Not that anyone would believe her, but there he was, standing below her, pacing, bending over maps and gesturing angrily, orating, breathing, inspiring. His voice, rich and strong, was persuasive and full of passion. God in heaven, she was watching Robert the Bruce plan to vanquish England! Chills raced up her spine.

“Milady, would you like to reacquaint yourself with your cousin?” a man said behind her.

Lisa winced. She hadn’t considered that someone might venture upstairs, or have been upstairs before she’d come out. She’d been so worried about someone beneath her looking up that she hadn’t devoted any attention to the stairs. This man must have slipped up while her fascinated gaze had been focused on the king. Heart hammering, she turned slowly to see who had discovered her spying, hoping that whoever it was could be persuaded not to tell Duncan or anyone else.

It was one of the knights she’d glimpsed in the courtyard earlier as she’d watched them train. He sank swiftly to one knee. “Milady,” he murmured, “I am Armand Berard, a knight in your protector’s service. Shall I escort you belowstairs?”

The knight rose to his feet and she noted that although they were identical in height, his neck and shoulders were as thick as a football player’s. His chestnut-brown hair was close cropped; his gray eyes were serious and intelligent. A thick beard covered his jaw, and she glimpsed the flash of a crimson cross beneath his multiple tunics.

“No … er … nay, I am fair certain he’s too busy for me.”

“Robert the Bruce is never too busy for clan,” he said. “It is one of the many things I admire about him. Come.” He extended his hand. “I will take you to him.”

“Nay!” she exclaimed, then added more gently, “Circenn advised me to stay in my room and he’ll be upset should he discover I’ve disobeyed. He said he would see to it I had time to speak with my cousin later.”

“He will not be upset with you. Never fear, milady. Come. The Bruce will be eager to see you again, and smitten by the king’s pleasure, the laird of Brodie will forgive your transgression. It is only natural you would be overjoyed to see your cousin again. Come.”

He latched a hand around her wrist and leaned over the balustrade.

“Milord!” he called down to the Greathall. “I bring your cousin to you!”

Robert the Bruce looked up, a curious expression on his face.

LISA FROZE. THIS WAS IT, SHE RUED. CIRCENN BRODIE might have permitted her to live, but her curiosity had just delivered the fatal blow. First, her curiosity had led her to try to get a job in a museum, so she could learn. Then her curiosity had compelled her to open the chest and touch the flask; and finally, her curiosity had led her from her room, into the middle of a deadly situation. She was doomed.

She flinched when Armand Berard took her hand and looped it through his elbow. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, her chin slipped a notch. Never let anyone take your dignity, Lisa, Catherine whispered in her mind. Sometimes it is all one has.

Her chin shot back up. If she was going to her death, by God, she would do it regally. During all her suffering her mother had never relinquished her dignity, and Lisa would do no less. Inclining her head, she smoothed her gown and straightened her spine.

It seemed to take forever to descend the few dozen stairs. The hall was jammed with Templars and the Bruce’s travel-weary men, and nearly a hundred warriors gazed curiously up at her, including the furious glare of one warlord who definitely looked like he wanted her dead, and the inquisitive gaze of the king of Scotland.

She pasted a defiant smile on her lips. As they reached the bottom, the dark-haired king broke away from the crowd. He moved toward her, his arms extended.

“Lisa,” he exclaimed. “How lovely to see you again. You have blossomed under Circenn’s care, but I suspected you would.”

He wrapped her in a fierce hug, and her face was buried in a thick beard that smelled of wood smoke from camping in the open country. She pressed close, concealing her stunned expression in his cheek. Circenn must have gotten to him first, she realized. He squeezed her so tightly, she nearly squeaked. When he fondly patted her rump, she did squeak, and tried to draw away. He was grinning at her.

Close to her ear, he whispered, “Doona fash yourself, lassie. Circenn told me all. I am pleased he has chosen a wife.”

Wife? She squeaked again as her knees weakened. Surely that oversized, scowling barbarian didn’t think she would marry him just to stay alive? She glanced over the Bruce’s shoulder and saw Circenn standing five paces behind him, eyeing her with a glare that wordlessly instructed, Obey. Behave.