by Amy Jarecki
After a moment or two, she turned and asked, “You said the cross was your mother’s. What happened to her?”
James brushed his fingers over the heirloom. “She was taken by fever when I was but two years of age.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, the smile fading.
He almost asked her to smile again but doing so would make him sound like a careless rogue. “And your mother?”
“She drowned in the Firth of Solway when I was an infant. My father remarried, but my stepmother died giving birth to Harris.”
“Forgive me. You have endured so many sorrows.”
“’Tis the way of things. And ’tis why we must live for the now.”
He stopped at the river’s edge. “I like that. For the now.”
“Which is also the reason I’ve decided I must accompany you once we learn where my uncle has taken Harris,” she said as he stooped to fill the pail with water.
James’ blood boiled as he stood. What the devil? Had she been scheming to hit him upside the head with her unthinkable notion all along? Did she believe she was some sort of warrior princess? He set the bucket on the shore, straightened, and hovered over her. “I disagree.”
She scoffed, thrusting her fists onto those saucy hips. “I beg your pardon? You fob me off without at least asking for my reasoning?”
“I do not need to ask. Not only are you female, you are pint-sized at that.” He thrust his finger toward the camp. “Any man in my army could flay you.”
Seemingly unaffected by his pointed remark, Lady Ailish defiantly turned up her chin. “Och aye? Then where would you like me to go once you leave? Ride north to Kildrummy?”
“Good God, no. I’d rather have you stay in Douglas with Hew’s wife.”
“And you believe such an arrangement is safe for the daughter of Johann Maxwell?”
“No one would suspect—”
“I disagree,” she said, spitting the word. Fuming, she pulled a dagger from her sleeve and held it aloft. “Besides, I am not completely unable to defend myself.”
James snorted and rolled his eyes to the tops of the trees. “What the blazes do you intend to do with that wee knife?”
She drew an X through the air. “You’d be surprised.”
“Show me.” He beckoned with his fingers. “Come, have a go.”
“You? That’s hardly fair. You’re the king’s champion.”
James almost grinned. She thought of him as a champion? If she weren’t being so contentious at the moment, he might climb to the highest hill in Selkirk and beat his chest. “You said you were skilled with a dagger. As the Bruce’s general on the borders, I’d like to see what you can do.”
“Very well, but I’ll not be held accountable if I hurt you.”
“Agreed.”
Sliding a foot back, Her Ladyship addressed him as if preparing for a swordfight. Then she proceeded to dance around him as if either deciding upon his weakest point or waiting for him to move.
James clenched and unclenched his fists. “I haven’t all day.”
The lass’ crystal eyes flashed wide as she lunged straight for his heart. Before she had the blade completely extended, he stepped off the line, grabbed her wrist, and bent her hand inward, putting stress on her fine sinews and relieving the weapon from her grasp.
“Ow,” she said, rubbing her arm. “I hardly see what you just proved by manhandling me. You have the ability to disarm any soldier in your army.”
He returned her dagger, picked up the bucket, and headed toward the camp. “Aye, if they come at me directly.”
“Wait a moment.” She snatched the pail and dropped it on the ground, making half the water slosh over the side. “You cannot just say something like that and be done with it.”
“Nay?”
The saucy woman stamped her foot, jutting her face into his. “Nay.”
He offered a mocking bow. “What would you have me do, m’lady?”
“I would have you explain and demonstrate what I should have done.”
“Very well.” James held out his palm into which she deposited the knife. “First of all, if you plan to attack someone with a blade this small, it must be a surprise.”
“But you already knew I was going to thrust at you.”
With the speed of an asp, he grabbed her wrist, twisted her into his body, and held the knife against her neck, ensuring his thumb kept the blade away from her skin. “Did ye ken I was going to do that?” he growled, making his tone menacing.
“Or this?” Kicking his foot, he swept the woman’s legs out from under her, using one hand to break her fall as he followed the momentum, carefully placing his knee on her chest so as not to crush the lass while leveling the dagger at her throat.
“See my point?” she asked, wide-eyed and unruffled as if she almost enjoyed being wrestled to the ground by a brute of a man. “You are a well-trained knight, sir. Not a common crofter.”
“That allays nothing. You are not powerful enough to overcome me or anyone else in this camp.”
She smirked. “Aside from Seumas.”
James stood and offered his hand. “I wouldn’t underestimate that lad. He’s a Douglas scrapper.”
After allowing him to pull her to her feet, she brushed the dirt off her skirts. “Then what would you have me do when I’m threatened?”
“Do you know a man’s weak points?”
Suddenly coy, Her Ladyship scraped her teeth over her bottom lip, her gaze dropping to his loins. “Mm hmm.”
Lord have mercy, he wasn’t expecting that. But she was right. “Aye, a good kick or knee to a man’s unmentionables is a start. But what if you’re thwarted? Men have an ingrained ability to protect their loins. Where would you strike next?”
“The throat?”
“Where on the throat?”
She traced a line across the base of her neck.
“A good option.” He raised his chin and pointed to the vein throbbing along his throat. “If you plunge your blade into either side where the pulse is strongest, he’ll bleed out afore he hits the dirt.”
