The Scot's Traitor

Table of Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Epilogue Dear Reader Novels By Author About the Author Chapter One Summer, 1315, Edinburgh, Scotland “There ye are, ye vile bastard. I’ll put an arrow through yer black heart someday.” Reyna Matheson, daughter of Clan Matheson’s chieftain, peered through the leaves of the tree she was perched in to watch the English garrison as it made its way to Berwick Castle, presently controlled by the English bastards. On patrol for the Ramsay group working for King Robert while he was in Ireland, it was their job to be aware of the movements of the English garrison, especially the one led by the cruel Captain Wulfstan de Gray. The man not far from her perch. The man who tortured his prisoners with odd tools, had a special chamber built with drains for bodily fluids, and was the most feared man in the English forces. How she hated the English dogs. She’d never met de Gray, but if she did, she’d do her best to kill the bastard for kidnapping and scaring the hell out of her cousin and best friend, Isla Matheson. How she wished she’d been given clearance to shoot him now. Her bow was her favored weapon, and she was nearly close enough to make a hit. Dyna and Maitland, the leaders of her patrol, said there was to be no killing at present unless forced to defend yourself. So she and her cousin, Ysenda Ramsay, remained perched in the tree, watching over the English soldiers. They noted all the comings and goings of the castle, and would report back to Maitland Menzie, the man in charge of her group. “I count six score,” Ysenda whispered. “Ye see the same?” “Aye,” she said, a grin bubbling up before she could control it. “Just a moment. I have to move this branch first or ’twill surely rip my legging.” All the women trained by Gwyneth Ramsay, her grandmother, wore leggings and a tunic when in battle. Her grandmother considered skirts foolish, and Reyna had to agree with her. Ysenda’s mother, Merewen, made the prettiest ones of all and she would not tear this pair gifted her by Aunt Merewen. “I saw that, Reyna. What did ye see?” Her cousin was adept at reading clues from Reyna’s expressions. She always had been unlike her best friend Isla. Reyna and Isla had much in common. But while Isla hid her feelings, Reyna did not. “Naught. Once they are out of sight, we can return to camp.” Reyna wouldn’t admit to her cousin that she’d seen the one she’d been searching for—the English captain known as The Wolf. She’d rarely been off Black Isle but she knew all the Clan Matheson people along with most in Clan Ramsay, her mother’s clan. Loyal and steadfast to the Scots, she still had a keen curiosity about the strangers in front of her. While the English were their sworn enemies, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by the soldiers. She happened to love men, though her sire didn’t appreciate her current interests. She had to keep that part of her hidden, but now that she was on her own on a mission, her curiosity was flying high. Who better to check out the man with the reputation of being the cruelest leader in all of England than the woman who was adept at judging men’s characters? He was directly in front of her as the cavalcade passed by. His long dark hair, tethered below the collar of the fine doublet he wore, was distinctive. She’d hoped to see his face. Would he look cruel? Did he have a constant sneer? Her primary goal was to kill the man. The Wolf had captured Reyna’s best friend Isla and Isla’s betrothed, Grif, who had also been beaten and tortured. Reyna vowed to see the Wolf pay for his transgressions. It would be sheer pleasure to put an arrow right between his eyes. But not before she got a good look at the man. She wished to ask him what would make a man so cruel. Her interest in behavior was more than piqued. Had he been tortured as a child? Did the Scots capture him so he was interested in revenge? Aunt Jennet, who considered herself an expert on men’s behavior, would say he was born that way. But was he? What emotion drove such cruelty? She’d probably never know because if given the chance, she’d kill the man for the assault on her clanmates. Isla and Grif were back on Ramsay land, where they could heal from their captivity. They would return and meet them in Berwick, she’d been told. She couldn’t wait to see how Isla fared. Wulf strode along as if he were more important than anyone on God’s green meadows. Men were such a mystery to her. She continued to watch him, seek out all she could about the man, but then she made a critical mistake. She dropped her bow. It wouldn’t have been an issue, but the Wolf heard, stopping his horse and turning it around to stare directly at her. “Uh-oh,” Ysenda whispered. A ripple of excitement traveled up Reyna’s spine. There was naught she loved more than the thrill of exhilaration from confrontation in battle; she didn’t have much experience outside of training and small border skirmishes, but she loved the energy and excitement that coursed through her body during a fight. She whispered, “Dinnae move, Ysenda. Ye know he cannae see us through the leaves.” Reyna chewed on her lower lip, hoping she was correct. There were only two archers against a garrison of Englishmen. A daunting ratio, even for two trained Ramsay archers. But as he grew nearer to their spot in the