Highland Warlord

by Amy Jarecki

  “How much farther?” asked Caelan.

  “Eight miles, give or take.”

  It didn’t take long to ride the distance along the detour. The curtain walls of the city came into view as did the River Caldew skirting along the east side. In the foreground, an enormous cathedral dominated the sky, every bit as large as the cathedral at Scone Abbey. Walls at least as tall as three stories surrounded the city with a blanket of smoke hanging above. A tower presided over the gate’s archway, but though the entry was grand, the gatehouse was dwarfed by the towers beyond.

  Ailish’s heart pounded. “To think, I might be embracing Harris afore the compline bell rings!”

  “We must find him first,” replied James as he held up his hand. “Slow to a walk, men. We do not want to draw any more attention to ourselves than necessary.”

  With market day on the morrow, laborers and craftsmen approached the gates, leading carts filled with wares. “I wish we still had the wagon of pelts.”

  “There’s no replacing it now,” said James before he turned to the others. “I’ll do the talking.”

  Ailish ran her fingers over the bow she wore across her shoulder, praying there would be no bloodshed this time. When the sentry stopped them at the gate, she peered beyond the line of pikemen guarding the city’s entrance. The clang from the smithy shack rang as commoners ambled about, some pushing barrows of hay or less pleasant-smelling goods. Others carried bundles of wood on their backs. Flagged on by a guard, a group of washerwomen walked right past them and through the archway, heading toward the inner castle gate carrying their baskets of laundered linens.

  “State your purpose,” demanded the guard as if he intended to order the pikemen to attack on the spot.

  “Come for market day,” said James. “Do you know of an inn suitable for my lady wife?” He leaned down and cupped a hand to the side of his mouth. “She’s awfully particular.”

  The sentry’s gaze shifted to Ailish. “’Tis not advisable to bring a woman into the city, especially.”

  “I’m in sore need of fine cloth and silk for the babe,” she said, rubbing her belly. “And I’ll trust no one else to purchase it on my behalf.”

  James gave her a dour frown and cleared his throat. “Ye see my predicament, sir?”

  “Aye, I have a similar problem at home. And there’s no changing a woman’s mind when she’s in the family way.” The man thrust a thumb over his shoulder. “The Boar’s Head down the close lets rooms to travelers, but you’d best be quick.”

  “My thanks.” James picked up his reins. “How many ale houses are within the city gates?”

  “Three, but nary a one is suitable for a woman in the family way.” He waved them on. “Ye’ll find The Boar’s Head is the smallest and least likely to entertain a brawl.”

  17

  The innkeeper opened the door to the chamber on the top floor. “Apologies, but this is all I can offer.”

  A narrow bed sat in a corner and beside it was an old wooden stool. There was no hearth. An open gap posed as a window, skirted by a ratty fur tied back. Above, a pigeon cooed, roosting in the crumbling masonry. A white trail of bird droppings stained the wall beneath the bird.

  “This will do,” said James, dropping a coin in the man’s palm, no matter how much he wanted to tell the innkeeper what he could do with the bed and the pigeon.

  The man removed his cap and swatted the nest, sending the pigeon on its way. “Many guests have stayed in this chamber. Just pull the fur across the window when you’re ready to sleep.”

  “Do you have a candle?” asked Ailish.

  “I’ll have the lad bring one up.”

  Her Ladyship turned in a circle, looking at the exposed rafters as the innkeeper took his leave. “At least it is better than sleeping in a tent.”

  James chuckled. The only time they’d slept in a tent, they’d been attacked by a couple of English spies. “Safer, if we’re lucky.”

  As the door clicked, she grasped his hands. “Do you think we’ll find Harris?”

  “If he’s here, we’ll find him. I sent Torquil and Caelan to the tollbooth to inquire.”

  “After Harris?”

  He raised her fingers to his lips. “Nay, to ask how many children are imprisoned.”

  “But we should have gone.”

  “Are you certain about that?” He arched an eyebrow. “If the Cunningham lads go now, no one will suspect me if I show up later.”

