Chapter 12
Lachlan scanned the letter’s contents, recognizing the Bruce’s script.
Having written the warning himself rather than entrusting it to his secretary was evidence enough that it was highly classified.
Lachlan worried about the missive’s contents, not wanting to give Isabel anything that could compromise her.
So if by some reason he became incapacitated and she was abducted, her captors could try and force her into giving information.
Although, trying to force her to do anything would be a task for the gods. Now, because she apparently was driving him insane, he kind of wanted to stage an abduction so he could watch her rip them apart. No, no, if she found out, it would be them watching her rip him apart.
And the way she was stomping toward him, hand outstretched, he was fairly certain if he didn’t start reading aloud now, that was going to happen sooner rather than later.
No one would dare to snatch the missive from his hands —and he wouldn’t allow it, plus it’s not like she could read it anyway.
Except… whether it was gratitude for having saved his life, or amusement at her bluster, Lachlan admired her courage.
“The Bruce warns of English riders sweeping the roads. He says they have no’ yet laid siege to the castle, but they have eliminated some of our scouts.”
Isabel’s frown softened into mourning. Though a soldier pledged his life to his country, it was never easy when that life was taken away.
“They will no’ rest until they’ve eliminated the lot of us,” she said, glancing back at her maid who was now busying herself at the hearth.
Lachlan lowered his voice as he said, “Your uncle also believes there’s a chance that the betrayal at Falkirk was someone within his war council.”
Isabel’s eyes widened, and met his with a trepidation he felt deep in his bones. When she’d asked him the day before if he believed it was one of his own men, he’d not been lying when he answered. But what he’d not said to her was that he considered it could have been one of the Bruce’s.
How many times had Lachlan been in that war council?
And who could he not trust? Every one of the men who attended the war council meetings had been someone he had fought beside.
It was hard to believe that one of them might go behind their backs to see them all killed.
To see Scotland destroyed. Lachlan pictured the round table, the faces.
Not one stood out to him as a double-crosser.
“Does he know who?” Isabel kept her voice low, inching closer to him. “Does he say?”
Lachlan was distracted from answering as she swept her golden hair over her shoulder. The tendrils looked as soft as silk, and he curled his fingers into his plaid to keep from reaching forward to confirm the texture for himself.
“Does he?” she urged, annoyance in her pursed lips.
Lachlan cleared his throat. “Nay. He does no’.
The Bruce advises us to travel to Inverlochy Castle, where Alistair Comyn has agreed to host us for a night and keep ye safe from the English patrols.
” Alistair Comyn was one of the faces at the war council table.
And though the Bruce appeared to trust him enough to take up his offer of shelter, Lachlan was not going to trust him so easily.
Isabel, too, looked ready to argue. “’Twill also be more fitting than an inn like this… or an abandoned lodge as we’ve done.”
The lass scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, which only served to draw his attention to her ample breasts. “I didna mind the lodge or this inn. I’m no’ particular.”
This he well understood now. Isabel was unlike any woman he’d ever met. “All the same, my lady, I’m certain that your uncle would feel more comfortable with ye behind castle walls with an army to protect ye, as would I.”
Ignoring him, she turned up her nose and asked, “Does the letter say anything else?”
Lachlan returned his eyes to the missive, scanning the rest of the contents. Further down the letter, Robert the Bruce referenced something that made his gut churn, which in turn made him question his own sanity.
“Your uncle has been negotiating a marriage alliance for ye.” And why should a thing like that bother Lachlan? Isabel should be wed. Already, though he didn’t know her exact age, he did know that she was past the point most ladies married.
Isabel straightened, and where defiance had shaped the angles of her face before, now she looked almost furious. “And he told me that it was postponed for now.”
Lachlan’s insides curdled as he slowly shook his head, watching the way she gritted her teeth, shifted on her feet. Even her maid by the hearth stiffened, confirming she was listening to every word.
“The postponement has ceased.”
Isabel’s throat bobbed and her delicate fingers raked through the end of her braid. “Does he say who?”
Lachlan nodded, the taste of the man’s name sour on his tongue. “Alistair Comyn.”
