Lisa took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “Then teach me, Duncan,” she said sadly. “But I will be honest with you: I have no intention of giving up. If there is a way home for me, I will find it.”
* * *
Circenn paced the courtyard, kicking irritably at the loose stones. The terrace needed to be repaired, he noted, as did the keep itself. He was tired of living in half-burned-out castles, not because of the lack of amenities—that scarcely bothered him—but because the general chaos and disrepair of Dunnottar too accurately mirrored his own condition.
He eyed the cornerstone of the keep. During the last siege, the great stone that supported the tower had been pushed off center, causing the wall above it to list dangerously. And he felt just like that—his cornerstone was askew and his entire fortress dangerously weakened.
No more, he thought. He had uttered his last lie, broken his last rule.
He had given matters serious consideration and decided that Duncan’s loophole indeed protected him from actually breaking his oath. He would accept that slight bending of his rules. Should Adam someday show up, he would simply point out to him that he hadn’t killed her yet.
But lying about who she was, and entertaining the notion of becoming physically intimate with her … ah, those were unacceptable. He would not utter one more lie, nor would he permit himself to be tempted by her.
Sighing, he headed for the outer courtyard, resolved to take one of the feistiest stallions out for a punishing ride. As he loped down the rocky slope, he noted a cloud of dust spiraling beyond the land bridge behind the keep, at the same moment as his guard cried a warning.
Narrowing his eyes, he studied the approaching dust cloud. His body tensed, eager for a battle. It would do good to fight right now, to conquer, to reaffirm his identity as a warrior. As the first riders crested the ridge, the adrenaline flooding his body altered swiftly to dismay, and then to something akin to desperation.
The banner of Robert the Bruce was splayed between his standard bearers, announcing his arrival to relieve Circenn’s men and send them home to Brodie.
And as for his last lie having been told, he thought sardonically, Hmph! Here came the lass’s “cousin” himself.
CIRCENN RODE LIKE A MAN POSSESSED—OR PERHAPS, HE thought, aggrieved, more accurately obsessed with a long-legged, unpredictable woman—to intercept the Bruce before he could reach the keep. As he rode, he marveled over how his one wee decision not to kill her yet had created dozens of problems. Each time he tried to address one of those problems, he succeeded only in creating a new set of problems. Committed thus far, he could not turn back. He dared not stop perpetuating the lies he’d begun without exposing her to risk.
Robert raised his hand in greeting and quickly broke off from his troops, his personal guard falling back a few paces, but not leaving his side. Directing the bulk of his men toward the keep, he kicked his horse into a gallop.
Circenn’s gaze swept over the king’s guard. Instinctively, he dropped his chin, looking up from beneath his brows. No hint of a smile touched his face. In warrior’s language, the look—head lowered, eyes unwaveringly fixed—was a challenge. Circenn assumed the posture subconsciously, his blood responding to the two men flanking his king. It was the simple and timeless instinct of a wolf when confronted by another mighty wolf stalking the same territory. Nothing personal, just a need to assert his masculinity and superiority, he thought with an inward grin.
When Circenn had last seen Robert, the king had not had these two men with him. Their presence meant that the deepest Highland clans were now fully in the forefront of the war. Circenn was pleased that his king merited two of the legendary warriors to protect him. They were massive men with eyes of preternatural blue marking them as what they were—Berserkers.
“Circenn.” Robert greeted him with a smile. “It has been too long since last we met. I see Dunnottar is still the ruin I left last fall.” His gaze played across the overgrown landscape, the piles of rocks, the blackened stones of the keep.
“Welcome, milord. I hope you have come to tell us it is time to join forces with your men,” Circenn said pointedly. “Since Jacques de Molay was burned a fortnight past, my Templars are seething with the need to do battle. I doona know how much longer I can placate them with minor missions.”
Robert shook his head, a wry smile curving his mouth. “You are as impatient as ever, Circenn. I’m certain you’ll manage to rein in their tempers, as you always do. Your Templars serve me better in their stealthy, circumspect missions than on the front for the now. The dozen I’ve slipped into my troops have done remarkable things. I trust you will keep the rest ready for my command.” He gestured to his guard. “I believe you know Niall and Lulach McIllioch.”