  “Ah.” She slid her hands away and gripped her fists beneath her chin. “How are you planning to spirit him out?”

  “One thing at a time.” James pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “So, you’re in the family way, are ye?”

  She turned up her chin with a saucy grin. “My wee fib worked, did it not?”

  “Aye, but what happened to letting me do the talking?”

  “I did.”

  “Perhaps afore you told the man you were expecting a wee bairn.”

  She pulled away. “Are you angry?”

  “I’d put it no higher than annoyed.”

  “But why?”

  “Because this is war and in war there can be only one general and his orders must be followed implicitly no matter how much you may think he’s wrong.”

  “I did not think you were wrong.”

  “But you spoke out nonetheless.”

  “Nay! Well, I suppose I did, but the notion popped into my head and I blurted it out afore I remembered your orders.” She dipped into a clipped curtsey. “Forgive me for my disobedience, oh master.”

  “Do not patronize me. Against my better judgment I’ve allowed you to come on this venture. We’ve already been chased by the border patrol. Lord only kens what we’ll face next, especially if we attempt to spirit out of the most heavily armed fortress in Northern England with your brother.”

  She strode to the window and looked out, crossing her arms. “He and Florrie are my only care. My father told me to protect the lad with my life. And now…” Burying her face in her hands, she released an anguished sob. “I’ve lost him.”

  “Och, lass. We will find him.” James moved behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “He is of noble blood, important to King Robert and the foundation of the Kingdom of Scotland.”

  Whipping around, Ailish faced him. “He is and nothing can happen to him.”

  “I ken, lass.” He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her. “If you’ll wait for me here, I’ll go below stairs and find some food.”

  “May I go with you?”

  He held her at arm’s length. “Not if you’re expecting a bairn. ’Tis too dangerous.”

  “You ken I’m not.”

  “You began the ruse, now you must play your part.”

  “But what if Torquil and Caelan discover Harris is in the tollbooth?”

  “Then we’ll have a rescue to plan, will we not?”

  With a wee gasp, she covered her mouth with her fingers as if she were too afraid to hope. “Dear Lord, please make it so.”

  James took her hands between his much larger palms, turned them over and kissed each trembling finger. “I may be an overbearing brute and as rugged as the Highlands, but I promise you we will find your brother and then we will not rest until he is back on Scottish soil with you.”

  “What if they have him locked in an impenetrable tower? What if he’s already in the Tower of London?”

  “Then our king must negotiate.”

  “Will he?”

  The lass was too perceptive. But James intended to do everything in his power to see Robert assert his kingship and take as many prisoners as the English crown had taken from Scotland. “In time. When he gains leverage.”

  “But that could take years.”

  “Wheesht, lass. Do not allow yourself to fret over that which we do not yet know.” He headed for the door. “Lock the bolt after I leave.”

  Below stairs, the noise in the alehouse was loud enough to shake the timbers. Men dirty from a da
y’s work either stood three-deep at the bar or sat at one of the tables strewn haphazardly about the tavern. The odor of stale beer and tallow hung on the air in a hazy smoke.

  When James spotted Torquil and a group of Douglas men huddled together at a table near the rear, he strode toward them. “What news?” he asked, annoyed they hadn’t sought him out as soon as they returned from the tollbooth.

  Caelan scooted aside, thumping the bench. “The clerk was gone for the day and will not return until the morrow.”

  James slid into the seat. “Did you ask a guard?”

  “I tried.” Torquil raised his tankard to his lips. “He threatened to run me through.”

  “Bastard.”

  James flagged a wench and ordered another ewer of ale as well as food and drink to take to Ailish.

  “Are you certain the lad is in Carlisle?” asked Caelan.

  “Nay, but it is likely.”

  “What will we do if he’s not?”

  James sat back as the wench brought the drink. “Find him.”

  “Search all of England?” asked Torquil.

  Such a quest might take years—time James did not have. He was supposed to be building an army and preparing to wreak havoc along the borders, not chasing after a child. But then again, his own father had been abducted by Edward’s forces and taken in chains to the Tower of London where they tortured Da to death.