“The very person that we’re going to see at Inverlochy Castle?” Isabel’s hands fisted at her side, and he had the notion that if her uncle or Comyn had been there in the room right then, she would have boxed their ears.
“The very same,” Lachlan said.
“Is that why he’s sending me there? To be wed?”
Lachlan shook his head. “No. He wanted ye to be aware as Comyn is likely to mention it. The nuptials willna take place until spring.”
Isabel sighed, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Well, at least I can rest assured that I will no’ be wed in the next few days.” These words were muttered and mostly to herself.
Lachlan watched a strange expression cross her face.
He did not know whether she was disappointed that she would not be wed, or relieved that she would not be put in such an awkward situation as to marry a stranger.
Even more bizarre was his own relief that she’d been offered a reprieve, and he wouldn’t have to witness her being bound to another man.
That however was something he tossed quickly from his mind.
“Does my uncle say that I am to stay at Inverlochy while ye go on to Skye?”
“Nay. We are to continue on. This will be but a brief respite, my lady.”
Despite the Bruce’s edict, Lachlan wasn’t entirely certain that would remain the same.
For all he knew, Comyn was lobbying for Isabel to stay.
What would be the point of sending them on to Skye when the Bruce knew that this was the man who had originally been meant to wed Isabel? Why not let her betrothed protect her?
While Lachlan couldn’t decipher the answer now, there was something off about the plan. Not to mention that he didn’t trust Comyn as far as he could throw him, which was likely a few feet at least.
Lady Isabel’s cheeks reddened as she stared at him, an indiscernible expression on her face.
Her lips parted and for the briefest moment it looked as if she was going to speak.
But then she clamped her lips closed, shook her head.
And he couldn’t help but wonder if what she’d been about to say, was what he was thinking—that he didn’t want her to be with Comyn at all.
Lachlan nodded, folding the rest of the letter and sticking it into his pocket, leaving out the last line of what the Bruce had written. He swallowed down the guilt of not exactly lying to her but omitting the truth.
“It’s only just occurred to me—something that I recalled from downstairs,” Isabel said. “The men were talking to ye about the English soldiers asking questions. That they’ve been asking questions for days. Weeks even, prior to Falkirk.”
Lachlan nodded, wondering if she was exaggerating her confusion. “Aye. The English had been gathering information for quite some time.”
“If there had been a traitor amongst our midst, that would’ve contributed to their questioning.”
“Aye and only proves it further.”
Isabel nodded, the expression on her face showing that she was deep in thought and contemplating the situation. If only he could get a peek inside her mind to see just what she was thinking.
“Who would want to do that to my uncle? To ye? Who would want to betray their country?”
The very question he’d been asking himself since the moment he’d realized the reinforcements weren’t coming.
“Ye’d be surprised what men will do for a heavy coin purse and a new plot of land.
Greed brings out the devil in men and reveals those who are willing to betray their loved ones—and those who are no’. ”
“Perhaps it will surprise ye to find out, Lachlan, that I would no’ be surprised at all.”
After leaving Isabel in the room, Lachlan made his way downstairs to check with his men, unable to stop thinking about what she’d said. He was and he wasn’t surprised.
At his approach, Finley and Duncan jogged up to meet him. “James and Padraig have gone out on patrol, my laird.”
“Good. I’ll take first watch. The lot of ye get some rest.” Though they would not rest easy until Longshanks and his men had been sent back to the bowels of English hell.
Angus approached, a scowl on his face. “My laird, there was a rumor that several English riders were spotted nearby. Also, James and Padraig have no’ yet returned.”
Lachlan cursed under his breath, thinking of the lone body they’d buried on the side of the road. Though he believed his men could outmaneuver any Englishman they came across, two against twenty was a different story. “How many?”
“Five or six. No’ a full patrol, but they are scanning and searching for someone specific. My guess is the lady.”
Lachlan grimaced. “And do they still roam?”
Angus grunted a laugh. “Of course no’. We dispatched them. But there will be more.”
“Aye. I’m taking the first watch. If James and Padraig return when I’m off watch, wake me. We’ll leave before sunrise,” Lachlan said. “Alternate who sleeps and who’s on watch. We dinna want to be surprised.”