Page 66 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

Lifting her chin, she spoke in an empty voice. “Rory was right. You are the one who stabbed me.”

Simon stiffened, dismay on his face, and for one minute she hoped she was wrong after all, until he said, “He knows?”

Elysande’s shoulders tried to sag, but she forced them back up, and kept her head high and her tone cool and empty as she said, “Aye. And about you pushing me in front of the horse and cart. They all know.”

She saw panic flash over his face, and hopelessness, and asked, “Why, Simon? I trusted you. My father was good to you. Our families have been friends for years. You were like a member of the family. Why would you work for de Buci against your king?”

“I don’t have a choice.” Simon ran a hand over his scalp, his eyes darting this way and that as if seeking escape.

“You always have a choice,” she said firmly.

Simon stilled then, and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again they were steady and sad. “Not this time,” he said, and started forward, pulling his sword from his belt.

“At least tell me why first,” Elysande demanded, and much to her relief he stopped again.

“You know why,” he said grimly.

Her expression must have been as bewildered as she felt at that statement, because he frowned and said, “My father?”

Elysande shook her head slightly. “Your father what?”

“His name is in Wykeman’s message to de Buci. He is one of the conspirators,” Simon said as if that should be obvious, and then he shook his head with disgust. “The stupid bastard. I never would have imagined he’d do something so foolish, and I’d let him hang for it, but it wouldn’t just be him. My whole family would be shamed, our title and lands stripped from us. My sisters’ betrotheds would probably refuse to fulfill the marriage contracts. My mother would die in ruin and—” He shook his head miserably. “You’ve been like family to me for years, m’lady. But they are my family, and much as I loathe the doing, it has to be done.”

When he started forward again, Elysande stood her ground and said sharply, “Your father’s name is not on the scroll from Wykeman, Simon. Whoever told you that lied to you.”

Stopping again, he frowned with uncertainty. “But Capshaw said . . .”

“Who is Capshaw?” Elysande asked quietly when he hesitated. “How do you know him?”

Simon glanced down at the slats, his expression troubled. “I do not know him,” he said unhappily. “I met him for the first time the night we arrived in Ayr. When I went back out to get your bags, he was waiting in the stables. He said his name was Capshaw, that he was Wykeman’s man and was surprised that I would champion you when it would see my own father hanged and my family ruined. He said Father’s name was in the scrolls as a co-conspirator, and unless I wished to see him swing and lose my title and inheritance, I’d best be sure you never got to Sinclair or the king with those letters.” His mouth tightened. “I have been reporting to him ever since.”

“I see,” Elysande murmured. “Well, Mr. Capshaw lied,” she assured him, and when he looked unsure whether to believe her or not, she asked, “Do you really think my mother would have sent me with you had your father’s name been in Wykeman’s message? I promise you, it is nowhere in those letters.”

For one minute she thought he would lay down his sword and beg her forgiveness, but then he frowned. “Or mayhap you’re lying to save yourself.”

Now that was just insulting, Elysande thought with irritation, and glared at him as she began to pat at her skirts in search of the messages. “I do not lie, and I can show you the messages to prove it. I—” Pausing, she scowled with vexation and started using both hands to find the messages that should be in a pocket sewn into her skirts, and then she stilled as she realized the last time she’d seen the scroll to Sinclair had been when she’d put it into the gown she’d been stabbed in. She had never transferred it to this gown when she’d donned it. She hadn’t even seen the old one since the attack. Dear God, she’d lost the messages and the warning to the king!

“Tom has it.”

Elysande’s head jerked up at those words to see Rory stepping down into the heads, his sword drawn. His appearance made Simon cross the last few steps to Elysande and grasp her upper arm.

“Or perhaps the king does now,” Rory added, his gaze narrowing on Simon even as he asked her, “Are ye all right, love?”

“Aye,” Elysande answered, and ignoring Simon, she asked, “What does Tom have?”

“The scrolls,” he explained, looking ridiculously relaxed despite the sword in his hand. “Your mother’s message to Sinclair with the other messages inside. I took it from your dress after the stabbing and gave it to Tom, then I put him and Fearghas and Donnghail on the Marie Levieux, another cog, one heading south to Bristol. I would guess they have put ashore by now, and are on their way to court, or, if the wind was with them for their journey, they may have already arrived at court and the king may even now have your mother’s warning.”

Elysande gaped at him and then snapped her mouth closed and asked, “Why did you not tell me? I thought my heart would stop when I could not find it. I feared I had lost it.”

“I could no’ risk anyone overhearing, love. I did no’ ken who was or was no’ working for de Buci, and who might listen at doors for him for a coin. If he caught wind of the fact that the boys were headed for court with Wykeman’s letter, he would have dropped everything and cast a net over the whole of South England to try to capture the men and stop the message. And aside from no’ wanting to see Tom or me men killed, I kenned it was important to ye that the king get his warning.” He smiled slightly. “But I planned to tell ye today or tomorrow. I just wanted to wait until it was too late for de Buci to stop them before I did.” His gaze slid to Simon as he added, “In case some other scurvy bastard traitor who worked for de Buci overheard.”

Elysande saw the slight wincing motion around Simon’s eyes, and felt his hand tighten on her arm and knew Rory had struck a blow. Simon was young, and newly knighted with all the grand notions of honor and chivalry that a knight was said to have, and he had betrayed them. She knew he would not be able to reconcile himself with what he’d done, even if it had been for his family.

“Simon,” she said gently. “You need to put your sword down now.”

His head turned very slowly toward her, and he closed his eyes briefly, before opening them to ask, “Do you promise me my father is not named as a conspirator in the plot?”

“I promise you,” she said solemnly.

---