Chapter 9

"Ye're certain ye understand what ye need to do?"

Drum's hand gripped Craig's shoulder and he gave him a little shake in the moonlit corridor. The other man's grin flashed. "Nay, but when has that ever stopped me?"

Scoffing, Drum shook the larger man again. "I told ye, ye're no' stupid. Just…fook, just follow my instructions, eh? If ye can bring him in at the right moment, we might be able to pull this off…"

Craig twisted to slap his free hand against Drum's shoulder. "I was teasing, Drum. Aye, I understand, and I'll do as ye say, nae matter if he willnae listen to me. We'll be there."

With a sigh of relief, Drum nodded and stepped back, feeling strangely bereft when his friend's touch fell away. "I dinnae ken why I'm so antsy about this."

"I do." Craig beamed good-naturedly as they fell into step. "'Tis yer neck on the line this time, aye?"

"No' really. The King and Queen already ken I'm innocent. I— we just need to set the trap to snare the guilty party."

"Aye, ‘tis that we I'm speaking of." The other man was smirking. "After all these years, ye're finally working with a woman. A woman ye care for."

Care for? Hell, Drum wasn't certain of his feelings for Brigit, but something had changed today. His anger at not having been told the truth had sort of…drifted away in her embrace. Not because she'd been manipulative in her attempts to apologize, but because he just didn't care anymore .

And because part of him did understand her reasoning for keeping her secret for so long.

He'd kept secrets as a King's Hunter. Was it any surprise she, as a Queen's Angel, also had secrets? Deep down, he was flattered she'd shared her identity with him at all.

It meant they could work together.

"Ye ken, when we said we'd get together for a drink after Robbie was safe in bed, I didnae expect another Hunter's adventure."

In the darkness, the two men reached the turn-off for the royal wing and Drum snorted as they halted. "Neither did I, but I appreciate having ye at my side, Craig."

"I'm guessing ye'd rather I was Barclay or Payton or one of the others."

The dobber was still learning his worth. Drum slammed his palm into the other man's arm. "Nay, ye arsehole, I'm glad ‘tis ye . I ken I can count on ye. Now go."

"Good luck, Drum," the other man murmured as he disappeared down the corridor.

Drum listened to him go and then, with a deep breath, turned toward the small chapel the royal family attended as their own.

Ye can do this .

Why was he so nervous about this mission? He'd been in far worse spots in his career, and he didn't genuinely believe he'd be in danger—if he really was meeting a lady-in-waiting. But he wouldn't be the only one involved, and Drum suspected that was the source of his discomfort .

Brigit. Brigit was involved and he was worried for her. About her.

Remember the way she threw those knives? The way she saved Craig's family ?

Aye, she could handle herself, but that didn't make him less worried. Now his heart was involved.

He'd reached the chapel doors. With a deep breath he placed his palms on the heavy oak and pushed .

The royal chapel of Scone was small and stone and still had the talent of being imposing. In the daylight. At midnight ‘twas even worse, his footsteps echoing oddly off the heavy walls, the whole place only lit by a single candle near the altar.

"I'm here!" he called, unnecessarily in his opinion. Anyone with ears and eyes could tell he'd arrived, but he wanted his enemy to underestimate him. "'Tis midnight and I'm here as ye asked."

No response, but he wasn't totally surprised. If he'd been the one to set the trap, he would've allowed his opponent to walk all the way down the aisle before springing.

So, Drum did just that, pretending to stumble a bit on the stones as if he was a bit of a bumbling fool. "Hello? Where are ye?"

When he reached the altar, he frowned momentarily at the single candle. Well, that wasn't going to be useful for much, was it? He scooped it up and stomped toward the pair of candelabra resting atop the altar. They were likely holy something-or-others, but they'd serve their use well enough .

He lit all six candles, sending more light spilling throughout the chapel, then heard a little huff of disapproval.

Whirling, he wasn't at all surprised to see a woman's figure—tall, slender—wrapped in a dark cloak despite the warm weather.

"Those candles are sacred, and no' for yer touch," she chastised, and he was surprised to hear genuine disapproval in her tone.

Trying to keep her off-balance, Drum shrugged. "I'm no' particularly devout."

"Then ye shall rot in hell when ye are hanged as a traitor."

A traitor ? They were back to this, were they?

"I'm no' a traitor. Who are ye?" As if he didn't know.

With a sigh, the woman stepped forward, allowing the light from the candles to touch her scarred cheek, and Drum pretended surprise.

"Lady…Ava? Avaline, aye? Ye're one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting! I've seen ye about."

"Aye, and ignored me as irrelevant," the woman growled, her chin rising.

Ahh . So that was her irritation; she was dismissed, her abilities ignored, and didn't like it. Was it possible she was tired of being overlooked and had decided to make herself indispensable?

He could use that.

Scoffing, he turned away from her, waving dismissively. "Go away, lass. I'm meeting someone."

Was it his imagination, or—along with Avaline's outraged sound—was there a muffled gasp from behind one of the tapestries? Thank fook .

