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“Nay,” she managed to croak out, reaching toward him as if she could snatch it from his hand.

He handed it to the king.

Her throat ached with the pain of treachery. Tears burned behind her eyes. Why was he betraying her?

“Adam?” she begged.

He made no reply.

“Adam,” she sobbed.

“Guards!” the king called out.

Two royal guards rushed through the pavilion flap, their hands at the ready, clapped on their sheathed swords.

“Take her,” the king instructed.

Finally, Eve’s instincts for survival overcame her wounded heart. Adam might have crushed her with his cruelty. But she would not go quietly.

She tore off her coif and veil. Sweeping up the hard cheese that had spilled from her satchel, she withdrew the wee eating dagger she’d stabbed into it earlier. Then, kicking aside the skirts of her habit, she faced the two guards with fight in her blood and fire in her eyes.

They drew their swords.

She gulped.

The blades were long. Sharp. Gleaming. Her puny knife was no match for them.

Still, she blew out a forceful breath, steadying herself.

“Wait!”

It was Adam.

The king raised his hand, halting his men.

“By rights as a Rivenloch, Your Grace,” Adam said, “I claim this captive.”

The gears clicked in Eve’s head. Was he trying to rescue her after all? Did he mean to spirit her away from the king? But why hadn’t he just let her explain to Malcolm about his men and their crime? Why had he changed the plan?

“I may have a use for her,” he continued.

“Indeed?” the king said.

“She’s a beautiful woman and a talented trickster,” Adam said. “She’s likely valuable to Fergus. She may be a useful pawn against him.”

What the Devil was he trying to do?

“What do you suggest?” the king asked.

“Belay the attack on the morrow,” Adam said. “I’ll go to Fergus and tell him his spy was captured. I’ll say Your Grace is willing to negotiate her safe return, but only if there are no clan raids in the next fortnight.”

“A truce?” The king scoffed. “Our men are eager for battle. The rebellion cannot continue. Fergus is wreaking havoc. The war must be won as soon as possible.”

“But would it not be more chivalrous, Your Grace, to make a bloodless end to the rebellion? Earn the loyalty and admiration of your subjects by not…killing them?”

Eve understood what he was trying to do. It was the same thing he’d done at Perth. Avoid battle and bloodshed through diplomacy.

It was a worthwhile endeavor. An honorable effort. Maybe peacemaking was Adam’s Greater Purpose.

The king chortled. “A Rivenloch advocating for peace?”

Eve tensed. The king was right to doubt him. The Rivenlochs were a warring clan. Negotiation was the last thing a warrior of Rivenloch would suggest.

“We may be a clan of warriors, Your Grace,” Adam replied, “but our motto is Amor vincit omnia. ”

“Love conquers all,” the king translated, amused.

Adam gave a further assurance. “If Fergus breaks the truce, Your Grace, summon my clan. They can be here by the new month, and together we can lay siege.”

Eve wondered how he was going to pull that off. And how did she figure into his scheme? Was she just meant to be, as he’d said, a “useful pawn”? Did Adam intend to sacrifice her to protect the king?

If he deserted her, leaving her with Malcolm, she was doomed. A ransom from Fergus for her safe return would never come. Fergus didn’t know her, much less value her. The king would eventually execute her as a spy.

Eve stared at Adam, unable to decipher his intentions. It seemed he was willing to dismiss her as a sacrificial lamb. He refused to look at her, and she could read nothing in his expressionless eyes.

“Very well,” Malcolm said. “The Rivenlochs have served us faithfully for generations. We will entrust this matter to you. We will wait till after All Souls Day…as long as Fergus abides by the truce.”

Adam bowed his head in thanks. “Your Grace will keep the lass safe and unharmed?”

Eve’s heart lightened with hope. If he was concerned for her welfare, perhaps he did care for her.

Then he added, “Her value must be retained. Otherwise, leverage will be useless.”

Her value? Leverage? Was that all she was?

Eve began trembling then. Whether it was from hurt or fear or fury, she wasn’t sure.

Adam still wouldn’t look at her. She knew why now. Guilt had made a coward of him. He meant to abandon her and couldn’t look her in the eye to do it.

“We’ll keep her safe,” the king said, “if she’ll put away her weapon.”

Eve had forgotten she was gripping the eating knife in her fist. At the moment, she wanted to hurl it at Adam. But that would gain nothing.

Instead, she dropped it to the ground.

“Take her to the physician’s pavilion,” the king commanded.

“She’s a wily wench,” Adam warned. “Your Grace would be wise to put her in chains.”

Eve’s trembling was definitely rage now. Chains?

“Do so,” the king ordered.

The guards sheathed their swords and grabbed her by the arms.

“Wait,” Adam said. “I’ll need proof for Fergus.”

He picked up her dropped knife, seized a lock of her hair, and cut it off.

Then, before she could glare and spit out an epithet at the man who had condemned her to imprisonment for the next fortnight, they marched her roughly out of the pavilion.

Thank God she was too furious to feel the pain of her broken heart.