by Diana Cosby
“During my last meeting with King Robert,” Stephan said, drawing Rónán from his somber musings, “he mentioned that he is seeking support from Ireland.”
“’Twould explain why Lord Sionn is here, but not the reason the Bruce would request my presence.”
“Perhaps the king seeks a trusted Irish adviser.”
Rónán shot his friend a skeptical look. “As I havena been in Ireland since my childhood, that I doubt.”
“But with your Irish roots, along with our king’s Templar ties, the motive makes sense.”
Learning King Robert was of the Brotherhood over a year earlier had left Rónán stunned. Stephan’s reasoning could indeed explain why the monarch had asked him here, a rationale Rónán prayed was wrong. The very thought of returning to the land of his youth chilled him.
“If Lord Sionn has joined the Bruce’s cause,” Rónán said, shoving aside the dreaded possibility, “Lord Comyn and the English will be irate.”
His friend grunted. “There is that.”
Paces ahead, torchlight illuminated a statue of Jesus and another of the Virgin Mary.
“I regret to have missed Sir Cailin’s wedding,” Stephan said.
Rónán smiled at memories of his friend’s marital vows. “You would like Elspet. In addition to being beautiful, she is an intelligent and strong woman. A fine match for Cailin.”
Humor twinkled in his friend’s eyes. “Mayhap a union in which our king had a hand?”
“A thought I considered. Though Cailin protests that fact, he canna deny that King Robert sent him to meet with her father.” In brief, Rónán explained.
Sadness edged Stephan’s face as he passed below an arched, stained-glass window softly illuminated by the last rays of sunset. “I regret the lass had to endure such treachery by her liege lord and stepbrother. That justice has been served, and she and Cailin have found love, is what is important.”
“Indeed.”
Eyes softening with humor, his friend arched a brow. “Mayhap ’tis why the king has called you here, not to have you meet the Earl of Sionn but to announce the lass you are to wed.”
At his friend’s teasing, Rónán shook off the claw of dread sliding through him and forced himself to shrug. “With the Bruce preparing for his first parliament and nobles and clergy arriving in force, I hardly think he has time to ponder the future of an unwed knight.”
“Mayhap.” Stephan waggled his brows. “But the earl has a beautiful daughter, one who accompanied him to St. Andrews.”
Far from worried, a smile touched Rónán’s mouth. “A woman who I will never meet, nor will she play a part in my life.”
“Given the dangerous situation created by those seeking to dethrone King Robert, that her father allowed her to travel with him is surprising.” Stephan shot him a wry look. “Unless her presence here, like yours, was requested by the Bruce.”
“I am without a title, a rank her station demands when she weds. Nor does this conversation hold any relevance. ’Twas only the Earl of Sionn who was mentioned in the Bruce’s writ.” He held up his hand as Stephan started to speak, missing their verbal spars over the years, appreciating that regardless whether his friend had reclaimed his father’s title, their strong bond of friendship hadn’t changed. “As for a reason she accompanied her father, I remember another stubborn lass who confronted our king in her efforts to accompany our force as we sailed to seize her home.”
Stephan turned a corner, the waning sheen of colored light sifting through the crafted glass window lending a demure cast over the corridor. “’Twas a difference circumstance.”
“Indeed, but unlike you, I willna marry the lass, much less meet her,” Rónán said, amused at his friend’s attempt to make him worry about Lord Sionn’s daughter. “Speaking of beautiful women, when I first saw you in the stable, you mentioned that Lady Katherine is here. Nor have I congratulated you on the birth of your son.”
Pure joy swept Stephan’s face. “I thank you. Three years ago, I never could have imagined myself married with a child; now I canna imagine myself without them. And King Robert has agreed to be Colbán’s godfather.”
“Wonderful,” Rónán said, surprised by the tug of envy. Why? He’d never pondered thoughts of marrying, much less of having a family. That his friend had found both was a blessing, but not a life for him.
