Knight Protector (Knight Chronicles) (21 page)

Colin shook off the big man’s hand. “Di ... dinna tell me what to do, or I’ll serve you the same meal of fists I intend to serve Sir Wife-Swiving Robert Clarwyn.”

“Since you willna see reason then let me come with you.”

Colin straightened with a typical drunk’s attempt to appear sober then shot suspicious glares at Ranulf. ʼTwas naught like intrigue to focus a man’s purpose. He was good at this, but much as he enjoyed the game of spies, he’d begun to realize he missed having a home. At what point did a man decide to lay down the deceptions to take up home and family? Family hadn’t seemed important until he faced the knowledge that he was the only direct heir to the Marr name. Despite his brother and father’s actions, ʼtwas an honorable name and one that didna deserve to die. He was the only person who could prevent that.

“Did my wife tell you to make sure I dinna break her lover’s face?”

Ranulf shook his head. “Nae. I’ve an interest in seeing Clarwyn’s face broken myself.”

“Well enough.” Colin searched his friend’s expression, gave a single nod, then marched with excessive care from the hall, Ranulf at his heels.

Soon they were alone and exiting the stables headed toward the salley port. “I want to be certain I didna misunderstand. Your expressed desire to see Robert’s face broken was only for the benefit of those still in the hall who might hear us talking, yes?”

Ranulf threw back his head and laughed. “You canna be serious. Why would I wish to break my fist on Robert’s granite jaw?”

Colin grinned in reply. “’Tis a good thing none of my clansmen know how difficult it is to give Robert a beating without hurting yourself more. Else they would nae have believed it when he slunk away in mock fear and didna answered my insults like a man.”

“Aye, a right fine job he did of acting the cowardly wife thief. He was verra believable.”

Colin shrugged. “’Twas as we planned.”

“Aye, he probably took nae pleasure in making you look the cuckoo. Lady Strathnaver is beautiful enough to tempt any man, and she is nae truly your wife. So she is available. Who could blame Robert if he took his ease there while away from his own wife? Any man would do the same, especially if he thought her wealthy. Some of your clansmen whisper that while Brice wears the inheritance ring, ʼtis his wife who decides how the wealth is spent. The ugliest murmurs speculate on how long her husband will live now that the inheritance ring has reappeared. She would be a verra rich widow. A man would easily ignore that bitty limp of hers for so much wealth. I dinna ken how great the dowry was from Clarwyn’s present wife, but ʼtis probably a pittance compared with the Marr treasure. No doubt he could use a fortune, if he can get rid of the wife he already has.”

“I wonder how much a prize she will seem when I give Clan MacKai back their horses.”

Ranulf’s mount sidled as if he’d jerked on the reins. “You intend to do that? ʼTis full half of Strathnaver’s wealth.”

“Aye, but I want peace between Marr and MacKai. Since my father stole them, returning the horses is the only way to do that.”

“Hmm. Will Clan Marr approve?”

“They’ll support their earl, like it or nae.”

Ranulf nodded. “Still, even half the Marr fortune will leave her wealthy, and her lover or next husband will have a pleasant woman in his bed too.”

Colin ground his teeth and bit his tongue. Nothing he could say or do would change what happened with Sorcha. She’d leave Strathnaver as she’d always wanted or die the death of a thief and a traitor. All he could do was to pursue the truth and let fate take care of the rest.

• • •

Colin rode up to the
tabhairn
having found no way to rid himself of Ranulf. It wasn’t that he didna wish the big man’s company. Ranulf was one of Colin’s most trusted friends. However, the man’s incessant chatter about Sorcha’s appeal to other men and his speculation on whether or nae Robert intended to actually seduce Sorcha set Colin’s teeth on edge. Also, he worried that too many strangers might scare off any traitor entering the trap they’d set.

They secured their horses to a post and entered the
tabhairn
.

When the door closed behind them, Robert stood and lifted his tankard. “There ‘e is. Th’ bloody Earl of Strathnaver. Temperamental lord of all things Marr.”

Colin glared at his English friend. “You’re drunk.”

“Aye, that I am, my lord.” He waved his arms about and sketched a bow that sent him teetering and ale spilling across the floor. “Have y ... you come to apologize for overreacting to a friend’s laughter at your lady’s japes? Or should I hie myself back to England and my well connected wife?”

“We’ve come to take you home.” Ranulf stepped around Colin and headed for Robert.

