Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Colin left the tent as silently as canvas and darkness permitted. Behind him, Elspeth remained awake. He could feel her attention like a blade at his spine.
He slipped into the trees, keeping low where the branches thickened and the moonlight broke itself into pale fragments on the wet ground.
The fire had burned down to a dull red eye beneath ash.
Beyond it, the burn moved over stone with a soft, ceaseless murmur that might hide one careless footstep, but not two.
There, he noticed a shift in the dark. The woods held their breath around him. Damp leaves brushed his shoulder. He drew his blade without sound and moved around the camp in a wide arc, placing each step where moss would swallow it.
Whoever watched them had come from the west. This was a man who knew how to approach unseen, or one very lucky fool. Colin personally did not believe in luck.
Another sound came. Colin’s grip tightened. His mind measured distance, paths and numbers. One man visible did not mean one man present. The first blade was often only bait for the second.
He angled himself behind a rowan, waited, then moved. A shadow detached itself near the burn. Colin stepped from the trees and set the point of his blade beneath the man’s jaw before the stranger could turn. The man froze.
Then, he spoke. “I hoped marriage might improve yer temper.”
Colin did not lower the blade. “Niall.”
“In all me beauty and poor judgment.”
“Move wrong and I will still open yer throat.”
“Aye, that is the warmth I crossed half the kingdom fer.”
Colin held him another heartbeat, long enough to be certain no other movement answered from the dark.
Then he drew the blade back. Niall MacLeod turned slowly, lifting both hands with insulting politeness.
Even in the gloom, he looked too at ease for a man who had nearly been killed by his friend.
His cloak was travel-stained, his fair hair damp from rain, and there was a shallow cut along his cheek that he had evidently decided was beneath his notice.
“How did ye find me?” Colin asked.
Niall glanced toward the hidden camp. “I kent ye wouldnae trust a road, an inn, or any man’s hospitality after such a pleasant wedding. And I remembered this place from the year Domhnall complained for three days because a frog found its way intae his boot.”
Despite himself, Colin remembered it. Four younger men, less burdened by land, Crown, wives, enemies, and the tiresome habit of surviving long enough to acquire consequences.
Niall had laughed until he could not stand.
Ruaridh had called them all children. Domhnall had had threatened the frog with trial by combat.
Colin, even then the least amused, kept the fire alive and pretended he was not listening.
It all seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Ye came alone?” Colin asked.
“Aye.”
“Fool.”
“Friend,” Niall corrected. “The two are often confused.”
Colin looked past him into the trees. “The road?”
“Safe enough by dawn.” Niall’s voice sobered. “We lost the hooded men after they split beyond the east gate. They had horses waiting. Whoever planned it kent the streets, the hour, and the Crown’s guards well enough tae shame them.”
“Munro.”
“That is what we all think.”
Colin sheathed his blade slowly. The name sat in him all day like iron left in a wound. Robert Munro’s hatred was not the sort to dull with years. It sharpened in darkness. It fed on old grievance and called itself justice.
Colin glanced toward the tent. The canvas was motionless, but he knew Elspeth listened. Whether she could hear the words, he could not tell. He hoped not. She had been given enough terror for one day, though he suspected she would object to being spared anything, even misery.
Niall followed his glance.
“So,” he said more quietly, “the bride lives.”
Colin’s eyes cut back to him.
Niall’s expression did not change, but some private amusement retreated behind concern. “I meant nay insult.”
“Then speak carefully.”
“Ah,” Niall murmured. “Worse than expected, then.”
Colin said nothing. He did not know what to say.
That Thomas Fraser delivered his daughter to the altar ignorant and trembling with fury?
That Colin had believed a liar because the lie had been convenient?
That his bride had tended his hand with more gentleness than he deserved and then told him she would never forgive him?
Niall studied him for a moment too long.
“Ruaridh left St. Andrews as soon as the street was cleared,” he revealed. “Isobel is with child, and he wouldnae risk being trapped away from her if this becomes wider trouble.”
“He was right tae go.”
“Aye. He cursed ye first, naturally, fer choosing a wedding day that lacked ordinary dullness.”
Colin’s mouth nearly moved. “And Domhnall?”
“Still in St. Andrews when I rode out. Margaret was safe. He stayed tae make certain the guests and servants got clear. The man has a heroic fondness fer making himself useful where he might instead be pleasant.”
