by Amy Jarecki
Maxwell? James knew the name well. “Your da was an ally of the Douglas.”
“I remember. I’m sure your father dined at our table when I was but a wee lassie—before…”
“Before?” James asked, looking to the trail, trying not to stare into those captivating eyes.
“Before my brother was born.”
“Johann’s heir survived?”
“Aye,” she said, her voice haunted. “He’s my only care. Harris and my sister, Florrie. I traveled to Scone to pledge fealty to the king on behalf of the lad and declare his rightful place as Earl of Caerlaverock.”
James chuckled. “Well then, ’tis a good thing your uncle wasn’t present.”
“He wouldn’t dare show his face to Robert Bruce. He’s in bed with the English and enjoying my father’s wealth as well as Edward’s spoils.”
“Not unlike Clifford, the thief who is growing fat in my father’s keep.”
“’Tis why we cannot travel west any longer.”
James arched his eyebrows. The lass had been smart not to question him earlier. “I turned the horse south about an hour past but ’tis difficult to tell with the cloud cover. We needed to give Stirling a wide berth.”
Coira stirred and gave a loud sigh.
“How are you faring, Sister?” James asked, raising his voice.
The maid wiped the spittle from her mouth. “Aside from an insatiable hunger and a pain in my backside, I’m well, thank you.”
Ailish patted the palfry’s neck. “Coira’s not particularly fond of traveling.”
James almost laughed until a pair of burly men stepped out from the trees, crossing their battleaxes and blocking the path.
As he tugged on the reins, he reached for the hilt of his sword, steeling himself for another fight.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said one, baring his teeth as a dozen brigands dropped from the trees and surrounded them.
Spotting a crossbow archer with an arrow trained on Her Ladyship’s heart, James raised his palms in surrender. The leader motioned to one of his men. “Take his weapons. My da will be interested to have a word with these trespassers. That is, unless they’d rather die now.”
5
“Stay close to me,” James growled in Ailish’s ear while the outlaws led them deeper into the forest and farther away from Lincluden Priory. “Say nothing.”
She wanted to shake her fists. She and Coira had fared much better on their journey north. Though they’d been stopped by patrols, they had no trouble convincing the soldiers that they were on a pilgrimage to Dunfermline. Now, they were traveling the byways with a knight who was supposed to be protecting them. They’d been gone a day, had nearly lost their horse and mule before dawn, and now were being taken hostage by a mangy lot of tinkers…or whatever they were. Though the scoundrels were Highlanders in speech and dress, she doubted there was an honest man among them.
After riding about an hour higher into the Highlands, the trees opened to a glassy loch. As they continued along the shore, Ailish prayed Sir James would do something soon to enable their escape. Lord knew the tension emanating from his body felt as hot as a smithy’s fire. Surely, he would not allow these brigands to run roughshod over them for long.
Though the odds were not looking good at the moment.
About a mile on, they were once again led into the thicket until the grey walls of a stone tower peered through the skeletons of trees still leafless from winter.
“Dismount,” grumbled a man with a craggy face—the one who’d been issuing orders.
But there were too many of them not to do as they were told.
The cur pointed to James. “You come with me.”
James shouldered himself in front of Ailish. “Not without the nuns. They’re in my charge.”
With a dozen leering eyes raking down her body, she emphatically nodded, ever so glad to be in disguise.
Coira lumbered beside them and scowled. “Och, you lot best never think to defile a nun else ye’ll be damned for eternity!”
A few of the men took a step back. But the leader jabbed James in the shoulder with the butt of his axe. “Move your laggard arse.”
Inside, the walls were crude with exposed stone. Thresh crunched underfoot as they were led into the great hall. A man with grey in his beard sat paring an apple at the head of a table near the hearth.
“We caught these travelers trespassing through Duncryne Forest,” said the craggy-faced varlet.
Slipping a slice of apple into his mouth, the man looked up. “Is that so?”
