Knight Protector (Knight Chronicles)

by Rue Allyn

  What was to become of her? She had rights she was certain and nae doubt some inheritance from her husband, but she knew none of the details. In this stronghold of enemies, whom could she trust? She would have sought counsel and shelter from her brother, Baron Raeb MacKai, had she nae defied him to marry a hated Marr. She’d had her reasons and chose nae to share them. Now that choice left her without recourse for as a Marr she was nae welcome at her childhood home.

  Nor would she remain at Strathnaver; she hated the Marrs as much as did any MacKai. Mayhap, if she were lucky, she might receive an inheritance large enough that the church would take her in. The life of a nun was nae what she’d dreamed of, but what other choice had she? She’d sealed her destiny when she agreed to marry Brice Marr. Nothing would change it now.

  She closed her eyes against the bleak and empty future. Worry and regret would serve no purpose, fear and bitterness must be banished or ignored, and the dead must be honored. Time enough to find solutions to her troubles during the three days of vigil over her husband’s body. Resigned to the uproar the death announcement would cause, she opened her eyes and screamed.

  Her husband’s hand covered her mouth before more than a squeak sounded. His free arm snatched her from her seat and banded her against his torso—a torso far too well muscled to have been wasted from weeks of fever and bloody flux. At least she thought it was her husband until a wild glance at the bed showed his body still lay there.

  But the face looming above hers was …? “Colin?”

  Only a muffled gurgle emerged.

  “Shh. Do you want the entire clan to hear you?” The cold, green eyes studying her held a warning.

  She nodded as vigorously as possible. Of course she wanted to be heard—she was alone with a man who had betrayed her, caused her parents’ deaths, cast her clan into poverty, killed her dreams, and broken her heart.

  “Nae. Before you tell anyone of my presence or Brice’s passing, we must talk.” He released her and stepped away.

  Hand to her throat, she stumbled backward. “You canna be here. You are dead.”

  He smiled, took her fingers and pressed them to his chest. “Does this feel dead to you?”

  His heart beat strong and steady. Even through his dark jerkin his heat burned into her palm. She snatched her hand away.

  “But. . .” She looked from him to the body on the bed and back. “Brice said you died in France these eight years past.”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. “You never did wish to admit he lied more often than he told the truth. Now you have proof. However, we have more important matters to discuss than my brother’s treachery.”

  “His treachery? What of your own?”

  Colin closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “I never meant to hurt you, muirnean.”

  She snorted her disgust at his lie.

  “I have naught to say to you,” she hissed, turning her head away. She would nae allow him to hurt her again. Would nae allow his deep voice, his slumberous green eyes, or his clever mouth to influence her. Would nae be swayed by his spicy leather and man scent. The wounds he’d caused still bled, his betrayal an open sore that time could no heal.

  “Well enough, but you will listen to me.” He slid his hand along her cheek, exerting just enough pressure to turn her face to him. She jerked her head backward.

  “Your brother is dead. Have you no feeling?” Slipping from his grasp, she squared her shoulders and locked her gaze with his. “Say what you must and be gone.”

  “This is my home. I shall come and go as I please.” He gave her a hard look. “Since Brice was my brother, how greatly I mourn him is my concern alone. But hear this. You’ll nae speak of his death to anyone.”

  “Are you still so jealous of him? What you ask is sacrilege. If I tell no one of his passing, who is to watch over him before his soul can go to God?” Her husband may deserve to roast in hell, but she’d nae be responsible for putting him there. That decision rested with God alone.

  Colin bared his teeth. “You ken nothing about Brice or me. The past ten years changed us in ways you canna imagine.”

  “Pah! If you’ve something worth saying, say it and cease speaking in riddles.” The only change in the Marr twins was her distrust of them both.

  “Brice has been spying for the English. He’s a traitor to Scotland who has made Strathnaver into a nest of vipers loyal to Edward I of England.”

  She nearly laughed at the idea. “Surely you could invent a better lie with which to malign him.”

  “’Tis truth, I say.”

  “What proof have you?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know because I’ve been spying for Scotland.”

  Now she did laugh. The sound was sharp and bitter.

  Colin gripped her shoulders. “Listen to me. I suspected long ago, because Brice always agreed with Father that Scotland would be better off under Edward of England’s thumb. We may have left Strathnaver separately, but we crossed paths often enough. The last time was in England just before All Hallows. I was certain of his treason when the documents I carried to King John Balliol from France were stolen. Brice was the only person who could have suspected I had them and the only person who could have taken them.”

  “If what you say is true—and I have nae cause to believe you—how can you be certain he dinna deliver these documents to Edward?”

  “Because I’ve been on his trail since the day he took them. Dungarob was the only place he stopped on his way to Strathnaver.”

  Colin’s voice sounded as hard as his eyes. His fingers tightened on her shoulders to a point just short of pain. Still she managed to escape his grip.

  “You speak nonsense. Why travel north away from Edward and England if the goal was to give those letters over to the Plantagenet? If there were any letters, which I still doubt.”

  A pulse beat at the joint of Colin’s clenched jaw, and she thought uncertainty flickered across his face. It passed as quickly as she’d seen it, and stone returned to his expression.

