He didn’t miss that she’d deflected his question with one of her own. He’d neglected to secure her word before, but he would not be so remiss a second time. “I’ll have your word, Ellie.”
She nodded—reluctantly. “I give you my word. I will do nothing tonight.”
His eyes narrowed. “Or in the morning. Or for as long as we are here.”
Clearly annoyed that he’d picked up on her qualification, she wrinkled her nose. “Very well. You have my word.”
His eyes held hers, cutting through the darkness. “Don’t make me regret trusting you to keep it.”
Her eyes widened a little and she nodded, apparently not missing the threat in his voice.
He turned to give orders to his men. In addition to Ellie, Randolph, the two men who were virtually carrying him, and his kinsman Duncan who’d been injured by the arrow, he brought along another man.
Though he wanted to trust her, the lass was too clever by far. The man he stationed outside to watch the house would help ensure that she kept her word.
She wouldn’t get very far if she tried to escape, but he wouldn’t take any chances. Bruce and his fellow guardsmen were counting on him, and that was something Erik took very seriously.
He’d originally joined Bruce at the bequest of his cousin, Angus Og MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, intending to get his clan’s land back from the MacDougalls. But he’d come to admire the warrior king. If anyone could challenge Edward, it was Bruce. The loyalty he’d once owed to his cousin had transferred to Bruce and his Highland Guard brethren.
Failure was unthinkable. Nothing would interfere with his mission. Certainly not a skinny, passably pretty nursemaid with a penchant for stirring up trouble.
Six
Mathilda de Burgh had never looked so wretched. Her angelic flaxen curls were a snarled mess, still limp and tangled from seawater; her big, baby-blue eyes were red and nearly swollen shut from hours of crying; and her tiny, upturned nose wouldn’t stop running.
What time was it? It had to be near dawn. Hours since Ellie had disappeared, and still there had been no word. Matty couldn’t bear to think that her sister was gone. Drowned on a foolish girl’s lark.
Herlark.
It’s all my fault. Why had she pushed her? After all Ellie had done for them in the past few years, how could she have been so cruel? So what if Ellie had seemed to turn a little old and stodgy overnight? She was the most generous, kind sister Matty could imagine. She’d taken charge and held the family together after the devastating fever had shattered their childhood.
Matty sat in the earl’s solar, still wrapped in the same fur robe she’d donned after her dunking in the sea, with her father and two of her three remaining brothers: John and her twin, Thomas. The youngest children were still sleeping, snug and warm in their beds with no idea of the nightmare awaiting them when they woke.
Only the sounds of the crackling fire, the wind clattering against the shutter, and her occasional sniffle broke the horrible silence. Not since the deaths of their mother and brother had they looked so solemn. Her father could barely stand to look at her.
He blamed her. They all blamed her. As they should. Fresh tears stung her eyes. She’d only wanted to see Ellie laugh again; she’d never meant …
“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to bear the silence any longer.
For a moment no one said a word. Finally, John took pity on her. “It’s not your fault, Matty. It was an accident.”
Richard de Burgh, Earl of Ulster and the most powerful nobleman in Ireland, turned his glassy, dark-eyed gaze on her. At eight and forty he was still a handsome man, but his face bore the signs of the evening’s strain.
Her father was not a man who was often tested. Since birth he’d been imbued with a sense of entitlement, and he’d grown accustomed to having things go his way. When things didn’t—such as when her mother died or when her sister’s husband, Robert Bruce, rebelled against his king—he could be unpredictable. Mercurial even. Matty should have known better than to draw his attention to her; she’d given his frustration a direction in which to aim.
“What could you have been thinking? How could you be so irresponsible? To have no care for your duty and position? To gallivant across the countryside like some …peasant. And to goad your sister—”
“I was only trying to help. She’s been so sad lately. I thought the wedding would help, but it only seemed to make it worse.”
Her father’s jaw locked in a formidable line. “Ellie was fine.”
Matty felt a sudden spark of anger at her father’s willful blindness. “She wasn’t fine! But you didn’t want to see it, not when she was handling everything so that you didn’t have to.”
Her father flinched. “That’s enough, Mathilda,” he said angrily. “I think you’ve said—and done—enough for one day.”
Matty bit her lip and nodded, knowing she’d gone too far. Ellie was the only one from whom their father would accept criticism—and that was because she did it so skillfully, he usually didn’t realize he was being criticized.
They all looked to the door when Ralph burst into the room. Matty’s pulse did a strange little stutter step, as it had from the first time she’d set eyes upon him. How could Ellie not want to marry him? If Matty could have dreamed up the perfect English knight, he would look exactly like Ralph de Monthermer. Tall and lean, with thick dark hair and clear green eyes, he was handsome, strong, and honorable to the core. The fact that he’d once risked everything for love by marrying the king’s daughter only made him more of a romantic figure in her eyes.