James’ eyes shifted as if he were assessing everything in the chamber. “We were set upon by English scouts just before dawn. If you retrace our tracks, there are two dead men not far outside of Dunblane. We’re heading south, but I took a wee detour to ensure we ran into no more trouble.”
The man eyed James from helm to mail and tunic to the tips of his boots. “And why is a knight riding with a pair of nuns?”
“To provide safe passage to the borders.”
“For mere nuns?” asked the man while Ailish bit her tongue, praying her escort would not reveal her identity.
James moved his fingers to his sleeve. “I’ve another task to perform. The journey was convenient.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” ordered craggy-face.
The man at the table stood and planted his palms on the table. “A task did you say?”
With a grim nod, James stepped forward and pointed to the wooden shield hanging above the mantel. “I see you display the seal of the lion rampant emblazoned on your targe.”
“Aye, given to my da by Wallace himself.”
“And you’ve heard they’ve crowned Robert Bruce as king?”
The man gave a curt nod. “I have.”
James took in a deep breath and ran his fingers down his beard. “I attended the coronation and received my spurs that very night.”
The man’s gaze narrowed. “You side with the Bruce?”
“I’ve a letter in my possession commanding me to establish a borderland army bearing his seal.”
Ailish squeezed her fists so tightly, her nails bit into her flesh. What was Sir James doing? These men could not be trusted.
“Aye, and where do you aim to hide these men with a multitude of English spies mulling about?”
“Ye ken Wallace.” James smirked as if he were comfortable with the guards encircling them, ready to chop of their heads with their axes. “The Bruce aims to start where the great warrior left off.”
“Selkirk,” said the man. “And who might you be?”
“Sir James Douglas, Lord of Douglas.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Le Hardi’s son?”
Ailish held her breath. Sir James’ da had lost Berwick, and many Scots held him accountable for the carnage.
But the knight continued to act as if they were merely having a passing conversation rather than about to be run through. “Aye.”
The elder’s face split into an enormous grin. “Well why did ye not say so in the first place?”
“No one gave us the courtesy of asking.” Sir James threw a thumb over his shoulder. “This ragged lot behind me has forgotten their manners. They did not even grant me the civility of giving me your name.”
“Erloch Cunningham, chieftain of these lands, and the guard holding a battleax at your throat is my eldest son, Torquil.” He walked around the table and clapped James’ shoulder. “Welcome to Duncryne, friend.”
As Torquil’s axe lowered, Ailish exchanged a relieved glance with Coira.
“My thanks,” James mumbled rather unconvincingly as he rubbed his neck. “But seeing as we’ve been waylaid by your hospitality, I reckon we’ll be needing lodgings for the night—and I’ll be taking back my sword and dirk.”
Ailish gave him a nudge. These men mightn’t have robbed them on the trail, but she had no doubt if they were on the wrong side of the war, the blackguards would have skewered James and ravished
her and Coira or worse. “Perhaps if we left now, we’d make it to Dunbarton before nightfall.”
“Och, ’tis dusk already,” said Torquil, pointing to the balcony above where absolutely no light shone through an archer’s crosslet loop, blast it all.
“The sisters will require privacy, of course,” James added as one of the men returned his weapons.
Erloch shrugged. “They can use Torquil’s chamber for the night.”
The young man eyed Ailish like he had been doing since they blocked their path in the forest. “Och, I’d rather have the bonny one in me bed for the eve.”
James pulled her behind him. “I beg—"
“Stand down, Son. It will not hurt ye to sleep in the hall for a night.” Erloch sliced his hand like he was chopping wood. “Can you not see she’s a holy woman? These are our guests, and I expect you to treat them as such, else we’ll have a reckoning.”
“I’ll have a bloody reckoning,” James mumbled into Ailish’s ear.
Coira, looped her arm through her lady’s elbow. “If it would not trouble ye overmuch, might we be able to venture above stairs now to refresh ourselves afore the evening meal?”
