Page 43

From the first moment the king mentioned a visit from Lady Carenza of Dunlop’s cousin, Adam’s suspicions were aroused. Why would the king hear about the marriage between Carenza and Hew from a mere cousin of the bride and not from the Laird of Rivenloch? It didn’t make sense.

Apparently, this cousin, a woman, had the marriage document in her possession. She even convinced the king to put his seal on it.

Just who was this mystery cousin?

Adam was fairly certain Carenza had no cousins.

But inventing a cousin sounded like the sort of audacious scheme someone like Adam—or Eve—might attempt.

Was it possible? Could Eve have contrived such a thing? For what purpose?

His suspicions were quickly confirmed. As soon as he exited the king’s pavilion, he spied a well-dressed noblewoman teetering out of the camp on ridiculously tall pattens. Shoes no sensible lady would wear.

And while he didn’t recognize the shoes or the limping gait, he’d know that luscious body anywhere.

He followed her. Once they reached the forest, catching up with her wasn’t difficult. She could hardly hobble at a decent pace, balancing on the infernal wooden blocks.

When she stopped to remove them, he slipped silently past her through the trees. Then all he had to do was wait for her to resume her flight.

Still, he was surprised when she literally crashed into his arms.

Even more surprised when she scrabbled at him in panic.

“’Tis me. Adam,” he told her, placing hands of reassurance on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

The fear in her eyes dimmed, but she flashed him a too bright smile. “Adam.” Her voice sounded shrill and strained. “What are ye doin’ here?”

“I could ask ye the same thing.”

She wasn’t fooling him. Guilt was written all over her face.

“I mean, ’tis a lovely surprise,” she gushed, avoiding the question. She pressed her cheek against his chest and gave him a squeeze, but it felt forced. “It seems ye were right. We do have a way o’ findin’ each other.”

He pulled her back to take a look at her painted face. “I don’t believe I’ve met this lady before.”

Faint alarm shot through her eyes like subtle lightning, so brief another man might not notice. But he could see it.

“Caterine,” she said with a French accent, clearly improvising on the spot. “I am Caterine of Paris.”

That wasn’t what she’d told the king.

“I see.” He lifted one of her coarse pale braids with a finger. “Horse hair?”

She nodded.

He brushed a finger across her cheek. “Chalk? And beeswax for your lips?”

“A lady likes to look her best.” Her tone was smug, but there was a tremor in her voice.

“The pattens are a nice touch.”

“They were…unwise,” she admitted. “But what about ye?” she said, going on the offensive. “Who is this man with the rusted mail and the patched gambeson? Is he part o’ your ‘somethin’ important to attend to’?”

Adam hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him. He was so concerned with finding out Eve’s business with the king, he’d forgotten about his own secret mission. He couldn’t have her prying into his affairs. He couldn’t tell her who he was portraying either.

But just like her, he could invent characters from whole cloth.

He affected a gruff new accent. “Sir Walther, German mercenary.”

“And are ye here to fight for the king?”

“The king?” he said, feigning surprise. “Which king?”

Eve froze for an instant, obviously realizing her misstep. How would she know the king was here?

Recovering quickly, she shrugged. “Doesn’t every mercenary fight for the king?”

He chuckled in response. Eve was a fast thinker.

Still, she was getting too close to the truth for comfort.

The fact she’d managed to talk her way into the king’s pavilion was bad enough.

That she was feigning to be a person working on behalf of the Rivenlochs, a person who could easily be proven not to exist, was worse.

But if she found out Adam was a spy, she would likely want to help him, and that would be perilous.

“Listen, Eve,” he said. “We need to leave. As soon as possible.”

“Leave? Why?”

“The woods are thick with…mercenaries. This is a dangerous place to be.”

“Is that what I heard in the forest as I passed?” Eve said, feigning ignorance about the king’s pavilion. “I thought ’twas a company o’ pilgrims. Are ye travelin’ with them?”

He avoided answering her directly. “Do I look like a pilgrim?” Before she could reply, he decided, “We’ll go to Castle Darragh.”

“The site o’ the tournament?”

He nodded. “I know the place well. ’Twill be safe there.”

No doubt he knew the place, Eve thought. His Rivenloch clanswoman lived there.

Now she knew how her satchel had ended up in Lady Feiyan’s hands.

Though she’d agreed to go with him, journeying to Darragh seemed dangerous.

She couldn’t take on a third identity. It was too risky.

What if Feiyan recognized her, either as the colorful young archer who’d thrown the match at her tournament or the nun who’d offered to distribute her donation of clothing to the poor?

