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Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T he hallways were dimly lit, shadows flickering in and out of existence along with the flames of the torches that lined the walls. The castle was eerily quiet at that time of the night, at least in the wing which held the sleeping quarters, and every step he and Alaric took sounded like a thundering drum in Evan's ears. His fingers, white-knuckled and stiff, were wrapped firmly around a copy of the key to Ruthven's secret room—a key he and Alaric had painstakingly created in secret and which Evan could only hope would work.

It took them several minutes to reach the room, not because it was far from their chambers or because the maze-like interior of the castle confused them, but rather because they snuck from corner to corner, dodging the guards and keeping to the darkness that permeated those small pockets of space between the torches. This late at night, there were few men around and even fewer walking the corridors. Most of them remained outside, up on the walls, watching for any signs of danger, but Evan and Alaric remained vigilant, quiet and careful as they snuck around the castle.

Once they finally reached the door, Evan pulled the key out of his pocket and glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. His heart raced, anxiety settling heavy in his stomach. For a moment, he thought he heard a sound, but the more the two of them waited there, the more evident it became that they were truly alone and no one was watching.

Still, after the chaos Ruthven had caused when he couldn't find his key, Evan thought it best to exercise plenty of caution. Though Ruthven didn't seem to suspect that it had been taken from him at all after it was found under his desk the very same day, he realized he had lost it, even a hint of suspicion from his part would be enough to warrant a full investigation.

Evan couldn't allow him to look too closely. One wrong step and the truth about him and Alaric—the truth about their goals—would be revealed.

Sliding the key into the lock, Evan turned it slowly, praying that it would work. At the soft sound of the door opening, he breathed a sigh of relief, and he and Alaric snuck into the dark room, closing it firmly behind them once more.

The last remnants of a dying fire burned in the fireplace. Evan didn't want to risk getting caught by lighting a candle, but he had no other choice. The sky bore no sign of the moon that night, dark clouds blocking its light, and so Evan grabbed one of the candles in the room and held it near the last of the flames. One of them would have to do; any more and they risked flooding the room with light, the illumination that seeped out from the cracks in the door announcing their presence to anyone who walked by.

"We must be quick," Alaric said in a whisper as Evan approached him, the two of them using the scant light of the single candle to look through the documents strewn all over Ruthven's desk. Some of them Evan recognized from the last time they had searched the room, but others were new, the ink still fresh on some of them.

We barely missed him.

"Some of these are new," said Alaric, echoing Evan's thoughts. "How will we read all these? There are mountains o' documents in here!"

"We'll read as much as we can," said Evan. Surely, there would be something they could find. Any mention of the English, any mention of Balliol or the King would be enough to point them to the right direction.

Unless, o' course, they are written in cypher.

For all Evan knew, Ruthven and Balliol were working hard to keep their correspondence as secret as possible.

With nimble fingers, Evan looked through a stack of papers that sat on the desk right in front of him, flicking thought the pages as quickly as he could. His eyes strained to read the letters in the dark, squinting to make out the words, but no matter how hard he looked, he could not find a single reference to Balliol or the King.

What if there is naething here? What if he keeps those letters somewhere else?

If he had one secret room, then there was a chance he also had another—a room no one but him knew about.

"Here," Alaric whispered, nudging Evan with his elbow. "Look."

As he spoke, he held up a piece of paper and upon closer inspection, Evan saw that it was a letter from Balliol himself. His eyes scanned the words quickly, catching on the ones that seemed most damning: debt, favor, alliance . According to the letter, Balliol owed Ruthven for the assistance he had already provided, as well as for the assistance he would provide in the years to come, and he promised Ruthven not only his own support, but the King's, as well. It was the kind of proof Evan and Alaric needed to show the clans that Ruthven was working with the English—the kind of proof that was irrefutable. Ruthven wouldn't be able to deny it once word reached the other clans. No matter how he would try to spin this, in the end the letter would be palpable proof of everything he had been trying to hide for so long.

"We must copy it," Evan said, rushing to rummage through the drawers for a pen and paper. He only found the latter, but Alaric handed him an inkwell and a pen he found nearby, and Evan wasted no time before he hurriedly copied the letter, making sure he wrote it down word by word, missing not a single one.

"What if they dinnae believe us?" Alaric asked, standing over Evan's shoulder. "The original?—"

"It is far more dangerous tae take the original," Evan pointed out. The letter must have been recent, he thought, since it was near the top of its pile and they hadn't found it the previous time they had looked for proof. There was a good chance Ruthven would know something was amiss if he couldn't find the letter and Evan was unwilling to risk it.