  “I won’t try to guess why Brice ran from England to Scotland. He’s dead, so all that matters is for you to help me find those documents and expose any English spies remaining at Strathnaver.”

  Colin’s lack of concern for his brother fit with the soulless choices she’d come to expect of all the Marrs. She would not aid him.

  “You need no help to find imaginary spies,” she scoffed. “That you sank so low surprises me not, but Brice? How could he be a spy? He never met a secret he wouldn’t shout from the rooftops. If he were a spy, I would have known, and I never would have wed so dishonorable a man.” She lied. What man of honor would threaten a woman into marriage as Brice had? Would Colin see himself in her reference to the type of man she would never marry?

  She saw nae sign of distress at the doubt she cast on his claims and his honor. Obviously her opinion of him mattered little.

  “So, you finally let him into your bed. Now you are the countess you always wanted to be.”

  She hadna seen that coming, though perhaps she should have. Her entire life, she only wanted a home with children of her own and certain peace between clans Marr and MacKai. Colin’s envy of his brother had provided the fuel for the fire that destroyed her hope of happiness. Even now, he worried less over his shame as an admitted spy and more over her supposed preference for Brice.

  Colin still misjudged her—could she be wrong about him as well? Nae, a spy was the most dishonorable of creatures. He’d claimed that status with his own mouth. Of course he would cast others in the same mold. He was wrong to do so, but she had other, more personal experience of Colin Marr’s treachery.

  She glared at him and bit her cheek to keep her hurt and anger from spilling out. Here Colin was, digging up the old hurts. He claimed he and Brice both had changed, sunk to the lowest of acts. ’Twas definitely nae change for the better. Nor did Colin credit her with any maturity. To him she was still a flighty girl with nae more sense than a flea.
r />   “Which is it?” she sneered. “Spying or my bed play with your brother that is so important you would leave him unshriven?”

  He ignored her question. “You said you married him.”

  “I did.” She straightened.

  “Then what else am I to think, save that you welcomed him to your bed?”

  She rolled her eyes then strode to look out the nearest window. “Think what you like.”

  He was quiet for so long that she thought perhaps he’d left as silently as he’d come. She turned back to the room, but there he was, staring at her, a frown on his chiseled face.

  “Perhaps you should explain this spy business and leave the past alone,” she suggested.

  He nodded. “Aye, let us bury the past with the dead.”

  She waited. Whatever was said, the past stood like a fortress wall between them and could never be buried—only avoided for a few moments.

  “During my last task in England, I learned Strathnaver sheltered spies. ’Twas what sent me to seek out Brice and confirmation of his perfidy. Ironically, seeking him gave him the opportunity to steal the papers I carried.”

  “Let me be certain I understand what you are telling me.” She seated herself, taking time to smooth her skirts and gather her thoughts, then stroking her braid. “When you left Strathnaver ten years ago you went straight to Scotland’s Guardians and offered to spy for them? Brice did the same some months later, but went to Edward of England.”

  Colin leaned against one of the thick bedposts. “I dinna ken how Brice came to betray Scotland. As for me, becoming a spy ’twas nae as simple as you suggest. I intended to earn my keep as a knight errant, and I first offered my services to the High Steward. He thanked me but suggested I might do better in service to Lord Alexander Dubhlochan, Earl Coillteach.” The earl took me on as a knight in his household. After I’d been with him several months, I was asked to carry a message. When I returned, Lord Coillteach questioned me about my observations. From then on he assigned tasks to me at random. It wasna until more than a year later that I began to recognize a pattern. Then I was asked to take messages and make observations on an almost regular basis. I confronted the earl with my suspicions. He dinna directly confirm those, but he did say that sometimes uncertainty was useful.”

  Sorcha gave a quiet snort of disgust. She’d now spent ten years of uncertainty nae knowing if either of the Marr twins lived, nae knowing if she would welcome the sight of either of them, and nae knowing which she most longed to see. As a younger woman, she’d thought she knew her mind. Then Colin had begged that kiss of farewell from her, blown storms of doubt onto her sea of calm assurance, and left her family shattered in the wake. But she didna wish to debate the matter now and risk exposing a weakness.

  “Let us assume you know whereof you speak,” she said. “How does one go about finding a nest of spies, and why would you need my help?”

  “The best way to expose them is to discover who tries to contact Brice with the intent to betray Scotland. To do that he must be alive. Hence I must take his place, and you must behave as if I am your husband.”

  “Nae!” She shot from her seat. “I’ll no share your bed.”

  Colin dropped his gaze from hers and studied his fingernails. “I didna ask that of you. However, if you wish bed play, I am certain we would both enjoy it.”

  “Mary, Queen of Heaven, save me from this fool.” She rolled her eyes, then returned a seething gaze to Colin. “Did I nae just say I refuse to lay with you?”

  “I heard you.” He lifted his head. His features shouted innocence.

  She knew it for a lie. “Then why did you say, if I wished—”

  He straightened and grasped her chin between thumb and forefinger then eased a knuckle along her lower lip. “Because I know you better than you know yourself. When your parents betrothed you to Brice, you were too young to recognize the difference between passion and love. You’ve been wed, so you should understand now. But,” he paused, searching her expression. “I am nae certain you do. ’Tis reason enough to nae pressure you. Sooner or later, your true desires will win out as they once did.”

