“I intend on keeping her alive.”
“She can do that herself,” her brother declared.
Torin was glad to hear Galien admit how skilled his sister was, even though he did not tell her so.
“And she has me and my father.”
“And me,” said Torin with a silent agonized breath. How could she have his sword if he was on the other side? He blinked and set his shimmering gaze on her brother. “But we will all fail against what is coming. ’Tis not your fight.”
“If they win,” Galien argued, but offered more quietly, “there will be a new warden and the reivers will be slaughtered.”
“Only if you fight against them. Reivers have not been slaughtered elsewhere in Scotland, have they? Robert the Bruce does not give a damn about thieves.”
Galien’s dark eyes narrowed on him. “You speak as if you know these things for certain. As if…you know the Bruce. Do you?”
Hell! Torin tried his hardest not to react or instinctively look down the hall to where she slept. Someone usually figured him out. Normally, Torin killed whoever it was and hid the body. But this was Braya’s damned brother.
“I speak from experience. That is all.”
Galien narrowed his eyes on him. “Where did you come from? I have asked others and no one has heard of you.”
Torin wondered, for a fleeting moment, if he could get away with killing Galien and burying him. Or if all his plans were about to fail because of him.
“Have you traveled to Bamburgh then?” Torin challenged, then moved closer, tired of insinuations. “If you have a charge, then make it,” he growled, all nonchalance and detachment abandoned. “You are a prideful fool. Do not talk your father and…possibly your sister into dying. I promise if the Scots do not make you answer for it, I will.”
He raked his scathing stare over Galien once more, letting the promise sink in, and then left the house.
Damn it. He probably should have killed him. What if Galien shared his suspicions with his sister?
He made it back to the castle, practiced for an hour with Adams, and then retired to bed. He had much to think about besides Braya or her brother, like a plan of attack. Once the Scots were outside the walls, he would begin taking down Carlisle’s guards. He might have to kill Adams, but he would do all he could to avoid it. Adams wasn’t a full-blooded English and, besides, Torin liked him. He didn’t like many.
Torin would make certain the Hetheringtons did not fight for Bennett. If he had to kill a few guardsmen before the Scots arrived and blame one of the Hetheringtons, like Galien, for instance, he would. Once Bennett accused Rowley’s son, the leader of the reivers would withdraw his support. Torin would see to it. An extra sennight would give him the time he needed.
Of course, his plan could backfire iftoo muchtime passed and Braya’s father was allowed the chance to call for war against Bennett. Torin would be in the same position he had been in days ago with two battles on his hands and only one he wanted to fight and win.
Hell, everything had to be perfect, or as close to perfect as possible. Too much could go terribly wrong. He hadn’t planned on Bennett possibly having another thousand men on his side. King Robert wouldn’t appreciate it either. If the Scots suffered another loss to Carlisle, the blow would be too great. He would have failed, and he could not allow that to happen.
Whether his decision to keep peace between the reivers and Bennett was right or wrong no longer matter. He had to continue moving forward. He had to take down this last stronghold or the guilt and shame of his life would never cease. He had to keep Braya safe, and not just Braya, but her family.
He fell asleep wondering how he had allowed himself to fall so hard for a lass that he would risk so damned much.
He awoke the next morning without an answer and an even bigger problem.
According to Adams, whom Torin found on his way to the great hall, Rowley Hetherington had been summoned to the castle. He was to come alone.
“Why was he sent for?” Torin asked, trying not to sound overly concerned.
“Bennett sent for him late last eve,” Adams informed him, paying no heed to Torin’s forced calm. “Or so I have heard. He is accusing a Hetherington of betraying the guards to the Armstrongs.”
Torin looked down the candlelit hall toward the stairs leading up to Bennett’s solar, and then walked around him and headed that way. Bastard. Why would he make an accusation when he was the one who had done it?
“Where are you going?”
“To find out what he is up to.” Whatever it was, Torin would find out. He wouldn’t let there be any surprises. He couldn’t. He would keep Braya safe against any enemy. His dark, dusty heart depended on it.
When they reached the door to the solar and knocked, Bennett invited them in. Torin was not here to drink or sit. He was here to find out one thing. Still, he wouldn’t do or say too much to make the defender suspect anything about him other than that he was bold and brash.
“Why have you sent for Rowley Hetherington? What has happened?”
