“One of my many talents,” he said dryly.
The horse stumbled in a rut and Caitrina slammed against Bran’s sturdy back. Only for a moment, but long enough for her to take the measure of every masculine sinew she’d glimpsed in his rooms the night before. He was the very opposite of the sort of man she should desire. A cad. A bounder. A rogue. But her body reacted to the press of his flesh without care, sending a hot sizzle to the very core of her being. There was something delightfully reassuring about his strength. He was magnificent, really. “So, when we reach the manor, you’ll just collect your prize and be on your way?”
“Aye.”
Caitrina tightened her grip around his waist. Well, then. There it was—he was leaving. Unless she found some way to stop him. As they left the woods and followed the path across the meadow toward the postern gate, she sighed. Cruelly, she could think of no other option but to betray him. “What if I choose not to relinquish the crown?”
“You won’t make that mistake.”
A shiver ran down her spine. His response was icy cool and edged with steely promise. Exactly the sort of response she might expect from a dangerous criminal. If it had been a matter of personal gain, Caitrina would have shut her mouth and pursued her cause no further. But Marsailli might even now be enduring another beating. Especially if Giric had cause to believe it was she who had spied upon the camp.
“I’m afraid I must,” she said bravely. He wouldn’t attack her in full view of the guards on the manor walls. Nay, of course not. That would be madness. “I will only give you the crown if you help me with one more task.”
He halted the destrier and stared at the sunlit manor for a long moment. Then he sighed heavily. “What task would that be?”
“There is something I need to retrieve from within the English camp.”
He twisted in his saddle. “Something? Or someone?”
Caitrina stiffened. How had he guessed?
“The time has come for complete honesty, Lady Caitrina. I’ve had my fill of lies. Now I want to hear the truth. All of it.”
Thewholetruth? Impossible. She was a spy for King Edward. Even half-truths would condemn her as a traitor.
Caitrina mulled over several possible stories in her head, seeking one that did not make her look like a fool or a faithless Sassenach-lover. Sadly, none of them met her requirements. And as she hemmed and hawed and debated exactly what to tell Bran, he dismounted the horse and strode off down the path toward the manor. Leaving her alone astride a massive beast that she had no hope of controlling.
“Wait!” she cried.
He stopped but did not turn around.
“They are holding my sister,” she said. “Her name is Marsailli.”
He pivoted. “And what could they possibly hope to gain by threatening your sister?”
Caitrina’s shoulders slumped. “Details about the queen.”
Bran marched back to her side. “Why do they do this? What is their aim?”
“They are henchmen of Edward Longshanks,” she told him. “I do not know their precise aim, but rest assured, with Giric the Bear as their leader, they can be up to no good.”
He frowned up at her. “Giric is the man who beat a man to death for insulting the English king?”
“Aye.”
“Saints be.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Why forcemeto help you? Why not enlist the aid of the queen’s guard?”
“Because her guards have only one goal: to protect the queen. They care naught about Marsailli.” And the moment Giric was interrogated, he would point the finger at Caitrina. She would hang right alongside him, branded a traitor like her father. An utterly unbearable thought, especially as it would leave Marsailli alone. “And I would prefer the queen never know of my failings.”
“As a man with many failings myself, I well understand.” Bran put a gentle hand on her leg. “Were this a different time and place, I might be persuaded to aid you. Regretfully, I must decline. I never intended to play the role of Marshal Gordon for more than a day or two. People talk, and it won’t be long before someone questions my credentials.”
“But without your help, I have no hope of freeing Marsailli.”
He let his hand drop. “My apologies. I am not the man you need.”
“Please,” she begged.
“Nay,” he said, taking a step back. “You must find another ally.”
