The other two gasped.
She went on to say, “And if he’s got men on the inside…”
“Fergus will know where to waylay the king.”
“Right.”
There was a long pause while they thought this over.
“Do ye suppose the king will be comin’ past Glasgow on his way to Galloway?”
“’Tis likely.”
“Ooh.I’ve ne’er seen the king.”
“Nor have I.”
“I’ve heard he’s the picture o’ chivalry.”
“And quite devout.”
The conversation continued as the sisters compared reports about the magnificent king they’d never seen, reports that were largely unsubstantiated.
Adam knew Malcolm.While it was true the young king was chivalrous, devout, and somewhat of a romantic, he was weak of body and easily manipulated by flattery.His reason for going to France had been self-indulgent.He could now claim the questionable honor of having been knighted by the English King Henry.
But despite his shortcomings, for centuries the Rivenlochs had been fiercely loyal to the Crown.If the king meant to attack Fergus at Galloway, the Rivenlochs would be at the forefront of the fighting.
What Adam and the lairds knew—what the king may not be fully aware of—was how much land Fergus had already acquired through his underhanded, tyrannical tactics.Reiving livestock.Burning fields.Raiding cottages.
There had long been rumblings among the Rivenlochs about Fergus’s ambitions to create his own empire in the west.Because his loyalty wavered, Fergus might as easily pledge his land to the English king as the Scottish monarch.And that would threaten all of Scotland.
Adam would be damned if he would surrender the centuries-old Rivenloch estate to the English.
It was his responsibility to protect his clan.That meant he had to find a way to give the king the advantage against Fergus.
Adam retired to the cell the nuns had offered him.He lit the sconce and sat on the thin pallet that was definitely not goose-down.
What was the best way to help the king?
He’d go to Galloway, he decided.He’d spy on Laird Fergus.Using a false identity, Adam could become a trusted ally to Fergus and learn what kind of fighting force he had.Who his strongest warriors were.What weaponry they preferred.Where their weaknesses lie.
So busy was Adam concocting his strategy, he forgot for a moment about the woman he was supposed to be following.He was abruptly reminded when he opened the satchel, searching for possibilities for a new disguise.
Aillenn’s flowery scent, lingering on the scarlet velvet of her gown, wafted out of the satchel, transporting him immediately to the heavenly night of their tryst.
It would be a long while before that memory would fade.
But for now he had to push it aside.
Sorting through the garments, he decided they were completely inadequate.Too small.Too tight.Too frail.Hehadto find Aillenn and get his satchel back.It was a matter of life and death.
Now that he was on a royal mission, he needed every tool he owned.Not the least of which was his Rivenloch medallion.If things became desperate, his true identity—his tie to the Rivenloch clan—was his defense of last resort.
The coat of mail felt even heavier on Eve’s body than it had in the satchel.Perhaps because it added to the guilt already weighing heavily on her shoulders.
It was ludicrously long, hanging past her knees.But she figured she could pass for a young knight who’d inherited his older brother’s armor.
Adam also had bits of plate armor in his satchel—epaulets, poleyns, sabatons.But they were difficult to attach without the help of a squire.The mail would have to do.
