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Harold scoffed. “I don’t know why you insist on traveling such a great distance to pray. The brothers are not known to perform miracles or cure the infirmed.”
“Harold!” Fiona felt her ire ignite, not only at her brother’s words, but at the smirking expression on his face. “We have no need of cures or miracles.”
Her brother’s perceptive eyes narrowed further. “Then why go at all? Why travel these dangerous roads?”
Fiona swallowed. Lying had never come easily, and with so much depending upon keeping her true plans secret, it was hard to find a response. But find one she must. “I need to show proper respect for the anniversary of Henry’s death. A retreat of prayer and reflection seems fitting.”
“My chapel is at your disposal, as is my priest. Hell, your priest still resides within my keep. Are these two holy men not enough?”
“I need to show proper respect,” Fiona repeated, forcing humility into her tone. Why was her brother taking such an interest in her now? He had hardly been welcoming when she arrived a year ago, dazed and shocked and desperate. His lack of attention and concern had been hurtful, and even more upsetting was the eventual realization that her brother’s feelings would not change.
’Twas obvious he had little use for Spencer, with his infirmary, and even less for her, a widow with no dowry. Harold’s neglect and disinterest was one of the reasons she was making this journey. No longer could she tolerate the bleak, barren future her brother saw for her son.
“A holy pilgrimage is a fitting tribute for the baron,” Sir George interjected. “I am proud and honored to be of service to Lady Fiona.”
Harold sniffed and Fiona could see the resistance in his eyes. And while she certainly appreciated Sir George’s support, she feared the knight’s agreement with her had further angered her brother.
“Sir George informed me earlier this year he intended to make this pilgrimage when the weather turned warmer. It made sense that Spencer and I join his party,” Fiona said, trying to shift the focus of the conversation. “You and your knights have far more important matters to occupy your time, or else I would have asked for your assistance.”
Harold’s mouth twitched at the blatant, and clearly false, flattery. They both knew her brother would never have granted her request nor spared any of his men to protect her on the journey.
“Since you have found the means, ’tis clear you will do as you wish, no matter what I say.” Harold’s words were tight and controlled, but his disapproval was obvious. “I find such independence a very unattractive quality in a female.”
Fiona closed her eyes, feeling her stomach churn. As bad as things were, she knew they could get much worse. If she were wrong, if her plan failed, she would be forced to grovel, to beg for her brother’s forgiveness, leaving herself, and Spencer, totally at his mercy. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, brother. But I must follow my conscience, and my faith.”
“So be it.” Harold relented, his manner deliberately ungracious. “Let it not be said that I didn’t warn you of the folly of your actions.”
Fiona refused to reply, instead lowering her eyes and bending her knee in a graceful curtsy. Clearly unimpressed, her brother snorted and turned away.
Fiona sighed, feeling the tension ease out of her shoulders with each step Harold took. Her brother believed she was going to the Abbey of St. Gifford, but that was a ruse. Oh, they would indeed stop at that holy place. Very briefly.
After respects had been paid to the brothers and prayers offered for Henry’s soul, Fiona was going to continue moving north, to their true destination. Once there, she would appeal to the one man she believed could grant her the justice she so desperately sought, could help her secure the future that Spencer deserved.
She was going to cross the border into Scotland and plead her case to the enemy—Henry’s secret ally, the Earl of Kirkland.
“I want him found and brought to me.” Gavin McLendon, Earl of Kirkland, declared. “Alive.”
A hush fell over the hall at the pronouncement, the silence most eerie. The soldiers gambling in the corner held their dice, the servants cleaning the remains of the noonday meal stood still, the castle women seated in the bright sunlight at the far end of the vast chamber halted their sewing. Even the castle hounds ceased foraging for food scraps among the rush-strewn floor, heads raised, ears pointed.
Alone on the dais, Gavin leaned back in his seat, his sharp gaze pinned to the three men standing before him. Yet their expressions, each more stoic than the next, never changed.
Gavin fingered the ornately carved armrest of his chair and waited. There would be no excuses—his men knew him well enough to avoid that mistake. But there might be some sort of protest, since what he was asking them to do was akin to impossible.
And they all knew that, including Gavin.
“We’ve tracked the bastard fer over a week, but the trail has gone cold,” Duncan admitted, his stare unapologetic.
Connor, standing beside his older brother, crossed his arms over his chest. “Gilroy has fled to the hills. He willnae be back fer a while, especially since he knew we were chasing him.”
There was a ripple of agreement from the two other men. Looking past them, Gavin noticed several of the soldiers nodding their heads, while the women clucked a few loud sounds of disagreement.
Frustrated, Gavin cast a hard look at his three best trackers, letting out a soft curse beneath his breath. “Why would Gilroy need to hide from ye in the hills? ’Tis clear from his bold actions he believes he has nothing to fear from me or my men. Two years. Fer two full years that bastard has walked freely among us, doing whatever he pleases, taking whatever he fancies. Why? Because he believes my men lack the wits to stop him. And dammit, he’s right!”
Duncan stiffened, his expression tightening. “’Tis not our lack of brains or skills, as ye well know. Gilroy’s a wily one. And he’s got plenty of help from our own.”
“Aye,” Connor added. “Half the lasses in our clan fancy themselves in love with him. They offer him shelter, then when we follow his trail to their village, they claim not to have seen him.”
Gavin slapped the chair arm beneath his hand, putting every ounce of frustration he was feeling into the blow. His bastard half brother was running amok, stealing cattle and grain and making a general nuisance of himself. Such behavior threatened Gavin’s authority, calling into question his ability to lead and rule his clan.
