Page 11 of The Protector’s Promise

The corners of Marion’s mouth lifted in a small smile. Sympathy? Surely not. Well, he’d promised her information, and information he would give. Some.

“On a recent trip to London, Edmund of Almain ordered me to take . . .” He hesitated. “A keep.” Moordon Castle had at one time merely been a keep. So this was not truly a lie.

“In Scotland?” she correctly guessed.

He nodded.

“Is this . . . Edmund of Almain one of the king’s regents, then? Why would he order such a thing? Why now?”

Court had asked the man that very question. Though it was true these lands had become unstable recently, the border lines had been drawn more than thirty years earlier. The English and Scottish Wardens held monthly Days of Truce to ensure peace continued to reign between the two nations. And yet Edmund had told him it was an edict from the king himself—that Moordon would provide the foothold they needed in the event war broke out.

“He is one of Edward’s regents,” he answered. “While Edward continues his crusade abroad, he left his duties to two men. Any one regent would have gained too much personal power. But Edmund, along with—”

“Robert Burnell, the king’s chancellor. I know some of your English politics.”

He was impressed. “Aye. And as to your question of ‘why now?’ I do not ask, but simply follow my king’s orders.” For an order from the regent was the same as an order from the king himself.

That Edmund had promised him the very thing he’d always wanted, a title and land of his own, Court kept to himself. Halbury Castle was not nearly as grand as Camburg, but it would be his own.

Marion fell silent. He handed her the waterskin, and she took it. She drank deeply, her elegant neck stretched back, and then returned it to him. A lone drop of water had escaped onto her bare chest.

Don’t look.

“Before meeting the priestess,” Marion said finally, her tone serious, “I had no way of knowing what was true and what was legend. Growing up, the healer in my mother’s village told tales of the Ladies of the Stone, women chosen throughout time to protect the stone, a symbol of Scotland herself. It was said that our lands would remain safe so long as the guardian kept the stone safe. From the priestess, I learned that if the stone fell into the hands of . . .” She looked at him with the same malice that had been directed at him earlier that day. “. . . you . . .”

His eyes narrowed.

“. . . Scotland would be in danger. For each guardian, there is a nemesis—someone who is called to take the stone. To use it against Scotland. When the protector and her nemesis die, the stone finds its way back to the pools to be guarded by the priestess until it can be claimed once again.”

“And you are that guardian?” Her tale was too fantastical to be believed. If it weren’t for—

“I am.”

She said it so confidently that Court froze. Her eyes held his own, never wavering.

“How could you possibly—”

“When I first told my mother of my ability to sense danger, she did not believe me, of course. It was only after many years of warnings that she and my father finally understood. And then, of course, there was the mark.”

His skin tingled. “The mark?”

So it was true. Everything she told him, as much as it sounded like a jester’s tale of fancy, was true.

“Do you have it?”

This time he looked down to where the strange mark had appeared just a fortnight ago. His clothes hid it from sight, but he could almost feel it burning his flesh.

“I have one as well,” she said, pointing to her right hip.

Court groaned inwardly, imagining—

“Where is yours?”

He almost asked if she’d like to see it. But Court caught himself before he let the impropriety slip. Instead, he pointed to the exact same spot, but on his left hip. His mind reeled with revelations. The first thing he would do once back in Camburg was to seek out the advice of the elders. Surely there must be an English legend similar to her Scottish one. In her version, she was the protector, he the enemy. But perhaps his people had their own version of the tale.

“So you know now why you were called to the stone.” She smiled sweetly. “Now you know why it is mine. I’d like it back.”

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