraying her.
Yet what other choice did he have?
What Eve didn’t understand, what her innocence wouldn’t allow her to believe, was that reporting the bad behavior of the royal soldiers would have fallen on deaf ears. Men-at-arms always committed horrific acts—rape, murder, destruction—in the course of war. And kings always looked the other way. Even kings like Malcolm who prided themselves on chivalry.
That was the real reason Adam devoted his life to keeping his warrior clan out of as many wars as he could.
The warriors of Rivenloch had always behaved honorably. To do otherwise would have earned them expulsion from the clan. That legacy had been passed down through generations.
But kings came and went. They varied in their sense of gallantry and were likely to waver once they sat on the throne and grew drunk with power. As for mercenaries and simple soldiers, they weren’t expected to possess a moral compass. Most presumed that waging war included taking spoils.
In truth, it impressed Adam that an outlaw like Eve possessed such a strong sense of justice. She was intent on seeking fair recompense for the alewife. He admired her for that. If it were possible, he would have fought for atonement as well.
But in this instance, in wartime, it wasn’t possible. Such actions would be perceived as giving aid to the enemy. Eve would be branded a traitor.
Still, he knew the lass couldn’t be convinced to let go of that expectation of justice. So he’d initially decided, if he wanted her to be safe from the fighting, he’d have to drag her, by force if necessary, to Darragh.
Of course, that was an ugly proposition and not a good way to start a marriage. If he brought his bride-to-be kicking and screaming to his sister’s castle, he’d never hear the end of it from his clan. And that was only if she didn’t manage to trick her way out of the keep. He could easily imagine her manipulating Feiyan’s men with her winsome ways and catapulting herself back into the midst of danger.
Which would drag him back to a place of turmoil as well. Worried about Eve’s safety. Concerned she would try to confront the king. Afraid that, left to fend for herself, the same fate that had befallen the alewife might await his precious bride.
The idea sickened him.
Nay, the only way to deal with the stubborn lass was to go along with her. To lull her into complacency and then close the shackles of safety around her wrists when she least expected it. Which was exactly what he’d done.
She’d been hurt. Of course she’d been hurt.
He couldn’t bear to look in her eyes and see the pain he’d inflicted upon her. But it was clear in the tremor of her voice.
Once she understood he’d tricked her and meant to imprison her, she’d gotten past the heartache, and her hurt had turned to anger. But he wondered if she would ever be able to forgive him.
His intentions, of course, were absolutely honorable. He meant to keep her out of harm’s way. And he could think of no safer place for her than as a royal hostage.
If Malcolm believed Eve was somehow valuable to Fergus, that he could use her as leverage, the king would ensure she was well protected by his best men. That protection would be backed by the full force of the royal army. And Adam couldn’t wish for more proficient guards.
Nonetheless, they were only men. They would be vulnerable to Eve’s machinations. The clever lass could mince and cajole, flirt and weep like a skilled player upon a stage. If they somehow let her persuade them into giving her an inch of freedom, she would take a yard, and he’d probably never see her again.
Which was why he recommended the shackles.
She despised him now. He was certain of that. But he would rather endure her hate than be tied up in knots over her safety.
As far as Fergus, Adam knew it was the man’s hunger for power that drove him. He ruled by strength and threat and cared little what consequences his people suffered, as long as he profited.
His own clanfolk weren’t interested in expanding their holding or destroying the homes of their neighboring clans. They didn’t care about allying with the English or rallying against Malcolm. That was why Fergus needed to hire mercenaries to do his fighting.
His clanfolk simply wanted to live their lives. Harvesting crops. Raising children. Falling in love. Dancing. Singing. Praying. Celebrating birth and marriage and holy days.
They were people like the alewife and her husband, living in peace and being good neighbors.
They had no interest in risking life and limb for a bigger plot of land. They were satisfied with what they had.
But men like Fergus could never have enough. They wanted more and more and more. And when their appetites were that voracious, they consumed everything in their path.
Adam knew Fergus had to be stopped. He’d made too many aggressions into neighboring territories, threatening to divide Scotland and rule over the west as king.
But he didn’t agree with Malcolm that all-out war was required to rein in Fergus’s ambitions.
Fergus was still just one man with a few allies.
Like a bad tooth, he could be removed with no harm coming to the rest.
And Adam could be the one to do it.
When he arrived at the Fergus stronghold, Adam demanded to see the laird immediately. Unfortunately, having made himself invisible for weeks as the mercenary Ness MacNeill had its drawbacks. It took several threats and coercion of a guard at the tip of a blade to be granted an audience.
When Fergus greeted him with a frown, Adam told him he’d seen the king’s troops.
“I doubt that,” Fergus grumbled. “If ye had, ye wouldn’t have come back. Not in one piece anyway.”
“I tossed a comely lass in their path,” Adam said, giving him a knowing wink. “They were too busy takin’ turns on her to pay heed to me.”
Fergus chortled at that.
