Robert laughed. His eyes sparkled and he whistled. “With pleasure. It is long past time you took a wife and had sons to continue your line. This land needs your blood to fight for our freedom.”
“It is not that kind of—”
“Please!” Robert raised his hands. “I see in your eyes what kind of situation it is. I see passion I have seen only in battle. I also see discomfort, which tells me you have deep feelings about this matter. And since I haven’t seen any feeling in you for far too long, I am pleased. It is done. I am eager to reacquaint myself with my ‘cousin.’”
Deep feelings indeed, Circenn thought morosely. Deep disgust with myself. But if Robert needed to believe there was marriage interest in order to acknowledge her, so be it. The end result was what mattered. In a few hours, he, his men, and Lisa would be on their way to Brodie, and Robert would have no more involvement in the issue. She need never know he had secured the king’s cooperation by leading him to believe he cared for her. Circenn remained silent, wallowing in his guilt, ashamed that his king trusted him so readily.
“Do you recall when we were in the caves in the valley of North Esk?” Robert asked, his gaze on the horizon.
“Aye.”
“It was the blackest hour of my life. I had warred against my own motherland for wealth, land, and Longshanks’ promise that he would spare my clan. Whether from sharing too much whisky with you, or inspired by a moment of divine clarity, I saw myself as I was—a traitor to my own people. Do you recall the spider?”
Circenn smiled. Did he recall the spider? He’d coaxed it in, compelled it to perform its feat before Robert’s eyes as he lay healing from battle wounds, and in watching the spider try time and again to weave a web across a span of futility, Robert had remembered his own strength and determination. When the spider had succeeded on the seventh try, Robert the Bruce had dragged his battered body and soul from the damp soil of the cave and shaken his fist toward the sky, and the battle to liberate Scotland had begun in earnest.
Robert regarded him intently. “I have never seen a spider of that kind, before or since. One almost wonders if it was a natural occurrence. I do not question some things, Circenn. Now take me to your woman.”
* * *
After Duncan left her chamber, Lisa waited three minutes, impatiently tapping her foot, then ventured into the hall, determined to track down the flask. She’d made it no more than halfway down the corridor when Duncan came storming back up the stairs.
“I thought you’d left,” she exclaimed.
“I did. Then I looked out the window. We have a problem and I suggest you pack.”
“Pack what? I don’t have anything!”
“Circenn’s things. Put them in the chests and the men will load them. We’ll be riding out very soon. As soon as we can possibly manage. As soon as I can sneak you out of the castle,” he muttered, glancing nervously about.
“To where?” she exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”
Duncan stalked to her side, took her none-too-gently by the arm, and steered her back down the hall and into Circenn’s chambers. “I am not going to ask what you were doing outside of your room. I feel better not knowing. But, lass, as I glanced out the window I saw your ‘cousin’ arriving to relieve our post at Dunnottar. Unless you wish to encounter him and reminisce over old times that never happened, I suggest you keep out of sight and do as I tell you. Would you please indulge me and exercise blind obedience now? It may keep you alive.”
“Would someone really try to harm me if they knew I was from the future?”
Duncan’s expression was glum. “The Templars doona trust women, they doona care for Druid magic, and they feel there is never a reason to break an oath. Should they discover Circenn lied about you, they will lose faith in him, and if they do that, he will not be in much of a position to protect you. Not to mention the fact that the Bruce will also wonder who you are. Then it will come out that you are from the future, and och—I doona even wish to think about it. We must hide you.”
“I’ll pack,” she offered hastily.
“Good lass.” Duncan whirled around and raced back down the corridor.
* * *
Lisa finished packing in fifteen minutes, having simply thrown everything that wasn’t too heavy to move into the many chests scattered about the room. Afterward, she paced between the door and the window for another ten minutes, trying to convince herself that she must not, under any circumstances, leave the room.
It wasn’t working. In the keep just below her room, there were legends walking, talking, planning. Unable to resist the lure of the voices of history, she slipped from the chamber and followed the noise to the balcony that encircled the Greathall. With no roof, the hall was freezing but the men didn’t seem to notice, nor did any of them look up, as they were far too engrossed in battle plans. She lurked abovestairs, surreptitiously watching from behind the balustrade, prepared to duck and cower at any moment. She knew Duncan would strangle her if he had an inkling of the risk she was taking, but the lure was irresistible: How many twenty-first-century women could lay claim to watching Robert the Bruce plan the ousting of England, battle by battle?