Nessa’s Seduction by Jayne Castel
15
BRINGING WORD
Stirling, Scotland
One week later …
“NESSA!”
FYFA COMYN flew down the steps of the keep and raced across the outer-bailey toward Nessa. Standing at the gates—next to the scowling guards who’d been reluctant to send word to the steward’s wife that she had a visitor—Nessa smiled at the sight of her sister.
Fyfa enfolded her in a fierce hug. “I’ve missed ye!”
Blinking back tears, for indeed it had been too long since the pair of them had set eyes on each other, Nessa drew back. She then cast a look over Fyfa, taking in her vibrant auburn hair, winsome face, and twinkling blue eyes. “Marriage must agree with ye,” she murmured. “Ye look well.”
Fyfa’s blue eyes shadowed suddenly, like a cloud passing over the sun on a windy day. But as quickly as her brilliance dimmed, the shadow was gone. She then gave a soft snort. “Aye, well, Hume is a bit dour at times, but he treats me well enough,” she replied, hooking her arm through Nessa’s. She then flashed the guards a smile, and Nessa didn’t miss how one of them blushed. Fyfa hadn’t lost her ability to turn men tongue-tied and witless, she observed. “Come on … ye look exhausted. Let’s get ye some food and ale, and we can talk.”
Nessa sighed, falling into step with Fyfa. Indeed, she’d reached a new level of exhaustion this afternoon. Likewise, poor Honey was done in. She’d left the garron at The Golden Lion in town, where she was lodging at present. The stable hands had been fussing over the mare when she left her, yet Nessa had felt guilty nonetheless. The pony’s head had hung low during the last part of the journey, her gait sluggish.
Nessa hated driving her so hard. She didn’t want to push the pony further, not for a couple of days at least. She had time, surely. The English would be on the eve of leaving Dunfermline now, yet an army that size didn’t move quickly—and it would take them a few days to reach Stirling.
However, she needed to intercept them en route, which meant that she couldn’t linger too long at Stirling, even if her mind and body cried out for rest.
The keep of Stirling Castle loomed above her, its grey stone bulk blocking out the windy sky. The sight of it momentarily distracted Nessa from her exhaustion, and from the dread that weighed in the pit of her belly like a lump of granite—she really didn’t want to face Hugh again.
This was her first time inside the walls of Stirling. She’d been in awe of it as she’d ridden in, for the castle perched high upon a rocky outcrop above Stirling town, with the glittering waters of the River Forth spanning beneath it. She’d ridden by the merchants hawking their wares at Riverside and up the cobbled thoroughfare leading to the upper town.
But now she stood within those massive curtain walls, inside a fortress that was Scottish once more, and her breath caught at its majesty. Fyfa led her from the outer-bailey, where the stables and barracks were housed, and through an archway into the inner-bailey. Nessa’s boots crunched across fine white pebbles, and when she glanced to her right, she spied another archway—this one covered in budding roses—that led through to a knot garden.
“What a bonny place,” she murmured, voicing her awe.
Fyfa cut her a look and smiled. “Aye … I’ve been here a while, and I never tire of it.”
Nessa met her sister’s eye. Indeed, it had been at least five years since Fyfa had wed Hume Comyn. Nessa hadn’t set eyes on her sister during those years. The order had kept them both busy, and Fyfa’s position in Stirling was vital.
Fyfa had been instrumental, a few years earlier, in helping rid Stirling of English occupation. She and John Comyn, the then Guardian of Scotland, had sent word to their allies for help while Edward Longshanks marched north to Dunnottar to capture William Wallace.
The Hammer hadn’t succeeded in finding the Wallace, and while he was gone, John Comyn had organized an attack on Stirling, to take it back from the English.
The women entered the keep, passing two heavily armed guards. Fyfa called out to them cheerfully, and they responded, although Nessa didn’t miss the sideways glances she was receiving.
Nessa’s lips thinned. She imagined she looked a fright.
Fyfa should have led me in by the back door.
However, that wasn’t Fyfa’s way. She strode into the keep as if she were Queen of Scotland and led the way across a wide entrance hall to the stairs, taking Nessa up to her apartments.
Nessa sank down into a high-backed chair by the fire, allowing her sister to fuss over her. Fyfa brought in fresh bread, cheese, and some salted pork, along with a large jug of ale and two cups, and pulled up a low table between them.
She let Nessa eat and drink her fill before interrogating her.
The heat of the fire had a soporific effect on Nessa. The chair was more comfortable than it looked, and the food and wine in her belly made her feel drowsy. Mother’s milk, what she would give to be able to soak up to the neck in a hot bath right now. She just wanted to wash away the grime of her long journey and sleep—yet she was aware of Fyfa’s keen gaze upon her face.
Leaning forward, Fyfa met her eye. “What news?”
“Where to start?” Nessa replied with a sigh. A groove appeared between Fyfa’s eyebrows, yet Nessa didn’t keep her in suspense. “Colina sent me to Dunfermline over the winter, to make contact with one of The Hammer’s men … and seduce him to find out where and when they would strike next.”
Fyfa’s arched eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and she murmured an oath under her breath. “Were ye successful?”
Nessa nodded. “I gained the trust of a knight named Hugh de Burgh, the king’s right-hand.” She paused then, for the mention of Hugh’s name made a strange ache rise under her breastbone. “He was understandably tight-lipped, but in the end revealed that they will leave Dunfermline at the end of the month. I used witching upon him and discovered they plan to lay siege to Stirling.”
Fyfa’s mouth pursed at this news, although she hardly seemed surprised.
Of course, Fyfa had resided within Stirling Castle long enough to see the English come and go.
“I wondered when that carrion crow would return to Stirling,” she muttered.
