Page 38 of Kilty Until Proven Innocent
“Nay,” she admitted, “but I find other uses for them.”
As she spoke, she slipped two small knives from her waist, tucked beneath her bodice at the back. Holding her expression steady, she pivoted on one foot, tucked one blade between her fingers, drew back her arm and hurled the other one. As it lodged into the straw of the next target over, she was shifting her fingers, pulling back, then releasing the second to slam into the target right beside the first.
The whole attack took only a moment, and she turned back to Drum to see that helmet cocked to one side, attention on the target. Finally, he sighed.
“Impressive,” he murmured.
When he reached up to place his palms on either side of his helm, Brigit realized she was holding her breath.
Drum slowly removed the thing, shaking his hair out of his eyes as he did so, the movement smoothand practiced, something he’d done thousands of times before.
But for Brigit, this time was special.
When his dark eyes met hers, there was sadness there, aye, but perhaps…a grudging sort of respect?
He’d removed his helm, and ‘twas as if he was saying he was willing to beDrummondhere and now with her…instead of a faceless King’s Hunter.
They stood there before the target, staring at one another. Brigit had to tip her head back to meet his gaze, and he tucked the helm under his arm in an easy pose as he studied her.
“Ye are an agent for the Queen,” he finally said.
She nodded once. “As ye are for the King.”
“The difference being, I am kenned to be one.”
Wincing slightly at the sudden hardness in his tone, Brigit knew he was referring to her deception. “Yer power comes from the people of Scotland recognizing ye—or at least, that helm. ‘Tis yer reputation that works for ye—ye’ve told me so yerself.”
Drummond had made certain that stories of the King’s Hunters had been carried far and wide across Scotland; often their enemies were terrified of them before they even arrived, and ‘twas why the helms were so similar.
His nod was more of a jerk, his mouth tugged into a fierce scowl. “’Tis the truth.”
“Well…” She offered a small, rueful smile. “’Tis the opposite for us. The Angels’ power comes from people believing us to be naught more than ladies of the court or serving wenches. ‘Tis insulting, aye, but our anonymity allows us to move through Scotland practically unseen. I have completed more than one mission because I was underestimated.”
As she spoke, Drum’s expression softened from a frown to a sort of softconsideration.
“I am remembering a story one of my men told me about his life being saved by a maid with a skill for throwing daggers.”
Brigit immediately nodded, pleased she was now able to share everything with him. “Craig Oliphant, aye. The Queen sent me along as his new wife’s maid because I’d been guarding her son—the wee earl—before yer Hunter was assigned.”
Something like realization crossed his face before Drum rolled his eyes a bit and shook his head, looking away. “I should have realized. Leave it to a woman to work in secret.”
Taking a chance, Brigit laid her fingers on his forearm. “’Tis often our only option. The Queen herself, a brilliant leader and bold strategist, hides her skills from her court so she is underestimated.”
“Cannae trust women,” he muttered, still looking away from her.
Brigit squeezed her eyes shut, knowing he was slipping away from her once more.
“Come,” she blurted. “I want to show ye something.”
It wasn’t until she’d whirled away that she was able to draw a breath through the crushing weight on her chest. And when Drum fell into step beside her, things felt a little better.
By the time they reached the empty corridor where the attack on the King had taken place weeks ago, his quiver and bow were gone, but the helm wasstill clamped under his arm, right above the hilt of his sword.
As if he carried both as armor, even if he didn’t wear them.
“There,” Brigit announced, pointing. “This is where the attack took place.”
Without speaking, Drum dropped to a crouch, shifting his blade out of the way as he examined the spot where the assailant had cleverly attached the trip cord. She watched him slowly rise, following the imaginary string up to the niche where the crossbow had been tucked. He sighted along the wall, humming as he visualized how the attack would’ve taken place.
