I rode at the head of the Ross column on a gray, mist-hung morning. The road was churned to dark mud beneath our horses’ hooves, and the Ross banner snapped in the damp wind above the retinue of warriors behind me. Dawn had barely touched the eastern hills when we departed, Munro’s men mounted and provisioned, my heart pounding a desperate rhythm in my chest. Every moment Katreine spent in Buchanan’s reach was torture for me. I could not afford delay.
“Ye look as if ye might bite through yer tongue,” Munro said at my left shoulder, his voice pitched low for my ears alone. His face, half-visible in the gray light, was set with determination. “Saving the lass will nae happen any faster if ye worry yerself to death along the way.”
I gave him a tight nod, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Ye would feel the same were it Murieall.”
“Aye,” he admitted without hesitation. “Which is why I’m here with ye instead of warming her bed this morn.”
I said nothing, but gratitude washed through me even as worry swirled. I knew Katreine likely feared being named a witch, and rightly so. In these times, a woman who did not age would be condemned without trial and burned for her difference. My hands tightened on the reins as I pictured her running, terrified and hunted by superstitious folk.
“I can hear yer worries banging around in yer head,” Munro said. “Ye’ll wear them out before we reach the court.”
I looked over at him, his profile stern and steady against the gray sky. “I left her there,” I said, the words a low growl. “What must she think? That I left because she was nae of useto me anymore,” I answered, my disgust with myself nearly overwhelming.
“And now ye’re riding back,” he pointed out. “With fifty of our warriors at yer back, and ye ken the truth of why ye left in yer heart, ye’ll tell her, and she will keen it as well.”
“Aye, but what if she is wed when I reach her?”
“Riders approach,” Munro said, by way of answer.
I flicked my gaze from him to the road, and sure enough, two riders appeared ahead, riding hard from the direction of the king’s court. They wore the king’s colors, their cloaks heavy with road grime. The leading rider spotted our banner, raised a hand to halt his companion, and pointed toward our column.
“Is there a James Ross among ye?”
My heart slammed against my ribs. I pulled my horse to a sharp halt, holding up one hand to signal the column to stop behind me. “I’m James Ross,” I called back.
The couriers rode forward, the second man reaching into a leather pouch at his hip. “We carry a missive for ye, my lord,” he said, producing a sealed packet. “From the king’s court.”
I took it from him, my fingers suddenly clumsy. “From the king?” I asked, though I could see from the seal it bore the mark not of Alexander but of Mary.
“Nay,” the first courier said. “From Princess Mary. We were told to ride until we found ye.”
“Thank ye,” I said, and the riders both nodded, turning back already the way they had come.
“Open it,” Munro urged, his voice tight with impatience.
I broke the outer seal, my hands shaking. The parchment within bore another missive, also bearing Princess Mary’s seal. Quickly, I unfolded the parchment and scanned a few brief lines in a woman’s hand I did not recognize.
James Ross,
I write on behalf of Katreine Wallace, who asked me to deliver this missive to you. She has been taken to Renfrewshire by Buchanan. He means to wed her there. I send this with all haste, that ye might reach her before it is too late.
Mary
I broke the seal on the second parchment and began to read.
James,
If this letter finds ye, please ken I love ye.
Pausing, I glanced to the bottom of the missive, saw it was signed by Katreine, and my blood began rushing almost violently through my veins as I continued to read.
I have loved ye since the day you came to save me from Siward, though I did nae ken it then.
I had to struggle not to grin like a clot-head as I read on.
Ye were a stranger to me, a man with his own secrets, and yet when ye stood between me and danger, I felt something shift inside me that has nae ever moved back into place.
What I tell ye now may be hard to believe, but it is true. I am cursed, James. I can nae age. I was cursed many years ago by the witch Morgana ye took me to see in the Dark Forest. I have watched friends grow old and die while I remain trapped in a body that will nae move forward. The witch alone kens how long I will be stuck this way. This is why I fled my home. This is why I kept my distance from ye. I feared loving ye would meanwatching ye grow old while I stayed the same. I feared ye would believe me unnatural and turn away from me in horror. I feared many things, but what I fear most now is that ye will nae ever keening what is in my heart for ye.