With Scotland far from united, the years ahead would be dedicated to fighting beneath King Robert’s standard. Though Rónán had somehow managed to retain a sense of humor and an appreciation for friendship, ’twas a foil against the bitterness in his heart, one forged by his brutal youth, many battles faced, and of witnessing too many of his friends dying beneath a blade.
A familiar trickle of laughter sounded from an open door ahead, where an elaborate crucifix was centered above the entry.
“’Twould seem,” Stephan said, “that my wife has found something to amuse her.”
Recalling Katherine’s humor during the time they’d spent aboard ship with Stephan and the other Templars over a year ago, an idea sprung to mind. “Does your wife know I was summoned by the king?”
“Nay, neither of us was informed you were to arrive. The only reason I saw you was because I was outside when you rode in.”
“Is your son with her?”
He shook his head. “Colbán is asleep in our chamber, his nursemaid nearby.”
“Then,” he said with a smile, “wait here and let me surprise her.”
His friend chuckled. “If you think you can. I doubt you will get the best of her.”
“We will see. ’Tis time for me to pay her back for the last prank she played on me.” With stealth, Rónán crept to the entry, but his view was blocked by a large carved statue. He peered between the figure and the wall.
A slender woman stood with her back toward him. She had long blond hair, and wore a stunning blue wool gown that hung to her ankles. Celtic designs braided in gold decorated the hem, a sgian dubh was secured at her waist, and an intricate silver torque encircled her neck.
Though over a year had passed, he’d recognize Katherine anywhere. Pride filled him as he thought of their time on board the Templar cog. And when attacking her castle to reclaim it, she’d proven over and again that she was a woman who, when determined, could accomplish all she set out to achieve. To find a lass of such integrity, oh were he to be so fortunate…
Stunned, he smothered the thought. Nay, he sought naught but the life of a warrior. That his friends had found women to love was a fate he didn’t seek.
The soft murmur of another woman’s voice had him glancing over, but with his limited view, he couldn’t see further into the room. Nor did it matter. Rónán glanced back at Stephan.
Down the corridor, a smile curved his friend’s mouth as he leaned against the hewn stone wall and folded his arms across his chest.
Turning, Rónán focused on Katherine’s back. With a plan in mind, he crept around the statue and started to lay his hands over her eyes. “Guess wh—”
In a blur of movement, blond hair slapped his face as a woman he’d never seen before whirled to confront him. He caught a brief glimpse of smooth features and glittering eyes a second before her leg swept out and hooked his knees.
Off balance, Rónán caught her shoulders to steady himself.
She jerked back.
Air rushed down his throat as they started to fall. Blast it! He shifted his body, taking the brunt of the impact as they landed.
Sprawled atop him, gray eyes narrowed with fury, she unsheathed her dagger.
God’s truth! Rónán caught her wrist. “Lass—”
“Release me!” she warned.
Her rich, lyrical brogue had him hesitating. With the Bruce’s first parliament soon to be held within these walls, he’d expected to find travelers from Ireland. So why did her body pressed to his, combined
with the wild flash in her eyes, make him hesitate? “With pleasure.” He caught her blade with his free hand, jerked it away, then let her go.
Her breath coming fast, she scrambled up.
Considering the speed and accuracy with which the woman had withdrawn her sgian dubh and aimed it at his throat, she must be trained in combat. Nor was he surprised by this discovery. ’Twas naught uncommon for women in Ireland to hold rank, be educated, and be trained for war.
“My mistake for surprising you,” Rónán said, pushing himself to his feet. He extended her weapon to her handle first.
Eyes wary, she snatched her dagger.
“Sir Rónán?”
He glanced right to find Lady Katherine stepping toward him, her eyes warm with surprised welcome, the reaction he’d anticipated a moment before.
“Whoever this stranger is,” the lass snapped, “he has the manners of a lout.”
“Lady Lathir,” Lady Katherine said with a chuckle, her voice growing fond. She walked over and rested her hand upon his arm. “May I introduce you to Sir Rónán, a friend and a man I would trust with my life.”