“That sounds like Domhnall.”
“It daes. He also said that if ye were dead, he would be deeply inconvenienced, as he has grown accustomed tae disapproving of ye in person.”
For a breath, the darkness seemed less hostile.
Colin felt, unwillingly, the old shape of them: himself, Niall, Domhnall, and Ruaridh, four men tied by Crown games, dangerous marriages, blood debts, and a friendship none of them had the poor taste to name too often.
There had been years when Colin trusted very little beyond the reach of his own sword.
Somehow, these men had become an exception, a dangerous indulgence… also a necessary one.
“The Crown?” Colin asked.
Niall’s face hardened. “Furious.”
“They permitted the auction.”
“They didnae permit a cathedral attack before witnesses.” His tone sharpened with dry contempt. “Their pride bleeds worse than any man wounded today. They want names, prisoners and the Masquerade kept useful and quiet, nae dragged screaming intae St. Andrews with armed men in black.”
“Then they should have kept Fraser from selling what wasnae his.”
Niall’s brows lifted slightly. Colin looked away first, irritated by what he had revealed.
“Ah,” Niall breathed.
“Dinnae.”
“I said naething.”
Colin gave him a look.
Niall wisely returned to the matter. “By dawn, ye can move north. I saw nay riders on the lower road, and the eastern track is being watched by Crown men too angry tae sleep. If Munro sent those men, he will ken by now that he failed. He may wait tae see what proof rises before striking again.”
“Or strike harder before proof can rise.”
“Aye.”
The burn whispered between them. Somewhere beyond the tent, the horse shifted and settled again. Colin listened to the woods, to the quiet, to every small betrayal of night. Nothing moved now that should not move.
“Ye should rest,” Niall urged.
Colin looked at him.
“I withdraw the suggestion,” Niall added. “It was reckless and sentimental.”
“Elspeth needs sleep.”
“Then let her have it. I will watch until first light.”
Colin did not answer immediately. Trusting another man with his life was one matter.
Trusting him with Elspeth nearby felt different, though Niall had done nothing to deserve suspicion.
That was the trouble. The day made possession of a woman lawful, danger made it instinctive and guilt made it unbearable.
Niall’s gaze softened by the smallest degree. “She is safe, Colin.”
The words struck too near the bruise.
“Nay one is safe until Munro is dead.”
“Nay,” Niall agreed. “But she is safer than she was in that church.”
Colin looked toward the tent again. In his mind, he saw Elspeth with the dirk in her hand, fear in her eyes and pride in her chin, ready to run only because he had ordered it and ready to disobey him the instant conscience required.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “She is.”
Niall stepped back into shadow. “Go tell her I am nae a murderer, before she decides tae come out and prove herself one.”
Colin almost smiled.
He turned toward the tent, then paused. “Niall.”
“Aye?”
“If any man comes near this camp—”
“I will kill him before he finishes the thought.” Niall’s voice lost all amusement. “Go.”
Colin nodded once and moved back through the dark.
Inside the tent waited a woman who hated him, feared him, and had still taken his wounded hand in hers. Outside stood one of the few men in Scotland he trusted. Beyond them both, somewhere in the night, Robert Munro’s hatred had begun moving again.
Colin ducked beneath the canvas, carrying that certainty with him like a blade kept ready in the dark.
By the time the sky began to pale, Colin had slept less than an hour.
It was enough. He had trained himself long ago to take rest where it could be stolen and wake before danger found him.
The fire outside had fallen to ash, the tent walls were silvered with the weak light before dawn, and beside the far canvas Elspeth lay curled in her ruined bridal gown with one hand still near the dirk.
Her hair had loosened entirely in the night, spilling dark across the blanket and one cheek.
Sleep had not made her gentle. Even unconscious, she looked faintly offended, as if dreams themselves failed to behave.
The sight should not have touched him. A man could not afford tenderness toward a woman who had every reason to hate him.
He moved to the tent flap.
“Elspeth.”
She woke at once. Her hand closed around the dirk, and her eyes opened with clear alarm before pride rushed in to cover it.
“It is only me,” he said.
“How fortunate. I had nearly mistaken ye fer a pleasant awakening.”
His mouth almost moved. “Niall is outside.”
The dirk did not lower. “The man from last night?”
“Aye.”
“The one ye claim is a friend?”
He stepped aside and lifted the flap. “Aye. Come meet him.”