“I wish I could say otherwise, but I don’t believe he is.”
“I thought…I worried it was Mael.”
“So did I. I’ve sent Mason to find the man and tell him to shave his beard, cut his hair, and find new clothes. And above all, to stay well away from the walls.”
Robert finished the sentence with him, and they laughed. Then the lad’s eyes flew wide and he came to a halt.
“What is it?”
“I forgot about yer woman.”
Together, they lifted their eyes to the top of the steps where Brigid Muir stood in a warm shaft of sunshine. She wore a rich green kirtle with long sleeves attached, and though her hair had been tamed, glints of gold and red still danced around her head like tiny knives of light. The way she linked her fingers demurely in front of her was just as deceptive for, even at a distance, her smile unnerved him. And for a moment, Flanders considered turning away.
But there was a fight overdue—and it wasn’t the one waiting at the gates.
“Favor me,” Robert said, as they started up the steps.
“I can try.”
“Make it well and clear that I had nothing to do with yer decision to lock her in.”
* * *
“Good morn, gentlemen.”Brigid held a practiced smile in place as her rescuers reached the narrow landing. She pushed the door wide and stepped back to allow them inside the keep. By the glances they exchanged, she had already made them nervous. And she tried not to enjoy that fact. After all they’d done for her, she should be nothing but grateful.
But that didn’t mean they should be trusted. Or rather, it didn’t mean Flanders could be trusted again. Looking back, she was certain he’d lied intentionally when he’d promised she could go with him back to the fort. He’d known his plan before he took his leave. Then as soon as she’d fallen asleep, he’d locked her inside the bedchamber.
Granted, he hadn’t gone off without her, but would have if he could have.
And now, he had more important things to deal with than her. But at least he knew that a reckoning was coming.
She breathed in the warmth of the morning sun and followed them inside. Like a silly puppy, she waited to see if Flanders might have something kind to say before he was swept into the tide of men headed for the war room. The women in the kitchens warned her not to get her hopes up, that now, with the enemy at their gates, the men would think of nothing but the fight, and that to distract them would be selfish.
She had learned, before her morning rant was through, that Flanders Leesborn was beloved by his people, and she would find no one to take her side against him—justified or not.
She’d awakened with tears on her cheeks, an ache for her sister, and vengeance in her heart—only to discover she’d been betrayed by the man she’d mooned over for years. And then, to be told that man was too sainted to be questioned—it was not to be born!
And yet, here she was, bearing it.
Robert started up the stairs to the upper floor but stopped to look back at Flanders, who had not followed.
“Go on,” Flanders told him. “I shall join ye presently.”
Robert glanced at Brigid, gave an understanding nod, then went on. Flanders turned to her and held out a hand. She hesitated long enough to make him worry, but finally laid her hand in his. He wasn’t smiling when he pulled her close and wrapped a hand around her back to keep her from escaping.
“Brigid.”
“Flanders.”
“I owe ye an apology.”
She breathed in those words and found them much more satisfying than the warmth of the morning sun, but still, she withheld her smile and held her tongue. No need to interrupt a good apology.
“I lied to ye. I let ye believe that I would allow ye back in harm’s way, because ye wanted it so badly. I wanted to make ye happy. Oh, how dearly I wanted to make ye happy, but I care about ye too much to allow it. And I should have said so. No matter how I might have angered ye, I should have told ye the truth.”
The resentment simmering inside her ceased boiling. That feeling of betrayal changed into something else entirely. And damn him, she hadn’t had a chance to say all the things she’d rehearsed. But there was still something…
“I understand, Laird Leesborn. I do. And I shall forgive ye this time. With all that happened, we were forced together by a storm of sorts. What we might have felt…perhaps we were desperate to belong to…someone. But the storm is over?—”
