“Is the crown in that satchel?” she asked, in a hushed voice.
“It may well be,” Niall said, leaving her side and striding toward the earl’s son. He was quick, but not quick enough. Robbie opened the satchel and stared at the contents with a mesmerized expression.
Marsailli touched Caitrina’s sleeve. “Is aught amiss?”
A strange expression settled on Robbie’s brow as he stared into the satchel, and before Niall could stop him, he reached in and touched the crown. Had Caitrina not been watching, she might never have noticed the faint blue glow that rose from the satchel and then swiftly faded away.
Something had just happened, although she could not begin to guess at what it was.
As Niall reached young Robbie and yanked the flap of the leather satchel down to cover the crown, she shook herself free of her reverie and smiled at her sister. “Nay, naught is amiss. Let us go inside and partake of the feast. We have much to celebrate.”
At the top of the stairs, she paused. Turning to the east, she looked out over the gate. Bran had disappeared. The manor was already abuzz with talk of a charlatan marshal, and in the coming days no doubt much would be said to disparage his actions. But she knew the real man behind the mask of Marshal Gordon. Bran MacLean. A thief, yea, but also an honorable man who had done much to set her world right.
He had hoped she had no regrets, and she could honestly say she had nary a one.
Except that he was gone.
With a hand to her lips and a smile on her face, she entered the manor.
Chapter 13
The invitation came by courier—a rolled parchment written in a flowing script and signed by the laird. Aiden MacCurran demanded the presence of Bran MacLean at Dunstoras. Immediately.
Seated at his favorite table in the alehouse in Beggar’s Close, Bran stared at the parchment.
He had offered to return to Dunstoras to meet his punishment. But that had been weeks earlier. When no demand had come from the laird in the days after his departure from Clackmannan, he had assumed the debt was cleared.
But apparently, he’d been mistaken.
Perhaps the sad events of recent days had stirred the pot. Queen Yolande’s wee son had been delivered stillborn and the capital was still reeling from the news that the new monarch would be Queen Margaret, the bairn born to Alexander’s daughter and the King of Norway.
What impact that news might have on Dunstoras, he had no clue, but the black crepe that hung everywhere in Edinburgh at the moment was definitely impacting Bran’s ability to earn a coin. The market was excessively quiet and pickings were slim.
“Well?” prompted his companion. “What does it say?”
Bran lifted his gaze to the bright blue eyes of Elsie Drummond. Slight of build and nimble as a water sprite, the young lass hid her charms beneath a loose gray lèine and a dull green brat. It was a surprisingly effective disguise, especially when paired with shorn locks and a brash, confident stare. None of the alehouse patrons were aware that the young lad in their midst was actually a woman. “I’ve been summoned to the Highlands.”
She snorted. “Why would ye go? Last time ye ventured north, ye returned with naught but a belly full of twine.”
“To repay a debt.”
Her frown deepened. “Who could you possibly owe?”
He sighed. “’Tis a long tale, not worth repeating.”
Elsie sat forward, peering into his face. “Are ye planning to leave us, then?”
He said nothing, not entirely sure of his answer.
“Bloody wretch,” she muttered, flopping back in her seat and snatching up her horn of ale. “Go ahead, then. Abandon yer mates.”
“I’ve done my part,” he said, smiling faintly. “Ularaig is in the dunny, the castle guards are no longer the bane of your existence, and I’ve taught you every skill I know. What more would you ask of me?”
It was Elsie’s turn to be silent.
Bran picked up the jug of ale and refilled her cup. Five years before, he’d slain the drunken sot who’d near beaten her to death in a dark wynd a few hundred paces from here. Little of the damage done that night remained on her face—just a small bump on the bridge of her nose—but the attack had changed Elsie in ways that could not be seen.
“If you have need, I will return,” he promised.