“Oh, that is amazing,” she said, drumming her fingers against her chin. “Wonderfully gruesome, however.”
“War is ugly. Barbaric.”
“It is,” she whispered. Her haunting tenor reminded James that she had witnessed battle on her own castle when she’d lost her father.
But he wasn’t finished with the lesson. He drew an imaginary line where his leg met his trunk. “Cut your attacker here and he’ll bleed out as well.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. And if you sever the backs of his ankles and he will not be able to walk.” James tapped his chest with the pommel of the knife. “Tell me, why should you not try to go for the heart?”
“Not the heart? Is that not where most mortal wounds are sustained?”
“Nay. Unless you are very strong and very skilled, your blade could be stopped by the ribs.” He slapped his flank. “Go for the spleen or the liver or the kidneys.”
“Good heavens.”
“Let’s say someone grabs you from behind. What would you do?”
“Well, I usually keep my dagger up my left sleeve. So, if I had my back to him, I’d reach in, grasp the hilt, and stab him in his…”
“Loins?”
“Nay. Where you showed me, so he would bleed out.”
James returned her blade, offering her the hilt. “Good. How would you hold the knife when you make such a deadly attack?”
She replaced it in her sleeve, pulled it out, and awkwardly twisted her arm. “Och, that doesn’t work terribly well.”
“Because you’re holding it like a fire poker when you ought to be wielding it like an iron spike.” He changed the position of the knife in her grasp and tightened his fist over hers. “You’ll have far more power if you wield it like this.” He thrust downward with her hand.
“Barbaric,” she whispered.
“Is that not what we just agreed was warfare? Is that
not what it takes to fight for your life? Remember, if you decide to use a weapon, you’ll have but one chance, and if you fail, odds are your life will be forfeit.”
“Understood,” she looked at the blade in her hand, thrust it downward then across and diagonally.
James gave a wee whistle, the fire in his blood thrumming with her unfettered inspection. “You look more dangerous already.”
13
After her knife-wielding lesson with Sir James, Ailish decided to pay more attention to the training sessions happening around her. And for the past two days, she’d queued up with the archers. Moreover, to her surprise, no one questioned her joining in.
Caelan moved behind her as she pulled the bowstring taut. “Focus on your target. Block out every thought except one.”
Easy for him to say. His brother hadn’t been captured by a tyrant who thought nothing of breaking into a holy church and taking a lad from his kin. And Caelan most certainly wasn’t being distracted by a powerful knight who managed to consume her every other thought. “Focus,” she repeated.
“You must hit your target or all will be lost.”
Those words struck a chord. There was no possible way she would lose Harris to the English. Drawing in a deep breath and holding it, Ailish homed in on the center of the target. Slowly, she let the string slip from her fingers until, with a whoosh, the arrow flew, hitting two fingers to the left of center.
“Well done. You’re improving,” said Caelan.
She beamed, glancing over her shoulder to see if James might have been watching, but he was nowhere in sight. As a lass in her father’s keep, she had been quite a skilled archer, but she’d used a smaller bow. “Still not good enough,” she said, loading another arrow and vowing to herself that when Sir James did watch, she would hit the bullseye.
Ailish focused harder as she practiced, shooting her cache of arrows, walking to the target, and pulling them out. She hardly noticed when the others stopped for the day. By the time her fingers had rubbed raw on the bowstring, she was hitting the center of the target nine times out of ten.
There wasn’t much daylight remaining when she marched up to pull out her last round of arrows.
“Are ye aiming to join the archers when we march into battle?” asked Seumas, walking past with an armload of firewood.
Ailish gave the lad a look as she yanked on a shaft and examined the tip. “I’ll do whatever it takes to have my brother home again.”
“Do you aim to bring him to Selkirk Forest as well? Hew says the kingdom won’t be at peace until every last English soldier has scurried back across the border.”
“I’ll have to think about where we’ll go after I find him,” she said, tucking the arrows under her arm. “Come, I’m hungry. What are we having for the evening meal?”
“The Friar’s surprise.”
“Which is?”
“You do not want to know.” The lad twisted his face into a grimace. “But it helps if you’re hungry.”
Ailish followed Seumas into the cave, not worried about Friar John’s awful cooking, but wondering what she would indeed do once they rescued Harris. Only weeks before her brother was abducted, Sister Louisa had mentioned he would not be able to remain at the priory much longer. And now that the prioress had forbidden Ailish’s return, she had naught but to find another safe haven.
Sir James caught her eye, talking to someone she didn’t recognize.
What about Bishop Lamberton? He wasn’t only one of the most powerful holy men in Scotland, he had sheltered James Douglas for ten years—fostered him, too. She stowed her arrows, then marched across the cave floor and stood patiently with her hands folded until the knight averted his attention her way.
“I’ve news.”
Completely forgetting her purpose, her heart leapt. “Of Harris?”
He placed a hand on her back. “Come. We must talk.”
Ailish nearly bubbled over with excitement, and trepidation, and everything in between. Did he know where Uncle Herbert was holding her brother?
