Butshewould not be satisfied until Marsailli was free. Until she could be certain her sister was beyond Giric’s grasp. How was she to accomplish that? Caitrina watched the woman by the fire chat briefly with a tall, thin man with a balding pate and then limp across the muddy field to the green-striped tent. It was definitely Marsailli. The gentle tilt of her head, the way she lifted her skirts as she moved, and the curl of her nut-brown locks were all familiar. But she was hurt—she favored her right side as she walked.
A bittersweet ache filled her chest.
Seeing her sister, even from a distance, was a joy beyond imagining, but witnessing her pain was unbearable. She had to set Marsailli free. And soon. The task would not be an easy one, however. The tent she had entered backed onto the burn, and the only way to reach it was straight through the camp—right past all the guards.
With a grimace, Caitrina turned away from the view and joined Bran at the base of the boulder. She’d been so sure that a route to success would become obvious once she saw the layout of the camp. But she had nothing. Bran offered his hand as they stepped over a rotting log and she slid her fingers into his warm palm. Not even an unwilling ally. Bran would disappear the moment she handed over the crown. Now that the MacCurrans had ridden for Stirling, he had no reason to remain.
“What will you do with the crown once you have it?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “What does it matter?”
“I’m simply curious.”
“You’ve no need to know,” he cautioned her. “And as you can personally attest, curiosity can sometimes lead you to dangerous places.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Do you threaten me?”
He tossed her one of his charming smiles, and she melted a little. “Nay. But the less you know of me and my troubles, the safer you’ll be from those who might come looking for truths.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “But would I be off the mark to suggest your troubles are the sort that are influenced by large quantities of coin?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
But it was. She needed to find some way to keep her ally-cum-thief in her pocket. Coin had seemed an obvious enticement, but he had barely blinked at her broad hint. If Bran was not driven by greed, then whatwashe driven by?
They reached the horse, and Bran gave her a leg up.
The sun had finally broken through the clouds and bright splashes of sunlight littered the forest floor around them. As he checked the cinch on the saddle, Caitrina studied the play of light on his golden hair. “The MacCurrans are Highlanders,” she said thoughtfully. “I believe their clan seat is deep within the Red Mountains. The crown must hold great meaning for them if they chased you this far south in an effort to reclaim it.”
Bran lifted his gaze. His expression was calm, but there was an unusual stillness to him that told her she had hit the mark. “Wounded pride,” he said with a shrug. “They’ll give up soon enough.”
“I am acquainted with the Lady of Dunstoras, Isabail,” Caitrina said. “I attended her wedding to Andrew Macintosh a number of years ago.”
“She’s wed to Aiden MacCurran now.”
“So I’ve heard.” She waited until he had gained the saddle before adding, “I’ve been quite remiss in sending her my good wishes. I must remedy that.”
He said nothing, just urged the horse into motion and followed their trail back to the old guard. “I saw no sign of a wheelwright,” he informed the gray-haired man. “The cart is still stuck in the mud.”
“So they might be here a while yet.”
“Aye. Give them a day or two to settle their own affairs. If they’ve made no progress by then, send someone to repair the wheel.” Bran sat back in the saddle. “You should be aware that we ran into a spot of trouble.”
The old guard frowned. “What sort of trouble?”
Bran explained what had happened, sticking very close to the truth. “The young Sassenach will have a wee sore head come morn. If they complain about a lack of hospitality,” he said, smiling, “fetch me. I’d be pleased to address their concerns.”
Dougal’s man snorted. “Serves the bloody fool right.”
“The lad here,” Bran nodded over his shoulder, “will meet the rewards of his poor judgment back at the manor. I’ll make certain he can’t sit for a day.”
The old man’s gaze met Caitrina’s over the edge of her brat. “As it should be, I suppose.”
They left without further ado. When they had been plodding along for a while, she asked, “I trust you weren’t actually thinking to take a switch to my behind?”
“Nay. I’ve no desire to be arrested for striking a lady.”
“That’s good to hear. You sounded quite convincing to the guard.”
