Bran chuckled. “I need not hang my head in shame, then.”
Niall pinned him with a pointed stare. “You purposely got him sotted.”
A tactic he regularly utilized with fat merchants in Edinburgh, without feeling a single ounce of remorse. But Bhaltair had considered him a friend. Therein lay the shame. Other than Morag, Bhaltair had been the only citizen of Dunstoras to show him genuine kindness.
“My actions were reprehensible,” he admitted.
Niall tipped his head toward the now visible walls of the manor. Numerous flags were flying, indicating the presence of yet another senior nobleman of Scotland. “Let us hope you have the opportunity to make amends.”
“Are those the colors of the Earl of Carrick?”
Niall nodded. “But more important,” he said, pointing to the green and black flag waving just below the queen’s banner atop the guard tower, “it appears that Marshal Findlay has returned from Oban.”
Bran’s heartbeat slowed to a heavy pound in his chest. He spurred his horse forward and snagged the bridle of Caitrina’s mount.
He drew the two women to a halt.
This was not the ending he had imagined, but it was the only one possible. He could not enter the gates of Clackmannan and hope to remain a free man. “It appears that Marshal Findlay has returned,” he said to Caitrina. “Marshal Gordon must now retreat to Feldrinny.”
“But we have much left to say,” she protested.
“Nay,” he disagreed. “We’ve said all that needs saying. I suffer no regrets, and I would hope you say the same.”
“I will not accept this as the end.”
He smiled wryly. “You were always a difficult lass.”
“If what we had means anything to you, you will not rest until you find a way for us to be together.”
“Lass,” he said softly. “Do not make our last moments bitter ones. You’ve made me a better man, and I’ll treasure the memories of our time together for eternity. But there is no hope of a life together. We both know that.”
A flush rose on her cheeks. “You give up too easily.”
“Nay. For once in my life, I am doing the right thing.” He leaned across the horses and planted a firm kiss on her lips. “You deserve better than a thief and rogue.”
She smiled. “Then we are in agreement. You are better than a thief and a rogue.”
He slipped the ring off his finger and tucked it into her hand. “Don’t forget me, lass.”
Then he did the hardest thing he’d ever done. He turned his horse and rode off—without looking back.
***
Marsailli hugged her as they rode through the gate at Clackmannan. “Promise me that when the time is right you’ll tell me the entire tale of Marshal Gordon.”
“I don’t know the ending yet,” Caitrina said.
A stable lad grabbed the bridle of her horse and helped the ladies dismount. Samhain celebrations were well under way, with music and dancing and a bonfire in the close. Caitrina spied a young lad watching the merriment with an overly serious expression.
“Who is that?” she asked Niall.
“The Earl of Carrick’s son, Robbie le Brus.”
As she watched, the lad left the bonfire and crossed the courtyard to a group of horses tied outside the stables. He ran an admiring hand over the withers of a black-and-white stallion, then stopped with his hand atop the leather satchel strapped to the destrier’s saddle.
“Is that Laird MacCurran’s horse?” she asked.
Niall followed her gaze—and frowned. “Aye.”
