A faint smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Taking the crown was a mistake. I plied an old man with wine, and when he told me his secret, I robbed him. Hardly one of my better moments. But I’m a thief, and thieving is what I do.” He shrugged. “The opportunity was there, and I seized it.”
“Did you truly hold him for ransom?”
“I held no knife to his throat,” Bran said. “But I forced him to show me the hidden vault and stole his horse, so the effect was the same.”
“Your reasons for taking the crown were fine enough.”
He shook his head. “There are other ways to sway the castle guard. In truth, I was racked by guilt from the moment I left Dunstoras. I could not equate the theft of the crown with lifting a few coins from a wealthy man’s purse. But there seemed no easy way to repair the damage I had done.”
“You appear to have found a way.”
“I’m not so sure.” He smiled wryly. “I may lose my head in the settlement.”
“Save the queen, and all will be forgiven.”
“I will do my best. Is that why you’re here? To see me off?”
“Aye.” Circling the bed to his back, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “If you think that I shall let you march off to battle without a token of my affections, you are sadly mistaken.”
He covered her arms with his, giving her a welcome reminder of his warmth and strength. Just touching him soothed her worries. He was strong and smart and good with a blade. There was a very good chance he would return in one piece.
“I would not go were the odds not in my favor,” he reassured her.
“The gossip says the English outnumber us. Is it true?”
“Aye,” he admitted. “We cannot leave the manor unprotected, so we must split our forces.”
“Why not simply wait for them to attack?”
He turned in her arms and drew her against his chest. “You promised to trust me.”
She snuggled deeper in his embrace. “I trust you,” she said. “It is Giric I do not trust.”
They were silent for a moment, just holding each other. Imagining a tragic outcome was too painful, so Caitrina held tight to a vision of him riding back through the gate, weary but triumphant.
“You have not asked about Marsailli,” he said quietly. “Or my plan to keep her safe.”
Her heart thumped heavily. “Do you have such a plan?”
He kissed the top of her head, the warmth of his lips resting briefly against her scalp. “Do you recall what I told you the last time you asked if I had a plan?”
She closed her eyes and drew in an intoxicating breath of his spicy scent. “Only too well. You prefer to think on your feet, and you’ll decide your course of action when you get there.”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest and into her body. “That’s the right of it.”
An image of her sister rose in her thoughts—sweet faced and tenderhearted—and her amusement faded. “It will be difficult to keep her safe in the thick of battle.”
“It will,” he agreed. “But you have my solemn vow that I’ll do everything within my power to save her. There are far better warriors than I among Dougal’s men and the MacCurrans. I’ll leave the bulk of the fighting to them. My efforts are better spent on finding Marsailli.”
“Thank you,” she said.
He pulled away slightly and looked in her eyes. “Did you truly bring a token for me to carry into battle?”
“I did.” She dug into the folds of her brat and pulled out a long strip of white linen. “I thought this would be appropriate.”
He stared at the linen for a long moment. “It’s quite innocent looking.”
She nodded. “No one would ever guess what role it played in my disguise as a lad. How close it bound my breasts.” She gave him her best rendition of a bawdy smile. “Save you.”
