Chapter Eleven

Gilchrist and Finley played dice while Liam closed his eyes and began to doze. Beside him, Lady Tamsin laid her head on her folded arms and rested too. After a while, he opened his eyes, feeling lulled and enchanted, as if the Queen of Faery, as in the old ballads, sat with him. He absorbed warmth from the hearth, listened to the crackle of flames and sleet pelting the windows, and lost his sense of urgency. Tamsin raised her head, spoke to the dog in a soft voice. Gentleness emanated from her like a glow.

It felt like love, he thought, just to watch her. She had talked of what she loved, books and reading, dogs and Dalrinnie, yet never mentioned her famed great-grandfather. The thought was a dash of cold water to his spirit. Some matters needed his attention, and he felt lulled, too relaxed.

He sat up, looked around, heard the rain against the parchment-covered windows—and then Roc lurched to his feet with a low ruff.

A torrent of noise erupted outside. Hoofbeats. Liam stood, and at Lady Tamsin's quick anxious look, set a hand on her shoulder.

"Let me see," he said, and went to a window. A commotion of riders and horses hurtled into the yard—three, four, now five, the inn's young groom running to assist.

King's men, certainly. Malise's men, likely. He turned as Gilchrist joined him at the window. "Comyn?"

"Perhaps. We should leave. But if they recognize the lass, we cannot risk a chase in these conditions."

"Finley and I could go another way to distract them."

"For now, we watch. Here they come." He stepped back, looking around, judging how quickly he could whisk the lady outside and onto his horse. He went back to the table, pausing to speak to the innkeeper's wife.

"Dame, if you please," he said, "do not let these men know we are traveling to Holyoak. I must protect my lady. You understand." Reaching into the pouch at his belt, he produced a few silver groats. "For our meal—and your kindness."

"Generous, sir. I dinna want trouble here, especially for your lady wife."

Wife.He let that go with a smile and headed back, pausing to pluck up Tamsin's dry cloak along with his own, glancing to be sure her satchels were within easy reach. Their swords were by the door, daggers sheathed in belts, all at the ready. Good.

Tamsin Keith gave him a concerned frown as he sat again. "Soldiers?"

He nodded. The door burst open then and several men crowded inside, sweeping in a draft of cold, wet air. Liam drank from his ale cup, watching, wary. The men stomped sleet on the floorboards, shook rain from cloaks, and dropped their hoods.

Three wore red surcoats, two dark tunics, all were in mail. They removed their swords to prop them by the door, too near the swords Liam and the others had left there. Seeing the weapons, the men glanced around, then nodded toward Liam and his kinsmen.

The innkeeper's wife came forward to seat them at a table near the window, bringing ale and remarking on the weather.

Liam caught Finley's somber glance, Gilchrist's too as they sat and picked up the dice again. Lady Tamsin watched, eyes gray as storm clouds. Liam draped her warmed cloak over her shoulders and closed her brooch deftly. She lifted her chin to allow it, eyes questioning.

"Should we leave?" she whispered.

"Perhaps," he murmured. "Follow my lead. All will be well." He touched her arm, lightly and away.

The innkeeper grabbed his cloak from a wall peg and went outside to help the stable boy with the horses while Dame Brown brought soup bowls and oatcakes to the new guests. She chuckled as the knights groused about being seated away from the warm hearth on such a day.

"We have other guests driven in by the weather," she said. When one man asked a question, tipping his head toward Liam and the rest, she nodded. "Och, aye," she said. "A lord and his lady wife, traveling with their escort. I think they are new married. So nice to provide a hot meal for a happy couple on such a dreary day."

Tamsin's eyebrows shot high. Finley huffed a laugh and lifted his ale cup.

"My lord, my lady, congratulations." He saluted and drank.

"But—" Tamsin protested.

"Hush, this may be just what we need," Liam whispered.

As the soldiers ate, they kept looking toward the other table. Liam angled to shield the girl from sight and leaned toward her to speak low.

"Draw up your hood against the cold. There." He tugged the hood over her tousled golden hair, making the gesture intimate and familiar. He disliked the way the soldiers' gazes roamed over her. He needed to show them his firm role.

"I am too warm." She started to push the hood down.

"You do not want to be seen, lass." He pulled it back in place. "Look carefully, now, and tell me if you know them."

She glanced there. "I have not seen them. But they could be Comyn's men."

"They asked the dame about us, so they may be searching for a young lady." Setting a hand on her shoulder, he murmured in her ear. "Pardon, my lady, but for now, they must see that we are not strangers."

"But we are."

"Honesty seems to be one of your virtues," he said with a soft laugh, "but just now, call me friend enough, aye?"

"Friend enough," she whispered.

"We know each other well, you see. We—love each other," he said low.