  He dropped his hand and turned away.

  So he had nae forgotten, either. She used those memories to fuel her anger.

  “My true desire is to be done with you and all things Marr.” She turned to the window, staring out into the darkness once more, nae wanting him to see her pain. “In fact, I prefer to return home.” She did nae lie, but much as she might wish for the peace of Dungarob, that haven was denied her by her own actions.

  “That will nae be possible.”

  “You canna make me stay.” She glared at him, her body shaking with the conflict between wish and reality. “Clan Marr will be so glad to see a hated MacKai leave, they will help me.”

  He studied his nails again. “I doubt they will wish to upset their earl by denying him the wife he loves and whose tender nursing saved his life.”

  “I’ll tell them you’re Colin. I’ll show them Brice’s body.”

  He shook his head. “Brice’s body will disappear before you can show anyone. And you said yourself that I was supposed to have died years ago.”

  She opened her mouth to protest then closed it. Could the cur be right? She had nae doubt that Colin would make Brice’s body vanish thoroughly. Even with the corpse, none would believe her, save perhaps the chamberlain, and surely his loyalty belonged to his earl. Brice had even ordered Colin’s plaque for the front of the Marr tomb.

  She would have to submit to Colin’s plans.

  He captured her hand and eased his thumb over her stiff fingers. “I see you realize you’ve nae alternative.”

  She pressed her lips together then lifted her chin. “Fine. I shall help you, but on condition that once the spies and letters are found, you will let me go where I wish and you will never attempt to see or communicate with me again.” Where she went when she left mattered little, since he was correct. She had nae alternative.

  He studied her for a long time. “I agree to your conditions.”

  “Very well, tell me what we must do to catch these supposed spies, for I would end this sham quickly.”

  “You need only behave as my loving wife when others are present. And, of course, you will call me Brice. We must forget the name of Colin Marr.”

  “Since you are supposed to be dead, banishing your name should be easy. However, I canna believe that a ruse as husband and wife is all that is needed to flush a covey of spies.”

  “While I am pretending to recover my health, we will search this room and all of Brice’s belongings for clues. Once we have gathered every scrap of information we can find—”

  A loud banging interrupted him.

  “Sorcha MacKai, I insist you unlock this door immediately!”

  The strident female voice made Sorcha wince.

  “Not Countess Strathnaver?” murmured Colin.

  “’Tis your stepmother.” Sorcha lowered her voice and spoke rapidly. “She hates me for displacing her as Strathnaver’s countess. ’Tis worse in her eyes that the Marr clan favors me over her, especially since our clans are enemies. She doesna understand that any Scot—even an enemy—is better than any English. Now hide, or your plans for spy-catching will be for naught.”

  “SORCHA! I demand to see my stepson.”

  “Get rid of her. She canna know that Brice is dead.” Colin disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the room near the head of the bed.

  Sorcha thought she saw the bed curtains gathered there billow then fall still. Satisfied he would nae be seen, she went to speak with her dead husband’s English stepmother.

  Squeezing through the portal was nae easy with Lady Agnes pounding on the door, but Sorcha managed.

  “Silence,” she hissed. “Brice finally sleeps; do you wish to wake him when he needs his rest?”

  “Is that why you neglected to send for his supper?” the woman accused. Unhappy frown lines marked her face

 
Had she a more pleasant nature, Lady Agnes’s faded beauty might have shone brighter. But bitterness and resentment soured her soul, and age drew the truth of her character on a face and body that once graced Edward Plantagenet’s bed.

  Sorcha had often wondered if the old earl had wed the woman to curry favor with Edward and to claim for Strathnaver a child fathered by the king of England. Certainly the old earl had been beyond the age of siring babes, and the disagreements between him and his twin sons would make having another possible heir very attractive. The old earl had been as vain and grasping as his new wife. Giving a royal bastard the Marr name would have appealed to the man’s vanity.

  ’Twas ironic justice that Lady Agnes made the old earl’s final years a misery.

  “Well! Answer me, you lame Scot.”

  Sorcha plastered on her most pleasant smile and replied in an exaggerated accent. “Aye, ’tis th’ verra reason. Dinna dragh yerself; I’ve soup warmin’ on th’ hearth.”

  Lady Agnes curled a lip and looked as if she wished to spit. “No wonder he does not recover. I insist he eat nourishment from my own hand.”

  Sorcha shuddered inwardly. “’Tis nae need, Mathair. Dinna weary yerself wi’ work an’ care. T’ cook will prepare any bidh ye ask of ’er. She’s doted on th’ earl since he was a wee babe an’ loves carin’ fer ’im.”

  Lady Agnes hated being called mother as much as she despised all things Scottish.

  The older woman drew herself up and sniffed. “Hmpf. I suppose I will allow that slattern in the kitchen to prepare a good English porridge to replace that Scottish swill you constantly pour down the earl’s throat. But I’ll watch every move the cook makes. It would not surprise me if you are trying to poison your husband.”