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Fortunately, Carenza still had the nun’s habit Eve had loaned her. She’d kept it since the night they’d fled. So Eve exchanged her red velvet gown for the habit.

The royal guard might be able to outpace the lady fleeing in red. But he wouldn’t glance twice at the nun strolling back along the road.

Her return to the convent was happily uneventful. She was still beaming from her victorious exchange with Hew and Carenza and her successful escape from the royal guard.

She arrived to even more encouraging news. Her father’s annual stipend had arrived.

That meant she had enough coin to have Adam’s gambeson altered by the tailor in the village to fit her and to purchase a new bow and arrows. She could compete in the upcoming Rivenloch tournament at Darragh and win back the silver she’d lost.

“Who did you say you were?”

King Malcolm leaned forward in his chair from the far side of the pavilion and narrowed his eyes at Adam.

Adam’s heart pounded.

He resisted the urge to wrench his arms out of the royal guards’ vise-like grip.

Never before had he feared someone would unmask him and discover his true identity. His talent for deception had always served him well.

But this—stating clearly he was Sir Adam la Nuit of Rivenloch and not being recognized by his own king—this made his blood simmer.

Considering the king had been out of the country for some time, and the fact that Adam looked nothing as he had before—with cropped hair, a full beard, and battered armor—he supposed it was no surprise that his identity was being challenged. Still, it was humiliating.

He’d been caught in the forest, exactly as he’d intended. He’d managed to stray far enough away from Fergus’s clansmen on his own to seek out the camp of the king’s army. And he’d allowed the king’s men to take him into custody.

“I’m Sir Adam la Nuit of Rivenloch, Your Grace. We’ve met before.”

“Rivenloch?” he replied, giving him a head-to-toe perusal. “You don’t look like a Rivenloch.”

“I’m…in disguise.”

The guards snickered at that.

Adam felt a muscle tick in his jaw.

The king gave him a smug smile, clearly amused. “In disguise? I see. And what proof do you carry that you are a member of the Rivenloch clan? A seal? A ring? A document?”

Adam sighed.

This was Aillenn’s fault. It was hard not to be angry with her. If the scheming wench hadn’t switched the satchels weeks ago, he’d have the medallion now as proof.

“My clan medallion was stolen, Your Grace.”

The guards snickered again.

Adam felt the veins in his neck bulging.

The king steepled his fingers in front of him. “So you have no proof then?”

The guards chuckled aloud.

Adam clenched his jaw. He’d had enough. He’d risked his life, voluntarily embedding himself in the keep of the enemy to spy on the king’s behalf.

Proof? The king wanted proof he was a Rivenloch?

Fueled by the cold blood of his Viking forebears and the hot blood of his Scots ancestors, he wrenched his left arm out of the guard’s grip, turned to the guard on his right, and gave him a hard punch just above his smirking mouth.

A punch that crunched the bones of the man’s nose and made him stagger away in pain.

The guard on his left drew his dagger. Adam dodged the quick thrust, seizing the man’s wrist and bending it backwards until he dropped to his knees with a yowl.

Adam grabbed the weapon before it fell from the guard’s limp fingers.

Then he faced the two soldiers at the pavilion door. They were armed with swords.

He could still best them. Hell, he could kill them. But that would be a mistake.

Instead, he rushed at one of them, blocking the man’s upraised blade with the haft of the dagger before diving toward his shins to bowl him over backwards.

While he disentangled himself from the fallen soldier, he lost the dagger.

The second guard had time to take a few swings at him.

Adam dodged right. Then he rolled left. At the third strike, he managed to kick the man’s hand, altering its course.

The blade whistled past Adam’s head, missing him by an inch.

Borrowing one of his sister Feiyan’s tricks, he leaped to his feet, did a quick spin and, with his heel, kicked the guard full force in the side of the head. The man went down like a puppet with its strings cut.

Adam located and scooped up the dropped dagger, bracing himself for more attacks.

There were none.

Breathing heavily, he glanced at the king.

Malcolm looked suitably frightened. As he should have been. Adam still had a dagger. If he’d been a foe instead of a loyal vassal, he could have killed the king.

Instead, Adam came forward, lowered himself to one knee, and offered Malcolm the weapon, hilt first.

The king didn’t bother taking it, saying in awe, “You are a Rivenloch.”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

The king squinted to study him more thoroughly. Adam wasn’t sure it helped.

“Ah, of course, we see it now,” Malcolm said. “We remember you from…from…”

Malcolm obviously did not remember him, though they’d met several times before. But that was fine with Adam. Until now, his invisibility had always been a useful gift.

“Last spring, I came to my cousin Gellir’s wedding tournament at Perth, Your Grace,” Adam told him. That much was true, even though he’d been in disguise.

“Aye, that’s it.”

The fallen guards began to rouse. They grumbled, trying to regain their balance and their dignity as they saw Malcolm and Adam conversing peacefully.

The king asked, “Why have you come, Sir…?”

“Adam. Sir Adam la Nuit. I’ve come to serve Your Grace.”

“Serve me? How?”

“I’ve come to be a royal scout.”

“A scout?” He scratched his chin. “You mean a spy?”

“If you wish.”

“On whom do you mean to spy?”

Adam glanced at the recovering guards. Could he count on their silence?

The king waved them away. “Leave us.”

“But Your Grace…” the man gripping his injured wrist protested.

“This is Rivenloch,” the king said. “I trust him.”

The guards reluctantly left.

When they were alone, the king asked again, “On whom do you mean to spy?”

“Fergus.”

“Fergus.” The king feigned indifference. “Why would you—”

“I believe Your Grace intends to attack him.”

Malcolm blinked. “Where did you hear that?”

“There is no faster conduit for secrets than the church.”

Malcolm’s brows rose. Then he sighed. “We must learn to take care with our confessions from now on.” His brow creased in concern. “Does Fergus know?”

“I don’t think so.” Surely Fergus would have boasted about fighting the king if he knew he was nearby.

“So what do you propose?”

“I’ve been living in Fergus’s household at Kenmure for weeks now. He’s been strengthening his fortresses. Building his army. Hiring mercenaries.”

“Mercenaries…like you?”

“Like me.”

“Mm.” The king steepled his fingers. “Surely he doesn’t think he can defeat the whole of the Scots army.”

“Fergus’s numbers are growing. Parcel by parcel, he’s taken much land already, expanded his influence.

” Adam didn’t mention that the Scots’ loyalty to their king had been in question since Malcolm had become so friendly with the English king.

“He doesn’t wage war like a lion, Your Grace.

He attacks like a pack of hyenas biting the lion. ”

“And how would you fight those hyenas?”

“If you find out when and where they intend to bite…”

The king nodded. “I see. And you plan to provide that information?”

“If I can, Your Grace.”

“This would be invaluable,” Malcolm agreed. “But if you’re caught…”

Adam was confident he wouldn’t be caught. Ness MacNeill had already managed to fade into the background at Kenmure. He was a soldier of average skill and even temper. He held no opinions. He spoke little. He kept to himself. No one would notice him missing.

“I wouldn’t expect to be rescued,” he assured the king.

“Spoken like a true Rivenloch,” the king remarked.