Chapter 5

Drummond felt as if he were at least three inches taller. He found himself strutting through the palace corridors like a puffed-up cock, a stupid grin barely held in check by his usual glare.

After this afternoon, his signature glare didn't have its usual effect.

Maids didn't scurry out of his way and men-at-arms didn't avoid his eyes. Instead they looked at him strangely, and Drum half-wondered if he had spinach stuck in his beard or something.

When was the last time ye ate spinach ?

Well over a fortnight ago.

Then surely someone would've mentioned yer be-spinaching to ye. Likely they can tell ye're two steps away from whistling and clicking yer heels when ye jump, and bursting into a choreographed melody about the rain and singing in it.

Sometimes, he was better off not knowing what his subconscious was talking about.

All Drum knew was that he was on his way to dinner with Brigit after a full day with her. And this lightness, this contentment ? It had naught to do with the way he'd felt when she'd wrapped him in her arms and accepted him into her body.

Well, mayhap a bit.

Mayhap a lot .

Aye, fine, ‘twas one of the more remarkable sexual interludes of his life—happy?

Verra .

So was he. Far happier than a man who'd lost the King's trust, who had a traitor's execution looming over his head. After today, after working with Brigit, he felt as if he could do aught, and that included solving this mystery and removing suspicion from himself.

He nodded to one of the guards he'd interviewed today—the man lifted his crossbow from his shoulder to prove he hadn't lost it—and ducked into one of the doors leading to the niche near the chapel where he said he'd meet Brigit. Interestingly, this part of the palace was near Their Majesties' private quarters, and he wondered what a simple serving lass would be doing here.

Och, but there was little simple about Brigit!

He smiled, remembering the way her quick mind had noticed connections today, and how she'd tricked young Matthias into confessing. But ‘twas the way she'd thought like Drum, had understood the way his mind worked during the investigation…that had been what had really warmed his heart.

And the whole licking-her-until-she-squirted thing.

And the fact she'd held him after, and he'd held her, and he'd found himself confessing about Rebecca and the way she'd hurt him. The way he hadn't allowed himself to work with or trust another woman since then.

But this peace he felt inside told Drummond he was ready to do both.

"Hello, love," Brigit said softly, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to twine her fingers through his. "What has ye smiling tonight? "

Her expression was different, and it took a moment for Drum to place it; she looked sad , almost. He squeezed her fingers and offered her a lop-sided grin. "Just thinking of ye. I'm dining with the loveliest lass in Scone tonight."

She scoffed slightly, pink rising on her cheeks. After their interlude in his office, she'd changed gowns into something a bit finer, and he preened to realize she'd wanted to look nice for him. Her red hair was braided neatly about her head, and suddenly he wanted naught more than to pull out the pins and watch those curls cascade around her naked shoulders.

Or better yet, around his naked shoulders.

Despite being so thoroughly satiated earlier today, his cock stirred beneath his kilt and he adjusted his sporran so no one else would know.

What he and Brigit shared should be only between them.

One of the palace guards marched by, hand on his sword hilt, and Drummond adjusted his expression into his more habitual scowl so his reputation wouldn't be ruined. Any more than it already was.

At his side, however, Brigit sighed. He'd expected her to giggle, to tease him. But instead, when he glanced down at her, she seemed…resigned?

"Are ye ready to eat?" he prompted.

"Aye," she said in a small voice, and began to move, tugging him along by his hand. "This way."

Now his frown wasn't forced. Where were they going? "Brigit, this isnae the way to the kitchens. This area is for the King's family. "

She didn't reply, but led him toward a door he recognized. A door he'd only visited a few times when the King needed his input in a personal matter.

The Majesties' private dining room.

"Brigit—"

‘Twas all he managed to get out before she dropped his hand then opened the door and stepped through.

Lunging, Drum caught her elbow, thinking to save her from humiliation and possible punishment for interrupting a private meal, but she didn't hesitate. He saw the Queen look up at the pair of them, blink, then smile.

"Ah, Brigit, you have brought your beau, as promised."

Her words didn't make any sense. Drum was too busy glancing around the room, trying to take in everything, assessing possible danger and answers.

