Their proximity was so close that her skin tingled with the heat coming off his body. She couldn’t help but observe him as he did her, noting the seriousness of his handsome face and how powerfully strong his chest was. She recalled how she had longed to rest against him earlier that day when he’d saved her and was once more struck with a pang of longing.
“Will ye ask yer brother if I may defend yer honor tomorrow?” There was an intimate silkiness to his brogue that sent a delightful ripple over her skin.
“He’s stubborn,” she cautioned. “And will do well enough on his own.”
Sutherland’s lips pressed against one another in a manner that suggested he did not wish to share what was in his thoughts.
“What is it?” She pressed.
“’Tis Lord Easton,” he answered with great hesitation. “I fear he may not be strong enough to defeat Brodie.”
The pleasant prickle on her skin chilled with fear. She tried to shrug it off as she thanked him for his concern and departed the Great Hall with Matilda. But even as she tried to push away his warning, it seeped into her thoughts and turned them dark with apprehension.
The following day might bring her freedom, aye. But for the first time, she was forced to acknowledge the realization that the battle might also bring her death.
Cormac was rather proud of himself. He was no smooth-talking courtier like Graham, but he’d done quite well with Isolde that evening. Up to the point where he mentioned the possibility of her brother’s death, that is.
He groaned aloud, a sound that was swallowed up by the music and raucous noise around him. He was a damn fool.
He didn’t need to be a courtier to know his warning was the least romantic thing he could have possibly said. And yet it was true. Lord Easton was a trained fighter with considerable skill and an enviable dexterity. His strength, however, was lacking. Especially against such an opponent as Brodie.
Prior to Cormac’s blunder, the dance had been more pleasant than he’d anticipated. Even with his missteps and ignorance of the moves. He had relished Isolde’s smiles and how she had kindly informed him of what moves to prepare for. Her eyes sparkled at him when she danced, reminding him of the sun when it glittered off the sea.
More than anything, however, it was the nearness of her that had given him the most enjoyment.
She wore a delicate rose scent that made him want to bring her closer and breathe her in while stroking a caress down the smoothness of her skin. Her hands had been soft against his. The rest of her would be too. If he ran a finger down her cheek, he knew she would feel like a sun-warmed rose petal. She’d worn her auburn hair back in a braid with a gold circlet fastened around her head.
Movement out of the corner of Cormac’s eye caught his attention. Alan. He stood at the opposite end of the long aisle with Pip sitting obediently at his side. Alan waved again, and a flicker of irritation tightened over Cormac at being summoned.
However, Alan’s insistence most likely meant he had discovered information about Brodie Ross. Information Cormac was eager to learn.
He took one last glance down the hallway where Isolde and her maid were departing the feast before he quit the Great Hall, exiting into the cool night. He scanned the area for his self-appointed mercenary, finding Alan tucked in a quiet, dark corner.
Cormac joined him in the shadows.
“You were right about the Ross clan.” Alan glanced around to ensure no one was listening. “They’re up to something.”
The news did not surprise Cormac. There had been a twinge of knowing in his gut the moment he’d discovered Brodie and his brothers were to attend an English tournament. “Does it have anything to do with Lady Isolde?”
Alan shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Relief eased some of Cormac’s tension. He had hoped she wouldn’t be involved, especially considering her contract to wed Brodie Ross. But then, her brother would not call out Brodie over Lady Isolde’s honor if he were actively involved.
While the nobles were inside with their cultured music and refined entertainment, the servants were enjoying their freedom outside. No tables needed to be moved in the open space for a dance floor, not when the grass around served the purpose well enough. A man on a mandolin, accompanied by two others on a pipe and a drum, rivaled the music within the castle with a jig that got everyone moving.
There were no fine steps for this dance, but a wild stamping of feet and moving of bodies in time with the thrum of the beat. It was all a great distraction from where Cormac and Alan spoke in the clandestine corner.
“Do ye know the details of their involvement?” Cormac asked.
Alan’s mouth tightened at the corners. “It has to do with Prince John.”
There had been talk of a plan to put the prince on the throne. It was a risky, foolish venture that would most likely cost many their lives for their parts in such treason.
Cormac lowered his voice. “Do ye think they’re part of the coup to overthrow King Richard?”
Alan nodded in response. “Aye, I overheard one of their servants speaking to another noble’s squire about the impossibility of one hundred and fifty thousand marks being raised to ensure his release.”
King Richard, the true king of England, had been taken captive by the Holy Roman Emperor as he returned home from the last Crusade. Already John had tried to claim that his brother had died on the journey, a lie told in an attempt to claim the throne.
The Scottish were notorious for having a tumultuous relationship with the English. While John had the backing of France, a country whose loyalty had recently extended to Scotland, it didn’t surprise Cormac one bit that the Rosses would stoop to such a level as to overthrow a king for their own benefit.
“I’m sure comments on the attempt to raise funds for the ransom warranted a few grumbles.” Cormac snorted.
Alan rolled his eyes in agreement. Nobles were feeling the emptiness in their own purses in light of Eleanor of Aquitaine’s attempt to scrape together the funds to recover her son, King Richard.
“Was there anything else?” Cormac asked.
Pip leaned heavily against Alan’s leg, resulting in the mercenary stretching a hand down to pat his dog. “Nothing for now.”
There would be more, of course. They both knew it. Treachery often ran deep and had more tunnels than a termite’s nest.
“Ye did a fine job, Alan.” Cormac nodded his appreciation toward his new mercenary.
Alan’s face lit up, and his skinny chest puffed out. “I’m glad to have pleased you, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Cormac folded his arms over his chest and watched the crowd dancing wildly to an English tune he was unfamiliar with. “Inform Duncan and Lachlan of what ye’ve told me and keep an eye on the Ross clan, especially Brodie. And if ye hear from my brother, ensure he knows as well, aye?”
Alan’s jaw set with determination, and even Pip straightened to attention at his master’s side. “I won’t let you down, sir.”
Something about Lady Isolde being promised to Brodie still churned in Cormac’s gut. Aye, her brother was defending her honor now, but why?
Cormac recalled the scene where Lord Easton had challenged Brodie, the way the English lord had clenched his slender hand into a fist after having removed his gauntlet. The action stuck in Cormac’s mind for some reason, and a note of unease nipped at the back of his mind.