"But—"

"Love, aye, because I do not like the look of that lot." From the corner of his eye, Liam saw them cram bannocks into their mouths, swallow ale, wipe their chins—harmless enough. But one or two pointed toward Tamsin, muttering to their companions.

His skin prickled in alarm. "Gilchrist, Finley. We should leave."

"Take the lady to Holyoak," Gilchrist suggested, "while we take the hound by another route to the abbey."

"Wait a bit on the sleet. My lady," he added, "the dame gave me a thought. We will pretend to be husband and wife, aye?"

"But we are not." A flush crept over her pale cheeks.

"If those are Comyn's men, they are looking for one woman, not a married woman with an escort."

"That may be, but I do not like to lie."

"Then say naught and I will lie for both of us."

"The harper is good at that."

"I owe you more than one apology, I see. But for now, let us have a ruse of marriage. Think of it as your shield and protection." Seeing her pink cheeks and her frown, he realized the pretense troubled her. Regret tugged at him.

"Well, if they misunderstand who we are, we can do nothing about that."

"Now you have the knack of it." He smiled, then brushed back a tendril of her hair.

She sighed. "Very well. Pray do not say my name, in case they know it."

"I shall call you… Margaret. It suits you."

"My sister's name, but she prefers Meg. Oh! Did you hear that?" Liam frowned, listening.

"Castle Kincraig," one of the men was saying. "The chit has kin there and may head that way."

"The lass could be anywhere." The guard poked the man beside him and indicated Liam and the others. "She looks like the one we seek."

"Could be, but the dame said she's that one's wife."

Tamsin gasped, lowered her head.

"Hush." Liam closed his fingers over her hand, her fingers slim and fragile under his. She did not protest.

He knew he must make the message clear for the guards across the room. Lifting Tamsin's hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers. She caught her breath as he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. One of the soldiers rose to approach them.

"My lady, I am going to kiss you now," Liam murmured as the man approached. "Aye so?" He tipped her chin up with his free hand.

Eyes wide, she nodded. Liam bent to gently touch his lips to hers. Though he meant it to appear casual, the kiss ran hard through him.

"Oh aye," she breathed against his mouth.

That nearly undid him. The marriage ruse was meant to protect her, but suddenly he was the one in jeopardy, for she kissed him in return, her little sigh soft against his lips. He thought the floor might give way beneath him, felt the fire's heat blaze to consuming intensity—or was that within him? He feared he might seize her in his arms as his body craved. Opening his hands, he let go, then drew back and pulled in a breath.

Looking up, he saw his brother and cousin gaping at him.

Tamsin touched his cheek and looked at him in wonder for an instant. By the saints, the girl had been married, yet looked at him as if she had never been kissed before. And he had not only stepped over a boundary, he had dropped into an abyss. His heart pounded. His body felt on fire.

If he did not put a cool distance between him and the lady now, he would be lost. Taking her hand from his cheek, he pressed her fingers to the table, his hand over hers.

"My love," he said audibly, his voice not sounding quite his own.

"Love," she breathed, staring at him.

This was not good, Liam thought. She was too trusting, this lass. He could not bear to fool her—or leave her.

The guard stood over them now, glowering. "In the name of the king, I demand that you identify yourselves. What is your business here? And who is this lady?"

*

At the barkedquestion, Tamsin caught her breath. Sir William's hand tightened over hers, strong and warm. She turned her fingers within the cage of his, seeking reassurance. Her head still spun from the surprising kiss, the unexpected power of it, the way her knees dissolved and her heart quickened.

She was thankful her hood shielded her from clear view. Liam Seton, his hand still over hers, looked up. "We are king's men, sir," he told the soldier, "as are you."

"Under whose command?"

"King's direct orders," Gilchrist replied. "And you?"

"We ride for Sir Malise Comyn of Dalrinnie."

Tamsin felt her breath go ragged. Holding her hand, Liam Seton gave it a subtle, reassuring squeeze. She let a breath out.

"Kinsman to the murdered Comyn?" Finley asked.

"You know my lord commander?"

"We know he faithfully serves Edward," Finley drawled.

"Aye, as do we. What are your orders?"

"Private, sir, direct from the king," Liam Seton answered. "I cannot share them. But I will say I am taking my bride to her family estate in the Borders. These men escort us. The king's men. Like you."

Tamsin pressed her lips together to keep from speaking truths that bubbled up. I am running from Malise Comyn, I do not know what orders this man has from the king, he is not my husband… She looked away.

"Just wed, so the good dame says. A newly married couple does not usually merit a king's escort."

"I serve as his messenger."

The man grunted. "I am Sir John Parsley," he said. "You have not given your name, however. My commander will require the names of anyone we meet this day."

Her so-called husband leaned toward the man. "My lady's family is well known and close to the king. He would be annoyed if we were compromised or delayed on our journey. He has a chivalrous regard for ladies, as you know, and we are expected soon."