“Aye, and Torquil will show you the way.”
Ailish squeezed Coira’s arm tightly and fingered the dagger inside her sleeve. His father may have offered hospitality, but she didn’t trust the son in the slightest.
And to prove her point, he smiled like a lecherous cur. “This way, Sisters.”
“Leave the axe,” said James, stepping aside and giving Ailish a nod. “I’ll see you anon.”
She inclined her head toward the stairs. “Do you not want to ken where we’ll be staying, sir?”
“Och, you can climb a few stairs without your guardian,” Torquil growled over his shoulder.
“Come along,” said Coira as if she were readying herself for battle.
Erloch gestured to the benches at the long table. “Sit and rest your weary bones.” He clapped his hands. “Bring us some ale.”
James climbed over a bench, ever so happy to see Torquil return directly. He’d been of two minds in letting the young man take the ladies above stairs, but he would have broken the laws of hospitality had he insisted on tagging along. Nonetheless, had the man dallied above stairs, James would not have hesitated to intervene.
“Torquil, go see to the horses,” said Erloch.
“Och, the men will take care of them.”
“Just do as I say.”
An ewer of ale and two tankards were placed on the table as the lad pushed outside.
James poured. “His beard has come in, surely he’s not as young as he behaves.”
“The lad’s ten and seven. He needs to be fostered by someone who can turn him into a man.” Erloch picked up a tankard. “Sláinte.”
James followed suit. “Sláinte.”
“I’d like him to ride with you.”
Blowing frothing ale out his nose, James looked at the man as if he’d grown two heads. “Not only am I tasked with ridding our borders of English vermin, I’m amassing an army. Moreover, how in God’s name can I trust him to keep his hands off Sister Ailish?”
“Because you’ll sever his cods if he tries anything untoward.” The old man grinned behind the pewter cup. “I ken what I just witnessed, sir. You would protect the wee lassie with your life.”
James kept his expression impassive and shrugged. “The women are in my care. I’ll do what I must to protect them. To prove it, there are two dead Englishmen in a wee clearing near Dunblane.”
“I kent I liked you as soon as you stepped into me hall.” Erloch poured himself another ale. “If ye are forming an army like you said, Torquil would do well to serve under a man like you—James Douglas, son of le Hardi.”
“Oh aye?”
“Aye. And I reckon you’ve a chip on your shoulder larger than my arse.”
“What of it?” James regarded the shield over the hearth. Bloody oath, he had something to prove. But that was none of Erloch’s concern. “I’ve been here for less than an hour. You’ve formed a great many opinions in the time it took to exchange pleasantries.”
“I ken the look in your eye, Son. And you’ve the girth of a prized bull. Mark me, you’re a fighter.”
At least the Cunningham chief wasn’t wrong about that. “If I agree to take your son with me, what others can you send as well? I need numbers. Good men, mind you.”
“I’m growing old, else we’d all ride into hell with you.” Erloch shook his head. “But I need my army to defend my keep.”
“Mayhap you think you need them, but your king needs them more,” James said before taking a long, slow drink.
“Och, with English patrols riding through Duncryne whenever they please? I’m lucky they haven’t burned me out.”
Saying nothing, James’ eyebrow quirked as he swiped the froth from his beard—staring. Not smiling. Just leveling a hard stare directly at the man’s face.
Erloch tilted back his head and groaned. “Very well, Caelan will ride with ye. He’s my best archer. Not bad with a sword in his hand either.”
“That’s all you can spare?”
“Aye.”
“Then I’ll be needing two horses for the nuns.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“Apologies, but I can only spare one.” Erloch leaned in. “Are they nuns or is there something you’re hiding?”
James fingered the handle of his tankard, unwilling to say more.
Fortunately, Torquil chose this moment to make another appearance. “The horses have been turned out for the night.”
“And my palfry?” James asked.
