“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I was just daydreaming. What if this Stephen is a spy sent by King Henry? When he has the trust of your men, he could do a great deal of damage to Scotland. Of course, you’d be there and you’d try to get your men to follow you, but by then they would be so used to disobeying your orders that you’d never even get their attention.”
She couldn’t answer him. She was remembering all the times lately that her men had gone to Stephen, whereas when they’d first returned from England, her clan had asked only her opinion.
Davey continued. “Too bad you haven’t had time alone with your clan. If you had, they’d see you had sense enough to lead them. When—or if—Montgomery betrayed you, you could lead the clan to safety.”
She didn’t like to think about his words. She had caused her men’s deaths today. Her stupidity and arrogance had caused four deaths, and Stephen was right to blame her. Her men were right to turn to him. But what if Stephen were a spy? What if he did decide to use her men’s trust against them? For generations the Scots had hated the English. Surely there was a reason for that hatred. For all she knew there could be a hundred tragedies in Stephen’s life that would cause him to hate the Scots. Perhaps Davey was right and Stephen wanted to lead them all into slaughter.
She put her hands to her head. “I can’t think,” she whispered. “I don’t know what he is or whether he can be trusted.”
“Bronwyn,” Davey said as he took her hands. “You may not believe this, but I want what is best for the clan. I’ve had months to come to terms with myself—and with you. I know you’re the one who should be laird, not me.” He put a finger to her lips. “No, let me finish. I want to help. I want to be sure he isn’t a spy, that he won’t turn on our clan.”
“Sure? What do you mean?”
“I’ll take him to my camp, that’s all. He won’t be harmed, and while he’s gone you can reestablish yourself as the true head of Clan MacArran.”
“Take him!” She rose, her eyes flashing even in the darkness of the night.
“He wouldn’t be harmed. I’d be foolish to harm him. King Henry would declare war on Clan MacArran. All I want to do is buy you a little time.”
She pulled away from him. “And what do you get out of it?” she asked coldly.
“I want to come home,” he said heavily. “If I do this good deed for you, then I hope to come home with honor. My men and I are starving, Bronwyn. We aren’t farmers, and we have no crofters to farm for us.”
“You’re welcome at home, you should know that,” she said quietly.
He jumped up. “And have the men laugh at me, saying I came home with my tail between my legs? No!” He calmed somewhat. “It would save our dignity if we could return in triumph. We’ll ride back into Larenston with your English husband, and everyone, from King Henry down, would be grateful to us.”
“I…no, it’s not possible. Stephen is—”
“Think about it. You’d have control of your people. I could return home in honor. Or maybe you care more about this Englishman than your own brother,” he sneered.
“No! Of course not! But if he were harmed—”
“You insult me! Do you think I have no brain? If I were to harm him, think what King Henry would do to us! Oh, Bronwyn, please consider it. It would be so good for the clan. Don’t confuse them any more than they already are. Don’t wait until you see them standing on a battlefield trying to choose between England and Scotland. Let them know they’re Scotsmen. Don’t make them divide their loyalties.”
“Davey, I must go, please.”
“You should go. Think about it. In three days I’ll meet you along the cliff wall. Where Alex fell.”
She looked up, startled.
“I know a lot about my clan,” he said as he threw a leg into his saddle and rode away.
Bronwyn stared after him for a few minutes until the darkness swallowed him. She dreaded returning to Larenston, dreaded facing the deaths of her men, as well as Stephen’s anger. But the MacArran couldn’t afford to be a coward. She straightened her shoulders and mounted her horse.
Chapter Nine
BRONWYN WALKED SLOWLY ACROSS THE COURTYARD. She’d had three days since her men were killed to think. Davey’s words haunted her. Every minute she became more aware of the way her men were turning to Stephen. It was natural that they’d look to a man for leadership, since it’d been only months ago that they’d followed Jamie MacArran. But Bronwyn didn’t trust any Englishman. She knew what foul, crude, greedy people they were. Hadn’t she met several Englishmen when she was held captive at Sir Thomas Crichton’s?
As for Stephen, the death of his friend affected him greatly. He didn’t talk much, and Bronwyn often caught him staring into space. Immediately after the killings he ordered the packing for the trip to England to begin. He said that he wanted to take Chris’s body back to his family.
At night, when they were alone, they lay side by side without touching, without speaking. Bronwyn was haunted by the sight of the three dead men. She wondered how her father came to terms with himself when he made a mistake that cost the lives of men he loved. She felt the knot forming in her throat. The laird of a clan shouldn’t cry. She must be strong and not be afraid of being alone.
Besides the heaviness of her guilt, she had Davey’s pleas to consider. She knew of the pride of her brother, knew that it had been difficult for him to ask anything of her. Yet how could she turn Stephen over to him?
She put her hands to her ears. She wanted to do what was right for everyone, but she felt so alone and so powerless. What was right?