Forbidden Knight. Diana Cosby
“Let me kill him,” the scrawny man spat. “He is naught but a traitor to Lord Comyn.”
Their captor struggled to break free. “King Robert is Scotland’s rightful sovereign.”
“Rightful sovereign.” Sir Huwe grunted. “The Bruce murdered his rival at the church of the Greyfriars to ensure he received the crown.” His fingers tightened on the man’s garb. “Tell us where he is or die!”
Alesone straightened, stepped into the opening, drew back the bowstring, and aimed. “Leave him.”
Sir Huwe’s gaze shifted to her. Surprise darkened to recognition. Thick brows narrowed. “You are a fool to dare threaten me.”
“Move back,” she ordered, praying he didna see her trembling, “and I will allow you to walk away, which is more mercy than you showed Grisel.”
With a cold smile, he shoved the wounded man to the ground, strode toward her. “Like you, she deserved none.”
Bastard! She released the shaft.
The arrow drove through the knight’s heart. On a gasp, Sir Huwe collapsed.
Outrage reddened his accomplice’s face. He withdrew his sword, charged.
Her second arrow plunged deep into his chest.
Face ashen, he stumbled back, dropping to the ground with a thud.
After ensuring nay others were in sight, Alesone secured her bow, then hurried to the injured man. “I am a healer.” She knelt by his side, tore a strip from her garb, and pressed the cloth against the large gash across his shoulder.
Pain-filled eyes held hers. “You must leave! A contingent of Comyn’s troops wait beyond the corrie. I was on my way back to warn…” The stranger’s face paled.
“King Robert. I heard you. Dinna worry,” she said as she secured his broken arm. “I am loyal to the Bruce.”
His body sagged with relief. “The king must be informed of the threat.”
“Aye.” She assisted him to his feet. “Can you walk?”
He nodded. “My name is Sir Deargh.”
“I am called Alesone.” With one last look around, she helped him into the shield of trees.
* * *
Firelight illuminated the powerful sovereign’s face, that of a warrior, a man renowned for his tactical expertise. Fighting to steady her nerves, Alesone curtsied before Scotland’s king. “’Tis an honor to meet you, Your Grace.”
“Rise, Mistress Alesone,” Robert Bruce said.
Exhausted, she stood, relieved they’d arrived before the last rays of sunlight faded.
The crackle of the campfire melded with the murmurs of men outside the tent as the king settled in a sturdy but unadorned wooden chair. He motioned for her to sit on a bench paces away. “You saved the life of one of my knights. For that I thank you.”
She clenched the ring in her palm. “I am a healer. I did naught but come to the aid of a wounded warrior.”
“Which explains your actions in part.” He paused. “My knight could have been a criminal.”
“A worry I would have considered, Your Grace, had I not heard his attackers demand that he reveal your camp’s location. Both men serve Lord Comyn.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes, and then his gaze narrowed. “How would you know their allegiance?”
“My loyalties lie with you, Your Grace,” she rushed out, aware that with but a word he could name her a traitor and order her hanged.
“From my man’s account, I believe your claim.” The Bruce rubbed his chin. “You are brave to have faced down two knights alone.”
Brave? Nay, furious.
“Tell me, why are you in the forest without protection when Scotland is at war?”
She drew an unsteady breath. “’Tis complicated.”
A frown worked his brow, and he leaned back. “I have time.”
Against the crackle of the fire, Alesone met the king’s eyes, found sincerity, patience, and intellect. Grisel’s dying words rolled through her. Though the healer had saved the Bruce, would his pledge given to her those many years ago override Alesone’s blood tie to his enemy?
As smoke curled from the flames, she explained how Grisel had taken her in as a child, gave a brief history over the years, and told him how two days earlier she’d returned to her home and found the woman who’d raised her beaten and dying. And how, with her last breath, Grisel had revealed those behind her attack.
Face solemn, the Bruce held her gaze. “What did she do to incite their outrage?”
Tears burned in Alesone’s throat as she struggled with the loss, with the knowledge that she’d never again see Grisel. “I found one of your knights wounded and hid him in our hut. Until Comyn’s men demanded entry, neither she nor I believed anyone was aware of his presence. Before they broke into her home, she helped your knight slip out through a secret passage. Loyal to you, she stalled the men while your knight escaped.” She paused, angled her chin. “Neither will I apologize for killing any of Comyn’s men.”
“Nor should you.” A frown deepened on his brow. “You are alone and on the run?”
“I am.”
“You travel to relations?”
“Nay.” Alesone damned the waver in her voice.
He arched a brow. “Friends?”
She shook her head. Hand trembling, she held out the ring. “Grisel Bucahn said to bring you this and you would offer me protection.”
Recognition flared in the king’s eyes, and his hands tightened on the arms of the chair. “God’s teeth.”
At the emotion in his voice, her own throat tightened. “I will never forget her.”
“Nor I,” he rasped. “She was a fine woman, one to whom I owed my life.” For a moment he studied her, and then gave a curt nod. “I will honor my promise to Grisel and offer you my protection. And your arrival is fortuitous. I am in need of a healer to care for me as well as my men, a position I offer you.”
Overwhelmed by his generosity, she nodded. “I thank you. ’Twould please me to serve you, Your Grace.”
“’Twill nae be easy,” the king cautioned. “Life on campaign is difficult at best.”
“I am well aware of the demands necessary and more than prepared for the task. In addition to my knowledge in the use of herbs, I am proficient with a bow and a dagger,” she said, proud of her skills, a proficiency that’d saved her life many times.
Satisfaction filled the king’s eyes. “Mistress Alesone, ’twould seem we have a bargain.”
Dread eroded her happiness. Though he’d offered her a position along with his protection, neither did he know of her own circumstance. Terrified of admitting her bond to his enemy, she refused to allow the truth to be unearthed later and be labeled a spy. “There is one more issue, Sire. I fear when you know of my lineage, you will withdraw your offer.”
Shrewd eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“I am…or rather, my mother was…” Bedamned! “Lord Comyn is my father,” she breathed, nae wanting the guard at the entrance to hear.
A gust of wind battered the tent.
His mouth tightened, and a tremor slid through her. Please let him look past my heritage.
“You said as a newborn you were left with Grisel?”
Shame