Chapter 3

"Dinnae give up hope, lass. We still have a few more guards to interview."

Drummond's soothing assurance jerked Brigit's attention from the list of names at which she'd been staring. She forced a carefree smile.

"Of course! Just because we've gone through ninety percent of them and they can all produce their crossbows means naught! For certes these last men will be the guilty parties!"

He snorted at her overly optimistic tone, as she'd intended, but in truth, she was beginning to lose hope—

Hope? Nay, keep yer story straight. Ye dinnae actually hope he'll find a guilty man here, do ye ?

Sighing, Brigit pinched the bridge of her nose and straightened, stretching her back.

Her idea to visit the royal armorer had been a good one, of course. The man had immediately identified the bolt as coming from his supply, and, not for the first time, Brigit had wished she'd thought to take the crossbow as well, to have him identify it.

She'd been certain that having Drummond present the bolt to the armorer would elicit some sort of response from one or the other. But instead, both had acted as if they'd never seen the damned thing before. The armorer confirmed these bolts had been issued to the guards and royal men-at-arms instead of thrusting himself to his feet, pointing at Drum, and yelling Aha! Back for more weapons with which to murder the King, eh, fellow conspirator ?

Sometimes the bad guys were so inconsiderate.

But…was Drummond a bad guy?

The plan had been so simple; show him the bolt, allow him to incriminate himself, drag him to the Queen to confess. But Drummond had been happy to see the bolt, not frightened. Excited, even. Once she explained what ‘twas, he'd seen it as a chance to clear his name!

Something an innocent man would do.

When he'd asked to see the location of the trap, Brigit had purposefully taken him to an area of the corridor very much like where the ambush had been set, but about a dozen feet away. Drum hadn't shown any indication he knew ‘twas the incorrect spot, and instead gone over the stones with a careful eye, looking for the same minutiae Brigit herself would have.

The more time she spent with him trying to hunt down the assassin, the more Brigit came to believe that Drum was telling the truth; that he didn't know anything about the attempt on the King's life.

If he was innocent, she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

Well, of course she was pleased if her lover turned out not to be a traitor. But if it wasn't Drum who set that elaborate ambush, who?

That's what ye're trying to determine, remember ?

"The armorer said the bolt came from a weapon issued to the guards," Drum was saying, pacing behind his desk in the small office he used. "It has to belong to one of them."

"Or he removed it from the armory," she pointed out .

"He?" Drum asked, coming to a stop and placing his palms on the desk.

Brigit shrugged, then turned the motion into a rolling of her shoulders. She'd been sitting on this bench for over an hour, keeping notes as he interrogated the guards who were sent in, one after the other. "Whoever the guilty man is."

"God's Blood, ye're right," he groaned, leaning his weight forward for just a moment. "It could be anyone ."

Could it? "We ken it's someone who has experience with weaponry. Someone agile. Likely someone tall to wedge the crossbow into that niche. Someone who kens the King's schedule."

His expression had turned grave. "There's no' many people in the palace who check all those boxes, lass."

"Which boxes? Who said aught about boxes and checks?"

Drum shook his head. "I just mean, there's no' many who meet all those requirements."

Deciding to push him, to see how he'd react, Brigit held his gaze and said very clearly, "Ye do."

To her surprise, his lips tugged into a rueful grin and he straightened, scrubbing a hand across his face. His, " Aye ," was muffled until he dropped his hand. "But I ken I didnae do it." He sent her a wink. "And ye're too short, lass. So that's two people in the palace I ken arenae guilty. Unless there's something ye're no' telling me?"

It was said teasingly, but Brigit stood to hide her discomfort. There was plenty she wasn't telling him, after all, starting with I'm a spy and going all the way to The Queen herself tasked me to find evidence of yer guilt so ye can be executed .

Better to laugh it off.

She waved airily as she crossed the door and pulled it open. Outside was the captain of the guard, a gruff older man who was not pleased to hear his men were under suspicion.

"What?" he barked. "Ready to interrogate another innocent? I cannae believe ye're going along with this, Brigit!"

In her role as palace gossip, she knew everyone . So, offering him a sweet smile, she said, "Och, Bartleby, ‘tisnae so bad. Yer lads arenae harmed and they get a bit of time away from their harsh taskmaster." She sent him a wink to tell him she didn't mean it. "Can ye send in the next one?"

