Caitrina left the room with her head high and descended the stairs into the great hall. “Where is the marshal?” she asked a passing gillie.
He pointed to a tall figure standing before the hearth. The marshal was younger than she’d expected, a stalwart fellow with a full head of dark gold hair and a strong, beardless chin. He was also handsome. And something of a charmer. The slow smile he gave the serving girl who brought him a fresh horn of ale bordered on inappropriate.
“Marshal,” she said, crossing the room.
He faced her as she approached, his deep brown eyes taking a brazen inventory of her every feature, from the tip of her beaded slippers to the top of her braided hair. Then he offered her a short bow. “Good day to you, Lady...?”
“Lady Caitrina.”
“How might I aid you?”
“I fear this decision to contain us might be a bit rash.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Are you aware, my lady, that there is a thief on the loose?”
“I am aware,” she acknowledged, trying not to look him right in the eye. My goodness, the man was as forward as the devil. “But one thief is hardly an army of invaders. I cannot see any risk in riding with a proper escort.”
“I disagree.”
Caitrina cut short her study of his broad chest—which filled the fine wool of his gray surcote to perfection—and shot him a frown. His dismissal of her opinion was cavalier. “Really? Why?”
He seemed surprised that she would question his decision—his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared a bit—but he addressed her comment without rancor. “The lads who hunt this fellow say he’s both dangerous and sly. Willing to go to any lengths to get what he wants. To ride outside the manor walls with such a maligner nearby would be an invitation to misfortune.”
That certainly did not sound like any man she would care to encounter. But she could not allow anyone to stop her from finding Marsailli. Dangerous or no. “Give me four men. Surely even the slyest of thieves cannot best four armed soldiers.”
“Nay.”
Caitrina stiffened. “Are you refusing to give me the men?”
“Return to your rooms,” he said. “There’ll be no riding today.”
Had she truly thought this man a charmer? He was a cad. “You cannot simply dismiss my request.”
“I can, and I have. My duty is to keep all within these walls safe, and I’ll not abandon that duty to please a lass.” He smiled. “Even as bonnie a lass as you.”
Caitrina glared at him. Did he really think a smile would appease her? The wretch had no idea how dire her circumstances were—nor could she confess the reality in an effort to sway him.
“And if I choose to take a horse and leave of my own accord?”
The smile left his eyes. “It would be an error to test the bounds of my good nature, Lady Caitrina.”
All hint of gentleness had vanished, leaving a hard, intense man whom she had no difficulty imagining hauling her up the narrow steps of the keep and locking her in her rooms. “The queen will hear of this, sir.”
He shrugged. “Share my edict with anyone you must.”
Teeth on edge, she gave the marshal one last bitter stare, and then turned on her heel. Damn the man. And damn the thief who’d chosen this direction in which to travel. Between the two of them, they had ruined everything.
She mounted the stairs to the third floor. But she could not be so easily stymied. If riding out the front gate was out of the question, then she’d find another way to search the forest.
Chapter 2
Once Lady Caitrina had disappeared into the stairwell, Bran released the breath he’d been holding. A very determined lass, that one. He’d fully expected to have to drag her up the stairs, kicking and screaming like a wildcat. But apparently, ladies-in-waiting didn’t resort to such antics.
He gave the lady a reasonable lead, then followed her up the stairs.
The queen had appropriated Marshal Finlay’s rooms, so the seneschal had offered Bran a smaller room at the opposite end of the third-floor corridor. Any room would do, frankly. He’d be here only a night or two. All he needed was a wee bit of privacy...
He opened the door to his chamber.
