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Chapter Three

When they turned a corner and Lillian realized where they were, unease tingled up her spine. Her gaze slid from her own humble cottage on the outskirts of the town up to Will.

“How did you know where I live?”

Had she been wrong to trust this stranger? Certainly he was a better option than the man who’d hunted her through Berwick’s back alleys, but that wasn’t saying much.

Will’s blue-green eyes were sharp as they scanned first her cottage and then the quiet streets and other buildings nearby.

“It is my job to ken where ye live, where ye shop, whom ye visit in the village—I am yer bodyguard.”

His words hit her like a blast of winter air. “What?”

He finally glanced at her. She must have turned as white as snow, for his brows drew down with concern. “There is much to explain,” he said. “I suppose I’d better start now. But first, ye should get inside and start packing.”

“Packing?” It was as if someone else had murmured the word. Could the distant, small voice truly belong to her? She felt as though she had stumbled into a fog with no sightlines out or aught to ground her to reality.

“Aye,” Will replied. “It willnae be long before that bounty hunter realizes he lost ye, and if I ken where ye live, he likely does, too. We need to get out of Berwick. Ye’ll only have a few moments inside to pack what ye can.”

Lillian nodded numbly as if any of this made sense. Will gripped her elbow gently and guided her toward the cottage as if she were a small, lost child.

“Ye pack. I’ll explain,” he said softly.

The interior of the cottage was dim, for she’d closed the shutters when she’d headed to the market, but Will would not let her open them again. As if in a dream, she walked into the cottage’s only separate room, the small sleeping chamber she’d shared with Richard, and opened the armoire.

“Yer husband died a month past, did he no’?” Will said from the bedroom’s doorway.

“Aye,” she mumbled, removing a large satchel from the back of the armoire.

“What do ye ken of his death?”

Her hand froze as she reached for one of the simple linen shifts hanging in the armoire. She turned to stare at Will and found an apologetic grimace on his face, as if the question pained him to ask.

“I…I know that it was an accident. He was in the countryside looking at a quarry to determine if the stone was appropriate for the completion of Berwick’s wa ll. Apparently he fell into the quarry and…and died instantly.”

She had wept briefly when she’d heard the news, but the shameful truth was, she had shed very few tears for Richard since then. He was a good, kind man and had treated her tenderly for the entirety of their seven-year-long marriage, but there had been no more than friendly affection between them. In truth, Richard had been more like a brother than a husband.

Still, she hated herself for how easily she’d gone on with her life after learning of Richard’s death. She wore black widow’s clothing, and the evenings were lonely and quiet in her cottage, but Richard’s work as the Master Mason on Berwick’s wall had kept him away most evenings anyway. Her life had gone on largely unchanged after his death.

Until now.

Will cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway. “I dinnae mean to upset ye, but Richard Fitzhugh didnae die in a quarry. Nor was it an accident.”

Cold dread washed through her. “What do you mean?”

“Ye didnae ever see his body, did ye?”

“Nay,” she murmured. “I was told that he’d been sent to York. That is where he and I are from, and whoever…recovered his body didn’t realize that we’ve been living in Berwick these last seven years because of Richard’s assignment to oversee the construction of Be rwick’s wall.”

The job had come a mere week after she and Richard had wed. At only seventeen, Lillian had been expected to leave behind York and all that she knew in the world—her parents and three brothers, her friends, her home—and move to the far north of England with her new husband. Such was the life of a Master Mason’s wife.

“I assume his family in York took care of the arrangements for his burial,” Lillian said, quietly.

“His family was told that his body was sent to ye here in Berwick and that ye had made the arrangements,” Will said, his face serious. “But the truth is, Richard didnae meet with an accident. He was—” Will cleared his throat. “He was murdered.”

“What?” The room seemed to tilt sickeningly.

“That is no’ all. Forgive me, lass, but ye must hear this in order for ye to understand the danger ye are in. Richard was tortured. He was kidnapped and delivered to someone who wanted to get information out of him. Richard was…he was suspected of being disloyal to yer King Edward.”

If the room had tilted before, now it spun wildly around Lillian. All the air left her lungs and she felt herself dropping. A moment later, she realized she’d sat down hard on the edge of the bed she’d shared with Richard these past seven years.

She blinked several times until the room came back into focus. Will had at last stepped fully into the chamber and now knelt before her, concern written clearly on his features. She noted fleetingly that though he was built like a warrior, Will couldn’t be more than twenty-four or twenty-five years old—her age. But Lillian suddenly felt decades older than her twenty-four years.

Will patted her shoulder awkwardly, and she was suddenly reminded of Richard. In truth, Will reminded her of one of her brothers, as Richard had. Unlike her dark-haired, dark-eyed brothers, Will had sandy-blond hair and blue-green eyes, but there was a kindness about him, a familial protectiveness that reminded her of her three siblings.

