As she approached, he stood and poured her an ale.
“What did you determine?” she asked, accepting the cup he offered.
“The situation is complicated,” he said.
“How so?”
“Sit,” he said, tapping the back of a wooden chair.
She sat. His frown had knotted her belly. He looked far too serious. “Is it not a matter of sneaking into the camp and stealing her away?”
“Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “Sir Giric is claiming Marsailli is his wife.”
“That’s preposterous! My sister would never agree to wed that wretch.” And Giric despised Scots. He’d never marry one. Of that, Caitrina was certain. “It’s a lie.”
Bran nodded. “I’ve no doubt of that. The problem is, your sister will no speak against him. Indeed, she won’t say aught at all.” He paused. “Unfortunately, this matter is no longer a quiet affair, to be handled by you and me. I was forced to involve the constable.”
Her heart sank. If the queen caught wind of her involvement, all her efforts to redeem her family’s honor and restore their place in society would be for naught. “Why?”
“When I arrived at the camp, Giric was attempting to force himself on Marsailli.”
Caitrina went cold all over. “Dear god.”
“My entrance was timely,” he said hastily. “She is safe, for now.”
Her hand flattened against her chest, a rather pointless attempt to calm her fluttering heart. “Thank heaven.” Her gaze lifted to his. “Or rather, thankyou. If you’d been even a few minutes later—”
“She is safe,” he repeated, with a faint smile. “Dougal has placed two men in Giric’s camp, tasked with ensuring her safety until we resolve the matter of his claim.”
“Does Dougal know Marsailli is my sister?”
“Nay, Giric said nothing of her relation to you. He claims she is the daughter of a Lowland cottar and that she ran away with him.”
A convenient lie. For both of them. “What shall we do now?”
“We need Marsailli to speak. To dismiss Giric’s claim.”
Caitrina briefly closed her eyes, imagining her sister’s sweet disposition and the effect Giric’s attack would have had. “I’m sure she’s too frightened to speak. She believes he will kill her if she dares to naysay him.”
“Aye.”
Caitrina grabbed Bran’s hand. His warm, strong, reassuring hand. It didn’t bear imagining what would have transpired had he not aided her. What would have happened to Marsailli. “I must meet with her, convince her to utter the truth. If she tells Dougal she’s not Giric’s wife, she’ll be free.”
He gently squeezed her fingers. “It won’t be that easy, lass. Giric will no allow you to walk into his camp and take Marsailli back, no without a fight. If he loses his hold over you, he fails King Edward. From what I’ve heard, incurring the wrath of Longshanks is a sure way to see your head roll. Giric will do everything in his power to prevent that.”
Caitrina swallowed. The situation had swiftly spun out of control, much faster than she could have imagined. She had hoped to steal Marsailli quietly from the camp and then renegotiate her terms with Giric. But now disaster loomed on all fronts. If she left her sister in Giric’s hands, Marsailli faced rape. If she set her free, Giric would retaliate and a bloody battle would ensue. Men would die. And even if Dougal’s men triumphed in said battle, there was a very good chance the Bear would name Caitrina as an accomplice in his crimes.
Dear lord. What was she to do?
She offered Bran a teary smile. “Then what?”
He cupped her chin and wiped her tears away with his thumb. “Let me dwell on it. Marsailli is safe for now. I vow that I will find some way to set her free. Just give me time.”
She leaned into his hand. Now would be a fine moment to tell him about the Guardians, but losing Bran would destroy her. When her maither had passed, the burden of making a life for her and Marsailli had fallen upon her shoulders. And that burden was overwhelming now. “You have my faith, and more.”
The gillies had all bedded down for the night, and the great hall was a dark haven save for one torch bracketed on the wall next to the door and another next to the stairs. The banked fire in the hearth gave off only the faintest orange glow, and Caitrina took advantage of the soft lighting. She slid to the edge of her seat, moving forward until their knees touched.
Layers of cloth separated them, but that didn’t stop hot tingles from running up her legs to her most private parts. By god. Even his knees felt strong and sure. “You are a much better man than you would have the world believe,” she said quietly, brushing an errant lock of his hair away from his face so she could better gaze upon his firm cheekbones and deep brown eyes. He had remarkably long eyelashes for a man. “In the space of a day, you’ve twice saved me from harm and once thwarted an attack on my sister.”
