Diana Cosby (22 page)

“It canna be. I have known Lord Arthyan all of my life. He would nae lie to me.”

The desperation in her voice drove his anger deeper. Never was Rois to be involved in any of this. “Think you if I had such a document, I would not notice its disappearance?

Her face paled.

“Lord Arthyan is loyal to King Edward,” he continued. “For his own gain, he is using you to try and set me up.”

“But—”

“Only a handful of people know my loyalties are for Scotland. And, none,
none
are in Westminster Palace.”

Her pallor whitened. “You are wrong.”

“I wish, with all of my heart,” he said, his voice strained, “but ’tis so.”

She stilled, and began to shake. “Oh, God, Da!”

Fear tore through him. “What about Lord Brom?”

Desperate eyes held his. “I believed Lord Arthyan was my friend.” Griffin cupped her shoulders, his blood pounding hot. “Rois, tell me what you told the earl.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I asked Lord Arthyan if because my father sanctioned our marriage, he would come under suspicion by King Edward. I—I should have stopped there, but I admitted to the earl that I believed my da would never approve our marriage unless he knew you and has been meeting with you in secret. I also assured him that my da’s loyalties remain with Scotland.”

A muscle worked in Griffin’s jaw. “What did he say?”

“Lord Arthyan assured me nae to worry, but I have placed my father’s life in danger!”

Bedamned. “Have you told anyone else?”

“Nay,” she whispered. “I hurried to find you after he showed me the document.”

“Full of falsehoods. No such document exists. ’Twas concocted to support the earl’s lie.”

“W-we have to warn Da!”

Griffin drew her against him, stroked her hair. “I will send a runner this night.”

Eyes hot with anger, she met his gaze. “Lord Arthyan lied to me. I will—”

“Do naught.”

Rois shook her head, frantic to find a way to repair this. “How can you expect me to do nothing when ’twas my impulsiveness that has endangered you
and
my father, and may thwart any future information the rebels desperately need?”

“Listen to me,” Griffin said, keeping his voice even. “We need to stop and think this through. First, if the document was real, the earl would have delivered it without delay to King Edward’s guard and ordered my arrest.”

“True,” she conceded. “So what do we do now?”

“You will go into hiding until I have dealt with Lord Arthyan.”

Rois stepped back. “I will go nowhere! Throughout my life I have allowed my emotions to guide me, one such decision which led to our marriage. However thankful I am for that twist of fate, too many other times my actions brought about regret. But,” she said, her voice rough with emotion, “this day I have learned my lesson. The danger to my family is because of me and, by God, I will have a hand in repairing it.”

“Rois, I will not place you in danger.”

She angled her jaw. “’Tis too late.”

Griffin cursed. “I want you safe.”

Her heart ached. “I know.”

With a grimace, he rubbed his brow and shot her a hard look.

Rois remained silent. He hadn’t said nay. But then, she was still learning to read Griffin’s behavior. “What are you thinking?”

He shook his head. “An idea came to mind, but ’tis too dangerous.”

She laid her hand on his forearm. “Griffin, tell me.”

For a long moment he stared at her, his worry clear. “Do you think you can convince Lord Arthyan to repeat his claim of loyalty to Scotland?”

Her mind worked to discern his reason he’d want her to, but fell short. “Aye.”

A grudging look crossed his handsome face. “Then, I believe we will beat him at his own game.”

 

Nerves fluttered through Rois as she stood within the garden, the moonlight above severed by the thickening clouds as the cold breeze bit her skin. She tugged her cape tighter and scanned the walking path. Where was Lord Arthyan? She’d sent a missive for him to meet her here at the bells of Compline.

Bushes rustled to her left.

Rois glanced toward the outline of shrubs in the darkness where Griffin hid with the king’s men. She must convince the earl to repeat his words of loyalty to Scotland in front of the castle guards.

If Lord Arthyan showed.

“Lady Rois?”