Did Adam intend to reveal his secret to Eve when they arrived, that he was a Rivenloch? When he introduced her to Lady Feiyan, would it be as an outlaw he’d met while traveling or his beloved betrothed?

Sadly, Eve knew the answer to that. And neither option was good.

“We should travel as clergy,” she decided. “’Tis safest that way.”

She could simply be Sister Eve. Feiyan knew her as a nun already, and Adam would assume Eve was playing a part.

He nodded in agreement. “Good.”

He began pulling monk’s robes out of his satchel. She dug in hers for her habit and a rag to wipe the powder from her face.

Then she stopped. If he was in such a hurry to spirit her away… “Wait. If there are mercenaries about, doesn’t that mean war is imminent? Where do ye suppose the fightin’ will be?”

He tensed his jaw, but made no comment. Of course that was what it meant. But if Adam was spying for Malcolm, he’d tell no one the king’s battle plans.

He frowned sternly. “We’ll be safe at Darragh.”

She knitted her brows in concern. “’Tis only that there’s a convent not far from Galloway, near Mauchline. I have…acquaintances there. I need to know they’ll be safe.”

“They’d ne’er attack a convent,” he said. “’Tisn’t honorable.”

She hoped he was right. She’d heard the king. He intended to attack Galloway ere breakfast. That seemed rather dishonorable for a king so devoted to chivalry.

Eve prayed she hadn’t given away too much, mentioning the convent. She planned to never have to reveal that part of her life to Adam. It would be much easier for both of them if he never knew he’d swived a nun.

To be fair, she supposed she shouldn’t be angry with Adam for hiding the fact he was a Rivenloch. His minor transgression paled in light of Eve’s glaring and ongoing deceit.

Their church garments afforded them some protection as Adam led her along the path. But loose soldiers roaming the forest could be as unpredictable as a pack of wolves. So they made their way toward Darragh in silence.

A few hours into their journey, Adam stopped in front of her.

She collided with him. Then she went quiet.

There was a sound coming from the trees up ahead. Sobbing.

Ignoring Adam’s cautious “shh,” she passed him on the trail to follow the sound.

He bit out one annoyed, “Eve!” and then followed her.

A young woman lurched toward them on the trail.

She wore only a torn leine, which hung off one shoulder.

One of her boots was missing. Her hair hung down over her face.

There was blood smeared on her hands and across her front.

Her eyes were glazed, as if she’d seen unspeakable horrors.

And the sound of her sobbing struck at the core of Eve’s heart.

Eve rushed toward her.

The woman glanced up. Her eyes widened at the sight of a priest and a nun.

“Help!” she cried. “Thank God, ye’ve come to help!” She fell on her knees and clasped her hands before her. “I prayed for the Lord’s help, and He sent ye.”

Sister Eve’s compulsion to be of assistance drove her to enfold the woman’s bloody hands in her own.

“What’s happened?”

“’Tis my husband,” she gulped out. “He’s sore wounded.”

Eve frowned. Her husband? It was the woman who looked like she’d tangled with wolves. “But what about ye?”

“I’m…fine,” she lied, her voice shaky. “But my husband was injured tryin’ to protect me.”

“Protect ye from whom?” Adam’s voice dripped with a vengeful hunger Eve had never heard in him before.

The woman shook her head. “Two men. I don’t know…”

“What’s your name?” Eve asked.

“Fonia.”

“Fonia, take us to your husband.”

Fonia nodded, wincing in pain as she got to her feet. Then she motioned them to follow her.

Adam caught Eve’s arm and spoke under his breath. “Are ye certain this is wise?”

Eve whispered back, “We have to help her.”

He grimaced.

“I know ye’re in a hurry,” she murmured, “but if we can be of assistance—”

“’Tisn’t that. ’Tis only…we’re not physicians.”

It was clear he was remembering the infant they’d lost. And to be honest, she too was haunted by the prospect of failure.

But she had to ignore that self-doubt. She couldn’t let it hamper her ability to help.

“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But I have to do what I can. I won’t be frozen by fear.”

“Nor will I. But…ye said there was a convent nearby. With real nuns. Nuns with a knowledge o’ healin’. And, if they can’t save him, they can at least save his soul. We can take him there.”

Eve’s breath caught. She couldn’t go there with him. Not to her own convent.

Then Adam would know the truth. That she was a nun. That he’d trysted with a nun.

Thankfully, she was saved from coming up with an excuse not to go when Fonia suddenly let out a horrified shriek.

“The alehouse! Simon!”

Not far down the path, Eve spotted smoke billowing from the roof of a roadside alehouse.

It was on fire. And by Fonia’s cry, her husband was inside.

Just as Eve caught the woman to keep her from running into the burning building, Adam bolted past them both.