There was one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, judging by her gown, who turned away from them as she arranged goblets on a tray the seneschal was holding. There was one of the King's personal guards, standing at attention by the window.

And there was the King himself, chin propped in one hand as he studied the intruders in that difficult-to-read way of his Drum used to know so well.

"Yer Majesty," Drum blurted, offering a bow. "Apologies for this intrusion."

"Should I be concerned?" the monarch asked wryly, and the question ripped at Drum's chest.

"Nay," he managed hoarsely. "An accident, merely. "

"No accident." All eyes swung to the English queen, who sat straight in her chair, examining the silver knife at her setting. "I asked Brigit to bring you here. Lawrence, pour the wine."

Confused as hell, Drum glanced at Brigit. She was staring straight ahead, face pale except for two small pink spots high on her cheeks, gaze locked over the Queen's head. Refusing to look at him.

As the elderly seneschal shuffled between the monarchs, placing the goblets and pouring the wine, Drum swung his attention back to the King.

"Yer Majesty—I dinnae understand."

"Drummond," the King sighed, reaching for the goblet as the seneschal shuffled toward the door. "I have learned, over the years, no' to try to second-guess the women in my life. It seems my wife had plans of her own. Darling?" he offered, spinning his wine between his fingers without lifting it.

With a regal nod, the Queen sat forward. "As a favor to you, husband, I tasked my Angels with proving the guilt of the man you have suspected, the leader of your Hunters."

Angels ? Drum glanced at Brigit again, but received no answer.

The Queen continued. "Luckily, Brigit already had a connection to him, and used that to get close to him. I requested she bring him here to share her findings."

If he hadn't been looking at her, Drum would've missed the way Brigit shrunk into herself at the Queen's words.

But ‘twas only fair; he was doing a fair bit of shrinkage himself. "A connection?" he growled under his breath, knowing he couldn't challenge the Queen directly.

When Brigit flinched, he knew he'd hit his mark.

What in the everloving shite was going on here?

"Drummond." The King's commanding tone yanked Drum's attention away from Brigit. The man lifted his goblet, his voice cold. "Since ‘tis clear ye dinnae understand what's going on, allow me to explain. I am no' the only monarch of Scotland to have a group of agents loyal to me, willing to die to protect the interests of our people."

Drummond opened his mouth to reply— Aye, of course, each King had his own version of the Hunters —when he saw His Majesty exchange a sly glance with his wife, and the truth slammed into Drum so hard his chest ached.

Sucking in a breath, he managed, "The…Angels?"

"The Queen's Angels," his monarch corrected, bringing the goblet to his lips. "My wife's secret agents, disguised as her attendees."

Drum couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.

Brigit was…

Brigit was…an agent of the Queen? Using their connection to investigate him?

"Yer Majesty!"

The sharp call came not from Brigit, but rather, the lady-in-waiting dressed in maroon. She was tall and thin, her face scarred beneath an austere wimple. She'd been standing quietly, hands folded, but now stepped forward smartly as both monarchs turned to her .

Instead of saying more, she leaned across the table and pulled the goblet from the King's hand. The guard moved his hand to his sword, but the King easily relinquished his drink. "Lady Avaline?"

"That smell…" she murmured, peering down into the goblet. "Ye havenae taken a drink yet?"

"Nay," the Queen answered for both of them, leaning forward, hands clutching the arms of her chair. "What is it?"

"Mayhap naught. But mayhap…" She sniffed the goblet, then glanced about the room. "Nae handy dogs."

"What?" the King barked.

The lady shrugged. "In the stories, when the hero suspects the wine is poisoned, it is given to one of the dogs, or perhaps a monkey, and then the animal dies, proving the hero's suspicions correct."

The King's tone was laced with horror when he said, "Ye expect me to poison one of my dogs?"

"Do ye have a monkey, Yer Majesty?"

"We are not poisoning any animal, Avaline," the Queen said sternly. "Even if you do suspect the wine is poisoned."

"Oh, it most certain is," the scarred lady said, then leaned to tip the goblet into a plate of fruit.

