He smiled. “Aye, so they do.”
Untying the stallion from the iron ring in his stall, Bran led the huge gray beast into the close. “I need you to understand that what I do now I do because my soul demands it. Wounding you in any way is not my aim.”
Caitrina swallowed a lump in her throat.
If he thought to reassure her, he failed. There was still a chance that he would run, and she prayed that would be his choice. Better to lose him to the dark shadows of the forest than to watch him struck down by the MacCurrans before her very eyes. But his next words proved that hope false.
“Mount up,” he ordered the six soldiers around him. “But leave your weapons sheathed. The MacCurrans are renowned for their battle prowess—let us not antagonize them.”
Within minutes, all were ahorse. The gates were opened and Bran led the way out of the manor. Not once, as he rode through the village and across the field, did he glance back at her. Shoulders straight, head high, he approached the band of fierce, dark warriors that awaited him.
***
Bran kept his gaze locked on the face of Aiden MacCurran, the clan chief. It was better to avoid a chance meeting of eyes with Wulf. He felt the stare of the largest MacCurran drill into him like a hot blade in his chest.
He and Wulf had never seen eye to eye, especially where Wulf’s lovely wife was concerned. Morag had befriended Bran several months earlier in Edinburgh, much to Wulf’s chagrin. And she had invited Bran to visit her at Dunstoras—an invitation that had led to the theft of the crown. Wulf would surely carve Bran’s heart out, given the chance.
Not that Bran intended to give him the chance.
He halted his men one hundred paces from the Black Warriors, instructed them to wait for him, and then rode the rest of the way alone. “I propose a bargain,” he said firmly to the clan chief.
“Give us what we came for and we’ll let your men live,” Aiden said. “That’s the only bargain we’re prepared to make.”
Although the crown was burning against his left thigh, Bran stared straight ahead. “Help me foil a plot against the queen and the prize is yours.”
Aiden’s eyes narrowed. “What game do you play now, MacLean?”
“No game. The queen is truly in jeopardy. The English are plotting an attack on Clackmannan as we speak.” He opened the satchel, drew out the velvet bag, and offered it to Aiden. “You can leave now with the crown.” Bran met the chief’s gaze firmly and honestly. “But if you do, there is a good chance that the queen and her bairn will live the rest of their days as prisoners of King Edward.”
Aiden took the bag, peered inside, and then handed it to his brother Niall. “You are a liar and a thief. No matter how intriguing your tale, I give it no credence.” He tugged on his reins and turned his horse northward. “One word to any soul about this crown or where you found it, and you’ll die a very painful death.”
“I may be a thief and a liar,” Bran said sharply, “but I also risked my life to save your kin.” He twisted in his saddle and faced Wulf squarely. “You might well have swung upon the gibbet were it not for me. When you ran afoul of King Alexander’s traitorous brother this past spring and were sentenced to hang, ’twas I who came up with the plan to save you. I who prepared the disguise for Morag and coached her to enter the castle undetected. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or no, ’twas my efforts that saw you freed from Edinburgh Castle. In return, I only ask that you protect the queen—the very same queen whose ring you wear about your neck.”
Wulf said nothing, just stared at him. Hard.
Aiden continued to ride away, his silent Highlander warriors following in his trail, and Bran grew desperate. “Were the Black Warriors not once the personal guard of Kenneth MacAlpin? Is it not in your blood to protect the kings of Scotland?”
At the name Kenneth MacAlpin, the warriors hammered their targes with their fists. But they did not stop.
“If you’ll not take me at my word,” Bran said crisply, “then see for yourself. Two leagues north of here lies a burn running through a slate crag. The English are gathering there, preparing their attack.”
Aiden halted. Without turning in his saddle, he asked, “What is your gain if we aid you, MacLean? What is your prize?”
An honest question. Bran had done very few things in his life that did not earn him a clear reward. He’d helped Morag and Wulf in Edinburgh in exchange for coin; he’d attended Aiden’s wedding with the intent of fleecing the man’s guests; he’d helped Caitrina in order to earn back the crown. The gain for his actions today? Nothing tangible. Love and pride and honor. Rewards no one who knew him well would believe. He smiled wryly. Except Caitrina. If he spouted such nonsense now, the MacCurrans would ride off and never look back.
But he needed them as allies.
With their help, he could defeat Giric.
“There is a gold cross in the Clackmannan chapel,” he said, “encrusted with jewels. If I stave off this attack, it’s as good as mine.”
Aiden turned and skewered him a thunderous glare. “You are truly a detestable knave.” He sighed. “But if there’s a chance your words are true, I cannot ignore them. Wulf will ride to the manor and request an audience with the queen. Niall and I shall assess the threat at the crag.”
“I’ll accompany you,” Bran said. “It’s not easy to find the English in the rocks.”
“Nay, I’ll take one of your men. You’ll remain with Wulf. He’s the only one I trust to resist your dubious charms.”
Although he would have preferred to accompany Aiden northward, Bran settled back in his saddle. He’d won their cooperation—a far better outcome than he had expected. As long as Wulf controlled his urge to separate Bran’s head from his shoulders, all would be well.
