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  Alesone scoffed, “I am far from helpless, and as I explained to our king, neither am I afraid of war.”

  Furious she’d ignore the risk, or believe herself immune to the danger, Thomas’s well-cultivated reply shattered. “Only a fool has no fear.”

  Her lavender eyes flared with annoyance, inciting him further.

  The senseless chit. “You think you understand, but a bard’s stories of combat told around the hearth hardly paint the truth. In the haze of battle,” Thomas said with cold precision, “the air is wrought with screams of death, the earth stained with blood, and mercy nonexistent.” His ire mounting, he stepped closer, determined to sever her belief that she would be unaffected. “Brave men lay mutilated, each breath filled with agony, pleading for an end to their suffering. You are so caught up in your own struggle to live as you wield your blade, you ignore them.” He fisted his hands at his sides as the horrific images stained his mind. “Only if you dinna fall victim to an attacker’s sword, and once the fighting is over, can you grant those mortally wounded their lethal wish.”

  Despair flickered on her face, but her eyes remained defiant.

  Blast her for pushing him to this point, that she’d dare. “Your words are noble, but—” Thomas noticed the king’s interest in their tense interaction. Stunned by his outburst, he bit back the storm of words yearning to burst free. Few could unleash his emotions to such an extreme.

  Men, he trusted.

  Never a woman.

  As their sovereign continued to study him, Thomas silently cursed, too aware of Robert Bruce’s affinity for women who defied the norms of society, proven by his dealings with Lady Katherine months before. Regardless of his own belief that this lass should be carted off and left in one of his holdings for her own safety, ’twould seem her boldness had earned the king’s favor.

  “Mistress Alesone,” the king said, “Sir Thomas raises valid concerns about the dangers we face. If you have changed your mind and wish to leave, I will ensure you are escorted to a safe holding.”

  She shook her head. “Sire, I want to remain.”

  With a sigh, he nodded. “As you wish.”

  Outrage burned in Thomas’s gut. ’Twas her choice, her life. Her presence here wouldna affect him. Once they’d defeated Comyn he would move on, and this exasperating woman would be forgotten.

  The king lifted a goblet on a side table and took a sip. “Sir Thomas, I didna expect your arrival so soon.”

  “We took a shorter route along the cliffs, Your Grace, and were able to slip past the enemy.” He shot Alesone a hard look, wanting her to understand her antics had neither won him over nor earned his praise. “I admit my surprise to learn you have a woman healer.” The king must have sent for her, ’twould explain his protectiveness and their familiarity to the point where they could jest. “’Tis always welcome to have those alongside us whom we know.”

  Tenderness touched the king’s expression. “’Tis, but until her arrival a few days before, we had never met. We have a mutual friend, one who saved my life.”

  A debt paid, a logical explanation for why the Bruce had taken in a stranger versed in the art of healing. Clearly in the short time, a close bond had formed between them. Nae that he approved of the king’s offering his trust to her so quickly. With Scotland at war, spies lurked everywhere.

  Time would reveal which cloak she wore.

  Sir Thomas nodded his acquiescence to the king, but Alesone caught the doubt in his eyes, misgivings she’d expected. Loyal to the Bruce, the knight would ensure his sovereign was safe. A stranger gaining a position close to the king would invite his suspicion.

  She appreciated the fierce warrior’s concern for their king, but with the knight’s tenacity, Alesone dreaded their upcoming confrontation.

  There would be one.

  From the short time she’d known Sir Thomas she’d discovered he was a man who did naught by halves. Until he and his knights departed, ’twas best to keep her distance.

  “You and your men will be tired after your journey,” Robert Bruce said, his voice breaking into her thoughts. “We depart at first light. Once we have made camp on the morrow, we will begin discussions of the upcoming attack. Mistress Alesone, take the knights to the tent by the rowan tree.”

  ’Twould seem she would have little reprieve from the daunting knight.

  “When you are done,” he continued, “return.”

  “Aye, Your Grace.” She turned to Thomas and his men. “Follow me.”

