Heart's Thief (Highland Bodyguards, Book 2) (17 page)

Without thinking, Sabine took a step toward the tunic, her gaze locked on the place where the missive lay tucked away.

But the thought of doing Fabian’s bidding drew her up sharply. He would want her to read the missive. Wasn’t that the reason she was here with Colin now? If she hadn’t realized that Colin bore the missive she’d been sent to read, she would have fled back in the village’s stables, leaving Colin to fend off the half dozen inn patrons she’d set on him.

The only reason she was here now was because she’d decided in a flash of determination to remain with him and try to recover the missive’s contents—for Fabian. For his praise and his pride in her.

She would never serve Fabian again, she vowed bitterly. But as her gaze flitted up to Colin, uncertainty twisted like a knife in her belly.

I ken where my loyalties lie
.

His harsh voice once again echoed through her mind. Colin was loyal to King Robert the Bruce and his cause for Scottish freedom—not her. They were still enemies, despite the passion they’d just shared. She was an English thief—a spy, in truth, though she’d rejected the accusation when he’d thrown it at her—and he was a Scot, a warrior with a clear mission.

He’d asked her before she’d given herself to him if she was sure this was what she wanted. He’d warned her that she might regret her actions in the light of morning.

Sabine knew in her heart that she would never regret what they’d shared—but would he?

Though he thought himself cold and scarred from Joan’s betrayal, he was an honorable and good man. He fought with principles. He’d devoted his life to his King, which meant that they would always be enemies.

She’d already made the mistake of granting her loyalty to a man who could not return it. Would she make the same mistake again?

What do ye fight for, Sabine?

She only had herself, now. Aye, she cared for Colin—more than cared, if the squeezing of her heart was any indication—but she needed to look out for herself. Information was power—both Fabian and Colin had told her that. And Sabine vowed never to be powerless again.

Dragging in a ragged breath, she crouched before Colin’s discarded tunic. She watched him for a slow count to fifty, but his breathing remained even and his lids motionless.

She lifted trembling fingers to the seam on the inside of his tunic. To an untrained eye it would look like a simple fold in the material, but Sabine had encountered enough hidden pockets to discern its true purpose.

She slid a finger into the seam and wormed it deeper into the pocket. Her fingertip brushed waxed parchment. As she inched the little packet out of its hiding place, she kept her eyes locked on Colin.

When she slipped the waxed parchment free, she let herself breathe deeply for a moment as she tried to slow her pounding heart.

Her discarded dress was in reaching distance, so she fumbled for the dagger Fabian had given her in its folds.

Holding the dagger and the packet of parchment to her thudding chest, she rose and went to the lantern. She lifted it from its hook and set it on the flat hull, settling herself so that she blocked most of the light from landing on Colin.

The dagger flashed in the candlelight as she silently slid it from its sheath. She swung open the little door on the front of the lantern, once again checking over her shoulder that the light did not disturb Colin.

She’d done this more than a hundred times, and yet not even on her first assignment had her hands shaken this badly.

Sabine sucked in a deep breath, mentally ordering her hands to calm and her nerves to unknot. If she trembled, she might break the seal or singe the missive.

The light was slightly brighter now with the lantern’s door open. She lifted the waxed parchment, carefully studying how it was folded so that she could recreate it exactly when she replaced it in Colin’s tunic.

Muscle memory at last took over, and the usual composure that stole over her as she worked finally slowed her pulse.

With delicate fingers, she opened the wax parchment and removed the missive from its folds. She tilted the seal toward the light, but she knew instantly that it bore the King of Scotland’s mark, just like the one Osborn had carried.

She held the tip of her dagger into the candle flame, counting off until she knew it was heated precisely. Then she slid it under the seal.

The seal lifted suddenly, but it did not break. Exhaling silently, Sabine set the dagger aside and unfolded the missive.

She read it once through rapidly, a trick Fabian had taught her. If she’d ever been caught in the field or had been short on time, she was supposed to get a general impression for a missive’s contents, even if she didn’t have time to memorize all of it. Though Fabian’s clients didn’t pay as much for those impressions, Fabian always said that it was worth it to save her neck.

Sabine pushed aside the memory, now soured with the knowledge that Fabian only cared about her life so long as it was of use to him.

Lifting her eyes back to the top of the missive, she read slowly, studying each word in relation to the others so that it was branded on her mind.

