Silence hung between them.
Colyne stared at the crucifix secured behind the altar, at the blood weeping down Christ’s body. “I need to ask three favors of you.”
“Anything.”
A muscle worked in his jaw as he held Robert’s anguished gaze. “The only way the English duke could have known of the missive was if one of his informants were seated in the private meeting.”
“A traitor?” Though a whisper, the bishop’s question cut through the room like a curse.
“Aye,” Colyne replied, his own anger as fierce at deducing the reason. “I mention it as Robert Bruce needs to be informed of this news.”
“Consider it done.”
“My thanks.”
“Would your second request be to secure passage for you aboard a ship to France?”
“Aye, but if possible, I would sail with someone trustworthy instead of an unknown merchant.”
“The writ is too important to risk falling into untrustworthy hands,” Robert agreed, his voice trembling, evidence he struggled to contain his grief. “I shall send a runner to learn who is in port. If any captain’s ship we trust is moored at the pier, once he learns of the graveness of this matter, I am confident he will adjust his itinerary and sail to France posthaste.” He rubbed his thumb over the cross. “And the last?”
“There is a woman.”
Robert’s brow lifted. “A woman?”
“During my escape with the writ, I was wounded,” Colyne explained. “A French missionary named Alesia found and cared for me. Her party was attacked while traveling in the Highlands. She said they were returning from Beauly Priory.”
With a frown, the bishop rubbed his jaw. “I was nae aware of missionaries visiting from France.”
Unease swept him. “You did nae know?”
The bishop shook his head. “I have heard naught of such an arrangement.”
That didna make sense. One would think with the strife between England and Scotland, Alesia’s party would have taken every precaution to ensure their safety. So why hadn’t they informed the bishop of their arrival?
Chapter 12
Late afternoon bells tolled, sending nerve-shattering bongs through the waning spring day. The strong tang of the sea and the stench of the city invaded the confines of the chamber. Marie’s stomach churned.
She wrung her hands and again looked at the door. “Where are you, Colyne?” Hours had passed since he’d left. Had he reached his destination? Had his pursuers seized him? Or had they killed him, and his body now lay on the street?
Stop it!
There could be many explanations for his delay. She searched her soul for reassurance, found naught but ominous reasons.
On a sigh, she turned toward the bed, and images of Colyne flooded her. The way he’d loved her, how he had ignited feelings she’d never imagined. With memories of him making her body tingle, the dankness of the chamber seemed less threatening. Marie released a calming breath. He would return.
And then what?
His fierce possessiveness as he’d loved her staked its own claim.
Mon Dieu.How could she have been foolish enough to believe that news of her betrothal would deter such a strong-willed Scot? He was an earl, a man used to wielding power.
Footsteps echoed outside.
Withdrawing her dagger, Marie flattened herself against the cool wood adjacent to the barred door.
The pad of firm steps halted.