“Richard would never hurt anyone, nor was he a traitor,” she murmured at last, shaking her head slowly. A sickening thought hit her like a bolt of lightning. “Does this have to do with Peter de Spalding?”

Will’s tawny brows lowered. “He is the Governor of Berwick, is he no’?”

“Aye,” Lillian said, her mind honing to its usual sharpness for the first time since her terrifying flight from the marketplace. “He and Richard used to have these conversations—philosophical debates, really—or so I assumed them to be. Peter used to speak against King Edward to Richard. At first it was only in Richard’s office, but I overheard Peter complaining about the King’s wall project once while we were walking in town. Peter grumbled something about the arrogance of enclosing the town with a wall to protect against Scottish invasion when Berwick rightfully belonged to the Scots.”

Lillian felt her cheeks warm at speaking about invasions and defending against Scottish attacks to a Scot, but Will didn’t seem to notice.

“I warned Richard to be careful,” Lillian went on. “I warned him against spending more time with Peter, or engaging in such topics of conversation. Richard always just laughed and told me not to worry. But now…” She had to swallow the sudden tightness in her throat before she could go on. “But now Richard is dead and you are telling me that it was no accident.”

Will rubbed the blond scruff on his chin. “It is possible de Spalding was working for yer English King, trying to extract treasonous words from unsuspecting people with the aim of uncovering traitors. Still, I havenae heard aught of the man’s connection with any of this.” He paused for a moment before going on. “I believe yer husband’s death has more to do with his role as Master Mason on the wall project.”

Lillian blinked in confusion. “Why? What information could a mason possibly have that would be worth torturing—or killing—for?”

“As ye say, King Edward and his father before him commissioned the wall to defend against Scottish invasion. If there were a weakness in the wall, or a way to undermine the town or castle’s defenses in any way…”

“Then someone would kill for that information,” Lillian finished .

A new thought occurred and she stared hard at Will. “I’ve overheard enough about politics to know that your King Robert the Bruce wants to reclaim Berwick. We’ve already lived through several failed sieges here. Doesn’t that mean the people who took Richard—the ones who want to learn of any weaknesses in the wall—would most likely be Scottish?”

Will studied her for a moment, and to her surprise, he seemed impressed with her swift deduction. “That would be the natural conclusion, aye, but no’ the correct one in this case. We believe that yer husband was taken by a league of bounty hunters and delivered to whoever paid the highest price to extract the information he possessed. This bounty hunter organization is based in England and has been known to work extensively with powerful Englishmen.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Lillian murmured. “Why would an Englishman pay some bounty hunter to bring Richard in for questioning? What would the English gain from chasing information about some imagined weakness in its own defenses?”

Will shrugged. “Mayhap someone overheard Richard and Peter de Spalding’s conversations and mistook Richard for a traitor. If yer husband were disloyal, he would have had the power as the Master Mason to build a weakness into the wall. Or mayhap the English simply want to ken if Berwick’s wall has a fault so that they can fix it before the Scots siege again. Either way, someone paid handsomely for yer husband’s life. ”

Lillian swallowed hard. This was all too much. Bounty hunters? Accusations of treason? Torture?

“Richard was a man of peace,” she managed after a moment. “He took pride in his work. He saw it as a trade that honored God, for he built with God’s own materials—stone and mortar and the sweat and effort of men. He never would have knowingly created a weakness in the wall, for he had too much faith in his work. He was a good man.” The last came out a tight whisper.

Will’s features softened, and again he reminded her of a kind, concerned brother. “I dinnae doubt that he was. But that doesnae change the fact that someone wanted him dead.”

“But Richard didn’t know anything,” she said, her voice tinged with desperation.

“If that’s true, then he didnae tell his torturer aught—which means that someone out there still wants the information he paid so dearly for. That is why I’m here.”

“You…you think I’m in danger?”

“Aye—the man chasing ye is proof of that. We believe another bounty hunter has been sent after ye. Like as no’, whoever took Richard thinks that as his wife, ye may ken something—and that ye can be made to tell.”

Lillian’s stomach spun and bile rose up the back of her throat. “You are saying that someone means to kidnap me and torture me in the hopes that I know about some weakness in Berwick’s defenses?”

“Aye.”

“And that is why you are here.”

“Aye.”

“Who sent you? Who is this ‘we’ you speak of?”

Will straightened, his chin lifting with pride. “I am one of King Robert the Bruce’s most trusted warriors. We call ourselves the Bodyguard Corps. We protect those most endangered by powerful English forces working against Scotland’s cause for freedom.”

Lillian shook her head slowly. Was this real? Was she truly in danger from one of her own countrymen? And could she trust in the protection of a Scottish bodyguard whose King was actively fighting against her own?

“Why would you and your King help me?” she asked. “Why would you be interested in the life of one Englishwoman?”

Will looked almost offended by her questions. “I have pledged my life to defend the innocent and vulnerable,” he replied.