I have heard rumblings from your isle. Be warned, brother, de Burgh is not your only enemy. He seeks to lure you south to Louth, but he is no doubt up to something. Hold your position in Inniskeen. If Edmund Butler has joined de Burgh, he leaves the north vulnerable. This could be your chance to strike. The local lords in the north are with you.

The missive wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be with the King of Scotland’s seal on the outside. The Bruce’s message didn’t make sense to Sabine, though she got the impression that it had to do with the King’s brother, Edward Bruce, and his fight to secure Ireland for his cause.

Disquiet slid through her like a cold breeze. When Colin had accused her of being a spy, he’d told her men’s lives hung in the balance when she gave information to Fabian. She’d never deliberately paid attention to the contents of the missives she read, but now that she did, she understood what Colin meant.

She has fought against contemplating the implications of what she’d done as a thief—a spy. Fabian had told her not to fill her head with such worries, lest she grow confused and falter at a crucial moment in an assignment. She realized now that it was just another one of Fabian’s manipulations to keep her obedient—and keep information flowing through him to his clients.

If this message had fallen into Fabian’s hands, to whom would he have sold it? Would it have cost Edward Bruce and his men their lives?

And for what purpose? To quash the Scots’ fight for freedom? To secure England’s leash around Scotland’s neck once more?

Sabine hadn’t thought of herself as helping England bring the Scots to heel, yet now she saw that in delivering information to Fabian, who then in turn sold it to powerful English noblemen, that’s exactly what she’d been doing.

That realization chilled her, for it meant that she had been responsible, albeit inadvertently, of depriving others of their freedom.

She’d never truly appreciated just how valuable freedom was until a few hours ago when she’d finally mentally rid herself of Fabian’s shackles. Suddenly she deeply understood the Scots’—and Colin’s—dedication to the cause of independence.

Now that she felt the weight and power of the missive trembling in her fingertips, she thanked God that she hadn’t given the information to Fabian. Nor would she ever, she vowed.

Sabine reread the missive once more to ensure that she’d locked away each word in her mind.

But why did she need this information for herself at all? She’d thought to protect herself with it if Colin changed his mind and took back his tender words in the morning. Yet in a flash of clarity, Sabine knew with every fiber of her being that she could never use this missive against Colin.

It didn’t matter if he regretted his honeyed words and loving touches in the light of day. It didn’t matter if he turned her over to the Bruce to be hanged as a spy. She would never betray him in his quest for freedom.

With a resigned exhale, she carefully folded the missive.

Just then, there was a low murmur and the soft rustling of wool behind her.

Sabine started so hard that the missive fell from her fingers. She spun around, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle a fearful gasp.

Colin rolled over on his plaid, muttering something in his sleep.

Sabine could barely register the fact that his words were nonsensical, the murmurs of slumber, over the blood rushing in her ears. He still slept deeply. He hadn’t just caught her reading the King’s missive.

Her initial panic revealed something horrifying to her, though. Despite just vowing in her mind never to betray Colin, she
had
just betrayed him. In reading the missive, she’d betrayed his trust, broken his faith that she wouldn’t deceive him anymore.

Just as dread had her stomach sinking to the hull’s boards, the ship rolled sharply.

Sabine went tumbling backward. A tall stack of canvas-covered wool broke her impact against the hull’s side, but she dropped gracelessly to her hands and knees against the planks.

The ship’s motion smoothed, and she slowly began to rise to her feet.

Her gaze fell on where she’d dropped the missive several paces away.

To her horror, the candle had fallen out of the open lantern when the ship had rolled. The flame had caught the edge of the missive and now the parchment was ablaze.

The world seemed to tilt sickeningly again, but this time it wasn’t because the ship rolled on a wave. Sabine scrambled forward in desperation. When she fell before the missive, it was more than half swallowed by the flames already.

She had naught to snuff the flames with. She was clad only in her shift, with no boots or even a thick piece of cloth to snuff the fire. Helplessness swamped her for a heartbeat. Then she snatched up the metal lantern itself, bringing down its square base on top of the burning missive. She ground the lantern into the hull’s planks, frantic to stop the flames.

When she lifted the lantern, bile rose in her throat and she feared she would be sick.

The candle, which still sputtered on its side nearby, revealed that only charred ash and blackened scraps of torn parchment were left of the missive.

Oh God, nay. Please, nay.

With numb fingers, Sabine picked up the candle and placed it back in the lantern. She tried to scrape together a few of the least burned pieces of parchment, but it was hopeless. There was no righting it now.