The lady took an almost insulting length of time securing her blade, then gave him a cool nod. “Sir Rónán.”
“Sir Rónán,” Katherine continued, “I am pleased to introduce to you Lady Lathir. Though you two have only just met, I believe that you will get along well.”
With the daggers shooting from the other woman’s eyes, that Rónán doubted. Intrigued now that their scuffle was over, he studied her. Wary gray eyes, ones he noted held a hint of lavender, held his without apology. She was fair, even-featured, with lush lips. A beauty by all standards. And she had felt very soft and womanly in those brief moments she’d lay upon him on the floor.
Most women would have jumped or screamed at his unexpected presence, but like a trained knight, she’d gone on the attack. A mystery. Nor did this incident hold importance in the grand scheme of things. Once he’d spoken with the king and was given his mission, he would depart and, thankfully, he and the lass would never again see the other.
But he did owe her an explanation. “My lady, I regret startling you. Lady Katherine and I have a history of playing pranks upon each other. As you have a similar appearance and height, and I heard her voice, I believed you were she.” He offered her a warm smile that had charmed many a lass. “I had meant to surprise her.”
“I see,” she said, her words clipped.
From her prickly manner, he suspected otherwise. He shifted his gaze to Katherine. “’Tis wonderful to see you, my lady.”
“And I you.” Katherine smiled. “I wasna informed you would be here.”
“Which is what I explained to Rónán when I saw him,” Stephan said as he entered the solar. He crossed to his wife, then nodded to Lady Lathir. “My lady, ’tis good to see you again. I regret the confusion. These two can be like scrapping siblings trying to outdo the other.”
“Lord Dunsmore,” she said, her tone warming to a sincere welcome. “The knight’s error is inconsequential, and as he explained, ’twas a mistake.” She took a step toward the door, a tight smile on her lips. “Nay doubt you wish to reminisce with your friend.”
Worry filtered into Katherine’s gaze. “Please stay. Once Sir Rónán learns that—”
“An explanation that is unnecessary. Enjoy your reunion. We will talk later.” She nodded. “If you will excuse me.”
With exquisite grace, she exited the solar, her blue robe swirling around her slender curves with a royal flare. Without a glance toward him, Rónán noted, though he found himself watching her departure. As the last tantalizing wisp of the lass disappeared from view, he grimaced. “She is skittish.”
“Nay, anxious,” Stephan said. “En route, her party was attacked a league outside St. Andrews. During the fray, two men rushed Lady Lathir.”
“God’s truth,” Rónán hissed, “they tried to kill her?”
“We believe the warriors meant to abduct her for ransom,” Stephan said, “or to use her to force her father to withdraw his support for King Robert.”
“Except,” Katherine said with pride, “she killed them both.”
Given her skill with her blade, that he believed. “Serves the scoundrels right and explains her reaction when I snuck up on her.”
“It does,” Stephan said.
Katherine poured a cup of wine, held it out to him. “She is only now beginning to relax.”
“I wish I had known.”
“You couldna,” Stephan said, “but during your stay at St. Andrews, you can speak with her again.”
“I will make a point to make amends before I depart.” A point he hadna counted on including in his schedule, but ’twas proper. “Were Comyn’s men behind the attack?”
“King Robert believes ’twas some of John of Lorn’s men still hidden about and seeking retribution after their stinging defeat at Brander Pass,” Stephan said. “That they somehow discovered Lord Sionn was traveling from Ireland to meet with the Bruce and were determined to stop him.”
“Lord Sionn?” Rónán repeated, a sinking feeling in his gut as he recalled her brogue. “What has Lady Lathir to do with the earl?”
Katherine laced her fingers together. “She is his daughter.”
Bloody hell. If the powerful Irish noble learned of the incident, Rónán hoped he found it amusing. As for King Robert, he would surely find hilarity in the misstep.
Katherine walked to a table by a grand stone hearth. A banner displaying a red lion rampant sporting blue claws and tongue, woven on a yellow background, hung centered above. Beeswax candles seated in skillfully crafted holders flickered a soft golden glow on either side. She poured three goblets of wine, then returned.
