Page 44 of Kilty Until Proven Innocent
“I’m guessing ye’d rather I was Barclay or Payton or one of the others.”
The dobber was still learning his worth. Drum slammed his palm into the other man’s arm. “Nay, ye arsehole, I’m glad ‘tisye. I ken I can count on ye. Now go.”
“Good luck, Drum,” the other man murmured as he disappeared down the corridor.
Drum listened to him go and then, with a deep breath, turned toward the small chapel the royal family attended as their own.
Ye can do this.
Why was he so nervous about this mission? He’d been in far worse spots in his career, and he didn’t genuinely believe he’d be in danger—if he really was meeting a lady-in-waiting. But he wouldn’t be the only one involved, and Drum suspectedthatwas the source of his discomfort.
Brigit.Brigit was involved and he was worried for her.Abouther.
Remember the way she threw those knives? The way she saved Craig’s family?
Aye, she could handle herself, but that didn’t make him less worried. Now his heart was involved.
He’d reached the chapel doors. With a deep breath he placed his palms on the heavy oak andpushed.
The royal chapel of Scone was small and stone and still had the talent of being imposing. In the daylight. At midnight ‘twas even worse, his footsteps echoing oddly off the heavy walls, the whole place only lit by a single candle near the altar.
“I’m here!” he called, unnecessarily in his opinion. Anyone with ears and eyes could tell he’d arrived, but he wanted his enemy to underestimate him. “’Tis midnight and I’m here as ye asked.”
No response, but he wasn’t totally surprised. If he’d been the one to set the trap, he would’ve allowed his opponent to walk all the way down the aisle before springing.
So, Drum did just that, pretending to stumble a bit on the stones as if he was a bit of a bumbling fool. “Hello? Where are ye?”
When he reached the altar, he frowned momentarily at the single candle. Well, that wasn’t going to be useful for much, was it? He scooped it up and stomped toward the pair of candelabra resting atop the altar. They were likely holy something-or-others, but they’d serve their use well enough.
He lit all six candles, sending more light spilling throughout the chapel, then heard a little huff of disapproval.
Whirling, he wasn’t at all surprised to see a woman’s figure—tall, slender—wrapped in a dark cloak despite the warm weather.
“Those candles are sacred, and no’ for yer touch,” she chastised, and he was surprised to hear genuine disapproval in her tone.
Trying to keep her off-balance, Drum shrugged. “I’m no’ particularly devout.”
“Then ye shall rot in hell when ye are hanged as a traitor.”
A traitor? They were back to this, were they?
“I’m no’ a traitor. Who are ye?” As if he didn’t know.
With a sigh, the woman stepped forward, allowing the light from the candles to touch her scarred cheek, and Drum pretended surprise.
“Lady…Ava? Avaline, aye? Ye’re one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting! I’ve seen ye about.”
“Aye, and ignored me as irrelevant,” the woman growled, her chin rising.
Ahh. So that was her irritation; she was dismissed, her abilities ignored, and didn’t like it. Was it possible she was tired of being overlooked and had decided to make herself indispensable?
He could use that.
Scoffing, he turned away from her, waving dismissively. “Go away, lass. I’m meeting someone.”
Was it his imagination, or—along with Avaline’s outraged sound—was there a muffled gasp from behind one of the tapestries? Thank fook.
“Yearemeeting someone, Sir Hunter,” Avaline growled—and aye, ‘twas a genuine growl. “Ye are meetingme.”