"Ladies, aye. But he takes a dim view of Scotswomen," the man countered, sliding another glance toward Tamsin.

She felt Seton's hand tighten on hers. Feeling ill at Parsley's implication, she wanted to run as fast as she could from this place.

Finley lifted his cup in salute. "Many good Scots are loyal to the king, sir. Your commander among them, I vow."

"Of course." Parsley addressed Liam again. "What brings you north? 'Tis a long way from Carlisle and Lanercost, if you came north with king's orders."

"A royal errand can take a messenger far," he answered. "For now, we are waiting out the weather, just as you are." Tamsin saw a muscle jump in his lean cheek.

"Bad enough to drive even rats indoors," Finley said.

The soldier placed a hand on the dagger at his belt. "Best prove you bear orders from the king, sir."

Slowly, William Seton reached inside his blue surcoat to pull out a folded packet that Tamsin had not seen before. Crinkled ribbons dangled from the royal seal of England. Tipping it to show the soldier the seal, he did not hand it over.

The man grunted. "Well then."

Tamsin frowned, remembering that the harper—his other self—had come to Lochmaben with a message for her from the king. Was that the order? If so, why had he not given it to her? Sir Malise had had a similar document.

She eyed him, awash in uncertainty again.

"Enough? Then let us finish our meal in peace and we will continue our journey," said her false groom, her false knight.

"Understand me, sir. Many Scots cannot be trusted. We are on constant alert against rebels. They could be anyone." He looked at each of them in turn. "Anyone."

"Oh, we know," Gilchrist said. "We have been hunting for Bruce and his parcel of rogues for months."

"Ah." Parsley took a step back. "Well then. I still need your names."

"Seton," her pretend husband said. "Sir William Seton and his wife with a king's escort. Be sure to tell that to Malise Comyn."

Tamsin took a quick breath. John Parsley might not recognize his meaning, but Comyn would know it as a gauntlet thrown down. A dare.

"Seton?" The man frowned.

"Sir William Seton of Ettrick Forest. Tell your commander I will see him soon."

Tamsin frowned. The vast forest that stretched from the Border area well into central Scotland belonged to no single estate or man. Under a single sheriff—King Edward's man, Aymer de Valence, Lord Pembroke, whom she hoped never to meet—the massive forest tract covered dozens of miles in all directions. Its canopies, clearings, and gullies sheltered outlaws who had, so far, proved near impossible to find. And Seton said he was from that tract. Sir Malise would likely be furious.

"Very well." Parsley had little reaction. Did he not know of the great forest? Perhaps he was new to his duty in Scotland, she thought.

"My only concern now is my wife's comfort and wellbeing. You understand."

My wife.False though it be, the statement rang true somehow, bringing her a sense of comfort and purpose. She let out a breath, unaware she had been holding it.

"I just wondered what brings you lot out on such a day," Parsley said.

"Now you know. And you? On patrol?"

"Sir Malise sent us in search of his betrothed. Fool woman ran off after a squabble, and he wants her back, see. It is a miserable day to be riding after a woman in a snit of temper."

"Indeed, it is. A woman in a temper is a formidable thing." He wove his fingers with Tamsin's, pressed tight.

"They say this missing lady is small and fair. Like your lady."

"We will watch for her as we travel."

"Dear sirrah. Take me home, do," Tamsin said then. Her heart pounded. Liam's eyes caught hers, a flicker of amusement in the blue.

"My heart is my lady's." He stood, bringing her to her feet. "I know how tired you must be after our long journey."

"So weary." That was true. She had hardly slept the previous night and the day so far had been vexing. Glad for the brace of his hand, she moved away, aware of the guard's scrutiny.

Liam Seton stooped to pick up her satchels, slinging them over his shoulder while his brother and cousin preceded them outside to see to the horses. When he took her elbow to guide her to the door, she lifted her chin as they passed the soldiers.

"Aye, very like her," Parsley told his companions. "I would swear it. But she is that one's wife. And he is mad for his lady, that is easy to see. Edward's messenger, so he says."

Mad for his lady? She glanced at Liam, who took his sword from its place against the door, sheathed it, then took her arm again. He smiled down at her and opened the door. She went still, seeing his tender expression, his brow lifted in question, noting the light in his eyes. Mad for her. For an instant, she felt warmth rush through her. The knight from the dream stood before her. She wanted that man, wanted that dream, that true companion.

The kiss that she could still feel on her lips had not been false. She was sure of that somehow—it had taken him by surprise just as it had taken her. That smile, the look in his eyes just now—those were genuine too. She did not want to think he could be anything other than what she saw in this moment.

"Give me that adoring smile again," he said. "They are watching us."

The words felt as cold to her as the rain whipping through the door. Sending him a scowl he surely deserved, she stepped past him.