“Yer future wife!” Alec exclaimed, then chuckled. “I ken who ye are, JamesRoss,” Alec said, drawing out James’s clan name with a derisive snarl. “Ye are a bastard without warriors, without land, and without a true last name, and ye presume to claim the Lady of Renfrewshire?” He took another step forward, his men moving with him, the line of warriors spreading out across the road. “Ye will walk away from my betrothed, or I will cut ye down where ye stand.”
In an instant, the Ross warriors surged forward, and I was swept back behind an impenetrable wall of swords and sinewy muscle. I could see nothing but men’s backs. A deep voice, not James’s, spoke. “James is a Ross, and as I am the Laird of the clan, I bequeath to him Carrington Stronghold and five score of warriors to command. Now, ye filthy liar, step back, or ye will be cut down.”
“Or come forward if ye dare,” James said, speaking clearly and strongly. “In fact, I hope ye do. I will enjoy killing ye for daring to try to claim the woman I love.”
The sound of thundering hooves split the night behind me, and suddenly the Ross men parted, letting James through, then closed with a war cry, blocking Alec or his men from coming near me. Behind us, men wearing plaids that matched James’s seemed to appear from the mist, but I realized they had been well-hidden, lying in wait to aid James in protecting me. My heart swelled.
As the approaching riders drew nearer, I could make out the king’s own standard, gold and crimson, fluttering in the torchlight, and fear shot through me. I pressed close to James, and he whispered, “Do nae fear, Katreine. There is nae man in this world, nae even my king, who I’ll allow to part us.”
By the gods, how I loved him for the utter, foolish devotion to me.
The king’s man rode hard until they were almost upon us, then pulled up short. A man called out, “I carry a message from His Majesty, King Alexander, for Buchanan.”
“Here,” Alec called out, and the king’s messenger edged his horse toward the line of Ross warriors, who still formed a wall between Alec’s men and me.
“Let me pass to deliver the message,” the courier said, sweeping his gaze over the warriors, trying, I imagined, to determine who commanded them.
“Let him pass,” a deep voice bellowed so close behind me that I yelped.
James gave me a reassuring squeeze.
The line of warriors parted once more to reveal Alex on the other side, standing face-to-face with a tall, powerfully built man wearing the Ross plaid. There was something about his bearing that bespoke authority. Mayhap it was the way his posture was so straight and sure, or the upward tilt of his chin. I whispered, “Is that Munro?”
“Aye,” James said in a low voice.
The king’s messenger broke the seal on the parchment and began to read. “By order of the king: It has come to my attention that the healer, Lady Katreine Wallace, does nae wish to wed ye Buchanan, despite yer claim of prior betrothal. Princess Mary has informed me that another holds the healer’s heart.”
My lips parted in shock. Mary had gone to the king on my behalf. My throat tightened with gratitude, even as tears stung my eyes.
The king’s man continued, his voice growing stronger. “I hereby revoke my earlier permission for ye to wed Lady Wallace and give my blessing for her to wed as she wishes. Renfrewshire stronghold will become her husband’s, as set forth by her da’sown desires before his death. When Lady Wallace has heirs, the stronghold will pass to them. If she so desires, she may pass the stronghold to her remaining relative, Millicent Wallace. Furthermore, I command ye to return to court with haste to serve me.”
The messenger lowered the missive and looked to Alec. “Two days,” the man said, his words clipped. “His Majesty told me to convey that is the time ye have to appear before him at court.”
Alec’s face went white, then red, a flush of anger spreading from his neck to his hairline. “This is an outrage,” he growled. “The king has been deceived.” When Alec pointed at me, I stiffened in fear, and James drew me closer to his side. “Ye will tell the king—”
“I beg pardon, Buchanan, but the king told me that if ye start spouting words, to tell ye to save them. His daughter informed him that ye are obsessed with the healer and that ye will say anything to keep her. The king has pity for ye, but he does nae have tolerance for yer obsession.”
“But—” Alec sputtered.
“I will tell the king ye will present yerself before him in two days’ time,” the messenger said, and, much to my glee, dismissed anything Alec wanted to say to him. He swung his destrier back toward us and moved through the line of warriors that remained open. The messenger paused his horse in front of James and me and looked at me, smiling. “The king has a personal message for ye, Lady Wallace.”
The messenger leaned over his horse and beckoned me forward with a crook of his finger. James looked to me, arching his eyebrows as if to ask whether he should intervene, and I shook my head, my emotions rising at the thought that this man would defy the king for me. He truly loved me. I stepped out of James’s protective embrace and walked to the messenger.
He smiled kindly at me, which eased my fears. “The king wished me to tell ye personally,” the man said in almost a whisper, “that a long-forgotten memory came to him of a conversation with yer da, whom he considered a friend, from right before yer da passed, when they were both well in their cups. Yer da had come to the king to support him in his time of grief when he lost his last true heir.”
I had known my da and the king were close, but not that close. “The king,” the messenger continued, “recalls sitting in his solar, drinking wine with yer da while bemoaning the loss of his daughter, and yer da, bemoaning the loss of one of his.” The messenger’s gaze locked on me. “A lass named Katreine. A cursed lass, according to the late Laird Wallace, who had fled her home in fear of being named a witch.” The last was whispered so low I almost did not hear it, though I was only a hairsbreadth from the messenger. “The king says to tell ye, ye are safe, so long as he reigns.”
Such relief flooded me that my knees buckled and I began to fall, only to be caught from behind by strong arms I would know anywhere. James was my strength when mine failed, and if that was not love, I did not know what was. With his message delivered, the courier straightened, bid me farewell, and rode off with the king’s men, the way they had come.
Before the thunder of hooves had faded, Alec bellowed, “I will go to the king! I will tell him what I ken!”
I whirled toward Alec and, with a look at James, we strode through the line of quiet warriors. I paused in front of Alec, and I could not help but think what a fool I had been to be desperate for this man to see my worth, when I had been the one who needed to understand it. Alec had never been worthy of my sister or me. “Ye can go to the king, but he kens, already about me,” I said.
“Ye lie,” Alec hissed.
Beside me, James stiffened, and I saw his fingers clench the sword in his hand more tightly. Ah, this man. This man, who became offended on my behalf and rode himself nearly to death to reach me, would defy his king to protect me. This was a man worthy of me. I was not afraid to bequeath Renfrewshire to Millicent. I was eager to do so because I believed in James and our love.
“Nay,” I assured Alec. “I do nae. And might I remind ye that ye lied directly to the king? Ye kenned about me and lied. I do nae think the king will like to hear of that, but I will gladly tell him if ye go to him.”