"Matthias isnae even grown yet, but aye, if ye want to intimidate and hurt him, I guess I cannae stand in the way of the King's Hunter, even if the bastard is just trying to foist his guilt on someone else!"

Another wink, although her words were sour in her throat. "I'll take care of him, Bartleby, I promise. Matthias? We're ready for ye."

The captain hadn't lied; Matthias was little more than a lad, gangly, pimple-faced, with that strange cockiness sometimes found in youth. He swaggered past Bartleby with an air of certainty that had Brigit sending the captain a teasing look as she shut the door.

Clearly, Matthias isnae terrified .

He sat on the stool Drummond indicated, chin held high as if he had naught to worry about .

Frowning, Drum crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the lad. "Ye ken about the attempt on the King's life?"

"Aye, and I ken ye did it," the guard shot right back. "So why are ye asking us all these questions?"

Drum's scowl deepened. No' the tactic to take, laddie. "Because I didnae do it, and I'm trying to determine who did. ‘Twas an ambush with a crossbow, and the weapon is in our possession."

A lie. The crossbow was in the possession of the Queen's Angels, but the guard wouldn't know that, and Drum was using it to gain information. Besides, he surely noticed how Matthias paled slightly?

He did.

Drum leaned forward like a hunter closing in on his prey. "Where's yer crossbow, Matthias?"

"W-what?" the lad stammered, glancing at the sneering visage of the helmet propped on Drum's desk.

"Yer crossbow. We're asking all the guards to produce their crossbows and account for all their bolts. Can ye?"

Matthias seemed to rally, thrusting back his shoulders. "Aye! Of course! Of course I can! It's just…no' with me right now."

As if sensing blood, Drum slowly stalked around the desk, holding the lad's gaze. "Where is it, Matthias?"

"'Tis in the barracks!" the lad blustered. "With the rest of my gear."

"Where is it, Matthias?" Drum growled, even more threateningly .

The guard's chin rose mulishly, as if Drum's threat made him even less likely to cooperate. "The barracks! Why would it no' be there?"

Suddenly, Drum's hand slammed down against the desk, the loud thwack causing both Matthias and Brigit to jump.

"Where is it?" he roared.

And Brigit decided this was her cue to step in.

"Better tell him, lad," she murmured sympathetically. "He can be a monster when someone doesnae tell the truth."

Drum sent her an incredulous look, but she hoped, by holding Matthias's attention, the lad didn't notice. She moved close enough to pat his shoulder. "'Tis aright, Matthias—I can call ye Matthias?" Smiling charmingly, she bent a little closer, hoping the lad would be distracted by her bosom. "Why no' tell me where yer crossbow and bolts are?"

"Uh…" Her plan had worked a little too well; the young guard was distracted by the skin revealed at the top of her bodice. "My, uh…?"

"Crossbow!" bellowed Drum, slamming his hand on the desk once more, causing Matthias to jump and swing his attention back in that direction. "Where is it?"

"Tell him," Brigit urged in a compassionate tone. "Otherwise he might tear this place—and ye—apart."

Matthias paled further, the column of his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "Apart?" he whispered.

She nodded sadly. "Completely apart. ‘Tis what happened last year when a witness wouldnae answer his questions. Puir man. Ye'd better tell Drummond what he needs to ken, or ye'll be next. "

Suddenly, Drum swung on her. "Look, what are ye doing, Brigit?"

She blinked. "Helping?"

"By making me out to be a monster?" he snapped.

Oh. Oh dear, she thought he'd picked up on her plan. "'Tis a game, aye? Good cop, bad cop? I'm being the good cop."

" Cop ?" he repeated. "What in the shite does that mean?"

"Cop," she repeated. "A constable? From copper?"

He was shaking his head. "A constable? Because he has a copper badge?"

"What? Nay, he doesnae! Who the fook would make a badge out of copper?" She was half-laughing already. " Copper means ‘someone who takes'."

Drum frowned. "Is it French? Sounds like something the French would do."

"Actually, I think ‘tis from the Latin capere , to capture."

Humming, he squinted at her. "I dinnae think this word's been invented yet, Brigit."

"Well, surely the concept has. We can call it good constable, bad constable ?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Aye, that would work. I'm the bad one?"