If the clans didn't believe them, then he would have to steal the letter; until then, a copy of it would have to do.

Once he was done, he placed everything back where he had found it and by then, the ink on the paper had dried. Folding the letter, he blew out the candle, replaced it in its spot, and he and Alaric fled the room as quickly and as silently as they could, all but barricading themselves inside Alaric's room.

Alaric pressed himself against the closed door, letting his head fall back against the wood with a thump. Evan crossed the room and all but collapsed on the bed, his heart still beating frantically, even though the worst of the danger had passed.

It was easy to forget they were in the mouth of the wolf, its fangs bearing down at them at every moment. It was easy to get swept up in other things—the normalcy of their dinners with Ruthven, Evan's encounters with Bonnie—but through it all, the danger was ever-present. In the moments when that danger became more apparent, when its reminders were suddenly all around Evan, unease began to simmer once more just under the surface.

This wasn't a battle. The victor would not be decided through raw strength and numbers, at least not if Evan and Alaric played their roles well enough. It was only the two of them against Ruthven and all of his men, and were they to be discovered, there would be no salvation for either of them. Ruthven would have their heads and there would be nothing Evan or Alaric could do about it.

"We should make several copies," Alaric said as he finally peeled himself off the door and took a seat at the chair by the window. "An' I shall leave at once tae deliver them."

"It is the middle o' the night," Evan pointed out. "Dinnae ye think ye will raise suspicion if ye leave now? We must wait until the morn."

Alaric didn't seem very pleased at the thought that he would have to wait, but he didn't try to argue with Evan. Surely, he knew Evan had a point and that such a sudden departure would only draw more attention to them, but patience was not one of his virtues.

Evan couldn't claim it was one of his either.

"Fine," Alaric said, though he stood regardless and began to pack for his trip, as though he couldn't stay still. Evan could hardly blame him. Even as he sat on the edge of the mattress, shoulders and head slumped forward, his foot had not ceased its tapping against the floor.

It was more than the anxiety of being in enemy territory, so bare and unprotected; more than the thrill of a job well done, the proof of Ruthven's treason in their hands. He shared those things with Alaric, the two of them trapped in the same cycle of constant worry and fleeting victory, but there was something that plagued Evan and Evan only—something his brother didn't know.

Evan couldn't keep it to himself anymore.

"There is somethin' I must confess," he told Alaric as he walked back and forth in the room, gathering his things. At his words, he came to a sudden halt, piercing gaze turning to Evan.

"What is it?" he asked, worry tinting his tone.

"I havenae been meself these days," Evan admitted, shaking his head. "I am distracted . . . I have trouble focusin' on what is truly important an' I often lose me temper around Ruthven."

"Aye," said Alaric. "I've noticed. But ye've always been quick tae anger, brother. I wasnae expectin' ye tae be any different now."

Evan couldn't resist the urge to roll his eyes, no matter how accurate Alaric's assessment was. It was true that he was short-tempered—especially when it came to the English.

"This isnae what troubles me," Evan said. "Nae this time."

"What then?"

Evan drew in a deep breath, the words turning to lead on his tongue. It was rare that he couldn't find a way to say something to Alaric, the two of them close their whole lives, but now it seemed impossible to give sound to his feelings.

Perhaps because this is naething but foolishness.

He didn't want Alaric to be disappointed. He didn't want him to think their mission wasn't important enough to Evan for him to keep his wits about himself when a pretty girl was around.

But Bonnie is more than simply a bonnie lass . . . this isnae why I cannae stop thinkin' about her.

"Well?" Alaric prompted. He abandoned the task of preparing for the trip and instead came to sit next to Evan, bumping his shoulder with his. "What is it?"

"It's Bonnie," Evan admitted with a sigh. "I cannae . . . I never thought it would be this much o' an issue, but every time I see her with Ruthven . . . every time I see him lookin' at her like that . . ."

He didn't know how to finish his sentence. There were feelings he hadn't even admitted to himself, feelings that he couldn't face. Alaric, though, didn't seem to need any more explanation to understand what Evan was trying to say. It was often like this between them, the two of them understanding each other deeply without either of them having to speak, and Evan was grateful for it.

"I think ye should follow yer heart," Alaric said, reaching over to lay a hand on Evan's shoulder, fingers curling comfortingly around the joint. "If this is what ye want, then ye should pursue it."

