Page 74 of Beloved Enemy
After emerging from the loch, his body numb but his resolve restored, Reid dried off quickly and donned his clothes. He now refocused on the night’s events, wanting to revisit the scene of the ambush, where the clandestine meeting had been interrupted. The men they’d killed would still be there, and with the cover of night gone, perhaps something would become clear to him.
Arriving at the clearing, the place was eerily still, the two bodies lying exactly where they had fallen. His men would return today to carry them away. Reid crouched down, inspecting one of the dead men, his keen gaze searching for anything they had missed. His fingers brushed against the hilt of a dagger, half-hidden beneath the man’s cloak.
Pulling it free, Reid inspected the dagger in the pre-dawn light. The blade itself was narrow and lethal, gleaming steel honed to a wicked edge. Along its fuller, the blackened surface showed signs of wear, as though it had seen both battle and covert deeds. But it wasn’t the wear that caught Reid’s attention—it was the insignia etched into the blade near the hilt. A heraldic symbol, barely visible beneath the grime, a lion, rampant, crowned with a twisted wreath of thorns, its paws clutching a sword. The craftsmanship was too precise to be the work of a common smith. This was a noble’s blade, possibly forged by a master, and more than likely one connected to a powerful house. Yet, it wasn’t a Scottish emblem; the symbol reeked of English ties. He turned it over again in his hand,the weight and balance perfect, clearly designed for stealth and precision, not brute force.
The insignia sparked something—a faint memory. He stared at it, turning it over in his hand, feeling as if he was on the edge of recalling something important, yet the connection eluded him. Where had he seen this before?
Frustration gnawed at him as he pocketed the dagger. There were no other signs, no letters or markings on the men, nothing beyond the insignia on that dagger that might help to identify any man. He rose to his feet, surveying the clearing, his eyes narrowing. The location had been chosen carefully, almost perfectly between two of his patrol posts and beneath a towering willow that soared above the pines in this area. These men had waited for the perfect moment, watching the rounds, knowing exactly when his men would have moved past.
It was a calculated move, one made by someone with intimate knowledge of his patrol routes—someone inside Kingswood. But what did Charlotte know of the patrols and their routines?
As Reid approached the keep, the first rays of dawn painted the sky in muted hues of pink and gold, pushing back the lingering darkness. He stepped through the entrance of the great hall, and was greeted by a few scattered soldiers still stirring, adjusting their cloaks, yawning, and stretching sore muscles. Most of the bodies that had slept inside the hall had risen and left, knowing the morning meal would not be served for another hour. Only a few smoldering embers remained in the hearth.
He found Artur and requested that he gather the Nicholson officers to confer with now. He hated the gnawing suspicion that had begun to crawl under his skin, that one of his own was party to an enemy plot, but he knew better than to ignore it. He had seen too many leaders fall because they had turned a blind eye to the rot within their own ranks.
His officers filed in one by one, greeting Reid as he waited at the head table. Most looked tired, eyes still a little bleary, but sharp enough. They nodded respectfully as they approached, congregating in front of the table. Reid remained standing, his hands braced on the back of the chair before him.
As his gaze swept across the men before him—Tavish, Fergus, the ever-watchful Eoin MacCoinnich, Seumas, Lach—he felt a tension building in his gut. These were men he had fought beside, bled beside. Men he trusted with his life. Yet, now, in the silence of the early morning, with Charlotte’s words still echoing in his mind, he found himself staring at them through a different lens. The thought unsettled him, turned his stomach, and made him clench his jaw in anger.
He couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t afford to doubt his own men.
But he had to.
“Last night,” Reid began for the few who hadn’t been there, his voice low but firm, “we intercepted a meeting that should have nae happened on Nicholson land.” His fingers flexed on the back of the chair. “Possibly the same persons, with the same agenda, as auld Angus had reported. It was well-positioned, planned to avoid our watch towers and patrols. It raises questions about how they kent where our men would be.”