  Who kens what they will do to a lad of nine?

  “We’ll do what we can,” he said as the heavy door at the front creaked open. His spirits lifted a bit as he beckoned the Douglas man. “Davy!”

  But as his friend strode toward the table, his face appeared drawn as if he’d aged a decade in the two days since they’d left Selkirk Forest.

  Standing, James grasped the man’s forearm in a handshake reserved for kin. “What is it?”

  “Grave news, but first I must tell you the messenger from the Bruce returned with an arrow in his shoulder.”

  “Good God.”

  “Bloody fighter, that one. Blair is tending him.” Davy pulled James aside and whispered in his ear, “The king has taken refuge on the Isle of Arran—was pursued mercilessly by those loyal to Comyn. He sent word to do what you can to find Lord Harris as long as your army will be ready to attack without mercy by midsummer.”

  James nodded. “I thought no less.”

  “But there’s more.” Davy’s face grew ashen. “It cuts me to the quick to utter it.”

  “Make room,” said James, urging his friend to the bench. “Tell me all.”

  The man slid beside Torquil. “Sir Henry Percy and his band of English fiends raided five Douglas crofts. Burned them. Took no prisoners.”

  “God, no.”

  “Me ma’s dead.”

  “Jesu,” James mumbled while bile churned in his stomach. Rage pulsed through his blood. “I haven’t words.”

  “Nor I.” Davy had been clenching his fists so tightly, his knuckles were white. “My wife and children were unharmed.” He blinked away tears as he looked to the rafters. “Thank God my cottage is a mile outside the village.”

  They sat in silence for a time while James fumed, ready to ride like a madman and set the entire border alight. “What of Hew? I can only imagine how bereft your da must be.”

  “He’s gone to bury the dead. Left Blair in charge until he returns.”

  The food came but James hardly noticed. What if he’d refused to allow Lady Ailish to come on the hunt for Lord Harris?

  My God, she’d be dead as well.

  “One more thing,” Davy said, biting off a chunk of bread.

  James glanced up.

  “There’s a price on your head.”

  “I glad of it.” He smirked. “Because I want them to ken I’m coming. I want them to fear the Black Douglas because after I’m finished, they’ll all know what it’s like to live in hell.”

  18

  Now that she had a tallow candle burning in the wall sconce, Ailish closed the fur over the window and tied it down to keep the chilly wind at bay. Over the years, she’d grown accustomed to the musky odor of tallow. After all, it was used in the priory. Beeswax candles were only brought out in the church and that was for holy days and special occasions when the bishop paid a visit.

  A thud sounded at the door as if someone knocked with their boot. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Sir James.”

  “Thank goodness. I’m famished.” She slid aside the bolt and opened the door. But as soon as she saw his face, she forgot her hunger. “What is it?”

  He strode inside carrying a trencher with bread, cheese, an ewer, and two tankards, turned in a circle and ended up setting them on the bed. “The lads will not be able to speak to the clerk at the tollbooth until the morrow.”

  “Oh, that is disappointing.” She reached for a piece of cheese and clipped it with her teeth while James strode to the window, peeked through the edge of the fur and dropped it with a grunt.

  Had he told her everything? “Why do I sense there is something else on your mind?” she asked.

  “First of all, the king needs my army ready to march by midsummer. And…” He raked his fingers through his black hair, making it fan about his face.

  “Tell me.”

  “Edward’s savages attacked a number of Douglas crofts. They spared no one.”

  “No.”

  Reeling, James stumbled to the bed and buried his face in his hands. “I should have been there.”

  Hot prickles fired beneath her skin. What should she say? There were no words powerful enough to ease his pain. “Hew’s wife?” she whispered.

  “Murdered.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  He looked up, the rims of his eyes red. “It feels as if I’ve been thrown back eleven years. When will the madness ever stop? The senseless raids, the killing, the pillaging, the pointlessness of it all.”