“Aye … the army will depart Dunfermline on the twenty-eighth day of March … ye have little time.”
Fyfa nodded, a fierce expression settling upon her winsome face. “And has Colina sent word out to our allies?”
“Aye … everyone is ready.” Nessa helped herself to more wine. “Ye will receive aid.”
“And William Wallace?”
Nessa shook her head. “He’s disappeared … I doubt he will stand against the English this time.”
Fyfa’s blue eyes narrowed at this news. The Wallace was a symbol of Scottish hope. Like many, she likely believed that if he didn’t reappear to continue the fight against the English, The Hammer would find it all the easier to crush them.
“That’s not all though,” Nessa continued, holding Fyfa’s gaze. “Colina had a vision come to her in a dream just over a week ago … she saw a golden banner with a red lion flying victoriously upon a battlefield against the English.” When Fyfa frowned in confusion, clearly not recognizing the crest, Nessa pressed on. “It’s the banner of Robert Bruce the younger. Colina believes he will be instrumental in defeating our enemy.”
Fyfa’s eyes went the size of moons at this admission, yet Nessa pressed on. Unfortunately, not all her news was good. “But when Colina cast the telling bones after waking from her dream, they presented her with a warning.” Nessa paused there, a chill feathering down her spine. “Robert Bruce is in danger … and must be protected if he is to fulfill his destiny.”
Fyfa scowled. “Of course … The Hammer will want him dead.” She spat the hated name like a curse.
“Aye … he’s the most obvious threat. But we mustn’t rule out others. There’s rivalry between clans, after all.”
Fyfa grew still at these words, her gaze shadowing.
Nessa frowned at her sister’s odd reaction. “What is it?”
Fyfa’s lips compressed. “Hume tells me that things are strained … between his cousin John and Robert Bruce of late.”
Nessa inclined her head. “Aye … and?”
“They both suspect the other of collusion with the English. John complained to Hume recently that he believes Robert Bruce is ambitious enough to betray his countrymen.”
Nessa digested these words, her frown deepening. John Comyn, Baron of Badenoch, was known for his fiery temper. Although the fact that he was known as John ‘The Red’ was due to his distinctive red hair and beard rather than his character.
“Well, Colina believes Robert Bruce has Scotland’s best interests at heart,” Nessa replied cautiously. She could tell from Fyfa’s tone that she was fond of her husband’s cousin.
Her sister now wore a tense, worried expression. “Our mother has never failed us before.”
“No,” Nessa admitted. A sigh gusted out of her then, weariness pressing down.
Fyfa cast her a sharp look. “What’s wrong?”
“Colina has another task for me,” Nessa replied. “I’m to return to the English, win back the trust of Hugh de Burgh … and report back if I discover that The Hammer has any plans to move against Bruce.”
Fyfa gazed at her for a long moment. It was a probing, assessing look. Although they hadn’t seen each other in years, the bond between them hadn’t weakened. They both read each other’s moods well. “And ye don’t think ye can manage it?”
Nessa frowned, tensing. Crone’s tears, Fyfa was as bad as Breanna. She didn’t appreciate her sisters questioning her abilities. They never had before. But then, Fyfa had sacrificed much for the order. She’d assumed a new identity and wed a man whom she likely didn’t love. All for Scotland.
“Of course I can,” Nessa replied tightly. “I’ll just have to be a bit heavier-handed with my witching this time, that’s all.”
Fyfa cocked an eyebrow. “And ye weren’t last time?”
Nessa’s frown deepened. “Ye know I’m hesitant about using our abilities in that way.”
Fyfa’s gaze veiled. “So, ye didn’t use the craft to lure the king’s commander into yer bed … to loosen his tongue?”
Nessa pulled a face. “Aye, to loosen his tongue … eventually … but not to seduce him.” She paused then, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t need to … things developed between us naturally.”
Fyfa’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t know how ye could have found a man like that attractive,” she replied with a shake of her head. “He’s one of the enemy.”
Heat washed over Nessa. She hadn’t thought Fyfa would judge her for being so candid, yet she’d been mistaken. Clearing her throat then, she focused on her sister. “And what of ye and Hume … did ye use witching to lure him to yer bed?”
Fyfa’s jaw tensed, revealing that Nessa’s question had hit a nerve. “The man was cripplingly shy,” she murmured. “As such, I might have used some candle witching to give him some gentle persuasion.” Her brow then knitted together, her gaze hooding once more. “Yet Hume Comyn is a Scot … a man I wished to make my husband. I didn’t want to be heavy-handed.”
Nessa’s brow furrowed. “But he—”
The ‘whoosh’ of the door opening interrupted them.
An instant later, a tall, muscular man with short dark-red hair strode into the chamber.
Nessa stiffened.
Without needing to be introduced, she knew this man was Hume Comyn, Steward of Stirling.
The man was younger and more attractive than Nessa had expected. However, he had a solemn face that gave him a grave presence. Cool, moss-green eyes swept the chamber, widening as they moved over Fyfa and rested upon Nessa.
“Who’s this, Fyfa?” he asked.
Unruffled, Fyfa cast her husband a tight smile. “A cousin of mine, husband … she’s visiting from Dunfermline.”
The steward frowned, although his gaze remained on Nessa. “Aye, and what brings ye to Stirling?”
Nessa’s lips parted, as she readied a suitable reply. However, Fyfa beat her to it. “As ye know, the English have been wintering just outside Dunfermline … Nessa brings word that they are about to march upon Stirling.” Hume’s gaze narrowed at this—for he was likely wondering how his wife’s cousin had discovered such a thing—yet Fyfa pressed on. “We shall need to ready ourselves for another siege.”