Free What a Lass Wants by Rowan Keats Page B

Sassenach-lover. Sadly, none of them met her requirements. And as she hemmed and hawed and debated exactly what to tell Bran, he dismounted the horse and strode off down the path toward the manor. Leaving her alone astride a massive beast that she had no hope of controlling.
    “Wait!” she cried.
    He stopped but did not turn around.
    “They are holding my sister,” she said. “Her name is Marsailli.”
    He pivoted. “And what could they possibly hope to gain by threatening your sister?”
    Caitrina’s shoulders slumped. “Details about the queen.”
    Bran marched back to her side. “Why do they do this? What is their aim?”
    “They are henchmen of Edward Longshanks,” she told him. “I do not know their precise aim, but rest assured, with Giric the Bear as their leader, they can be up to no good.”
    He frowned up at her. “Giric is the man who beat a man to death for insulting the English king?”
    “Aye.”
    “Saints be.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Why force
me
to help you? Why not enlist the aid of the queen’s guard?”
    “Because her guards have only one goal: to protect the queen. They care naught about Marsailli.” And the moment Giric was interrogated, he would point the finger at Caitrina. She would hang right alongside him, branded a traitor like her father. An utterly unbearable thought, especially as it would leave Marsailli alone. “And I would prefer the queen never know of my failings.”
    “As a man with many failings myself, I well understand.” Bran put a gentle hand on her leg. “Were this a different time and place, I might be persuaded to aid you. Regretfully, I must decline. I never intended toplay the role of Marshal Gordon for more than a day or two. People talk, and it won’t be long before someone questions my credentials.”
    “But without your help, I have no hope of freeing Marsailli.”
    He let his hand drop. “My apologies. I am not the man you need.”
    “Please,” she begged.
    “Nay,” he said, taking a step back. “You must find another ally.”
    His reasons for walking away were logical, full of wisdom even. But Caitrina could not accept his decision, not if it meant she would be forced to steal the queen’s babe. Not if it meant Marsailli had to suffer. She straightened her shoulders. “Then you will forfeit the crown.”
    He smiled. “I am a thief, my lady. I make my living snatching items from unwilling hands. You may think you’ve found a clever hiding spot, but I assure you, by this hour tomorrow, I’ll have it safely tucked in my pouch.”
    The unshakable confidence in his eyes deflated her. “Why did you agree to find the camp, if you were so certain you could reclaim the crown?”
    His smile turned rueful. “I’m easily swayed by a pretty smile.”
    “Not any longer, it would seem.”
    He shrugged. “All good things must come to an end.”
    “Indeed,” she said silkily. “Including the politeness of our banter. The gloves have come off, as they say in the lists. If the crown is not incentive enough to keepyou at my side, then perhaps this will be: Unless I have your pledge of aid, I will send a messenger to Stirling the moment I return to the manor. The castle is less than a day’s ride away. I’m certain the MacCurrans will make haste to Clackmannan and apprehend you—
before
you can locate your precious crown.”
    *   *   *
    Bran folded his arms over his chest. He should be angry that his bonnie young lassie was once again attempting to coerce him. Especially since Wulf MacCurran had pledged to separate Bran’s head from his shoulders if he ever dared to steal from Dunstoras. But despite the genuine concern he had regarding the MacCurrans’ return, he could summon only a mild amusement. “You run a great risk telling me of your intent before you are safely within the walls.”
    “You’ll not harm me.”
    He lifted his eyebrows. “You think not?”
    “Nay,” she said. “Spilling blood is not in your nature. If