As soon as they were outside and away from the tents, she stopped and grasped his hand. “Please tell me you ken where to find my brother.”
“I have a token lead is all.”
“What is it?”
“A cohort of men wearing the Maxwell coat of arms on their tunics was seen riding south on the road to Carlisle.”
“Oh, my heavens. That’s just over a day’s ride.”
“Aye, but we’ve no confirmation of a child traveling in their midst.”
“It makes sense, though. Carlisle boasts the greatest fortress in England’s north.”
“Which poses yet another obstacle.”
Ailish paced. “The only way we’ll know how much of an obstacle we face is if we find out for ourselves. Do we leave on the morrow?”
“We?” He cleared his throat and planted his hands on her shoulders. “Both of us will ride on the morrow, but you are going to stay in Douglas with Hew’s wife, and I will be taking a handful of men south—in disguise, mind you. No matter how much I’d like to show our enemies the might of Scotland, I haven’t yet built the forces to ride across the border and attack the most fortified fortress in the north. Moreover, if they ken we are coming, they’ll move the lad afore we arrive.
Ailish scarcely heard a word after he mentioned Hew’s wife. For the love of God, she had already refused to hide. She straightened while fiery ire shot up the back of her neck. “Do you not recall I said I would be going with you?”
“’Tis far too dangerous.”
“Do you think I care?”
“Lady Ailish—”
She shrugged out from under his grasp. “You just said you need to travel in disguise. What better way than with a woman in your midst? I could pose as your wife, or a servant, or a nun for that matter. Being Sister Ailish worked quite well for me when I traveled to the king’s coronation.”
“I do not think—”
She silenced him with a chop of her hand. “No! You have obviously not thought. As a woman, I can slip into places unnoticed far more easily than a man. And I’m smaller to boot.”
“What if you are hurt…or captured, or, or…?”
“Live for the now, remember?” Ailish shook her finger. “I am going with you. You ken I cannot stay here and if you leave me with Hew’s wife, I’ll find a horse and follow.”
“But—”
She stood her ground. “I’m going. That’s my final word on it.”
“Oh, aye?” he asked, his eyes growing dark. “And who made you general of the border army?”
“Do not be ridiculous.”
“Am I? In my opinion, my question is no more ridiculous than m’lady’s misplaced sense of her own invincibility.”
Fit to be tied, Ailish snapped her hand back and swung. Before her slap connected with his face, he caught her wrist. Fighting, she jerked her arm toward his thumb and wrenched away while his fingers brutally dug into her flesh. As she stepped out, he captured her left hand, pulled, and in the blink of an eye, she was on her back with the brute straddling her.
“Leave me be!” she shouted, trying to sit up and slap the living daylights out of him.
“Stop struggling,” He growled, pinning her wrists to the ground.
“Stop trying to make me out to be nothing more than a prized virgin, waiting for a gallant knight to sweep me away and take me to an ivory tower where he’ll lock me within and keep me sheltered from all the wickedness in Christendom!”
James opened his mouth. Then closed it, his eyes growing narrower and darker.
Ailish gasped as his gaze meandered to her lips. Suddenly, she had not an ounce of fight remaining in her bones. Her insides turned molten as her breathing sped.
He neared, lowering himself over her.
Unable to wait, she arched up and kissed him. In a heartbeat, his tongue plunged into her mouth, as if ravenous. He moved atop her, his body wild with raw passion, the intensity of his ambush ramping up
the desire coursing through her blood. As he released her hands, she wrapped them around his neck, holding on for dear life, meeting the demands of his tongue, stroke for stroke, brutal suck for brutal suck. His hips rocked against her and she thrust in turn, while frissons of fire and ice swirled deep and low between her legs.
Panting, she clamped her hands on either side of his face. “I’ve never felt like this before. You-you have beguiled me.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up and his belly shook atop hers. “Quite the contrary, m’lady. It is you who has ensnared me in your spell.”
“Then I can go?” she asked, holding his gaze. Perhaps she had more power over James than she realized.
“I see no other way to keep you from harming yourself—though the going will not be easy.”
“I did not ask for easy.”
He kissed her again, slower this time, as if savoring a drop of fine wine. And when she rocked her hips against him, his deep, guttural moan vibrated through her. “We’d best return to the camp afore I do something we’ll both regret.”
Ailish scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. Aside from her time at the priory, she hadn’t grown up oblivious to the desires of men and women. And she wasn’t certain she’d regret it if he did that. At least she was not afraid for her virtue. What good was one’s maidenhead when one pledged to protect her brother for the rest of her days?
He stood and pulled her up. “By God, woman, whenever you meet an adversary, I’ll wager you’d best argue your way out of peril. No man can stand up against your wicked tongue.”
Ailish chuckled to herself. If any man other than James Douglas tried to kiss her in the midst of a disagreement, she’d sooner stab him before she allowed some cur to plunder her mouth.
But the rules changed entirely when it came to kissing her black-haired knight. And doing so wasn’t only dangerous, it was akin to toying with the devil himself. The man completely disarmed her when his lips met hers.
14
