A short, bitter laugh escaped her lips. “You are doomed to be disappointed, I fear.”
He watched the war of indecision play out upon her face—in the worry of her teeth on her bottom lip and in the lines that came and went upon her brow. Truth or lie, it did not matter. He would help her, whatever she said. He owed her that much. But he still prayed for the truth.
She heaved a sigh and he held his breath.
“He means to steal the queen’s babe.”
Bran almost swallowed his tongue. Satan’s ballocks. Perhaps it was his personal leaning toward coin and gems, but he had assumed Giric’s interest would lie in the queen’s bounty of copious jewels, not in the politics of the Scottish crown. “Are you certain?”
“Aye.” Her gaze met his. “It ismytask to snatch the child.”
In her role of lady-in-waiting, Caitrina would certainly have opportunity, but it would not be easy to steal a royal bairn. “So, it is King Edward’s intent to confine the lad as he has confined Gwenllian of Wales?”
Caitrina grimaced. “I know not what his intent is. Save for one brief audience several months ago, I’ve not had words with Longshanks.”
“Raising the Scottish monarch under an English roof would certainly serve him well. A lad who looks to him like a father will be quick to swear fealty.”
“Well,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “If he succeeds, it will not be on me. I will not betray my queen.”
Bran brushed a thumb over the ruddy crest of her cheek. “As long as he holds Marsailli, your will is not your own. Giric knows full well that if it comes to a choice between your sister and the queen’s babe, you will choose your sister.”
She wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t.
“I do not fault you that choice,” he said. “In your shoes, I would make the same decision.”
She grabbed his hand with both of hers. “Now you see why I forced you to aid me. If I can free Marsailli, Giric will have no hold over me. He will fail.”
It was true. The key to everything was finding and freeing Marsailli. “Dougal is searching for her as we speak,” he told her. Not precisely true; Dougal’s men were looking for Giric. But if they found the murderous Englishman, they would also find Marsailli.
She frowned. “Did you not say they had eluded you?”
“Aye,” he said. She released his hand and he immediately missed her touch. “We lost them near the northern border, but they clearly circled back. The oxcart belongs to a nearby tenant.”
A sad smile flitted across her face. “I’m sure Dougal will do a fine job, but you will be sorely missed.”
Ah, yes. His imminent departure. He’d almost forgotten about that. The Guardians of Scotland would soon be descending upon Clackmannan, and it would behoove him to be gone when they got here. But the moment that bloodstained gown had fluttered into view, leaving the manor had ceased to be an option. A young lass had suffered because of him. If he turned his back on her now, it would be like abandoning his brother all over again.
He couldn’t do that.
Not even to save his own skin.
Nor could he abandon Caitrina and the queen, not while wicked plans were afoot. The future of his country would be decided here, in this very manor, within the next month. And only he and Caitrina knew the full extent of the danger. No one else had a hope of mounting a defense against Giric—it would have to be him.
“I’m not leaving,” he said.
Her eyes opened wide. “But the risks of remaining—”
“—can be minimized,” he said. “If I acquire forged credentials.”
“Can you do such a thing?”
The scandalized note in her voice amused him. He smiled. “With enough coin, sweetling, you can do anything.”
But it wouldn’t be easy. The timing would be the greatest challenge. The only man he knew who could forge documents well enough to hoodwink the high steward lived in Edinburgh—a day and a half’s ride from Clackmannan. And the lad would need time to craft them. Even if all went smoothly, Bran could not acquire papers in anything less than five days.
He just had to hope that James Stewart was not in a hurry to answer the queen’s summons.
***
