***
Bran was about to turn in for the night when a soft knock sounded on his door. Although he was bare chested and clad only in his braies, he bid his guest to enter.
The door creaked open.
He raised his brows. Not a maid with linens, nor a gillie with firewood.
“Lady Caitrina,” he said, waving her into the room. “This is quite unexpected.”
“I’m certain that it is,” she responded, stepping through the portal and shutting the door behind her. The silver ribbon in her brown hair had come loose, allowing several dark curls to escape, but she was still fully dressed in a blue gown with white lace trim. Which left him at something of a disadvantage.
Not that he minded. “You’ve something to discuss, I take it.”
Her gaze dropped from his face to his chest and then glanced away. “I do. But I would prefer to discuss it with you fully attired.”
Bran grabbed his linen sark off the bed and slid it over his head. “I apologize if I’ve offended you, my lady. But I was not expecting company at this late hour.”
She nodded, a flush rising in her cheeks. “Quite understandable.”
“What is it you wish to discuss?”
She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and turned to face him. “I would like to strike a bargain.”
“What room is there to bargain? My reasons for keeping you within the manor are sound.”
She pulled something from beneath her brat and held it out to him. “I believe this is yours.”
Bran stared at the leather pouch, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. The large scrape across the front flap was recognizable from his leap off the horse—the satchel was his. The one he’d just hidden in the stables. But now it was clearly empty. He lifted his gaze to her face and gave her a hard, cold stare. “What is it you want, Lady Caitrina?”
When he didn’t take the pouch, she lowered her hand. “A bargain, I told you.”
“Be more specific.”
The tone of his voice clearly unnerved her—her bottom lip quivered a wee bit—but she didn’t back down. She tossed the leather pouch onto a nearby chair and faced him squarely. “I have the crown stored safely in my rooms. If you would like to have it returned, you will do as I ask.”
Bran briefly considered denying that the crown was his, but the look in her eyes told him that would be pointless. She was far too certain. She must have seen him in the stables. Very unfortunate. “Nay, madam. You’ll return the item, or I’ll have the constable arrest you for theft.”
She tilted her head. “Truly? You’re going to pretend that an honest marshal would hide valuables in the stables?”
Bran said nothing.
“Well, then.” She crossed her arms over her chest. A perfectly lovely chest that rose and fell with every shaky breath. “I suppose I must call your bluff. Call the constable.”
Bloody hell. The lass might be bonnie, but she was as difficult as they came. He could no sooner call the constable than he could walk off without the crown. “I cannot have the constable searching the queen’s rooms, and you know it.”
She nodded. “I do know it. Just as I know that your reasons for hiding a valuable item in such an odd place amount to no good. I suspect that you’re the thief those MacCurran men came looking for. But you may rest easy—I’ll not reveal your secret unless you force me to.”
She spoke gently, almost kindly, but sugar-dusted coercion was still coercion. Bran closed the gap between them and took her chin in his hand. “We return to my original question, Lady Caitrina. What is it you want?”
The faint flush in her cheeks deepened. “I want you to search the woods around the manor.”
“Why?”
“A man, who I believe is a danger to the queen, is hiding there.”
He ran his thumb lightly along her jawbone. Such delicate skin. Softer than the finest velvet purse. “Why would you not have the queen’s guards search for him?”
She took a sharp step back, freeing herself from his grip. “I have my reasons.”