At the earl’s soft call, she glanced down the stone path. Beneath the muted glow of moonlight, he hurried toward her, glancing about with a nervous twitch.

Let him suspect naught!

Three paces away, Lord Arthyan halted. He again scanned the area with a slow sweep, then exhaled as if satisfied. “I received your message. What has happened?”

Rois hid her shaking hands beneath her cloak. “I—I am afraid.” The truth. She was terrified for the lives of Griffin and Da if she should fail.

“Of what?”

The dark urgency in his voice put Rois further on edge. “Of the dangers to you if it is learned you are loyal to Scotland.”

His body relaxed. “Lady Rois, do nae fear for my sake.”

“How can I nae, when I have known you since I was a child?” she replied. “With each day you work to aid the rebels, you put yourself in danger.”

“Indeed, but ’tis a risk those loyal to Scotland take, a risk,” he said with confidence, “that I believe you are brave enough to be a part of as well.”

Stunned, she stared at him. Please let Griffin and the guards have heard. “You wish me to spy on King Edward for the rebels?”

“Aye,” Lord Arthyan replied. “Lady Rois, as you said, we have known each other for many years. You know me, can trust me. I hesitated to ask, to allow you to endanger your life, but with Lord Grey as your husband, ’twould be easy for you to learn of the king’s plans. Except, you could
never
reveal this to your husband.”

“I . . . I know not what to say?”

“’Tis an enormous request,” he stated, “one I understand you wish to ponder.”

She gave a shaky nod, then began to pace as Griffin had directed.

Keep calm
, Griffin silently willed as he watched Rois from behind the brush. He turned to King Edward’s knight at his side. Against the wisps of moonlight slipping through the dense foliage, Griffin caught the taut lines of anger pulsing on the man’s face.

“Are you now convinced the earl is a traitor and trying to convince my wife to betray England?” Griffin whispered.

“Indeed,” the head of the royal guard returned in a furious hiss. He glanced toward his men hidden within the garden awaiting the order to rush in and arrest Lord Arthyan.

Griffin focused on where Rois stood in the shadows, pleased she allowed her body to slowly relax as he’d instructed, but he caught her furtive glance toward where they hid. Stay calm, he willed. ’Tis but moments now.

Rois exhaled, took another step back. “My lord—”

“Arrest him!” a deep, authoritative voice bellowed.

Brush scraped. Steps pounded against stone as several guards jumped into the clearing and ran toward the earl.

Lord Arthyan whirled, cursed.

“Run!” Griffin yelled.

Rois bolted toward the guards.

The men allowed her room to pass, then surrounded the earl and seized him.

“Release me!” Lord Arthyan demanded. “You have no right to hold me.”

The senior knight stepped forward, his face taut. “My lord, you are charged with treason against the crown!”

“Lies!” the earl spat.

“I heard your confession. The only lie told is yours.” The knight nodded toward his men. “Take him to the dungeon.”

The earl glared at Rois, then Griffin. Outlined in the moonlight, his expression transformed from outrage to a malicious smile.

“You have achieved naught,” Lord Arthyan spat. “These charges are ludicrous.”

“Are they?” Griffin asked, his words deadly quiet. “Did you not confess that your fealty to England is a lie of your own free will, then try to convince my wife to aid you in your traitorous cause?”

The earl tried to twist free. Failed. “’Tis you who is the traitor. You, who is in league with the Scottish rebels. I but wanted Rois to confess her true loyalties are to Scotland.”

Griffin laughed, aware his reaction was watched, measured by the royal knight with a critical eye. “Do not think to cast your guilt away, Lord Arthyan. ’Tis not I who admitted being a traitor within the cloak of night to enlist the aid of another. But, ’twill be I who stands before King Edward upon his return from Flanders and swears I witnessed you trying to ensnare my wife in your treachery.”

Lord Arthyan’s vicious glare pinned Rois. “You lured me here for your foul purpose. I trusted you. And you betrayed me.”

