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"Unfortunately, I fear you may be right, reluctant though I am to speak thus of a brother Templar. And if
the rightful inheritors of Briochan have come to suspect that Jay has stolen away their holy things, one can
hardly be surprised if they might conclude that the Order itself is responsible. Hence, this afternoon's
attack."
Torquil shook his head, frankly dismayed. "As if it weren't enough that the Stone is ailing, and the
Scottish monarchy is being undermined by sorcerous interference, now you tell me that we have to worry
about corruption among our own brothers!" He sighed heavily. "And de Sautre will deem us the
renegades! What do you propose we do?"
"We still have our ongoing mission to accomplish," Arnault said, "and that is to prepare a foundation in
Scotland for the building of the Fifth Temple. We must never lose sight of that. And whatever charges de
Sautre may choose to lay against us at official levels, we've done nothing that le Cercle won't support. I
expect that Gaspar and the Visitor can pull their usual strings behind the scenes to get us off- perhaps
with some formal reprimand and maybe even a token penance, but I have no worries on that account, so
long as we aren't prevented from getting word to them-and Luc will see to that. Meanwhile, Luc can
continue to act as liaison, so long as he isn't compromised by aiding and abetting us openly."
"That's fine for the long term," Torquil agreed, "but in the meantime, I should point out that we're still on
the run, at least so far as de Sautre is concerned. It's a pity we didn't get a chance to ask him for news of
the war-but I suppose we'll find out soon enough. Where next, then?"
"Scone, I think-and preferably before de Sautre gets there," Arnault replied.
"I think we'll be well ahead of him," Torquil said. "He has wounded. He won't be able to travel as fast as
we can- and he's also short a few horses." He contained a snort of ironic satisfaction. "He can't have
been happy to discover that we got away with two of the fittest ones."
"Aye, that will be one more grudge against us," Arnault said. "Meanwhile, Abbot Henry needs to be
apprised of what we learned on Iona. After that, I'm none too sure. My instincts say we should get back
to Paris as quickly as we can, and get our official status sorted out. That may be the only thing that will
get de Sautre off our backs-and Jay, once he finds out about today."
For the next two days, subsisting on little but water, they took advantage of every hour of daylight to
press eastward, avoiding settlements and only risking even a religious establishment when they paused at
last to ask news and hospitality of the monks of Dunkeld. The news made their hurried meal lie like lead
in their stomachs as they pressed on toward Scone.
During their absence, not unexpectedly, Edward had advanced northward from Roxburghe to lay siege
to Edinburgh Castle, which had held out for little more than a week before surrendering. He had moved
next on Stirling, which yielded without any resistance at all. The English king was now said to be
somewhere south of Perth-which put Scone within easy striking distance.
The gates of Scone Abbey were closed when they arrived, for it was after dark, but the porter
remembered them, and immediately let them in. By the time they had stabled their horses, making
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apologies to the brother hostler for the loss of the mounts he had loaned them from the abbey, word had
been taken to Abbot Henry of their arrival and a lay brother was waiting to accompany them to the
abbot's quarters. To their surprise, they found Luc de Brabant in the abbot's company.
"Good Lord!" Arnault exclaimed, breaking into a broad grin as he came to embrace the older man.
"What on earth are you doing here?"
That Luc was likewise relieved to see them was evident, as he exchanged similar greetings with Torquil,
but his sobering news soon dampened the reunion.
"You haven't heard, then," he said. "John Balliol has sued for peace. They're dickering over the terms, but
it's only a matter of time."
"Where is Balliol?" Torquil asked.
"With what's left of the Scots army, somewhere north and east of here," said a Scottish voice from the
direction of the fireside. "Word is that Longshanks has sent Bek of Durham to take the surrender. Once
that happens, there's little to stop the English king from making himself sole master of everything between
Berwick and the Moray Firth."
Both new arrivals turned to survey the speaker, who slowly unfolded from his chair. Apparently about
the same age as Torquil, he was a brawny, broad-chested figure of a man, a full head taller even than
Arnault-who was above average height-but with a thatch of curly auburn hair and bushy beard and
startling blue eyes.
"Ah," Luc said. "William Wallace, you should make the acquaintance of Brothers Arnault de Saint Clair
and Torquil Lennox, Knights of the Temple-though one would hardly guess it, by their present state," he
added, indicating their black robes with a sweep of a white-clad arm. "Will hails from Strathclyde-his
father was a knight in the service of James the Stewart-but I met up with him down by Dunfermline.
Under the circumstances, it seemed a good idea to bring him here with me."
The look of contrived innocence on Luc's face told Arnault that this was far from being the sum of the
tale. Wallace himself undertook to supply further details.
"Och, I was being chased by a band of English hobelars," he said with a grin. "Their captain had been
hounding me all the way from Kincardine. Brother Luc was gracious enough to let me climb a tree while
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