Page 122 of Laird of Steel
She held her breath. Now that Adam had heard her audacious plot, she wondered if he would change his mind. Break his vow. Inform the others.
But his face betrayed no other emotion. He turned back to lean on the parapet and stared out at the surging firth. “You think you can convince him?”
She straightened, lifting a proud chin. “Aye.”
“Then there’s something you should know about the king.”
She clenched her fists, prepared to defend her position. “I already know ’tis a reckless plan to stand up to Malcolm. I know the odds are against me. So say what ye will. But I won’t let fear get in my way, even if it means—”
“He’s not at Toulouse.”
She blinked. “What?”
“The king. He’s not at Toulouse. He left. He’s gone to Perth.”
She stared at him in wonder. Wasn’t he going to condemn her rash plan? Or try to talk her out of slogging across Scotland to challenge King Malcolm?
Then he cocked his head, giving her a quick critical perusal from head to toe. “And he’s unlikely to give an audience to a maidservant.”
She narrowed her eyes in glittering determination. She’d had enough of being underestimated. “I don’t intend to give him a choice in the—”
“So you’ll need a disguise.”
She froze, stunned speechless.
Did Adam approve of her plans?
He could have knocked her over with a puff of air.
“Perth is four days’ journey,” he continued, “if we go on foot. That’s what I’d advise. Horses will only get in the way. As for attire…”
“Wait. We?” she said when she was able to find words. “Nay. Nay. I mean to go alone.”
“Alone?” He seemed genuinely baffled. “That would be foolhardy.”
“I don’t want to get anyone else in trouble—”
“Trouble?” His eyes sparked to life, as if she’d just said his favorite word. “Look. You’ve obviously never done this kind of thing before. And I have. Countless times.”
He wasn’t wrong. His reputation for intrigue and impersonation were legendary.
But she shook her head. “I got him into this mess. ’Tis up to me to get him out of it. ’Tis somethin’ I must do for him alone. As his friend.”
“I’m his brother,” he said pointedly. “Do you not think I might have an interest in rescuing him as well?”
He had a point. Still, as the son of a laird, there was much more at stake for him. “I can’t ask ye to take such a risk.”
“I don’t think youdidask me.” He pushed off from the wall and cast glances in both directions, looking for witnesses. “But time’s wasting. If we’re going to set out on this mission, we should do it while everyone’s distracted, nattering away in the courtyard. Come on.”
While she sputtered in indecision, he seized her hand and led her down the stairs. She was still breathless when they emerged in the great hall and he released her hand.
“Go to the buttery,” he murmured. “I’ll meet you there. I have an idea.”
Several moments later, Adam returned. He was dressed in his armor and carrying a large satchel, into which he stuffed several cheeses.
“We’ll take the tunnel,” he said, nodding toward the back wall of the buttery, which was covered by a tapestry. He must have remembered it as the passage the Rivenloch forces had used to steal into the castle four years ago.
She caught him by the arm. “The gate at the bottom is locked now.”
