“Most ladies would be.”
“I am no’ most ladies.” She sniffed the air, but the shiver up her spine belied her truth.
“Nay,” he said softly. “Ye’re no’.”
Footsteps echoed across the courtyard then, bursting through the stable doors, as James, hair as wind-blown as his beard, hurried toward them.
“My laird.” Then spying her, his eyes widened and he bowed. “My lady.”
Lachlan stiffened. “What is it?”
“English riders have been seen on the southern road. No’ far from here.”
Lachlan’s eyes darkened. “How many?”
“Four. Perhaps five.”
He glanced briefly toward the castle walls. Isabel saw the moment when the realization struck him. If English riders were nearby… and the castle seemed to know about them already…
Finding the identity of the messenger who left under the cover of darkness just became that much more important. And perhaps even more important was finding out what the message said, and who sent it.
“Ready the men for our departure,” he said quietly.
Once James had marched off to gather the others, Lachlan rummaged in the hay behind him, pulling a small piece of parchment from his satchel.
“What is that?”
Lachlan glanced at her, and she could tell from the way he narrowed his eyes he was considering what to tell her. He glanced down at the rolled parchment, a dried wax seal holding the edges together. “A missive I’d hoped no’ to send.”
“What does it say?”
Again, he hesitated, before coming closer and in a low tone admitting, “Your uncle bid me send this if I believed the traitor to be within his ranks.”
“And now ye think so.”
Lachlan gave a single curt nod. “He’ll need to be more careful than he has been.”
Isabel looked back at Lachlan, glad that she’d come to warn him. If he’d not known about the man leaving the castle, of Comyn’s servants expecting the English. She didn’t think Lachlan would brush something like this off, or act rashly, but if he had attempted to enlist Comyn’s help? Now she knew why she’d been unable to sleep. Her own instincts had kept her awake. Self-preservation. Survival.
“Do ye think there a heavy risk of staying until dawn?” She thought of Elsa and all of Lachlan’s MacLeod brothers in arms, not to mention themselves, that needed rest.
He did not answer immediately. Instead, he looked toward the darkened windows of the castle. And she looked too, half expecting to see a specter climbing the walls.
“I trust very few people right now.” Then his gaze returned to her, warmer than his view of the castle. “But ye are one of them, Lady Isabel, and I hope ye feel the same.”
Something warm spread through her chest at those words. But before she could respond, he stepped back, a hand stroking his horse’s flank. “Time for ye to get dressed, afore anyone sees ye.”
Isabel glanced down then, suddenly all too aware she was without proper clothes. Or shoes.
The castle gates opened silently in the early darkness. She didn’t know if she should be furious that all it took was a stern word from a laird and a coin in a pocket for them to be let out, or relieved. Lachlan rode out first, their horses quiet on the damp earth. Isabel followed with her maid behind, and their ranks were closed in by the last few of his warriors.
No horns sounded. No farewell was given. No one woke Comyn. Lachlan confided that at the last minute he’d chosen not to send word of their leaving to her uncle. She assumed he came to the same conclusion she had, the risk of being stopped, or eluded or the message stolen, outweighed the benefits, especially if he didn’t have a name. The Bruce would only be frustrated.
They slipped into the morning shadows like ghosts, disappearing on the moors into the dark fog of predawn. The sooner they got to his holding on Skye, the better, she decided. No more cat and mouse games. No more wondering who was trustworthy and who was going to stab them in the back. Who was going to slip out of the gates to bring the enemy in.
And to say she was relieved not to lay eyes on Comyn and avoid his touch one more time was an underestimation of the joy she felt. She wished she could throw her head back and race away on her horse, cackling as she went in picturing his smug smile falling when he discovered her disappearance. But she was a lady and would act as such. Which is why she just smirked silently to herself, imagining him tripping and falling out of a window in shock.
As they rode down the hill from Inverlochy, Isabel glanced back, wary of who was watching. Torchlight flickered in the gatehouse. For a moment she thought she saw someone standing there. A tall figure wrapped in a dark cloak, not unlike the garment of the man she’d seen leave before.