With a groan, Evan let his head fall in his hands, fingers clutching at the strands of black hair in desperation. Next to him, Alaric chuckled softly, patting his shoulder.

"What is it now?" he asked. "Is that nae what ye wished tae hear?"

"I dinnae ken," Evan admitted. "There is still the matter o' the marriage the council is tryin' tae arrange fer me."

"Och aye," said Alaric. "But as far as we ken, they havenae found anyone yet. An' Bonnie would be a good bride fer ye. I'm sure they would accept her with ease."

Evan's eyes widened as he stared at the floor under his feet. His gaze traced the intricate details of the carpet, the reds and greens that weaved into each other to create those intricate patterns. He hadn't considered marriage in any way other than the theoretical. He knew, of course, that one day he would have to wed, either because the council would find a woman for him or because he would, unlikely as the latter sounded.

An' yet I have found someone, even when I didnae expect it.

Still, he hadn't considered the possibility of marriage with Bonnie. He didn't even know what, precisely, it was that he was feeling for her. All he knew was that every time he looked at her, the mere sight of her punched the air out of his lungs and made his heart beat erratically, off-rhythm and so fast that the whole experience was akin to fear. All he knew was that he couldn't bear to think of her in someone else's arms and he would do anything to avoid such a fate.

"We will speak tae the council together," Alaric continued, seemingly unaware of Evan's conflicting emotions. "Even if they disagree, we will make them see reason. Dinnae fash. All ye have tae dae is tell Bonnie how ye feel."

But how can I tell her how I feel when I dinnae ken how I feel meself?

With one last pat on his shoulder, Alaric stood and resumed his task of preparing for his travels. Evan, knowing Alaric would need more than one copy of the letter, sat by the window at the small table there and began to painstakingly create more copies, one by one until he had a dozen on them in his hands and dawn was already breaking in the horizon. By then, Alaric was ready and once the ink was dry, he tucked all the letters in his bag, where they would be safe for the journey.

"What shall I tell Ruthven when he asks where ye've gone?" Evan asked as Alaric grabbed his cloak and his bag, adjusting it over his shoulder. "There will surely be questions."

"Tell him I was urgently needed back home," said Alaric, but Evan wasn't convinced that was a good idea. After all, he was the laird of the clan. If anyone would be summoned back urgently, it would be him, not Alaric.

"What kind o' emergency would require yer presence but nay mine?" asked Evan. "Nay . . . nay, I will tell him ye had tae return fer a lass."

"A lass?" asked Alaric, incredulous. He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "How is that better?"

"It isnae as suspicious," Evan pointed out with a small shrug. "He willnae question ye runnin' after a lass."

"It's embarrassin'."

"Precisely."

The more embarrassing the excuse, the less likely that Ruthven and his men would question it. Evan could get away with minimal explanations, giving them just enough information to justify Alaric's absence.

For a few moments, the brothers only stared at each other, neither of them willing to back down. In the end, Alaric gave a long-suffering sigh, finally relenting with a nod, much to Evan's satisfaction.

"Fine," he said. "Fine, tell them what ye wish. But dinnae forget tae speak tae Bonnie. Ye willnae feel any better until ye dae."

Evan knew that to be true, of course, but he also couldn't help but worry something would go wrong. After all, half of their conversations seemed to devolve into arguments and the last thing Evan wanted was to try and confess his—largely unknown to him—feelings only to say something foolish and anger her.

It sounded more likely than he wanted to admit. He had never been good with words; neither had Alaric. But at least Alaric could always handle women better than he could and he was bound to know how to speak to Bonnie.

Perhaps he could tell me what tae say.

Just as that thought popped into Evan's mind, he dismissed it. It wouldn't be honest, he figured. Alaric could give him some pointers as to how to charm her, but he couldn't know what Evan felt for her.

Besides, Alaric had to go. Their mission was more important than Evan's inability to form a proper sentence in the presence of the woman with whom he was infatuated.

"I will," he promised Alaric, and once the two of them exchanged their goodbyes, they left the room—Alaric heading to the stables and Evan heading to the neighboring chambers, which he had called home ever since they had arrived at Castle Ruthven.

It was still early in the morning; too early for Bonnie to be awake, and so Even resigned himself to the fact that he would have to wait for a few agonizing hours, until she woke. In the meantime, there was only one thing he could do: practice what he was going to say to her.

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