“I did naught, my lord. You approached me. ’Twas your own falseness that betrayed England. Now, I wonder how many others you have tried to enlist in your foul plans.”

The earl cast a scathing glance toward Griffin, and then to Rois. “You will regret your duplicity, my lady. I may die, but your father’s life is already forfeit. As we speak, a runner is en route to deliver a missive of great importance to Lord Brom. And when he is allowed entry, your father will die.”

“You lie,” Rois stated. “An untruth to convince others your loyalty belongs to England.”

“You believe my threat false?” Lord Arthyan’s cruel laughter fragmented the chill of the night. “Do you nae think your father will allow your trusted friend, Sir Lochlann, inside Kincardan Castle?”

Griffin urged his lathered mount on as the light of the fading sunset trickled through the barren limbs of the familiar terrain. Each moment passed meant the loss of much needed light. Against the cool breeze thick with the promise of snow, the steady pound of hooves upon the ground was like a death knell.

“Thank God, we are almost there,” Rois yelled, riding at his side.

At the exhaustion and fear in her voice, Griffin nodded. What could he say? Until they arrived at Kincardan Castle, neither would know Lord Brom’s fate.

He damned the missive just days before notifying him that Lord Brom had departed Lochshire Castle for his home, but more, he wished he had killed Sir Lochlann when the man had drawn his dagger on him during their fight.

Why hadn’t he suspected the bastard was a traitor? So caught up in the Scot’s feelings for Rois, he’d attributed Lochlann’s anger to his infatuation for her. Now, due to his inattention, her father may be dead.

In full health, Angus would drive his blade with skill into the traitor’s heart. But his friend was recovering from near death, and Griffin held doubts Lord Brom could hold off the formidable Scot.

As they rounded a hillock, Kincardan Castle rose into view, the crenellations shadowed against the ominous, cloud-laden sky.

“A rider approaches!” a guard atop the wall walk called. “’Tis Lord and Lady Monceaux. Allow them entry!”

Chains rattled. The portcullis jerked up, the forged iron grinning like fangs against the darkened entry. Hooves clattered against stone as they rode beneath the gatehouse.

Painted against the waning light, several knights strode toward them as they entered the bailey.

His horse whinnied as Griffin drew his steed to a halt; Rois reined in her mount at his side. “Where is Lord Brom?”

Worry creased the guard’s brow. “In his chamber, abed.”

“Thank God,” Rois said.

A sentiment he shared. Griffin dismounted, and lifted Rois to the ground. “Sir Lochlann, have you seen him?”

Another guard nodded. “Aye, my lord. He returned moments ago, said he carried an urgent missive for Lord Brom and departed for our lord’s chamber.”

“Bedamned!” Griffin dropped his mount’s reins, faced Rois. “Stay here.” He turned to the guards. “Alert the guards! Lord Brom is in serious danger.” He bolted for the keep.

Rois’s panicked steps pounded in his wake, but he pushed harder, needing to intercept the bastard before it was too late.

A knight walked out of the door to the keep as Griffin ran up the steps. Griffin shoved the man aside, and sprinted through the entry. Across the great hall he caught sight of Sir Lochlann striding toward the turret.

“Sir Lochlann, halt!” Griffin demanded.

The Scot turned. Surprise, then fury clouded his gaze. On a curse, he ran up the steps.

Griffin bolted after him.

At the first landing, sword drawn, Lochlann whirled. Yellowed torchlight outlined the violence carved on his face. “Stay back.”

“Why?” Griffin demanded as he halted five steps below. “So you can murder Lord Brom?”

“Kill a man whom I back with my blade? Nay, Sassenach, unlike you who swear their fealty to the English king, I am a loyal Scot.”

The slide of steel against leather whispered as Griffin drew his sword. “Is that why you plot treason against your country?”

“Treason against my country?” He scoffed. “Naught but lies you invented to impress Rois.”

“Nay,” Rois said as she stepped around the curve of the turret, and beyond Griffin, her friend came into view. “Claims I heard from Lord Arthyan in Westminster Palace as he was hauled away for treason by the king’s guards.”