He would know.

Colin would know of her betrayal. Whether she was brave enough to confess it to him or not, eventually he would discover that the missive was missing, and then all his worst fears about her would be confirmed.

As if she were sleepwalking, she gathered the blackened ashes and sprinkled them behind one of the many stacks of canvas-covered goods. She rubbed at the darkened spot on the planks with the heel of her foot until no trace of ash remained.

Then she slowly refolded the waxed parchment that had protected the missive. She slipped it back into Colin’s tunic and turned the garment right-side out so as not to draw attention to the hidden pocket.

She was a coward, she thought through the numbing fog of shame and dread. Yet as she glanced at him, peaceful in sleep, she didn’t have the courage to confess what she’d done.

He would discover it soon enough.

And then the delicate web of trust they’d threaded between their hearts would be destroyed forever.

The cargo hold was dim, the candle having long ago burned itself out, when Colin woke. Without the warming pre-dawn sky as his guide, he wasn’t sure how late he’d slept.

The hold was empty, the expanse of plaid next to him cool to the touch.

How he’d longed to wake with Sabine still tucked against him. He would have slid his fingers through that veil of sable hair, trailed his hand down her curving back, and shown her how much the night had meant to him with a searing kiss.

But she was gone. She must have gone abovedeck for some fresh air.

Was she as tangled in the implications of what they’d shared as he was?

Truth be told, Colin was relieved he still needed to reach the Bruce’s brother in Ireland and deliver the King’s missive. At least that task was clear. Beyond that, he had no idea what to do.

Should he drag Sabine to the Bruce to be drilled for information and punished for her role in Fabian’s network of thieves? It was his duty as the Bruce’s loyal soldier and a member of the Bodyguard Corps to identify and eliminate all threats to King and country. Yet he didn’t truly believe Sabine was guilty. Aye, she’d delivered information to the Bruce’s enemies. But she’d been a victim of Fabian’s schemes as well.

Should he set her free, then? To do so would be to fail in his mission to ferret out those responsible for compromising the King’s correspondence. The darker truth, though, was that Colin hated the idea of turning her loose, if only because it meant that he would likely never see her again.

Twice now, he’d told the lie that she was his wife. Despite all the reasons why he should not, he liked the feel of it. And the idea of her carrying his bairn made something go soft in his chest.

Colin cursed. His emotions were clouding his thinking. But damn it all, he’d gone too deep with Sabine to simply ignore his feelings for her.

He dressed slowly, chewing on what the future held. When at last he’d donned his clothes and tucked away the plaid in his saddlebags, there was no more avoiding facing her. He wouldn’t cower belowdeck like some shamed bairn. They had too much that needed discussing.

When he lifted the planks that covered the cargo hold, weak gray light spilled in. He hoisted himself up, his gaze scanning the ship’s deck.

Duff stood at the stern, one hand resting on the tiller. He nodded his white-copper head at Colin, then returned his eyes to the sea. Arran and Keith were adjusting the sail to capture the slight wind ruffling over the gunwales.

Colin’s eyes went to the bow. His chest seized involuntarily.

Sabine stood with her back to him, her gaze fixed on the water. Her unbound hair twisted in the briny air, a dark, rich contrast to her pale skin. Though she still wore the same mud-covered, abused green wool dress, she might as well have been wearing the finest silks and jewels, for she looked like a beautiful queen to Colin.

He approached slowly, not wanting to disturb her thoughts. She seemed intent on gazing beyond the bow toward the open water. The sea was relatively calm, though the sky clung low to it, gray with the promise of yet more rain.

“Have ye spotted land?”

She jumped slightly at his softly spoken words. She turned her head partially over one shoulder, but she kept her chin tucked so that their eyes didn’t meet.

“Nay, not yet.”

She kept her voice low so that the others wouldn’t hear her English accent. Apparently the lass did have some limits, for Colin had lied that she was Irish, yet mayhap she could not carry the accent.

He stepped closer so that there was no risk of her voice being snatched by the wind and drifting to the three crewmen.

“Last night was…” he began gruffly, suddenly feeling like a green lad. “It meant a great deal to me.”

Her gaze darted up to his for the briefest moment. His heart twisted at what he saw in the depths of her hazel eyes.

Regret
.

Hot pain tore through him. He’d been so busy chewing on what to do with the lass that he forgot his own words of warning to her last night. In the thin gray light, it was obvious that she regretted what they’d shared. He’d taken her innocence, and now she wished she could take it back.