Colin grasped the big man’s arm, pulling him to a halt. “I am nae certain I want that stinking English bastard in my home.”

“English or nae, Colin, your wife will nae forgive you if you allow him to drink himself to death.”

“My wife will do as she’s told,” he snarled.

Robert snorted in mid swallow, choked, and spewed ale as far as Colin’s chest. The look on his face must have been comical because both Robert and Ranulf fell to laughing loudly enough to split timber.

Colin boxed Ranulf’s ear and considered it payment for the dish of jealousy Ranulf had served all the way from Strathnaver to the
tabhairn
. “While I find his horse, get him sobered up enough to ride. I’ll nae spend the night picking him up and putting him back in the saddle time and again. If he falls off once we start out, he’ll either freeze to death in the snow, or you’ll take care of him on your own.”

Colin stalked out the door and around the building to where the
tabhairn’s
small stable stood. Grateful for the silence and the solitude, he took his time saddling Robert’s gelding. Either Robert should become an actor or he really was drunk. Would he be able to relate what he’d seen this night with any sense? ʼTwas important to know who, if anyone, had shown up looking for the man with the white feather. Or had Robert been so submerged in his tankard, he would nae have noticed if a traitor had come and sat in his lap?

Colin shoved the thoughts aside when he heard footsteps shuffling across the snow-packed yard. The stable door opened and the sour stench of vomit entered along with Ranulf and Robert. The latter’s arm was draped across the big man’s shoulder. Ranulf had Clarwyn by the waist and was dragging him along.

“Phew, did you have to bring the entire
tabhairn
in with him?” Colin complained.

The big man dumped Robert into the straw at the gelding’s feet. The drunken man moaned. “You need not toss me about like a tabard. I’m not made of stone, and that hurt.”

“Shut your mouth. ʼTis nae more than you deserve for emptying your stomach all over my favorite jerkin. The leather came from Cordoba and was chewed by a convent full of virgins to make it supple. I’ll never get the stink out of it.”

Colin choked back a laugh but could nae resist taking a dig at the big man’s vanity. “Nae doubt ʼtis your favorite because you’ll nae get any closer to having a virgin’s mouth on you.”

Ranulf glared at him, placed a fist on each hip, and jutted his chin forward. “Says the man who is nae even wed to his brother’s widow and still acts the cuckold over her. Or is it that you’ve fallen for her copious charms and fear you may have cause for the jealousy you claim is an act?”

In the midst of helping Robert to his feet. Colin stared at Ranulf. The man was nae joking. “What ails you? Does my wee jest so offend you that you must insult me with the suggestion that I might care for Sorcha MacKai?”

None would tell him what he felt about Sorcha or anything else. Keeping his face blank, he hefted Clarwyn into his saddle, and, using a short length of leather taken from a hook on the wall, he tied his friend to the saddle, thus preventing any falls.

Ranulf brushed at his stained, smelly jerkin with disgust. “You know verra well that clothing is nae a joking matter with me. I’ll nae leave here until I’ve cleansed myself and my clothes of stink and muck.”

Leading Robert’s horse, Colin headed for the stable doorway. He paused as he came face to face with Ranulf. “Suit yourself. But know that peace between Marr and MacKai is nae a joking matter for me. I’ll nae have my friend’s rudeness keep that from happening. You insult Sorcha at your peril. Do so again and I’ll be forced to teach you and anyone else a lesson in good manners.”

Ranulf sniffed. “You could try.”

“Let us pray I dinna have to. Now, I’m taking Robert home. Clean up and join us or nae when you’re done. We’ll talk tomorrow, and may Saint Andrew let cooler heads prevail.”

He walked into the cold night air, Ranulf fuming behind him. Finding his own horse, Colin mounted and took up the reins to Robert’s gelding then headed for home and Sorcha. A warm fire, a warm woman, and the calm privacy of their chamber called to him as naught had for more than ten years. He was sick at heart over wrangling with Ranulf. Things would be better once the traitors were found and the letters from France secured. Then he could clear the air with his friend and settle his feelings for Sorcha.

“You can untie this infernal strap and give me back the reins to my own horse now.” Robert’s querulous remarks stole Colin from his thoughts of Sorcha and what remained of the night ahead.

He pulled the horses to a halt, dismounted, and walked over to Robert, who was picking unsuccessfully at the knot securing him to his saddle.

Colin pushed his friend’s hands away. “So you were pretending to be drunk all this time? How did you manage to vomit on Ranulf and why?”

