But Bruce waved off his concern. “Women are usually part of a royal progress. Indeed, were my wife and daughter not in England, I would have them here with me. The lady will be safe enough with you and her brother to protect her.”
Magnus stilled. He clenched his fists, trying to hold back his anger. But this battle he was losing. “Sutherland?” he spit out. “You can’t be serious!”
The first spark of anger flashed in the king’s dark eyes. He allowed Magnus more leeway than he gave most, but he would not have his judgment questioned. “Quite serious,” he said stonily. “I’ve been impressed with Sutherland. We can use more men like him.”
Magnus bit back the caustic retort but could feel the blood pounding in his temples. “Sutherland is dangerous. I don’t trust him.” Any of them, for that matter.
The king’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have cause for this concern?”
“A lifetime of experience.” Knowing that would not be enough, he added, “As I told you, he’s guessed Gordon’s place in the Guard and suspects mine. I’ve tried to impart the danger those kinds of suspicions could have to his family, but he’s never known when to keep his mouth shut.”
Bruce frowned and seemed to consider his response. “There is an old Saracen adage: keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. If it is as you say, it is better to have him close where we can keep an eye on him and ensure that he is not tempted to repeat his suspicions to others.”
Magnus attempted to argue, but the king forestalled him. “What is this really about? Is there another reason you do not wish Lady Helen to accompany us that you are not telling me? I thought you and the lass were longtime friends? Childhood companions, isn’t that how you put it?”
Magnus’s mouth fell into a hard line. “I might have understated the nature of our relationship.”
“I thought you might have. I’ve noticed the lass’s efforts to catch your eye the past few weeks. I take it you are not eager to rekindle this relationship?”
Magnus shook his head.
“Because of Templar?” the king asked softly. Bruce was one of the few men who knew the truth. Magnus nodded. “Aye.”
The king studied him a moment longer. That he didn’t choose to question him further indicated he understood the nature of Magnus’s struggle and perhaps even agreed with it. “Very well. I shall do without Lady Helen’s eagle-eyed scrutiny of my meals on our journey. I will not say I won’t miss her personal attendance, but perhaps it is best that she is not drawn back into danger. We are fortunate that Gordon’s identity as a member of my ‘phantom’ guard has not been discovered. I do not wish to see the lass endangered.”
The king’s words proved ironically prophetic. Barely had Magnus enjoyed the relief of knowing that Helen would not be tormenting him for weeks on end, when disaster struck in the form of a messenger with news that changed everything.
The sun was high in the sky when the rider came thundering through the gate. Magnus was training with the men at the time and didn’t pay him much attention. Messengers were always arriving for the king. He suspected something was wrong, however, when the king immediately summoned him and MacGregor to the laird’s solar.
They were still thick with dirt and sweat when they entered the small chamber off the Great Hall. The earl had relinquished the room for the king’s use during his stay, and it was usually filled with Bruce’s large retinue. The room was empty, however, but for Bruce and Sir Neil Campbell.
He could tell by their grim expressions that the news was not good.
“I’ve news from England,” the king said.
At first Magnus thought it must have something to do with the king’s family, who were still being held by King Edward. But then he realized that given the current occupants of the room, it must have something to do with the Guard.
It did.
“A body was retrieved from beneath the rubble at Threave.”
Magnus tensed. “He won’t be identified.”
The king gave him a sorrowful look. “I’m afraid he already has been.”
Magnus shook his head. “That’s impossible.”
“Sir Adam Gordon was sent to Roxburgh to make sure of it.”
Magnus sat, his legs suddenly unable to support his weight. “How?” he said tonelessly. “I made sure…” He let his voice fall off, unable to say the words. The horror of thinking about them was enough. He cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded strained. “None of us carry anything on missions that could identify us. Gordon was careful. He wouldn’t have made that kind of mistake.”
“He didn’t,” Sir Neil responded. “But were either of you aware that he had a mark on his skin from birth?”
Ah hell. He felt ill.
“Aye,” MacGregor said grimly. “It was on his ankle.”
Sir Neil nodded. “Aye, well apparently it was a common mark in his family. His grandfather had one as well—as did his uncle Sir Adam.”
