Dougal shook his head, his thick red beard swinging with the motion. “Which sorely disappointed the MacCurrans. There was no sign of the wretch. They now believe he entered Black Devon Burn and headed west.”
“Are they bound for Stirling, then?”
“Aye.” The constable grimaced. “I invited them to return to the manor and feast with us, but they declined. They’re keen to find their man.”
Bran resisted a smile. The departure of the MacCurrans was excellent news, but sharing his joy would be inappropriate. “And what reason did the English give for being in Clackmannan?”
“They are riding north to Fort William, but broke a cartwheel in the mud.”
Moving the inkpot and the pewter cup, Bran allowed the map to curl up. He handed Dougal the rolled parchment. “Did we offer them our assistance?”
“Of course,” said Dougal, scratching his chin beneath his beard. “But they were no interested. Said they had their own wheelwright.”
“Was there anyone of note among them?”
“I saw only soldiers, but they had several tents.”
He could ask Dougal about the man with the scar, but that would suggest he knew more than he should about the men in the forest. Better that he look for himself. Alone and discreetly. “Were it only a small party, I’d leave them to make way on their own. But twelve Englishmen? We can take no chances, not with the queen in residence. Post guards in the forest.”
“Aye, Marshal. I’ll see to it right away.” Dougal offered him a short bow and then marched off.
Bran looked up and met Lady Caitrina’s gaze across the great hall. She and another of the queen’s ladies were consulting with the two cooks, but she had been casting quick glances in his direction the entire time Dougal had been making his report. She raised a single eyebrow, and he nodded in response.
Had he believed it feasible to keep Caitrina at a distance, he would have. But he knew she would not be easily dissuaded.
Upon excusing herself to her companions, she crossed the room to his side. She walked with a natural grace and sway that held his attention every inch of the way. “What have you found out?”
“There is indeed a party of men in the forest,” he confirmed, lifting his gaze to her face. An equally entrancing view. Especially that pert little nose. “I can’t be certain it includes the man you seek, but I’ll verify that when I ride out to see for myself.”
“I’ll ride with you.”
“Absolutely not.” His stealth skills did not include hiding a lass in skirts, especially skirts of pale purple satin. Caitrina would be a beacon in the dark green of the woodland. A very lovely beacon, but a beacon just the same. “You’ll remain here in the manor, where it is safe.”
“There is only one way I’ll be convinced you have the correct man,” she said, “and that is if I see him for myself.”
“Don’t be difficult, lass. There is real danger in approaching these men.”
“I’m well aware of the risks.” She cocked her head. “But I doubt that you intend to march openly into his camp. Spying on him from a distance would seem to be the wiser course.”
“Be that as it may, I’ve no intention of bringing you along.”
“I’m not giving you a choice,” she said quietly. “If I cannot confirm that the man you’ve found is the man I seek, then I’ll not return the crown.”
He sighed. How quickly he’d forgotten. Bonnie as a bluebell, to be sure, but also prickly as a gorse bush. “Fine. Accompany me if you must, but find another gown. Something less... obvious.”
Caitrina glanced down at her dress, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. “Of course,” she said. “Browns and greens would be far more suitable. I’ll make the change immediately. When do we leave?”
“As soon as you’re ready.”
“We won’t wait until nightfall?”
“Nay,” he said. “Our objective is to see, and seeing in the dark is near impossible.”
“Our objective is also secrecy,” she pointed out. “How do you intend to leave the manor and approach the men in the forest without being seen?”
“Leave that to me.”
Her eyebrows soared. “You expect me to simply put my faith in your abilities?”
