A few minutes later, she was on a horse, and they were riding hell-bent-for-leather to Lochmaben.
Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick and Lord of Annandale, listened to Christina’s story with increasing incredulity, and then with barely repressed anger. That he didn’t question her tale was confirmation that such a dangerous document as the bond he’d signed with Comyn existed.
“I’ll kill him,” he said, his blue eyes black with rage. “I knew he could not be trusted.”
“Then why did you?” Tor asked. The lapse in judgment didn’t seem consistent with what he had seen so far of Scotland’s would-be king. Bruce had surprised him. Immediately, Tor recognized in him the one trait guaranteed to impress any Highlander—Bruce was a warrior. Unlike most Scottish noblemen, he looked like he would be just as comfortable on a battlefield as in parliament.
The earl had shrewd eyes and a blunt tongue—a rarity for any politician. Undeniably proud, he nonetheless seemed blessedly free of the trappings of his Lowland ilk, the fur-lined brat and heavy gold brooch around his neck the only visible signs of his wealth. If he’d noticed the dirt and grime covering Tor and his men, he hadn’t given any indication, welcoming them into the hall forthwith.
Bruce lowered his voice to answer Tor’s question. Though he’d assured them they could speak freely in the hall, it was better to be careful. “It would have been easier to defeat Edward with a united Scotland. I hoped to avoid a civil war as well. I didn’t think he’d dare confess his own treason to reveal mine. Comyn has more faith in Edward’s gratitude than I do.” He gave Tor a sharp look. “The men you sent after the messengers?”
“The best,” he answered. “Lamont is leading the team; they will be found.”
Bruce held his gaze, sensed his confidence, and nodded.
“What will you do, my lord?” Christina asked.
“I don’t know,” Bruce said solemnly. “But Comyn will answer for what he has attempted this day.” Ever the gallant knight, Bruce pushed aside his anger and bowed over her hand, pressing a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “I owe you a debt, Lady Christina, one that I can never hope to repay.” He glanced at Tor. “I hope your husband realizes what a fortunate man he is to not only have such a beautiful wife, but also one with unexpected—and very useful—talents. You’ve recounted the words of that document better than my own clerks.” His eyes twinkled. “Perhaps I should hire you.”
Christina delighted at the praise, blushing with pleasure at the honest admiration in the earl’s face—a handsome face, so it was said. But it wouldn’t stay that way if he didn’t release her hand. Perhaps this chivalry had its merits. “He does,” Tor said through clenched teeth. “And Christina’s talents, I’m afraid, are reserved for her husband.”
He spoke sharply and Christina frowned, not understanding the source of his annoyance. Bruce, however, did. He laughed and released her hand. “I thank you for your service this day, lass, and if you ever need anything, you have only to ask.”
Christina flushed a little pinker and returned his smile. “If you don’t mind, I should ask you for that boon right now. A bath would be lovely.”
“It shall be arranged at once.”
She looked at Tor questioningly. “Go,” he said. “I will join you soon.”
She nodded and followed the serving woman out of the Hall. Both men watched her go.
“Our bargain has worked out well for you,” Bruce said slyly.
It had, but Tor didn’t need to tell him that. “Well enough.”
“You’ve decided to accept the command.”
“With a few understandings.” They’d been speaking in French when Christina was there, but had unconsciously switched to Gaelic when she left—another point in Bruce’s favor.
The earl eyed him warily. “What kind of understandings?”
“We will follow your orders, but I must be in charge of the team. For a guard like this to work, I must have autonomy and complete authority in the field.”
Bruce considered him for a long time, not looking pleased by his demands. “So I tell you what I need and you decide how it is to be done?”
Tor shrugged. That was one way of looking at it.
After a few more minutes, Bruce reluctantly nodded in agreement. “Not that I’m not impressed with what you and your men did, but next time try to let me know before you decide to attack an English garrison.”
Tor smiled. “I’ll do my best, but there wasn’t time. The English had something very precious to me.”
“Anything else?”
“My men and I may not be bound by your knightly code—and will do your dirty work—but I won’t be ordered to kill women or children.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Bruce said wryly. “You will be called upon for dangerous and unpleasant tasks, but you have my word that I will not ask you to do anything I won’t do myself.”
Surprisingly, Tor could see that he meant it. His estimation of the lauded knight had just increased twofold. Initially, Tor’s decision to lead the team was not so much about joining Bruce as it was about defeating Edward. But the young earl had made an impression on him. Robert Bruce was no weak lordling, but a noble warrior determined to take back a kingdom. Unlike most of his chivalric brethren, Bruce was not afraid to get his hands dirty. It was a quality he would need if they were to have any hope of success. To win this war, he was going to get filthy.
