“B-Bróccín MacRaith, Earl of Balfour.”
Aiden stared at him in disbelief. “Of Gilcrest Castle?” His question sliced out between tensed lips.
“Aye.”
Memories from his youth rolled through Aiden: how he and Bróccín had sparred, hunted, the first time they’d tasted mead. A friendship of long ago.
No longer was he an innocent lad with dreams of war and victory in his head. Over the years, with his service to the Knights Templar, he’d seen enough bloodshed, and had witnessed the deaths of too manyof his friends.
“I will have your name,” Bróccín forced out.
“Aiden MacConnell, Earl of Lenox.” He swallowed hard. That he’d long lost his title mattered little now.
Recognition flared in the nobleman’s eyes, replaced by a fleeting sadness. “After the death of your family, I-I never thought tosee you again.”
Ice slid through Aiden’s veins at the mention of his horrific loss. He shoved aside the painful memories that however much he tried haunted him still. Neither could he forget how the English had seized his legacy. “Nor I you.” He nodded to the writ. “I give my word I will deliver your missive to Lady Gwendolyn.”
“I thank you. ’Twas a b-blessing that ’twas you who found me.” A shudder raked his body. “After all these years, I canna believe we meet again. W-we had so many dreams, didna we?”
He forced a smile. “Aye,foolish ones.”
“They were.” Bróccín coughed. His face twisted in pain, he settled back.
“I will tend to you as best—”
“’Tis too late; my fate is sealed.”
However much he wished to assure the man otherwise, he wouldn’t lie. Aiden offered him a sip of water from his pouch. “Take a drink, ’twill cool your throat.”
“My comfort matters little now.” A wry smile touched Bróccín’s mouth. “In truth,” he rasped, “I have never met my betrothed, but ’tis rumored the lass is a beauty. With the stories I have heard—” Pain dredged his face, and for a moment he closed his eyes. On a rough exhale, he lifted his lids. “I was anxious to bed her.”
Coldness seeped through Aiden at the thought of any woman weakening him to where he’d think of little else. His life was dedicated to God and war, not the luxuries of the flesh. He rested his hand on the earl’s shoulder. “I will tell her that you were a fine man.”
“I thank you.” More blood oozed from Bróccín’s mouth. The noble shuddered and then gasped. His eyes grew fixed.
With the images of his youth fading, Aiden stood, waited as hismen approached.
“Is he dead?” Cailin asked.
Aiden nodded. “His name is Bróccín MacRaith, Earl of Balfour. Incredibly, we were friends in my youth. Except, ’twould seem now, unknown to him, we are mortal enemies.”
“A Comyn supporter,” Rónán said with a grimace, “abloody shame.”
“’Tis the way of war.” Aiden shoved his sadness behind his carefully built wall of indifference, having lost too many friends through the years to allow the hurt to burrow deeper. “Yet he has presented us with an unexpected opportunity.” He lifted the writ. “’Twould seem by Comyn’s dictate, the earl was betrothed to Lady Gwendolyn Murphy. He was on his wayto marry her.”
Cailin arched a doubtful brow. “What does a wedding have to do with our gaining information for the Bruce’s upcoming attack on Latharn Castle?”
“The lady in question,” Aiden replied, “is the stronghold’s mistress.”
Rónán frowned. “’Tis a surprising coincidence, but knowing the woman’s name or Lord Balfour’s reason for riding to the castle farfrom aids us.”
“It wouldna,” Aiden agreed, “except before Lord Balfour died, he admitted he had nevermet the lass.”
Cailin’s eyes widened. “God’s blade, you are not thinking of taking his place?”
The thrill of the unknown filled Aiden, and he clung to the thoughts of danger, to a way of life on which he thrived. “I am. I swore to deliver this decree, a promise I shall keep. ’Twill be a simple enough task to play the part of her suitor for a day or two. Once we have the information we need, we shall slip away and report to the Bruce all that wehave learned.”
“We?” Rónán asked.
