***
Caitrina favored Bran with a heavy frown. “You needwhat?”
“Gowns,” he said. “Two of them. Large ones.” He used his hands to suggest hips of sizable girth. “And a pair of those white headdresses the ladies wear.”
“Brèids?”
He nodded.
What a curious a request. Caitrina struggled to find some reason that he might require ladies’ attire and failed. “What purpose will these items serve?”
He tossed her a bold grin. “I have a rather unusual plan to rout our malefactor.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “I think an explanation is due.”
“Dougal’s men had no better luck tracking Giric than I. He’s hiding somewhere in the northern forest, but we have yet to determine where.”
Disappointing news, to be sure, but not unexpected.
“To capture him,” he said, “we’ll need to draw him out in a purposeful manner. To a place and time of our choosing, not his.”
She nodded.
“I can think of only one way to do that: offering him an opportunity to press his cause with you. His success is entirely dependent upon your support. If you do not steal the bairn, he will return to King Edward empty-handed.”
While she agreed with his assessment, the thought of meeting Giric again face-to-face was troubling. And she still did not understand the need for the gowns. “Aye,” she said slowly.
He smiled. “Obviously, I cannot give him any opportunity to injure you. It is my intent to disguise one of Dougal’s men as a woman.”
Caitrina choked out a laugh. “A man dressed as me? That will never work. Giric knows my face.”
“It need only work from a distance. By the time Giric is close enough to Dougal’s man to realize he has been duped, the game will be up. We will have him surrounded.”
“How will you explain your plan to Dougal? Will he not wonder why the English would be interested in a message from me?”
“I’ve already enrolled Dougal in the plan,” Bran said. “Initially, he rejected the charade and protested the use of a white flag to entrap the Sassenachs. Very unchivalrous, he said. But he is so enraged over Giric’s desecration of his men that I was able to convince him to set aside the niceties. I’ve told him the note is a sham, a mock missive from the queen.”
Still not convinced, she stared down at the map Bran had spread out on the table. “And where were you planning this auspicious meet to occur?”
He pointed to a small X that marked the location of a farm just north of the manor. “Here,” he said. “This is the bothy from which he stole the oxcart. He is clearly familiar with the area, so we shall plant a white flag of parlay in the roof and leave a note written in your hand requesting a rendezvous.”
“He will not come unprotected.”
“And neither shall we.” His gaze met hers, warm and intimate. “Can you find me the gowns?”
“I’m sure I can,” she said. Wishing they were anywhere but in the busy great hall, where a bevy of soldiers and gillies played witness to their every move, she brushed her hand lightly over the top of his. He had quite elegant hands, for a man. Large and masculine, but with lean fingers. “But I fear that he will see through your efforts.”
“It’s a possibility,” he allowed, lifting his smallest finger and grazing it along the trailing edge of her hand. A shiver of sweet longing ran down Caitrina’s spine. “But the risks are low. If he suspects a trap, he will not come, and we will be forced to devise another plan.” He shrugged. “So be it.”
She lifted her hand to her lips and kissed the spot that he had touched. “Your request was for two gowns, not one. What is the other for?”
Bran’s gaze was locked on her hand and her lips. “Me.”
“You?” Her eyebrows soared.
“I’m no more eager to endanger the couple who farm the bothy than I am to endanger you, my lady. They, too, will be replaced by fighting men. Namely, myself and one other fellow.”
Unable to help herself, Caitrina grinned. “That will be quite the sight. Will I have the opportunity to assess the strength of your disguise before you head for the bothy?”
