“Sir Pieres,” Gwendolyn said, “instruct Father Iames of the change in plans posthaste.”
Worry lined the knight’s brow. “Aye, my lady.” He bowed, then hurried out.
Gwendolyn’s eyes leveled on Aiden. “’Twould seem,” she whispered, her voice icy, “that you will have my castle this night.”
Heart pounding, Aiden fought rising panic. Blast it, there must be a way to avoid saying their vows.
With her guard filling the castle, he and his men couldn’t slip away unseen. Nor could he allow her to see his concern. God help them if ’twas discovered theywere the enemy.
Through sheer will, Aiden set the goblet on the table as if the news hadn’t shattered his composure, then met his bride-to-be’s fierce gaze. “Don a gown fitting for our marriage, then return.”
Her eyes blazed with anger, and he muttered a silent curse. The last thing he wanted was to involve the lass further, much less toss her into this shamof a marriage.
Gwendolyn fledto the turret.
On unsteady legs, Aiden rose. With herculean will, he stepped off the dais. His stride easy, as if his entire life hadn’t been tossed into chaos, he walked over, halted before his men. “We need to speak in private.”
Nodding, his knights followed him down the corridor.
Once inside the solar, Aiden shut the door. The scent of fresh rushes melded with the warmth of the summer night, at odds with the anguish roiling in his gut.
Cailin narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”
Unable to believe the turn of events, Aiden rubbed the tension in the back of his neck. “’Twould seem Lord Comyn dictated our marital vows are to be given by a priest.”
“A common occurrence,” Rónán said.
“I agree, but Father Iames has been called to Rome and sails this night, and there isna another man of the cloth nearby. Thus Lady Gwendolyn and Lord Balfour are to wed immediately,” Aiden said, the words screaming in his mind.
Cailin’s face paled. “God’s blade, you canna marry the lass!”
“Dinna you think I know that?” Aiden spat, praying that at any moment he would awaken and find ’twas naught but a nightmare.
“God’s truth,” Rónán breathed, “we must leave now.”
“Nay, we would be seen if we tried to take our mounts and go,” Aiden said. “Nor have we gathered the information necessary for King Robert.”
Cailin gave a rough exhale. “Then what are we going to do?”
A question Aiden had asked himself a hundred times since she’d broken the news, yet each answer had collapsed in his mind but for one.
Duty.
The reason they were atLatharn Castle.
An objective regardless of the risks they must achieve.
However much he loathed the idea, he resigned himself to the choice he must make, one involving a stubborn lass with gray eyes whose actions had shown him more of a spine thanhe’d expected.
“The details we gather are critical to King Robert’s capturing this stronghold, a fortress he must seize if he is to unite Scotland,” Aiden said, his voice grave. “We have bits of information, but far from what is needed to ensure our sovereign’s success.”
Rónán eyes widened. “God in heaven, you are actually going through with this farce?”
A hard ache pounded in his head. “I have nay other choice. When we have the information we need, in a day, two at most, we depart as planned. Once we reach the Bruce’s camp, I will send word to Lady Gwendolyn that Lord Balfour has died.”
“God help us if she learns that you are not her betrothed before we escape,” Cailin said.
Confident in this regard, Aiden shook his head. “She willna. And any vow I swear under Bróccín’s name will not be binding.”