  Several steps away from their sovereign’s tent, Sir Thomas glanced over. “You are fortunate to have the king’s protection.”

  “He is a generous man,” she replied, refusing to be baited by the suspicion coating his words.

  “Generous, aye, to those he trusts. Rarely with strangers.”

  “Our king explained the reason.”

  “He explained naught except you have a mutual friend. I find myself curious to learn more.”

  Alesone nodded to several men as they walked past. “Sir Thomas, I would think a knight would have better things to do than conjure misgivings, however subtly woven, about a woman he has never met.”

  “Know this,” he said in a cold voice. “If I learn that you have deceived our sovereign in any manner, I will deal with you personally.”

  Alesone tamped down her frustration and glanced at his warriors, noted each watched her with unfeigned interest. With her emotions in turmoil, the loss of Grisel too fresh, the last thing she wished was to argue. “As you, I am loyal to the Bruce. If necessary, I will give my life to protect him.”

  Thomas studied her for a long moment and then nodded.

  Thankful to arrive at their tent, she halted. “Extra blankets to make your pallets are inside. I will ensure food is sent to you posthaste.”

  “I thank you,” Thomas said.

  Exhaustion washed over her as she watched the lean, muscled knight, his sandy hair framing intense green eyes that left her unnerved. After being chased several days prior, why wouldna she feel threatened by a man who stared at her as if he could see straight into her soul?

  For an unexplainable reason, she found making him understand her and gaining his trust, if only a degree, important. “Throughout my life I have been forced to deal with unforgiving, arrogant men. If you are looking for treachery from me, you willna find it. If you seek a reason to deem me disloyal, you shall fail.”

  She started toward King Robert’s tent, half expecting the intimidating warrior to confront her. When the men’s voices of the encampment filled the air, she eased out a relieved breath.

  Alesone didna turn, refused to tempt fate, understanding that he watched her and pondered her words. A man like him did naught without reason.

  And with his suspicions, God forbid he learned the truth about her father.

  Chapter Three

  “Sir Thomas?”

  The unfamiliar male voice had Thomas reaching for his dagger, then he remembered that he and his men slept in the king’s camp. Loosening his grip, he sat. Moonlight spilling through the tent’s opening outlined one of the Bruce’s guards. “Speak.”

  “The king requests your presence. He says ’tis urgent.”

  What in Hades had occurred? Thomas shoved to his feet.

  Aiden, his faithful friend and fellow Templar, moved from his bed as the others began to rise. “I will go with you.”

  “Nay,” the runner stated. “His Grace requested Sir Thomas come alone.”

  Troubled by the possibilities raised by the summons at this late hour, Thomas tugged on his cape then faced his men. “I will brief you upon my return.” Preparing for the worst, he stepped into the night.

  A gust tossed snowflakes falling within the waxing moon’s silvery glow into a shimmering whirl. A wolf’s howl echoed in the distance, a lonesome sound against the silence filling the camp.

  That the Bruce’s warriors still slept ruled out concerns of an imminent attack
. Still, with his sovereign’s command to speak to him at this late hour, he suspected the reason involved the Brotherhood. God’s teeth, what twisted mayhem had King Philip wrought now? Thomas damned France’s ruler, and prayed he was mistaken.

  At his approach, the king’s guard moved back.

  With a silent prayer, Thomas shoved aside the flap, stepped inside, then halted.

  Paces away Mistress Alesone stood rigid before their sovereign. The thick fabric scraped closed, and she turned. Her face grew ashen.

  What in God’s name was going on? With her presence, whatever had occurred didna concern the Templars. Relived, Thomas stepped forward, bowed. “I am here as you requested, Sire.”

  Within the firelight, the king’s troubled gaze met his. He waved him closer, then, glanced toward a stocky, blond nobleman at his side. “Lord Kinlock, I thank you for your haste. We will speak further in the morning.”

  “Aye, Your Grace.” Lord Kinlock bowed. He glanced at Alesone, his gaze lingering a moment before shifting to Thomas. Then he departed.