"Ye are meeting someone, Sir Hunter," Avaline growled—and aye, ‘twas a genuine growl. "Ye are meeting me ."

"Ye?" He pretended surprise as he turned back, eyeing her speculatively. "A woman? What would a woman ken about this business? I received a note telling me to meet a man here tonight who could tell me who was trying to kill the King."

She stepped forward, the cloak billowing as she moved. "Aye, ye idiot, I was the one who sent the note!"

One of the first rules he'd learned as a Hunter was that people made mistakes when they were angry, so he pushed. " Ye ? What would ye ken of the man who is trying to kill the King?"

"Everything!" she snapped.

It wasn't a confession, but when her arm emerged from her cloak, holding a long, thin dagger, Drum's hand dropped to his sword hilt and he rocked forward on the balls of his feet, prepared for an attack.

But instead of thrusting the blade toward him, Lady Avaline slammed the dagger down atop the altar, where it gleamed in the candlelight. After a terse moment, Drum straightened to examine it.

"What's that?" he finally asked.

"That is the dagger which will be used in tonight's attack on the King. The assassin will enter his bedchamber wielding it."

Despite his certainty he was the one setting the trap for her , Drum's heartbeat began to speed. "What?" he croaked. "How do ye ken that?" Why would she be so stupid to announce her intentions to him unless she planned to silence him? "Is the assassin here?"

In the candlelight, her scars reflected oddly as she smiled. "Aye, he is." She stepped forward, her movements graceful, refined. "But dinnae fash, he'll no' hurt ye."

‘Twas the mocking in her voice which raised his hackles, and Drum realized he was squeezing the hilt of his sword. "What are ye talking about lass," he rasped. "Who is trying to kill the King of Scotland?"

She stopped, a mere arm's length from him, her smile cruel. "Why, Drummond Kennedy… ye are."

"Lies!" The growl tore from his throat before he could stop it. The way her grin grew told him that she was playing the same game he was; using his emotions against him, and he tried to force himself to calm. "I am no' trying to kill the King."

"Are ye no'?" She turned slightly, giving him her shoulder as she shrugged nonchalantly. One slender finger traced the blade where it lay on the altar. "Ye had access to that corridor where the ambush was set. Ye had access to the crossbow from the guards and the King's schedule."

"Aye, so did ye," he growled. "And ye poisoned the wine."

"Me?" Her expression of surprise was so convincing that Drum momentarily wondered if their assumption had been wrong. "Why would I want to kill the King?"

"Ye dinnae want to kill him. Ye want to be the hero for once. "

Something like surprise flashed across her face before she turned away, hiding her expression in the shadows of her cloak once more.

And Drummond knew he was right. He and Brigit, working together, had discovered the truth.

"Ye…" Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat, still staring at the dagger. "Ye are mistaken, Drummond. Ye are the one who wants the King dead. Tonight, he lies sleeping and helpless, no' caring how he ruined yer life. Dinnae be a coward!" She finally returned her blazing eyes to him. "Scoop up this blade and do what ye must do!"

"The King didnae ruin my life," he countered calmly, waiting for an opening.

"Aye, he did !" She slapped her hand down beside the handle of the dagger. "He took everything from ye!"

Drum cocked his head, studying her calmly. "He didnae take my honor."

Another slap. "Aye, he did!"

Interesting. Drum's mind raced as he tried to piece together her plan. "Ye…want me to kill the King. Or try to kill the King, I'm guessing. Ye were telling the truth that ye dinnae want him dead."

She drew her hand back, movements jerky. "O-Of course I dinnae want him dead."

"Then why encourage me— Och , of course," he murmured. "Ye want me to try to kill His Majesty. Then, at the last moment, ye'll rush in and save him." He straightened. "I'm right, am I no'?"

Avaline scoffed, turning away. "Ridiculous."

"Nay, ‘tisnae. ‘Tis the only explanation." Her body language told him she wasn't going to confess, not yet. So, he pushed. "Did ye come up with this plan all by yerself? I'm impressed a lass could be so cunning."

She snorted. "It willnae work, Drummond."

"What? I merely complimented ye. I'm surprised—"

"A woman could plan such a thing?" she mimicked with a snarl, whirling back to face him, the shadows of the scars on her ruined cheek making her appear otherworldly. "Yer manipulations willnae work! Ye're trying to make me monologue!"

Well, that surprised Drum. He reared back. "I'm trying to make ye what now?"

"Monologue," she repeated with a wave of her hand. "When ye finally have the villain where ye want him and he decides to talk at ye for a while, thinking ye're safely trapped." She planted her hands on her hips and straightened her shoulders. "Well, I dinnae have a tank of sharks, this isnae a volcanic lair, and ye arenae strapped into a dentist's chair!"

Drum blinked. "I…have nae idea what ye're talking about, lass."

" Lass ? I am Lady Avaline, one of the Queen's Angels, and I'm sick and tired of idiots like ye dismissing me! Just because I'm a woman doesnae mean I'm no' just as devious, just as cunning , as the next man!"