He scanned the faces surrounding him, locking onto each of his officers one by one. He could see no betrayal in their eyes, no flicker of guilt—but then again, he knew better than to expect such transparency. A traitor would never reveal themselves so easily. He hated this—hated that Charlotte’s seed of suspicion had taken root in his mind. She was wrong, he was sure of it. And yet... he couldn’t shake the nagging doubt, the creeping sense that something had slipped through his fingers, something he hadn’t yet seen.
“I ken each of ye has given your loyalty to Kingswood,” Reid continued, “but something is amiss. This plot is deep-rooted, and it may run closer than we realize. Ye need to scrutinize everything and everyone, consider if ye recall anything that seemed untoward or unusual, that might have appeared innocuous at the time but now bears reflection.” His tone darkened, the weight of his words heavy. “Nae one is above suspicion.”
His men exchanged glances. Reid could see the discomfort settling in their postures. They were proud men, trusted men, and yet he was forcing them to look at one another and all the men under their command as potential enemies.
“'Twas only Englishmen discovered and slain last night,” Ruairidh mused. “Ye’re saying they were waiting to meet with whoever they deal with inside Kingswood?”
Reid nodded. “That would be my guess.” He thought to instruct, “I dinna want name-calling. And I willna entertain wild accusations with nae proof. But we must be vigilant. This threat is nae just from without—it may be from within.” He clenched his jaw, the bitter taste of doubt thick on his tongue. “We canna afford to be blind.”
"This whole thing smells rotten," Seumas grunted. He’d been with Reid last night, had taken down one of the conspirators. "We need to change the patrols, mix up the routes and times. Whoever’s been working with these men kens our patterns too damn well."
“Agreed,” Reid said, nodding. “Nae more predictable rounds. I want the patrols staggered, moving at random intervals in varying directions. Nae set paths.”
“Do ye ken this is related to that force that chased us up into the mountains the other day?” Artur inquired.
Reid had already considered this. “I’d say it’s too close and too convenient a coincidence to be otherwise.” He was giving upmuch information here, risking that a traitor stood in front of him, but he had no choice, needing every man to be vigilant in order to protect Kingswood. “We dinna need to alarm anyone and our day-to-day should nae change but for the adjustments to the patrols. I just need ye—all of us—to be more watchful, alert.” Receiving several nods of understanding, Reid released them. “Dismissed,” he said, loosening his fingers on the back of the chair. His men turned, murmuring amongst themselves as they departed. Reid watched them leave, newfound doubt hanging in the air, shadowing his perception of his officers.
Tavish remained, his eyes narrowed, his arms crossed. “And what of the woman?” He asked.
Reid wasn’t surprised by the question but still felt tension coiling in his shoulders. He didn’t look at Tavish immediately, instead staring at the men filing out, the pale morning light framing their silhouettes. His voice, when it came, was heavy with weariness. "She has professed her innocence, claims to have nae knowledge of any assignation,” he muttered, frustrated that, despite everything, he’d learned nothing more from her. “For now, she will remain a prisoner of the tower.”
Tavish scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "Professed her innocence, did she? Nae shite. And ye believe her?Jesu, dinna tell me ye believe her—we discovered her in the thick of it!”
Reid’s jaw clenched, a flash of anger rising in him, but this time something else stirred as he met Tavish’s hard stare. The memory of Charlotte’s face in the moonlight, her wide eyes pleading with him to believe her, pressed against his mind. For the first time, he acknowledged that the thought that she was behind any of this felt wrong—no, itwaswrong.
“I dinna ken she had any part in this.”
Tavish blinked, taken aback. "And how are ye so sure of that?"
Reid paused, feeling the truth settle into his bones as he spoke. “Because Ikenher.” The words escaped him before he could stop them, but they felt right. He hadn’t known it until now, but the moment the words left his mouth, he realized the depth of his certainty. Despite the circumstances, despite the evidence stacked against her, Reidknewin his heart Charlotte was innocent of any grand betrayal against him or Kingswood.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face at this sudden clarity. For all his attempts to push her away, to keep her at arm’s length, she’d wormed her way into a place where he couldn’t—didn’t have need to— question her motives. He didn’t understand the full of it yet, but one thing was certain: she wasn’t responsible for whatever plot threatened his lands.