Rónán thought of when they’d first met, and he’d admired her fiery demeanor, more so when in the end she’d fallen in love and married his close friend. So much had changed since, except that their love had prevailed, and now they had a son.
He accepted a cup, waited until she’d handed her husband his, then raised his vessel. “A toast to your son. I wish Colbán God’s blessings.”
Pride filled their eyes as Stephan and Katherine raised their goblets and drank.
She lowered her cup, her countenance glowing with a mother’s love. “Colbán is a handsome lad, with his father’s good looks and”—laughter shimmered in her eyes—“also his stubbornness.”
Stephan grunted. “The willfulness, my lady wife, comes from you.”
At their teasing, the last of Rónán’s tension eased. He’d missed his friends and would enjoy the time with them until he departed.
A soft knock sounded at the entry.
“Enter,” Stephan said.
The king’s runner stepped inside. “My lord, my lady.” His gaze shifted to Rónán. “King Robert requests your presence.”
* * * *
Rónán entered the throne room. Through an arched window, inky swaths of the oncoming night marred the fading shimmers of orange-gold painting the sky. The warm spill of golden light, along with the torches placed inside sconces positioned upon the wall, illuminated the chamber. In a massive stone hearth sparks popped from the fire and swirled within a plume of smoke before disappearing up the chimney.
Stepping onto the plum carpet, he strode toward King Robert, seated upon his throne. Behind him stood intricately carved columns, and stone lions stood positioned discreetly on either side of the platform.
A powerful setting for a formidable monarch, a man who’d gained his loyalty and respect, and, as a fellow Knight Templar, one he would die to protect.
Over a year had passed since Rónán was part of Stephan’s crew which had sailed to the monarch’s stronghold, Urquhart Castle, and learned the Bruce was part of the Brotherhood. A tie that had proven critical.
King Edward I had gone to great lengths to en
sure Scotland was excommunicated. But the religious exclusion secured by the English monarch, and the Scottish clergy’s refusal to acknowledge it, had allowed King Robert to offer all Knights Templar entry into his realm with impunity. A move, much to the English sovereign’s chagrin, that had strengthened King Robert’s efforts in reclaiming Scotland’s freedom.
Before the dais, Rónán halted. That the Bruce had made time to see him during the harried preparations for his first parliament revealed the grave nature of the mission.
He bowed, then met his king’s gaze “I am here as you commanded, Your Grace.”
Shrewd eyes held his. “How fared the contingent you led to aid Sir Cailin?”
“We arrived in time and aided him in overthrowing his uncle and seizing Tiran Castle.” Pride filled him. “And to discover his father, the rightful Earl of Dalkirk, was locked in the dungeon.” The formidable ruler’s eyes widened. “God in heaven, ’tis a miracle!”
“’Tis.” He handed the king the writ from Cailin. “’Twill explain the events.”
“I thank you.”
“I have more news you may find of interest,” Rónán added, “Sir Cailin has wed Elspet, the stepdaughter of one of your loyal confidantes, Sir Angus McReynolds.”
The king’s eyes widened with satisfied delight. “A fine match, and one I would have encouraged had I the time.”
Aware of the king’s penchant for matchmaking, and confident the ruler had indeed played a hand in his friend’s marriage, Rónán only nodded. “Though,” he continued, damning the news he was next to impart, “I regret to inform you that Sir Angus and Elspet’s mother were murdered during the series of events.”
Anger whipped across the monarch’s face. “Is the bastard who killed them dead?”
“Aye, Your Majesty.” He gave a brief explanation of what had occurred.
King Robert blew out a rough breath as he rubbed the back of his neck and took a moment of silence for their sacrifice. “I will be happy when Lord Comyn accepts me as Scotland’s king and English ambitions to seize our country end. The latter,” he said, his voice dry, “with the young king far from concerned with issues of war but a matter of time.”