Outraged flashed in Lochlann’s eyes. “You should nae be here.”

Furious her childhood friend would deceive her, she took a step closer. “Why?” she asked, her voice rough with emotion. “So I can nae acknowledge that a man I have known since childhood, a man who I shared many sorrows and smiles with, is a liar and a traitor? That, like Lord Arthyan, he does everything for his own gain?”

Lochlann shook his head. “Rois, you do nae understand.”

“Aye,” she said, aching at his deviousness. “I understand too well. You never loved me, nor truly were my friend. Instead, you saw me as a path to gain the title and wealth upon my father’s passing. My father whom you now seek to kill.”

“Rois, leave us,” Griffin said, his words quiet.

“Order her about, do you?” Lochlann spat. “And how do you like being an English subject, lass?”

“You know naught,” Rois replied. “And ’tis I who was a fool to believe you ever truly cared.”

“What in bloody hell is going on?” Lord Brom’s voice boomed from down the hall.

A smile of pure evil curved Lochlann’s mouth. “Mayhap I will never leave here alive,” he hissed to Rois, “but you will lose your father, a man who did naught but stand in my way throughout life.” He whirled. “Lord Brom, I have a missive to deliver,” he called and sprinted down the corridor.

Panic swept her. “Da, he lies! He means to kill you!”

Sword raised, Griffin bolted after Lochlann. “Halt!”

Heart pounding, Rois fled up the steps.

Steel scraped in the distance.

Nay! She rounded the corner, stilled. Halfway down, her father wielded his sword against Lochlann’s attack. “Stop!”

Blades scraped, shuddered as they met with force.

“Be gone with ye, lass,” her father yelled.

“Go, Rois,” Griffin added as he halted several paces from where the men battled.

Shaking, she willed herself back, to nae be a distraction to her father as he lifted his sword to meet Lochlann’s next swing.

Steel clashed.

Her father’s legs wobbled. Gave. He caught himself barely.

A satisfied smile was upon Lochlann’s face as he raised his sword for the mortal blow.

Griffin started forward. Before he took the first step, her father angled his sword and drove it forward, any show of weakness before gone.

On a gasp, Lochlann staggered back. Disbelief on his face shattered to pain as he stared at the sword shoved deep in his chest.

“’Twill teach you to threaten my daughter and my son-in-law, or dare threaten me,” her da boomed.

The Scot collapsed to his knees, his gasps decaying to gurgles.

Rois trembled uncontrollably as she stumbled forward.

Griffin caught her, tried to move before her.

“Nay,” she rasped. “’Twas his own treachery that brought him this fate.”

Lochlann lay upon the floor, struggling to breathe.

Lord Brom withdrew his sword with an angry pull, the forged steel smeared with a Scot’s blood. “You would betray your own?”

“Betray?” Sir Lochlann struggled out. “The rebels are fools. Scotland has no chance of winning against King Edward.”

“The Scots are your people,” Lord Brom stated.

“They are stupid and weak. They canna see beyond the tankard they lift. Th-their claims of freedom are naught more than sputters of fools.” Sir Lochlann gasped. “They c-canna see the wisdom of King Edward’s guidance—Scotland’s true leader.” With a shudder, he collapsed to the floor, and his eyes stared straight ahead.

Griffin drew Rois against his chest. “’Tis over.”

Emotion filling her, she shook her head and looked up at him. “Nay, for us ’tis but the beginning.”

 

Several weeks later, Rois stood wrapped in Griffin’s arms on the wall walk at Lochshire Castle. She gave a sigh.

“You are heavy in thought.”

At Griffin’s whisper against her cheek, she turned. Her heart warmed as she looked upon the man she loved. “I was thinking of Lochlann.”

He brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek. “Sorry I am at the loss of your friend.”

“Friend, nay. The only person he was true to was himself. Wanting to believe him a friend, I never looked for more. Evidence that was clear to others, I refused to see.”