"Please, ye're ever so much better at it than I am," she noted with a sweet smile.

The twitch of his lips told her he was enjoying this just as much as she was.

They both swung on Matthias as if this interlude hadn't happened, to see the lad staring up at them, mouth agape, wide-eyed. His head swung back and forth between them like a spectator in a tenis match.

"See?" Brigit whispered conspiratorially to the lad. "A monster. A complete brute. Ye should tell him where yer crossbow and bolts are before he becomes truly angry."

"He's no' angry now?" Matthias squeaked.

With a roar, Drum swept the candelabra off the desk, thrusting it forward until the flames were right beside the lad's temple. "Tell me!" he growled, as Matthias leaned away from the heat. "Where's yer weapon?"

"I dinnae ken!" the guard blurted.

Drum thrust the flames closer; not close enough to burn, but the light from them bathed the lad's pimply face. " Tell me!"

"I dinnae ken!" Matthias wailed, as the door burst open and Bartleby charged through, clearly intent on saving his man from Drum's rage. "I dinnae ken! I lost it!"

Immediately, Drum straightened and Brigit stepped in, holding her palm out to stop Bartleby's confused charge. "Ye lost it, laddie?" she murmured, tone full of sympathy. "Och, that's horrible. When did ye lose it?"

"Almost a fortnight ago," Matthias sniffed, as if close to tears. "I was on patrol, and I put the thing down on one of the parapets—all the lads do it! When I came ‘round on my next circuit, ‘twas gone!" He was speaking only to Brigit now, his words tripping over one another in their haste. "I thought it had fallen to the ground, but when I looked for it after my shift, I couldnae find it. "

Even as Brigit patted his shoulder, making small, murmured noises to console him, she lifted her gaze to Drum's.

There was triumph in his dark eyes, which she was certain matched hers.

Behind her, Bartleby growled, "Ye lost yer weapon, laddie, and didnae think to tell me?"

The guard cringed, and for the first time, Brigit felt truly sorry for him. "Up ye go, Matthias," she commanded, helping the lad stand and turn to face his captain. "Fess up bravely, like an adult."

With that, she gave the lad a little nudge. He stumbled toward the captain of the guard who grabbed his elbow and hustled him out the office, muttering under his breath.

As the door closed behind them, Brigit felt the breath whoosh from her body, her veins filled with the jittery sort of energy which always came on a mission. Smiling hugely, she turned to Drum…only to find him wearing a huge grin of his own.

She clapped her hands. "Well, that worked well."

"Well?" he whooped, surging forward and grasping her waist to lift her and swing her around. " Well ? ‘Twas brilliant . Brigit, ye were brilliant."

Laughing lightly, she patted his arm when he set her down. "We work well together."

He was smiling down at her, none of the earlier worry visible in his expression, and she had another spike of guilt.

"We do work well together," he murmured. "A team. Partners."

And all that guilt ?

Suddenly replaced by something better. Something worse.

A longing for a partner like Drum. Someone she could rely on, the way she used to rely on her Angels.

Oh no .

He was a mission, naught more.

And she knew what she needed to do in order to get close to him, to learn any of his remaining secrets.

Luckily, it wasn't a task she minded at all.

When Brigit surged up on her toes, Drummond lowered his lips to meet hers. They crashed together joyfully and he lifted her closer.

God's Wounds, kissing Brigit would never get old, would it? He hoped to hell it wouldn't.

Careful. Ye're no' thinking of a future together, are ye?

Except…mayhap he was. Drum knew he shouldn't, especially with the suspicion hanging over his head, but…he was.

He wanted her. Not just now, not just tonight, but…

Nay, dinnae think it. Brigit was just a bit of fun, someone to slake yer lust.

Until she wasn't.

With a little whimper, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down, pulling him closer. He knew her. He knew her signs. He knew how much she wanted to finish what they'd started that morning in the corridor.

And he wanted it too.

Groaning low in his throat, Drum gave in to temptation and lifted her again, turning to hoist her arse up onto his desk. She went willingly, excitedly, wriggling a little to push herself back.

Their lips clung together. Her hands pawed at his shirt, yanking at the cords at his throat, and Drum felt her lips curl against his. Aye, she wanted this and he was ready for her. Beneath his kilt, his cock straightened, yearning for her softness.

