Once he was clear of Giric’s extensive reach, he leapt to his feet. With only a dirk in hand, a hasty retreat seemed wise. But the image of Marsailli, naked and trembling in Giric’s tent, surfaced in his thoughts. She had not deserved such treatment, nor had the two guards he had assigned to watch her deserved their cruel and merciless fate.
He could not let this wretched cur walk away.
On the streets of Edinburgh, Bran’s most valuable tools were his hands. In the blink of an eye, he could delve into a man’s purse, remove a few coins, and pat the fellow gently on the shoulder. Speed and a light touch were his saving graces.
And he put those same skills to work with Giric. With his right hand hanging limply at his side, he stepped deep inside the Englishman’s reach, ducked under his swinging sword, and jammed his dirk into the soft skin of the other man’s neck.
Giric dropped to his knees, holding a hand to his bleeding wound. “What have you done?” he cried.
“No more than you would have done for me, if given the chance,” Bran said. “King Edward’s plot is foiled.”
“Never,” Giric gasped. “My liege is a man of strong will. Whate’er he desires shall come to pass.” He collapsed in a heap on the ground. Dead.
Bran allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction, then spun around and headed for the plateau. Mercenaries without a benefactor would be quick to lay down their arms.
***
When morning dawned, Marsailli took stock of her situation.
She lay on the sandy bottom of a ravine, having taken a tumble during the night. Save for some additional bruises, she was uninjured, but the climb to freedom was proving difficult. The walls of shale on either side of her were sheer and slippery with seeping moisture. Every attempt thus far to scale the walls had led to another tumble.
She grimaced. Of all the places to fall, she had definitely picked the worst.
She tipped her head up and studied the clear blue sky. At least the rain had ceased to fall. If she could dry her brat, she might finally be able to get warm. And if the walls dried sufficiently, perhaps her next attempt would be successful.
It would truly be a shame if she had escaped Giric only to meet her maker in some forgotten hole in the earth.
She spread her damp brat over a rock to dry and settled on the sand.
Her mouth was dry as dust, but it was better not to think about a long-term battle with cold and thirst and hunger. She would give the sun an hour to dry the walls, and then she would attempt the climb again.
Because she had no choice.
***
News of their triumph over the English reached Clackmannan well ahead of the returning troops, but details were sparse. Caitrina paced the floor of the queen’s room, impatient for Bran’s return.
“Sit down, little cousin,” Yolande urged. “You tire me with your endless movements.”
“My apologies, Your Grace,” she said, reluctantly taking the seat next to the bed. She could see nothing from here. “Would you care for some honeyed mead?”
“Even as you offer that, you look to the window,” the queen said, with a light chuckle. “Have you found a suitor among the soldiers of Clackmannan?”
Caitrina blushed. “I would never think to pursue such an interest without first gaining your approval.”
Yolande’s eyebrows rose. “So thereissomeone.”
The trumpets sounded and Caitrina’s gaze flew to the window. “It would seem that they have returned.” It took every ounce of Caitrina’s willpower to remain in her chair.
“Go,” the queen said with a shake of her head. “But I shall expect to hear every detail of what transpired when you return to my rooms.”
Caitrina stood and curtsied. “Of course, Your Grace. Every detail.”
Then she dashed for the door.
Downstairs in the great hall, preparations for the Samhain feast were under way. Trestle tables were assembled, linens aired, candles lit. The two cooks had found common ground and delicacies of every sort were being organized into a series of tempting courses, each with its own palate-cleansing remove. Caitrina’s stomach rumbled hungrily at the sight of eel soup, spinach tarts, May eggs, apple muse, poached herring, honeyed capon, caudell, suckling pig, roe deer in almond sauce, roast hare in wine broth, beef and onion pie, black pudding, clootie dumpling, tablet, and of course haggis. But food would have to wait.
She skirted the pair of gillies who were tapping a keg of ale and made her way outside to the surprisingly large crowd in the close.