“Sabine,” he began softly. “I hope…I want ye to ken that…”

She swallowed, turning her gaze back to the sea.

Slowly, he reached out, brushing a hand down her back. She stiffened under his touch.

“Sabine, please, just tell me what I’ve done. What is wrong, lass? I swear I’ll try to make it right.”

He noticed then that her hands gripped the bow’s gunwales, her knuckles white with the effort. He lifted a hand to touch her again, but let it drop before it reached her.

Keeping her head forward, she spoke quietly.

“Are we still enemies?”

Colin let out a slow breath. Of course she would fear that last night had changed naught for him. She was still his captive, and he was still charged with turning her over to the Bruce. But something
had
changed last night. He needed to tell her the truth of his feelings.

He struggled for the words for a long moment.

“I dinnae ken if we are enemies anymore,” he said at last. “I believe Fabian is the true enemy—to both the Bruce and ye. Ye were just his pawn, lass. He used ye, hurt ye.”

He swallowed the rage that bubbled up in his chest at Fabian’s treatment of her. By God, he would never let anyone hurt her again.

“Ye need to ken…” he went on, his throat ragged. “Ye need to ken that I care for ye. I…I’m falling in love with ye, Sabine.”

He’d said it. Though the words had threatened to lodge in his throat, now that they were free, they rang sure and true.

Her head snapped around, her eyes going wide. But then a terrible shadow fell across her features. Shame. Regret. Fear.

“Oh, nay,” she whispered. “Nay, please do not say that, Colin. Please do not love me.”

Her throat closed and the last words came out a choked rasp.

Hurt and confusion flooded him. “Why no’, lass? It is the truth. I thought we agreed to be honest with each other.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. A tear escaped and slid down her wind-pinkened cheek.

“Aye, we did,” she said.

A struggle waged across her face for a long moment. She opened her mouth as if to force out difficult words, but then her eyes dimmed and lowered in defeat.

“You cannot love me,” she said, keeping her gaze downcast. “I am not worthy of your love.”

“Sabine.” He took her chin gently in his hand and raised it so that he could hold her gaze. Another tear slid down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb, searching her eyes. “I dinnae ken what ye mean, or what happened between last night and this morn. I ken that we both bear shame in our pasts, that we have both been hurt, but—”

A fresh wave of anguish washed across her features. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of. If you did, you would hate yourself—and me—for your love.”

Colin shook his head firmly in denial, but he struggled with what to say. Something had indeed happened last night, but while his feelings had rooted deeper into his heart, doubt had grown in hers. He racked his mind for the words to break through the walls she was erecting between them.

Just then, his gaze caught on something glinting around her throat.

The necklace Fabian had given her.

Cold dread sank in his stomach. She must have slipped it back on after they’d made love.

“What is this?”

Her gaze darted down. “It is not what you think.”

Colin pulled the reins tight on a sudden flash of anger, keeping his voice level. “Did ye change yer mind then? Are ye still devoted to Fabian after all?”

“Nay!” she blurted. Her hurt eyes met his, and he saw the truth of her denial in their depths. “Nay,” she repeated softly. “But I put it back on to remind myself of my past…so that I will never forget the shame of my mistakes.”

“Sabine, dinnae punish yerself so. I—”

“Land ahead!” Arran’s gruff bark cut Colin off.

He jerked his gaze over Sabine’s shoulder. Sure enough, a misty green landmass emerged from the thick clouds ahead.

The little crew flew into a flurry of activity.

“Keith, have the oars ready when the docks come in sight,” Duff shot from the back of the ship. “Arran, ye’ll be on the sail. And lad,” he called, pinning Colin with a look. “We could always use a stout back and an extra pair of hands on the oars if ye’re willing.”

Colin looked at Sabine, but she’d lowered her chin once more, locking her eyes on the deck’s planks.

“Aye,” he said, reluctantly turning from her. “Glad to help considering all ye’ve done for us.”

Colin took up his task alongside Keith, lifting the long wooden oars from the hold and positioning them in their oarlocks for the final stretch of water between the cog and the docks. Sabine stayed at the bow to avoid being in the crew’s way. She never once met Colin’s searching gaze.

Something was amiss, but there was no time to prod Sabine for answers or craft the perfect words to draw her from her sadness.

Ireland loomed.

And so did Colin’s duty.