“Sorry, I was very drunk. I could not help myself and got sick all over the Scottish ox without intending to. However, I felt much better by the time you got me onto my horse.”

Colin loosed the knot and removed the strap. “Yet you said nothing? He could have come with us and heard your tale of events in the
tabhairn
tonight.”

Clarwyn stared down at him. “Would you want to ride all the way to the stronghold with Ranulf in a pother over a spoiled jerkin that probably never came closer to Cordoba and a convent full of virgins than Edward I of England has come to conquering Scotland, much though he may have tried?”

How could a man so recently insensible with drink manage such a sentence? Perhaps the English did have some talents. “I’ve nae desire to be anywhere near Ranulf when his precious clothing has been harmed. The man is more vain than all the courtiers in England, France, and Scotland combined.”

Robert nodded and took up his reins. “Then let us be on our way. I’ll tell you what occurred at the tavern. You can decide what to tell Ranulf and speak with him tomorrow, as you said.”

Clarwyn kicked his mount into a walk. Colin stared after him then rode to catch up, still puzzling at his friend’s words. Why would he need to choose what to tell Ranulf? They were united—were they nae?—in their desire to block Edward Plantagenet’s plans for dominating Scotland.

• • •

Night still darkened the sky when Sorcha heard the key turn in the lock of the earl’s chamber door. Colin! She tossed off the coverlet and rose from the chair she’d pulled close to the hearth. She hadn’t been able to sleep for worry. Curse Ranulf for putting doubts about Colin into her head and herself for her weakness. She didna want to believe Ranulf. She didna know how to trust Colin, but until she could determine truth from lie, she must pretend.

By the time she faced the door, Colin had closed and locked it once more then doffed his cloak.

She stroked her braid. “Was the plan successful?”

“Nae.” He shook his head and walked forward to stare into the fire beside her. “We knew ʼtwas doubtful.”

She nodded and sighed. She should be grateful he didna touch her. “What will you do?”

“I dinna know.” His shoulders slumped, and he turned to stare at her, anguish written in the droop of his mouth and the tilt of his head.

“What?” Clutching her braid, she took a step backward. “What’s happened?”

“Why did you lie to me and say you’d never seen this ring?” He held out the hand wearing the inheritance ring.

She frowned. “I dinna lie. I never saw that ring before this night.”

Colin sighed and sat on the hearth. “I canna believe you. Weeks ago, I found the ring stuffed inside your mattress.”

She moved to stand before him. “You searched my things and kept silent all these weeks,” she accused. “Why nae lock me in a dungeon and be done with this? Why waste your time persuading me to help you—against my better judgment? Why seduce me into your bed—which, fool that I am, I allowed despite the certainty ʼtwould cause naught but pain? Why all of that, if you canna trust me, have nae trusted me from the first?”

She flung herself away from him, but he caught her hand.

“I wanted to trust you.”

She snorted and looked down at where his thumb rubbed her knuckles. “You dinna work very hard at it if you searched my belongings without my permission. Much as you think I am the liar, you are the one who lied to me, kept secrets from me, and set me up to look guilty the moment you stepped from behind that tapestry. Now let me go.”

She lifted her hem and took two steps.

He dropped her hand. “Dinna leave, Sorcha, just hear me out, please.”

It was his wooden tone and the “please” that made her halt. She didna wish to hear what the blackguard had to say. But if she were in his place, she’d hope for him to at least listen if nae believe.

She moved to lean against the bedpost facing him, folded her arms across her chest, and stared at him. “Well?”

He told her his concern that Brice or one of the traitors might have hid something in her belongings was the excuse he used for searching them. He described his dismay when he realized that the Marr wealth might go to Clan MacKai. Even if justified, Colin couldna allow innocents in Clan Marr to go hungry because of the crimes his father and brother committed. “Do you nae see,
muirnean
? I believe you had cause to steal this ring.”

She rolled her eyes. “You should have known I had nae cause to lower myself to the level of your brother. Nae cause to ally myself with my enemies unless desperate. ʼTis too great a leap from finding to accusing. I am nae a thief. I tell you again. Brice never wore that ring while I was with him. If he had it at all, he may have hidden it in my pallet when he knew he was dying and I was nae in the room. I doubt he had it, because ʼtis nae the kind of thing he would keep silent about. ʼTis more likely that Lady Agnes took the ring from your father.”