  Confused by the stranger’s presence, Thomas moved beside Alesone.

  A spark popped to the frozen ground, flared, and then blackened.

  Robert the Bruce clenched the arms of his chair. “Sir Thomas, the Earl of Kinlock has brought troubling news this eve. I informed Mistress Alesone of this prior to your arrival.”

  That explained her upset appearance as well as the earl’s presence.

  “Your Grace,” she said on a shaky whisper, “I beg of you. There are other alternatives to—”

  “’Twill be done as I explained. However much I wish otherwise, we dinna have the luxury of time.”

  She gave a curt nod.

  The monarch’s eyes shifted to him. “Sir Thomas, I sent for you and your men to train my knights and support my cause. Now an issue of grave importance has arisen, one I entrust to you.”

  By the way Alesone had begun to tremble, the reason involved her.

  “Time is crucial. I will share essential details, nay more.” The Bruce paused. “What I tell you is in the strictest of confidence.”

  He nodded. “Aye, Your Grace.”

  “This night I have learned that Mistress Alesone’s father has posted an offer of gold for her capture.”

  Her hands fisted at her side.

  Gold? God’s teeth, to warrant such ransom, she was far from the common lass he’d believed. More perplexing, with a camp full of trained knights, why would King Robert require the skills of a Templar for the task?

  “Your Grace,” she rasped. “The details of the situation are irrelevant.”

  Robert the Bruce scowled. “With the amount of coin your father has offered for your return, my concern is the amount may sway the allegiance of one within my ranks, which I canna allow. Few men are as loyal as Sir Thomas. As he will provide your escort, he must know the truth.” The king’s gaze shifted to him. “Sir Thomas, Mistress Alesone’s father is Lord Comyn.”

  Through sheer will he kept his face void of shock, but the disclosure reverberated through him with brutal force. The paleness of her skin and the fear in her expression all now made sense. And why wouldna she be shaken? Her father was the Bruce’s enemy, the man their forces were preparing to battle.

  More unsettling, the king’s anger wasna at the blood tie, but at Comyn’s offer of ransom, which meant that the Bruce had known her father’s identity from the start. Yet he’d allowed her within camp and offered her protection. Unsure if he was more confused or upset, Thomas focused on their sovereign.

  “In secret,” Bruce continued, “Lord Comyn and King Philip have made an alliance. Upon the marriage of Mistress Alesone to one of France’s powerful nobles, King Philip will send gold, men, and arms to support Comyn. A union I canna allow.”

  “Why does King Philip care about Scotland?” Thomas asked, damning France’s ruler with his every breath.

  “’Twould seem with his coffers refilled,” the Bruce said with disgust, “France’s king has decided to expand his power. The marriage of King Philip’s daughter to King Edward II gives Phillip a powerful ally to our south. With Scotland’s loyalties torn, King Philip intends to take advantage of our weakened state to claim our country as his own.”

  The merciless bastard. ’Twould seem his destroying the Knights Templar and the treasure stolen from their temple in Paris had nae sated his hunger for wealth and power. However greedy, France’s monarch had an elemental problem.

  “Sire,” Thomas said, “regardless of the marital tie, Edward of Caernarfon holds little interest in seizing Scotland. Any actions that suggest otherwise are due to pressure from his nobles rather than his own desire.”

  The king nodded. “On that we agree, but caught up in his own provincial agenda, once the wedding is done, with a pledge of unity forged between King Philip and Lord Comyn, I fear there will be little Edward of Caernarfon can do to stop France’s king. Further, unless the aggressions affect the young sovereign or his soil, I doubt England’s king will care little about Scotland’s plight.” Grave eyes held his. “Now you understand why I canna allow this match to occur.”

  Indeed. However much he and the lass didna see eye to eye, he regretted the circumstance that had placed her as a pawn of nobility. Like the Knights Templar, a sacrifice by those in power.

  Any concerns of Alesone’s loyalty faded. The Bruce having accepted her within his camp, more so in the position as his healer meant she’d earned his trust, a difficult feat to achieve.