Silence fell between them, broken by the rush of the cool fall wind, the swirl of an errant thick flake. “My father has recovered. For that I am thankful.”

“As am I.” Griffin pressed a kiss upon her brow. “I pray Lord Andrew does as well.”

Rois nodded. “With how slowly his injuries are healing, I fear for his life.”

“Your cousin is a man of courage, and a friend. I pray he recovers. The rebels need de Moray’s skill, and his instinct to lead.”

Concern hovered in her mind, but Rois refused to give birth to her fears, or to contemplate Scotland without the leadership of her cousin. Nay, she would think only positive thoughts.

She smiled at Griffin. “The embroidery of the fairy was a special gift for our marriage.”

“Indeed,” Griffin replied. “I find it no surprise that the MacGruder brothers’ gift matches one of the fairies in the tapestry hanging inside their grandmother’s chamber.”

Memories of speaking with the elderly woman warmed her heart. “The gift is nae from my cousins, but from their grandmother.”

He laughed. “Rois, their grandmother has long since passed.”

“The morning after we spent the night together in the grandmother’s chamber, while you were still asleep, I spoke with her.”

“What?”

In detail, Rois described her unexpected meeting with the woman, of how she was working on an embroidered piece matching the one they’d received as a gift.

“At the time,” Rois explained, “I was unsure sure what she meant. Now I understand ’twas Catarine I spoke with. She regrets the wedge her coming to Lochshire Castle put between my grandfather and his brother.” Completeness filled her with the blessing of the MacGruders’ grandmother. “With our marriage, the rift between our families was mended. Her finished embroidery is proof.”

Griffin smiled, a smile of pure happiness, of a man deeply in love. “If asked before I met the MacGruder brothers, I would have denied your words as but a tale. Now, incredibly, I believe you.”

She snuggled next to him, the grandmother’s story of how she fell in love with the MacGruders’ grandfather, Trálin, clearly a remarkable truth.

Distant hooves sounded.

“A rider approaches,” a guard yelled from the gatehouse.

Thoughts of the grandmother faded, and Rois squinted at the approaching rider. Panic swept her. “’Tis a rebel messenger.”

Worry creased his brow as Griffin took her hand. “Come.” He led her to where Seathan and the MacGruder brothers stood below.

The rider cantered into the bailey and drew his steed up before Griffin. He nodded to Seathan, then faced Griffin. “Lord Monceaux, Lord Brom forwards a missive to you delivered by a royal English messenger two nights past.”

“Do you think,” Rois whispered to Griffin, “Lord Arthyan has somehow convinced the nobles that you are a spy for Scotland?”

“We will soon find out,” he quietly replied. With a worried glance toward the MacGruder brothers, Griffin prayed she was wrong. If so, he would be a wanted man, and Rois’s life at immense risk.

He broke open the seal.

Hands steady, Griffin unrolled the parchment, scanned the neatly penned lines. “’Twould seem,” he said with a smile, “that after King Edward received word of my uncovering Lord Arthyan’s betrayal, he sends lauds for my quick intervention to expose the traitor. In addition, he has awarded me Lord Arthyan’s title and estates.”

Rois wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned her mouth close to his ear. “’Twould seem that
Wulfe
’s destiny to aid Scotland and fight for its independence lives on.”

“Indeed,” Griffin said, “but only if he knows that he has the love of an amazing woman at his side.”

Laughter sparkled in her eyes. She leaned back, arched her brow. “And who would that be?”

Griffin swept her into his arms and strode past the MacGruder brothers, ignoring their amusement.

“Griffin,” she gasped, “what are you doing?”

“I believe I am going to make love with my wife.” He savored the slide of red up her cheeks, but more the love brimming from her eyes. Rois’s antics may have ensnared him into an unwanted marriage, but in a wonderful magical twist of fate, their handfasting rejoined her family with the MacGruders. Best, he’d received the greatest of gifts—her love.