"Excellent," the King muttered. "Now I cannae have the pear I wanted."

"Stop complaining, dearest," his wife commanded, peering intently at the fruit. "You may have an apple."

"I dinnae like apples," he complained.

"Ye will like them even less if they continue to smoke like that," Lady Avaline pointed out .

Both monarchs released breaths and sat back in their seats, as if attempting to get farther away from the smoking, poisoned fruit. Drum's gaze darted about the room, trying to understand what was happening.

The Queen raised her hand as if bestowing a blessing. "You were correct, Lady Avaline. The wine was poisoned, and you have saved His Majesty's life again."

Her husband was staring in horror at the apple. "A true hero," he muttered.

But the lady-in-waiting merely inclined her head regally, a small smile on her lips. "I was merely doing my duty, Yer Majesty. I am sworn to protect ye both."

The Queen sent her husband a glance. "And you know what they say; An apple a day keeps the doctor away. "

He scoffed. "No' that apple. I'm staying even farther away from them now. And I happen to like the palace doctor."

"That is because he prescribed you extra ale and beef. The meat is too fatty, dearest, you need more roughage and vegetables in your diet."

"I'm no ' eating poisoned apples," the King muttered, and his wife merely reached over to pat his hand indulgently.

"Respectfully, Yer Majesties," Drum heard himself growl, and offered a little bow to both of them. "What in the hell is going on?"

The King made a little noise which might've been a laugh, but the Queen rolled her eyes .

"It is not obvious, Sir Hunter? Your job is investigation, is it not?"

"Generally I prefer to swing a sword at the bad guy, Yer Majesty," he growled.

Aye, that was definitely a snort from the King, but his wife huffed.

"Well, my Angels have been trained to use their minds instead. Lady Avaline and Brigit have been partners for years." She nodded to her lady-in-waiting. "You noticed an issue, correct?"

The slender lady in maroon had taken up position between the monarchs, and now said, too ingratiatingly, "Indeed, Yer Majesty. I recognized a scent out of place as Lawrence poured it, but it took me a few minutes to recognize it as poison."

"So my seneschal tried to poison me?" the King asked.

His wife shook her head. "It might have been anyone."

"No' true," her lady-in-waiting pointed out. "Only those who kenned ye'd both be dining here tonight, and kens where the wine is stored."

The King's gaze swung back to Drum. Startled, he stumbled backward. " I dinnae ken ye'd be dining here! Why would I want to kill ye, Yer Majesty?"

"Aye," the man murmured, "something I've asked myself many times over the last sennight."

Despair settled into Drum's bones.

It hurt even more, coming so quickly on the heels of the elation and peace he'd felt earlier. What could he say to the King of Scotland to convince the man he was still loyal? That he would give his life for his monarch ?

It turned out, he didn't have to.

Brigit was the one to step forward, to take a deep breath. "Drummond Kennedy is innocent, Yer Majesty. He has been with me since this morning, and has had nae chance to poison anything. Furthermore, I will swear that he had nae idea I'd be bringing him to ye this evening."

The Queen hummed. "So no opportunity. And we are still without a motive."

Drum was shaking his head, the despair turned to dread and now to panic. "Yer Majesty, I—"

"He is innocent," Brigit stated again, chin held high as she met the monarchs' gazes. "Ye tasked me with investigating him, and I did. Drummond Kennedy did no' try to kill ye, Yer Majesty. Neither tonight nor last week."

She'd been investigating him.

All this time, he was merely a task to her?

Drum's knees had gone weak, which was a fooking humiliating thing to happen to a warrior. He wished he had his helm so he could close off these thoughts, these feelings, from the outside world.

Dear God in Heaven, he thought he'd trusted Brigit.

But…staring incredulously at her profile, something niggled at the back of his mind.

Ye started fooking her a year ago. Ye had fun with her a year ago .

Aye, a year ago, she'd been just a bit of fun, a bit of skirt. More recently, he'd felt more strongly about her, and what they'd done today…that hadn't been fooking . It had been special. Meaningful.

Except ye were just a mission to her .

Aye, there went his knees.

