The writ!
When he’d sworn to Douglas as he lay dying that he’d deliver the writ to King Philip, never had he imagined he’d entrust Robert Bruce’s missive to another, especially to an unknown woman embraced by danger.
Colyne studied Alesia. However much the risk, he believed she was a woman of her word. Now, in the ultimate act of faith, he would test that belief.
With unwavering trust in her, he withdrew the writ from the hidden fold of his undershirt. “Here.”
Wariness flickered on her face as she stared at the bound leather. “Why are you giving this to me?”
Thunder crashed into the rain-dampened silence, a stark reminder that he must go. “If I do nae return, stay hidden until the English knights have gone.” Colyne shook his head when she made to speak. “Travel north for a day, two at most. I know ‘tis well out of your way, but seek a man named Blar MacTavish of Clan Fraser. Give him this.” He laid the bound leather in her palm.
“Who is Blar MacTavish?”
At the fear rattling her voice, he cupped her face. “A friend,” he said with soft assurance. “Someone you can trust.” He didna reveal the contents of the document. If someone captured her, she could truthfully claim she didna know what message was secured inside, and might be allowed to live. “Tell him . . . Tell him Douglas is dead. That this needs to be delivered immediately. MacTavish will know what to do.”
Her eyes searched his. The shimmer of unshed tears spoke of her desperation. “Who is Douglas?”
“Douglas was a knight who . . .” Colyne fought back the crush of grief. “He was my friend.”
Sadness darkened her eyes. “I am sorry.”
He nodded, the time to leave long past. “Remember, if I do nae return, take this to MacTavish. He shall ensure you receive safe escort to France.”
A tear wove down her cheek.
Shaken, he wiped away the moisture with the pad of his thumb. How could he leave her? He stared at the leather bound writ and sobered. How could he stay? Somewhere in the Highlands, King Philip’s bastard daughter was being held against her will, her abduction blamed upon rebel Scots. An accusation Renard might already have conveyed to the French king.
Unless this writ from Robert Bruce, explaining the English noble’s contemptible ploy, reached King Philip, Scotland’s support from France might be lost.
Neither could Colyne forget that more than his country’s freedom lay at stake. The threat now included Alesia’s life.
Desperation had Marie reaching out for him. “I . . .” What? Need you? She stared at Colyne, her cheeks burning from her near revelation. She couldn’t need or want him. That he’d entrusted her with an important missive had deeply moved her, how could it not? “Be safe.”
Only his smile answered, a look so tender it made her ache.
His mouth claimed hers in rushed desperation, and then he broke the kiss. “I will return.” Stone scraped beneath his feet as he slipped into the downpour.
Trembling, Marie settled against the stone wall. She stared at the raindrops collecting in the puddle left by his footprints. Never could she think of Colyne as anything more than a friend, but shamefully, she’d already overstepped boundaries she had no right to ignore.
Why couldn’t she have met him before agreeing to the betrothal with the duke? But she had, and ’twas a promise to her father she could not break. She released a sigh into the misted silence and drew the writ against her chest. “Please come back to me, Colyne.”
The monotonous batter of rain continued. She traced her finger along the sewn edge of the bound leather.
A writ.
Her father often sent messages of import through similar means. Was this the secret Colyne kept hidden from her? If so, why hadn’t she discovered the document when she’d removed his mail and garb to tend to him back at the cave? She frowned. He must have hidden it within the thick folds of his undershirt, and with her nerves on edge she’d missed it.
Curiosity bade her to untie the damp straps and discover the contents, or at least view the sender’s seal. Honor stilled her hand. Whatever message lay secured within belonged to another. She’d promised Colyne she would deliver the writ into safe hands if he didn’t return. If his brave act cost him his life, then so help her, she would follow through on her vow.
The wind-whipped rain increased. Lightning flashed overhead. Thunder shuddered with another ferocious blast.
Squeals of frightened horses rent the air. Moments later, the knights’ mounts galloped past.
Shouts rose above the fury of the storm. Blurs of angry men appeared on the hilltop, running after their steeds. Then, they too, disappeared into the forest.
Time passed with an ominous hand.
Marie edged to the entry of her small haven, her face inches from the lash of rain. With a shiver against the damp air, she searched the steep hills, scanning past the rain-soaked trees, their limbs and leaves caught in a macabre dance.
