His men shook their heads,then departed.
Aiden stepped toward the door. At the entry, he glanced back to the altar.
Lady Gwendolyn wouldn’t marry Bróccín, but she would wed a man chosen by the Bruce. Latharn Castle’s strategic location was too important to allow the lass to live without the protection of a noble loyalto King Robert.
Nor was her desire to remain unwed of any matter. War demanded its own dictates, all within its own boundaries, often sacrificing one’s dreams for the sake of power. A fact he well knew.
Yet she wasn’t a warrior, but a maiden ensnared within the turbulence of war.
Sympathy for her plight swept him. Her fate could not be helped. He wasn’t a noble who could offer her aid, but aKnight Templar.
No, his life in the Brotherhood was over.
Aiden’s hand tightened on the entry at thoughts of King Philip’s duplicity against the loyal order that had protected the sovereign over the years. Desperation and greed had pressed the king’s hand, neither of which excused the royal’s betrayal of warriors who had displayed the highest ideals and principles for nearlytwo centuries.
Aiden yanked the door open, the golden rays of the late afternoon sun far from warming the chill blackening his heart.
Almost a year had passed since he and the other Templars had sailed beneath the shield of night from the port of La Rochelle. He regretted those they’d had to leave behind, the many brave men who had been tortured or killed since.
Aiden strode toward the keep. By God, their sacrifice wouldn’t be for naught. This night, he and his men would begin gathering the information King Robert needed for the attack on Latharn Castle. Thoughts of a lass had no place in war, something he must never forget.
* * * *
The lingering scent of venison, herbs, and onions filled the air as Gwendolyn finished the last sip of her wine, relieved the tedious meal was over. Except for Lord Balfour’s initial reserved greeting, when he’d sat beside her on the dais, throughout the meal he’d remained quiet, his cool demeanor far from a surprise after their confrontationin the chapel.
The entry to the keep opened. Illuminated by torchlight, Sir Pieres stepped into the great hall, a sealed writ in his hand.
Mary’s will, what news did he bring? Fingers trembling, she set aside her goblet. Please God, let it not be a warning that the Bruce’s men were nearby.
Her trusted knight strode to the dais, handed her the slim, tied leather pouch. “This just arrived from Rome.”
“Rome?” Relief swept her that ’twas not a report concerning King Robert. As she accepted the document, she caught her betrothed’s interest. Mouth tight, Gwendolyn broke open the seal, unrolled the missive, and scanned the lines. Her fingers tightened onthe parchment.
Lord Balfour raised a brow. “What is wrong, my lady?”
Wrong? An understatement. Pressure tightened in her chest as she reread the damning lines and then lifted her gaze to his. “’Tis a request for Father Iames to sail for Rome immediately.”
With a shrug, her betrothed emptied his goblet. He set it on the table, motioned for the lad nearby for more. “I see no issue with the priest’s departure.”
She damned this unwanted turn of event. Nor did he understand the consequence. “In the missive you delivered, Lord Comyn instructed we would marry within a fortnight after your arrival. Father Iames is to performthe ceremony.”
A bored expression settled on Lord Balfour’s face as he took a sip of his wine. “A directive easily fulfilled. We will send for anearby priest.”
Gwendolyn struggled to accept that the time to adjust to his presence, to find a way to tolerate him within her life, was lost. “There are nay other clerics nearby.”
“Then at the end of the period in question, we shall handfast.”
“I would agree,” she said, cursing the tremor in her voice at thoughts of the Scottish practice of marriage through oaths pledged to the other, “but Lord Comyn’s directive states our vows are to be given by a priest.”
His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then grew unreadable.
She frowned. Panic? Nay. Lord Balfour was anxious to wed, to enter a union that would bring him the title of the Earl of Hadington, along with Latharn Castle. “A ship awaits Father Iames in the harbor. Once he has performed our marriage ceremony,he will leave.”
* * * *
Aiden forced his expression to remain calm, at odds with the alarm raging inside. Married this night? God’s sword, no! From the corner of his eye, he caught Cailin watching him from a nearby trestle table, his expression curious. Aiden rubbed his thumbacross his jaw
Eyes widening, Cailin leaned close to Rónán, whispered. Both men sat back, covertly watched for his next signal.