Cursing, Drum turned away and stumbled toward a chair, grabbing its wooden back to keep himself upright as his heart fell into his stomach. He couldn't look at Brigit, couldn't look at her friend, or at his monarchs.

Vaguely, he heard the Queen speaking. "Brigit, my dear, I can recognize your insistence, but surely you can admit you are too close to be rational? Your feelings…?"

"I believe her," the King rumbled. "She's yer Angel, aye? And ye sent her after him." A pause, as if the couple were communicating without words. "If she says Drummond is innocent, I'll take her word."

Oh Christ.

Oh Christ .

She'd used him. She'd manipulated him and used him, just as Rebecca had.

Holy shite on a stick, she'd been investigating him all this time? When he thought they'd been working together? "My rooms," he gasped, unable to stop the words from escaping. Someone had rifled through his rooms, and he'd taken that as proof the King had sent someone after him.

But it had been Brigit ?

This was the reason he'd always vowed not to trust women!

And he'd been right!

Bile rising in his throat, Drum turned a livid glare toward the woman he'd only just considered trusting.

Ye did trust her , a tiny voice reminded him. She was doing this for yer own good. Trying to save ye .

Snarling, Drum shook his head, trying to push away the reminder. She'd betrayed him! She'd manipulated him!

And then— and then —Brigit turned to him.

Turned to him, those green eyes tortured, hands turned palms-upward in a signal of helplessness, of offering…and whispered, "I'm sorry."

The words punched him right in the gut, and Drum would've gone down again, had his fingers not curled desperately around the chairback so tightly he could hear the wood creak.

Sorry ? She was sorry for betraying him?

She was trying to help .

He shook his head again, this time more desperately.

In the background, vaguely, he could hear the monarchs discussing him.

"Well if Drummond is not the guilty one, husband, who is it?"

"Ye have yer Angels on the investigation, aye? Then I'll have my Hunter put his mind to it as well. Between them, they'll find the bastard who's trying to kill me."

The Queen sounded almost amused when she said, "It seems as though they work well together."

"Yer Majesty," the scarred lady-in-waiting murmured, "are ye certain ye can trust him?"

Drummond was already forcing himself upright, forcing himself to turn back to his King, when the man said, "Aye."

The King of Scotland pushed himself to his feet, knuckles on the table, and held Drum's gaze. "Aye, Drummond Kennedy was my first Hunter, and the best of them. I can trust him."

Focus focus focus .

His name had been cleared and the King trusted him again. Now was not the time to obsess over a woman's betrayal.

Drum slammed his fist against his chest, the contact extra-hard to remind his heart to start working again, and bowed low at the waist. "I have always been yer loyal man, Yer Majesty."

When he straightened, the King nodded regally, then smiled almost conspiratorially as he sank back down in front of his mutton. "Then get out there and find the bastard who did this." He glanced up at Lady Avaline. "And fetch some more wine, will ye?"

As she nodded and stepped back, Drum bowed again, not as low. "'Twill be—" His voice stuck, and he had to swallow and start again. "'Twill be a pleasure, Yer Majesty. If I might be excused to begin?"

The King waved lazily and Drummond found himself exhaling. In relief, in sorrow.

He was innocent. The King believed him innocent and he'd keep his head and his position…and his monarch's trust, which was equally important.

But why? ‘Twas through no effort of his own that his name had been cleared. Och, nay, ‘twas because the King and Queen trusted the word of someone else!

As he straightened and turned, Drum found Brigit still staring at him, her eyes swimming, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth. She looked miserable .

Misery at her betrayal?

Good .

Drum forced himself to snarl and hated the burst of satisfaction he felt when she gasped and backed up. "Brigit," he offered, voice low and menacing. "Dinnae bother to see me out, I ken the way. Goodbye."

Goodbye.

After what they'd shared—particularly that afternoon—their goodbyes should've involved more screaming, more throwing things, more passionate kisses. But not in front of their monarchs.

Goodbye .

He nodded once and stalked for the door, ripped it open and stumbled through.

He had a mission from the King, one he'd take great joy in.

And he bloody well wouldn't trust a woman in doing so.

Ever again.