She swallowed, her heartbeat speeding up at what she was about to say. “If ye can prove yerself, I would aid ye, aye. How could I nae?”
“Tell me,” Rhys said, his tone grave, “have the Guardians of Scotland been appointed yet?”
“The what?” she asked, confused.
“Six guardians will be appointed to govern Scotland while the Maid of Norway is young. These are the men you referred to earlier. They will be called the Guardians of Scotland.” He sounded so certain of it that her heart started pounding, despite the fact that she was standing still.
“Ye can nae possibly know what they will be called or how many will be appointed,” she whispered.
“I can, Maggie, because as I told you, I studied the history of your people.Mypeople,” he went on. “The guardians will be comprised of two bishops, two earls, and two barons.”
Her brow furrowed, and she nibbled on her lip as she thought. She had heard her sister mention that the prelates of the Church and many nobles were gathering at Parliament at Scone Palace to swear loyalty to the Maid of Norway. Numbness descended over Maggie, and it had nothing to do with the rapidly dropping temperature. “There is currently a gathering occurring at Scone, which is verra close to yer—” she stopped herself from sayingmother“—to Shona’s home. I suppose they could elect guardians there…”
He grabbed her suddenly, excitement lighting his eyes. “We have to go there! I can tell you exactly who will be appointed, and then when you see it for yourself, you will know I’m telling the truth!” His hands felt like fire on her skin; his touch sent sparks across her body.
She should not travel with him all the way to Perthshire without proof that what he said was true. She couldn’t even believe she was considering it, but she was. Besides, the Black Hart Inn was located in Burntisland, which was a reasonable walk from here. She could lead him there, and if any guardians had been appointed, the people at the inn would know. Word of important events like that traveled fast, and outriders would be sent from Scone to all the surrounding inns to let the people of Scotland know what was occurring. Then when it was finally proven that Rhys was addled in the head, she would return to Kinghorn immediately.
He was studying her with an intensity that made her heart flutter. She cleared her throat. “I’ll walk with ye to Burntisland. We’ll make it there well before the nooning meal.” She told him quickly about what she was going to do.
She expected him to become angry, but he grinned. “How far is it from Burntisland to Perthshire?” he asked, the eagerness in his tone unmistakable.
“It depends on the weather,” she said, eyeing the clouds and the heavy snow that was now falling. “It could take as little as two days or as long as a sennight, but we should depart for Burntisland now. I have a feeling the weather is going to worsen verra quickly.” She eyed the herbs she’d gathered once more. “Ye say hemlock and henbane are poisonous?”
“Definitely.”
“But I already used them in small amounts on ye.”
“Lucky you didn’t kill me,” he said with a wink.
Frowning, she said, “I can use the herb Robert instead, and the—”
“Not a chance, Maggie,” he said with a gentle smile that made her heart skip a beat.
“But—”
“No,” he said firmly but kindly. “I’ve never been a good patient,” he replied with a grin. He looked down at his stomach, and her gaze followed. His wounds looked much better than they had. “The cuts are already scabbing, so…” He shrugged. It occurred to her that his wounds would draw attention to them, and if Baron Bellecote had been to the inn looking for her and asking questions, they could ill afford to be noticed.
“Ye need to put on Father George’s habit” she said, yanking her gaze from his chest to his face.
He gave her an amused look. “Am I too tempting for you?”
“Ye must certainly be from this time, as ye are just as arrogant as all the other Scottish men I know.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a chuckle.
“Do nae,” she grumbled. Though, in truth, she did like that he was confident.
Chapter Ten
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
~ William Ernest Henley, “Invictus”
