Page 36 of Kilty Until Proven Innocent
Was it?
Drum didn’t know. He still had so muchangersitting in the pit of his stomach, but he wasn’t certain if ‘twas directed at Brigit or the Queen or himself or thegoddamned universefor keeping such a secret from him.
Craig turned and began to walk backward down the corridor, that stupid grin on his stupid face. “I have to go check on Robbie. Meet me for an ale tonight? After I tuck him in?”
Tucking in an earl. Drum’s lips tugged into a reluctant grin. “Aye,” he rasped, “I’d like that.”
“And ye can tell me more about Brigit,” Craig called as he disappeared around the corner.
Could he? Would he? Sighing, Drum reached for the latch of his door.
He’d thought himself falling in love with Brigit…but he couldn’t trust. Not anymore.
Three steps into the room he rocked to a halt. There, on the desk, was a scroll he didn’t recognize. One he hadn’t left there.
Picking it up, he studied it. The seal was simple, no design. Just a dab of yellow wax. He broke it and unrolled the thing.
And couldn’t help the way his heart leapt at the words printed there in a simple, unfamiliar hand:
I know who is trying to hurt the King. Meet me in the chapel at midnight.
Chapter 8
Brigit watchedthe warriors practicing archery. She watched the arrows fly, watched the sweat drip, watched them tease and mock one another. But always they ignored the one in the first position, the warrior wearing the heavy helm of a King’s Hunter.
She watched as, one by one, they finished their practice and left to address other tasks.
But the Hunter stayed.
Leaning her hip against the stone wall, Brigit’s hand dropped to idly finger the bundle hanging from her belt. ‘Twas a nasty little weapon, designed to be carried easily, and she’d used it more than once. But it had none of the power and strength of the longbow Drummond pulled.
Aye, the man in the helm was Drummond, there was no doubt of that. Even if another Hunter had returned to Scone, she’d recognize his form, recognize his stance.
Recognize his anger.
‘Twas there in his movements, in the way he shook his head sharply when an arrow didn’t land as true as it might have.
Finally, with a curse she heard even this far away, the warrior sent the last of his arrows hurtling down the range toward the straw target, then rolled his shoulders.
Brigit’s chest ached to see him so coiled up in his emotions. She wanted to help, even though she knew she was the cause of his pain. And the absolute worst part was, even if she could take back everything thathad happened between them, she didn’t want to; if she hadn’t betrayed him, the Queen would still think him guilty, and thus so would the King.
But she could apologize.
“Drummond,” she called softly, but the man was already striding for the target, and didn’t hear her. So, she called again. “Drummond!”
Was it her imagination or did his step falter just slightly, his helmeted head tip to one side as if looking for a threat? But he didn’t stop, and Brigit found herself hurrying after him, determined to get his attention.
Determined to set this right, somehow.
He’d reached the target and was pulling his arrows from the straw, examining each one before shoving it back into the quiver on his hip.
“Drum!” she yelled, and this time there was no way he didn’t hear her.
He froze, his hand wrapped around the shaft of one of the arrows…but he didn’t turn.
And Brigit’s own anger rose up in her at the knowledge he was ignoring her, ignoring what they’d had and unwilling to even do her the honor of showing his emotions behind that stupid metal helmet.
So, as she strode toward him, she lifted the little crossbow from her belt, slid the bolt into place, then lifted and fired in one smooth motion.