  They’d both lost so much. And James was right, there seemed to be no end in sight, mayhap not in their lifetimes.

  Ailish slowly slid her hand onto his thigh.

  He clutched his fists over his heart. “Whenever we retaliate, they come back with more vengeance than before. No one is safe. Not our wives, our mothers, our children. They are unfeeling, wretched, hateful barbarians and the only way to break free from Edward’s tyranny is to fight harder, and meaner, and more savagely than they.”

  A tear streamed down her cheek as she slid her palm across his shoulders. “Let the pain drive you toward greatness.”

  With an animalistic wail, he threw his arms around her, pressing his head against her breast. “I miss my da. I miss my ma. I missed growing up on my family’s lands, breathing the air of freedom. Our people have been oppressed since the death of King Alexander—twenty bloody, miserable years.”

  “Since the year I was born,” she whispered, suddenly realizing he was right.

  “I’ve pledged my life and my sword to Robert the Bruce. I ken in my heart he is the man with the mettle to lead us to freedom. But as sure as you are my witness, I will not rest another day until we have our vengeance.”

  “I ken the king was right to knight you. With a man of your ilk by his side, he will succeed. You will preside over Douglas lands and Harris will take his place at Caerlaverock.” She clutched her arms around him and pressed her lips to his head. “I, too, pledge an oath that we will live to see our children in a world without oppression.”

  The candle flickered and burned lower while she held him, rocking back and forth. The attack on Douglas was devasting news, for certain, though such mindlessness happed all too often. Raids were common, especially along the borders. The priory had been spared mostly because it was holy ground—same with the abbeys like Kelso, Melrose, and Jedburgh. But nowhere else in the kingdom could they expect sanctuary.

  And how much longer would the church be able to provide protection? After all, once Uncle Herbert learned that Ailish was harboring Harris in Lincluden, he’d had no qualms ab
out invading in the midst of vespers and taking the lad. What would have happened if James had been present? There would have been bloodshed for certain.

  Perish the thought had he tried to face Herbert’s army alone. This brave and compassionate knight mightn’t be in her arms at this moment.

  James rubbed his hand up and down her spine. “Forgive my hour of weakness.”

  “There is nothing to forgive.” She kissed him again. “I do not see it as weak to express the depth of your passion. Not when we’ve been through so much.”

  “I should leave you to eat.”

  “Stay.” She ran her fingers through his thick hair. “James…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Kiss me.”

  He sat up and cupped her face in his strong hands. “It was wrong of me to take liberties at Finlay’s croft.”

  Her gaze slipped to the pulse throbbing at the base of his neck. She wanted this man and none other. No matter what happened on the morrow, he was hers to hold this night. “I do not recall pushing you away.”

  He moistened his lips, his eyes hungry and more intense than she’d ever seen them. He gazed upon her as if he could read her thoughts, then slowly dipped his chin and kissed her.

  James’ low growl vibrated through her as he plied her mouth like a man possessed, a man who knew exactly what he wanted and took it.

  And Ailish reveled in his every touch, his every breath whispering across her searing flesh. “I want you to lie with me.”

  His lips stilled on her neck. “I must not.”

  Her heart squeezed. “Do you not desire me?”

  “Och, mo leannan,” he said, his voice deep and soft as he uttered the Gaelic endearment. “’Tis not what I want that matters. You are a highborn woman, and I must preserve your innocence.”

  “But we are children of war, you and me. We have naught but to take our pleasure when we can, where we can. And I choose you, James Douglas, Lord of Douglas.”

  “Jesu, Ailish, you make my blood thrum with fire.”

  Emboldened by his words, she kissed him, imparting every ounce of passion in her soul. And as he kissed her neck, she shivered and sighed. Oh, for the love of all that was holy, James trailed his lips to breasts. His fingers drew away her dress and shift from her shoulders and Ailish felt no shame, only the searing pull of desire as he suckled her nipples and kneaded her, his deft fingers making her want for him coil deep and low in her nether parts even more powerfully than it had done the night before.