Ah, they were finally getting somewhere. Drum nodded sympathetically, realizing that he was manipulating her as he'd always accused women of doing. "Ye're just as smart as a man, if ye planned this. "

"As smart as?" she screeched, snatching up the dagger and pointing it at him. "I'm smarter, ye buffoon!"

Deciding ignorance was the best path forward—and giving her the chance to monologue —Drum scratched his head, pretending confusion. "But I dinnae understand. If I kill the King, how will he recognize yer brilliance?"

"Ye're no' going to kill him, ye idiot! I'm going to save him at the last minute, the way I did from the crossbow ambush and the poisoned wine!"

"Zounds, ‘twas lucky for him ye were there, for certes," Drum managed with a straight face, hoping he sounded impressed. "Elsewise His Majesty might've died."

" Luck ?" Her voice had gone all low and hoarse, as she stalked toward him, waving that dagger back and forth, back and forth, as if trying to hypnotize him for a mummer's show. " Luck had naught to do with it!"

Playing his part, Drum kept his attention on the tip of the blade as he shuffled backwards, hoping she was speaking loud enough for the words to carry. "Then how do ye explain—"

" I set it up! " And huzzah, she was back to screeching again. "I was there to whisk the King from danger, ye complete dobber, because I was the one to arrange the danger in the first place . "

Excellent .

Drum pretended to gape. "The crossbow ambush?"

"I knew everyone would assume ‘twas a man, since ‘twas set up so high, but I had nae trouble." Slowly, Lady Avaline straightened, pride tinging her voice. "The trap was clumsy at best, but I didnae need— want it to work."

"Ye just needed it to look convincing," Drum finished in what he hoped was an awed tone as his arse hit the altar behind him and he had to stop backing up. "And the poison?"

She scoffed. " ‘Twas no' really poison, or have ye no' figured that out yet? Ye're a shite investigator, if so. ‘Twas only a concoction to look dangerous, so I could ‘discover' it and save the King again."

Drum had to struggle to keep his gaze from darting around the chapel, wondering where Brigit may be hiding. God willing, she heard that confession and understood its meaning. So why hadn't she shown herself?

Fook .

If she didn't secret herself ahead of time in the chapel as planned, she might not even be here! She might have missed her cue, or something might have happened to her. Was it possible Lady Avaline had done something? Discovered Brigit?

Drum's heart began to pound in earnest.

Was it possible this haughty, determined lady-in-waiting actually was capable of true harm?

Dinnae underestimate her. That is the whole bloody point of this, ye arsehole! Ye cannae assume she cannae hurt ye just because she's a woman! She's devious and driven and determined—have ye no' been paying attention?

Aye, Brigit had taught him that women could be powerful allies…or dangerous enemies. He'd be best to keep that in mind .

Good. Otherwise we're going to have to back up a few chapters so ye can understand the moral of the story again .

"Now." Avaline's voice had turned low and calm again, as she took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, her gaze steely. "Are ye going to do as I suggest?"

Drum's mind flashed over the previous conversation. "Um…am I going to take that dagger and go into the King's chambers and try to kill him, only so ye can swoop in at the last moment and save him by—by what? Killing me?"

"Aye."

"Nay," he said simply. "What's in it for me?"

"Why, revenge!" she cried. "Ye're angry at him, remember?"

Drum shook his head, fighting a smile at the absurdity of it all. "I'm no'. I wasnae even angry at him when he thought I was trying to kill him. He's my sovereign, and I'm loyal."

"Bah!" Her control was slipping again. "Then I'll kill ye here and now, and then tell him I discovered yer plot to assassinate him in his bed!"

His first instinct was to dismiss her, but the part of Drum which had been paying attention to the moral of the story grabbed him by the ears and shook him. Aye, Lady Avaline was thinner than he was, but she was tall and she carried that blade as if she knew what to do with it. He remembered the way Brigit had thrown those knives and handled that crossbow, and knew a Queen's Angel would be deadly.

So he swallowed and placed one hand on the hilt of his sword. "A-Aye, ye could do that. But afore we do aught drastic, Lady Avaline, mayhap ye could tell me… Why me?" He tried to keep his voice light and interested, so she would think he admired her scheme. "Why did ye choose me to pin the blame on, when ye needed to point Their Majesties away from ye?"

She paused, considering him. "Ye really dinnae ken, Drummond?"

Shaking his head, he told her the truth, "I dinnae."

Lady Avaline tossed back the hood of her cloak, baring her entire face to the candlelight. She folded her hands before her breast as if she were praying, the dagger pressed obscenely between them, and lowered her chin. Then she peeked up at him through her ruined eyelashes, a touch of smile on her lips, managing to look shy and demure.

Something flashed in Drum's mind, some memory, some hint…and dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Why, Sir Hunter, I am devastated ye dinnae remember me," she murmured low and shy and flirtatious.

‘Twas the Sir Hunter which did it, which triggered the memory, and Drum stumbled away from her in horror. One hand remained on the altar as if it could hold him upright, while a ghost from his past tormented him.

" Rebecca? "