“We’ve put him and the mule in the yard. They’ve plenty of hay and water.”
“My thanks.”
“I’ve news for you, Son,” said Erloch, sitting back and gesturing to James. “Come morn, you and Caelan will be riding with Sir James. This is your chance to fight for king and country, lad. And this knight will see ye turned into a man.”
Torquil cut James a leer. “Him?”
“Aye.”
“God’s bones, Da. He’s barely older than me.”
James pushed the bench back and stood, making the lad crane his neck. “I beg to differ. I’m four years your senior, and I’ve spent the past ten in the service of Bishop Lamberton, training with the finest knights in Scotland.”
“Hear him, lad,” said Erloch. “If you apply yourself, you’ll attract the king’s eye. I ken what I’m on about.”
To the tune of the boy’s snort, James planted his hand on Torquil’s shoulder and squeezed. “Let us step outside. I reckon we need to talk afore I agree to your father’s terms.”
James led the way into a paddock, far from any prying ears. “Your da told me you could benefit from a turn in the wars. But I have my doubts.”
“Is that so? I bloody disarmed you. Came upon you unawares—”
“Came upon a man and two nuns minding their own affairs and acted like a rogue. Heroic of you.”
“You were trespassing.”
“Hardly. We were passing through—on a well-used road. And mind you, I let you take my sword and lead us here. I could have dispatched you and your men at any time.”
Torquil toed the dirt. “Then why did you not?”
“You’re a Highlander for one. Moreover, I didn’t want one of the women ending up harmed in the scuffle.” In truth, had James been alone, he may have tried to outrun them, but fleeing was not an option with a mule in tow.
“Likely story. I can best you any day.”
James snorted. “Mayhap with a crossbow.”
“Ye are full of shite.”
He drew his sword from its scabbard, the hiss echoing between the trees. “Let us have a go, shall we?”
“But I have no weapon.”
“You do now,” said James, presenting the hilt of his sword.
Torquil took it and smirked, swinging the blade in a figure eight. “You’re mad.
”
Crouching with his hands level and ready, James gave the lad a nod. “Give it your best.”
The lad turned his shoulder as if he were planning to walk away, then spun on his heel with a bellow, swinging the blade over his head.
James thrust up his hands, crossed his wrists, and stopped the attack while grabbing the back of Torquil’s hand and twisting, making the boy drop to his knees. With his next breath, he grabbed the sword’s hilt and continued to twist until the braggart lay on his back and James leveled the point of the blade at his neck. “Ye were worried I wouldn’t be able to defend myself without a weapon?”
“You tricked me.”
“Is that what you’ll say on the battlefield when an Englishman has your cods in his fist?”
Torquil kicked his feet and squirmed. “Release me.”
“Very well.” James stepped back and presented the hilt of his father’s sword once more. “Again.”
This time, Torquil attacked with a thrust aimed to skewer James’ heart, but with a simple counter move, the lad was again relieved of the weapon and on his back with the pointy end pressed against the wee pulse throbbing at the base of his throat.
James leaned over, looked him in the eyes, and lowered his voice to a growl. “If you ride with me, you will treat all women with honor and respect, starting with the nuns sleeping in your bed this eve. And if you ever attempt to backstab me, I promise it will be the last act of your maggot-infested life.”
6
Ailish opened her eyes, certain something had rattled. “Did you hear that?”
Her question was answered with one of Coira’s snores. The woman would sleep through a raid from marauding Norsemen.
Something shifted outside the chamber door. Clutching her hands over her heart, Ailish peered toward the sound, the coals from the fire casting a shadowy light through the chamber.
What should I do? Scream? Rouse Coira?
The maid snored.
Ailish patted her arm. “Are you awake?”
Another snore.
Well, she certainly was not about to lay abed and wait for some beast to burst inside and ravish them. Besides, her father always said the best attack is when the quarry is taken by surprise.