"Brigit," he groaned, moving his lips to her jaw, her cheek, her earlobe, as his hands cupped and fondled. "Ye're certain?"

She tipped her head back, even as her hands went to the ties of her bodice, loosening them for him. "When have ye— oh Saints be praised, right there !"

Drum smiled as he nibbled at her sensitive skin again and she moaned.

"I'm always ready for ye, love."

Love .

She'd called him that for ages, but did she call everyone that? Was he…special to her?

When she moved her hands back to his shoulders, he took that as an invitation, and reached for the sides of her bodice. ‘Twas short work to reach inside, to cup one palm around her tit and lift it out.

Aye .

She moaned as he brushed his thumb across her nipple and the sound went right to his cock.

He knew her. He knew her body, and this? This was perfection . "Ye like that, eh lass?" he murmured, lowering his mouth to her tit as he gently freed the other. Arching backward, she offered them both to him, and he wasn't going to ignore such a gift.

"Christ, Brigit, ye're perfect." His tongue teased her. "Look at ye, on display for me. Like a feast."

It was the truth. With her tits spilling out the top of her gown, her hair falling loose from her braid, she looked like one of those nymphs the court painters loved so much.

Without urging, she eased herself back to her elbows, thrusting her breasts up to his touch, and he groaned again at the sight.

Perfect . Perfectly wanton, just for him.

Even as he leaned forward to feast—to lick, to suckle, to tease those large pink nipples—he reached for the front of his kilt, squeezing his cock through the wool. Soon soon soon . Soon he'd have a release, but he needed to feel her pleasure first.

One last squeeze, then he moved his hands to her skirts, pushing them up her legs. Her thighs parted, booted feet dangling above the floor of his office, skin already prickling with anticipation.

They'd been in this position before. How many times had they fooked here on this desk? A dozen? More? Just last week…

But today, things felt different. Mayhap ‘twas the hope he was feeling after a sennight of despair, knowing he might be able to solve this mystery. Or mayhap ‘twas the knowledge that he and Brigit worked well together.

Or mayhap ‘twas the fact that he genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. She made him laugh, and that was important .

His hands ran up her thighs as he straightened from her tits. "Are ye ready, lass?" he prompted, praying she'd give him permission.

Her beautiful green eyes were hazed with passion. "Please, Drummond," she whispered. " Please ."

The wool of her skirts was ungainly, but he managed to shove it out of the way before his fingers slid through her wetness. Because, aye , she was ready for him.

But he could make her readier.

Holding her gaze, he slowly lowered himself until he couldn't see her any longer, and instead settled his sight on the rosy, pink, very wet cleft before him. He watched his finger slowly disappear inside her, heard her sigh, saw her flesh quiver.

"Aye," he murmured. "That's a good lass. So wet for me, are ye no'?"

Another slow thrust, and his second finger joined the first. Brigit rocked her hips forward with each thrust, her breathing growing heavy. She wanted this as much as he did.

"So beautiful. So fooking beautiful."

Above him, her whimper sounded helpless and he smiled as he bent closer to taste her.

That first swipe of his tongue along her dripping cunny made them both sigh in satisfaction, and he reflected again how lucky he was to know her so well. He knew not to focus on her entrance, not while his fingers were still inside her. Instead, he slowly guided his tongue up toward the top of her cleft, where the little hood hid the pearl of her pleasure. He circled it with his tongue then slid back through her cleft .

"Drum," she panted above him. " Please ."

It was remarkable how ready she was for him. For this. His other hand reached for his cock, stroking it roughly through his kilt as he leaned forward.

She was ready for release, and he could give it to her.

"Ye want this, lass?" he murmured against her cunny. "Ye want to come like a good girl for me?"

"Please," she whimpered a third time.

So he obliged.

Hooking his fingers, he brushed upward, the pad of his forefinger caressing the rough patch deep inside her that always drove her mad. As he did, he closed his lips around her bud and suckled , while his tongue flicked against the pearl.

One of her hands closed around the top of his head as her whimper built into a wail, and he smiled against her cunny as she came, as her inner muscles squeezed his fingers.

As always, a burst of liquid gushed from her core, covering his hand and mouth, and Drum lapped it eagerly, trying to prolong her pleasure for as long as possible.

He knew her. His Brigit.