  “Your Grace…” Her cheeks grew red. “Given my…heritage, ’tis unfathomable France’s ruler could possibly accept such an arrangement.”

  Robert grunted. “Nobles are fickle, more so when gold and power are cast about. With my forces closing in on Comyn’s stronghold, your father understands his castle is in danger. He views the alliance as more than a way to keep his home. With a tie to King Philip, the opportunity exists for him to become Scotland’s king.”

  Thomas scoffed. “If Comyn believes King Philip will allow him to rule any portion of Scotland, then he is a fool.”

  “Aye,” Robert Bruce agreed, “but Comyn is desperate. And well we know of the acts of desperate men.”

  Indeed, ’twas desperation that had King Philip turning on the Knights Templar, men who’d protected him for decades. Earlier this year he’d debased France’s currency to a fraction of its worth to increase his revenue, a move that had incited riots.

  For his safety, the Brotherhood had offered him safe haven in the Paris Temple. Instead of gratitude, the valuables within had enticed the king to devise a nefarious plan to destroy the Templars and claim their wealth.

  A horrendous act that King Robert despised.

  Thomas studied his sovereign, still amazed by the fact that Robert the Bruce was a Knight Templar. However unexpected, he was thankful. King Robert’s religious exclusion, and the Scottish clergy’s refusal to acknowledge his excommunication, had allowed him to offer all Knights Templar entry into his realm with impunity.

  These were facts Alesone didna understand, nor ever would.

  “Sir Thomas.”

  He dragged his mind from the smothering outrage of the French king’s dealings. He couldna change the past, but by God he would do whatever he must to stop King Philip from claiming Scotland. “Aye, Your Grace.”

  “You will escort Mistress Alesone to Avalon Castle. Upon your arrival, brief the Earl of Dunsmore on what I explained this night. Inform him that until I send word otherwise, she will remain within his protection.” He paused. “Any questions?”

  “Nay, Sire.”

  “Mistress Alesone?” the Bruce asked.

  “Nay, Your Grace,” she whispered, her eyes filled with a mix of hurt and disbelief.

  Thomas fisted his hands. The lass was in shock—nae that he, too, wasna staggered by the news of the past few moments.

  With a weary sigh, the king leaned back in his chair. “You will depart immediately
. Sir Thomas, your mount is ready along with another for Mistress Alesone.” He paused. “Scotland’s freedom lies in your hands.”

  Humbled by the king’s trust, Thomas bowed. “Mistress Alesone will be kept safe, that I swear on my life.”

  * * *

  The thrum of hooves filled the late morning air as Alesone galloped beside Sir Thomas. She understood Robert Bruce’s decision nae to send a large contingent of knights to protect her. The last thing they needed was to draw the enemy’s notice, but she prayed he’d chosen well in giving his trust to this knight. Though fierce, he was but one man.

  Her father was a seasoned warrior and a worthy adversary to the Bruce, and now, shamefully, a desperate noble who conspired with France’s king.

  They rounded another copse of trees, and she searched the breaks in the woods and dense brush for any sign of men hidden in wait.

  Naught.

  Guilt festered that her presence brought complications to King Robert as he battled to reunite a torn kingdom. Damn her father, a man who hadna recognized her throughout her life, now acknowledged he had a daughter, however illegitimate. And for what, to trade her like cattle for his own gain.

  “Halt!” Thomas called.

  She reined her mount beside him. “What is it?”

  A grimace furrowed his brow as he scoured the thick line of pine, elm, and ash ahead. “Something feels wrong.”

  A tremor rippled through her as she scanned the forest, and then the cliffs slashed by sunlight in the distance. “I see naught.”

  “Nor I. Still, we will ride south. By dusk we should come across a burn, which we will follow until we lose daylight. We will continue riding south for several hours, then we will head seaward. If anyone is trying to track us, we should lose them.”

  She nodded, impressed by his knowledge of the Highlands. “Earlier I caught a touch of a French accent in your voice. Did you grow up here?”