She felt her cheeks redden once again. He had saved her life, and now she was questioning his honor. Still, she needed to know if she could trust him, or if she was just another pawn to be pushed back and forth between England and Scotland.

“But why would a Scottish bodyguard organization take interest in Richard’s death, or my life?” she asked, tempering the question with a soft tone .

Will’s furrowed brow smoothed and he gave her a sympathetic look. “I ken this is all a great deal to digest, and that ye are right to be wary of anyone claiming to help ye. Truth be told, there are a great many reasons why my King sent me to protect ye. Keeping an innocent woman from being tortured is the right thing to do. But even if my King didnae care for the justness of protecting ye, keeping ye from falling into the hands of someone looking for weaknesses in Berwick’s defenses is a blow to the English.”

For the first time, Will gave her a wry smile. “And of course if ye did actually ken of a flaw in the town’s wall, a flaw that would allow my King to seize Berwick Castle, then we would rather be the ones in possession of such information.”

“But I don’t know aught, for there isn’t aught to know.”

Will tilted his head in acquiescence. “Then consider what comes next a pleasant jaunt into the Highlands and no’ a mission to hide ye away from those who would have ye tortured and killed.”

“What comes— Highlands ?” she sputtered.

“Ye cannae stay in Berwick,” Will replied evenly. “The safest place to stow ye is in the farthest reaches of the Highlands.”

“ Stow me?” She hadn’t meant to squeak, but this was all simply too much.

“Aye. Ye need to lie low until the threat against ye passes. I’m taking ye to the Highlands until that time. ”

“And how long will that be?”

“No’ sure. A few months? A year or two?”

If she hadn’t already been sitting on the edge of the bed, her knees would have buckled and she would be on her bottom on the floor.

“You…you expect me to go with you—a Scot I have never met—to some remote corner of the Highlands for ‘a year or two’ and simply—what? Wait until no one is trying to kidnap me anymore?”

“Aye.”

If Will Sinclair had been one of her brothers, she would be sorely tested not to smack the blank, unperturbed look from his face.

“It is not that easy,” she said. “I have a home here, and a life…”

“Forgive my bluntness,” Will interrupted. “But yer husband is dead. I just told ye he was tortured and murdered, and that now whoever did it is after ye. Ye were chased by a bounty hunter in yer own town. I am giving ye an out, a way to stay alive. Aye, ye’ll be hiding in the Highlands for the foreseeable future, but the goal is to make sure ye have a future at all.”

Lillian must have given him a horrified look, for he softened his tone. “I ken ye are frightened, but I’ll answer all yer questions whenever ye want, and I promise to protect ye as if ye were my own kin.”

Frightened . When he spoke the word, it was as if the fear she’d barely been keeping at bay hit her with the force of a mountain slide. Lillian glanced down at her lap and found that her hands were trembling uncontrollably.

Richard had died a terrible and likely unimaginably painful death at the hands of torturers. Someone wished to do the same to her, and all for a bit of information that didn’t even exist.

She had a choice, of course. She could remain in Berwick and pretend that she hadn’t heard a word Will had said. She could hope that the man who’d chased her through Berwick’s back alleys would give up his pursuit and let her live out the quiet life of a widow.

Or she could trust Will and allow him to whisk her off to Scotland. She could believe that the King of Scotland valued her life more than her own countrymen did. She could decide to fight and stay alive.

She lifted her gaze to Will, who still knelt in front of her. She met his eyes and found a solemn earnestness in them. Yet again, she was reminded of one of the kind, sincere brothers she’d left behind in York. In the very pit of her stomach, she knew that she could trust him.

Lillian dragged in a ragged breath. “All right. I’ll go with you.”

Will nodded, giving her another reassuring smile. “I’m glad for it. Now, we havenae much time. Pack whatever else ye wish to take with ye, and we’ll be on our way.”

As she reached toward one of her black mourning dresses, Will interjected. “No’ widow’s garb, though. Ye’ll need to blend in. The men after ye ken that they are looking for a widow.”

So that was to be it. She was going to leave behind the little home she’d made with Richard along with most of their modest possessions. Now she even had to leave behind the proof that her husband had lived and died.

Pushing down the emotion that rose in her throat, she nodded and reached toward the back of the armoire where her regular dresses hung.

She only took a few more moments to scan the cottage for things to take. Besides a comb from her mother and a few other personal items, she found that she could let the rest of it go. Everything in the cottage represented her old life—her life as Richard’s wife, and then his widow.

With a nod to Will, she said a silent goodbye to the cottage, Berwick, and everything her life had been up until this moment.

Will guided her from the cottage, all the while scanning their surroundings watchfully. He led her around a corner, where two horses were waiting for them. He must have known even before speaking with her that in the face of the threat against her, she would choose to flee.

As she mounted, she gave her cottage—her old life—one last parting glance before following Will’s lead and reining her horse northward. Toward Scotland .

With a flick of the reins and a click of her tongue, the horse broke into motion, taking her toward an unknown future.

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