by Amy Jarecki
Except she didn’t loathe anything about the man. Sitting between his thighs made her want to kiss him all the more. Made her desire him all the more.
If only he’d decided to slow down rather than make haste for Lincluden. If only he’d stop, take her into a thicket, hold her in his arms, and never let go.
But all too soon, the two stone towers of the priory loomed above the church walls with the stained glass sparkling over the bailey walls. Unfortunately, the warhorse bounded ahead of the others and they arrived at the nunnery’s gates well before anyone else.
After James dismounted, he held the reins and offered a hand. “Allow me to help you.”
“I can do it.”
“Aye, you can.” He patted her thigh, making gooseflesh skitter across her entire body. “But I’ll not be here to assist you the next time you dismount, m’lady.”
“Very well.” Leaning forward, she placed her hands on his shoulders as his enormous hands clamped around her waist.
His face didn’t register the slightest strain as he lifted her clear out of the saddle and brought her against his chest. Ailish couldn’t breathe as she slid down the length of his body until her toes touched the ground.
“I…ah…” he said as breathlessly as she felt.
“You’re back!” Harris yelled from behind the iron grille of the gates.
Ailish hopped away from Sir James’ grasp. “Aye,” she said, suddenly at a loss for words.
Florrie stepped into view. “Where’s Coira?”
“Here I am,” said the maid, reining her horse to a stop beside the palfry with Torquil and Caelan close behind. “Heavens, when that mammoth beast has a mind to run, there’s no stopping him.”
“I’m glad you made it home in one piece,” said Sister Louisa as she used an enormous key to turn the lock. The young novice had become one of Ailish’s dearest friends.
“Did you meet the king?” asked Harris, his brown curls flopping about his head as he bobbed up and down.
“I did, and told him everything,” Ailish replied before she made the introductions. Then she squeezed Sister Louisa’s hand. “Would we be able to invite Sir James and his men in for a meal? ’Tis the least we can do after he risked life and limb fighting the English to see us safely home.”
“I’ll ask,” said the novice, stepping aside and ushering everyone into the courtyard.
“You battled the English?” Harris’ eyes grew round as if instantly captivated. “Did you fight them with your great sword?”
James mussed his hair. “I did, m’lord.”
“And that was afore we met up with Torquil and his da,” said Coira, pointing to the Younger.
“What an adventure you had. Please excuse me while I ask the prioress permission to feed you,” said Sister Louisa, gesturing to a bench. “You may wait here.”
“I’ll stay with you,” said Ailish, giving Sir James a polite smile.
Harris took the knight by the hand and pulled him to the bench while the other two followed, though Torquil and Caelan opted to stand. “Ye must tell me everything about your adventure. ’Tis ever so dull living with nuns.” The lad thumped his chest. “After all, I’m a man, ye ken.”
Sir James sat and pulled Harris onto his lap. “Aye, you’re an earl, and you have one brave sister who made certain your fealty was pledged to the new king.”
“When can we move back to Caerlaverock?” asked Florrie.
“As soon as my army rids Scotland of the English vermin,” said Sir James.
Ailish bit her lip. There was no use telling the children James first must raise an army, train them, then fight a great many battles, all which would undoubtedly take years.
Harris’ jaw dropped to his chest as he gaped. “You have an army?”
“I will have now that I’m close to clan and kin.”
“Did you hear that Ailish?” said the lad. “Sir James is from Galloway, too.”
“He’s actually from West Lothian, just north of here,” she said. Sitting back, she watched her brother hang on the knight’s every word. Of course, any lad would pine for an audience with a real knight. And the Maxwell Clan could certainly benefit from allies such as Douglas. Even the Cunninghams would make good allies after Torquil and Caelan had behaved with utmost respect during their journey south.
Sister Louisa returned with the gate’s key in her hand. “The prioress will allow you to bed down for the night in the stable’s loft. There’s a well out the back where you can wash afore the evening meal.”
Sir James stood and set Harris on his feet. “Thank you. We’re grateful for your hospitality.”
“I’ll show them where to go,” said Ailish, taking the key from the nun.
Harris was already rattling the gate. “I’ll come, too.”
Ailish’s sprits fell. She desperately wanted a wee moment to speak to Sir James alone and now it seemed her chance had slipped away.
Chapter Eight
After Ailish kissed Florrie and Harris goodnight, she tiptoed down the rear steps of the abbey’s dormer and slipped through the bars of the rear gate. Not many adults were able to fit through the gap, but she’d been doing it since her arrival six years past.
Though well after compline, there was still at least an hour of daylight remaining—plenty of time to bid goodnight to Sir James. She stopped behind the hedge for a moment and listened.
Water trickled near the well, but she heard no voices.
May as well make my presence known.
Stepping out, she clasped her hands over her heart and gasped. Merciful saints, the knight stood stripped to the waist with his back to her.
He wore only a plaid belted low about his hips, his muscles rippling with his every move. He splashed under his arms and over his head. Rivulets of sparkling water trickled down his flesh, accentuating dozens of puckered scars—a true sign of a swordsman.
Moving nearer, Ailish reached out as if to trace her finger over the longest mark, starting at his flank and running diagonally across his back. But as she stepped within touching distance, he spun around with a dirk in his fist and fire in his hawkish eyes.
She froze, completely speechless.
In a flash, his gaze changed from deadly to daring, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.
He broke the spell as he reached for a cloth while streams of water meandered their way through the black hair on his chest—a chest so powerfully sculpted it didn’t appear to need to be covered by armor at all. “Forgive me, m’lady. I didn’t expect to see you,” he said, wiping his face.
Ailish blinked, staring at the silver cross he wore over his heart. “Nay, I shouldn’t have come.”
He tossed the cloth aside and stepped nearer—so close the heat from his body made her mouth go dry. “I’m glad you did.”
“Truly?” she asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Where are the others?”
“Gone to the village for a pint of ale—at least one with a wee kick.”
“Aye, the nuns water the wine and ask the brewer to make the ale weak.” A high-pitched chuckle tittered from her throat. “When do you plan to leave?”
“At dawn.”
She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “Oh.”
When Sir James grasped her hand, Ailish’s very breath caught in her chest with a wee gasp. And then she could have floated to the skies as he held her palm over his heart. “I wish we lived in a different time.”
Her gaze shifted to his lips as she licked her own. “I do as well.”
He dipped his chin. “But we must stay the course.”
She inched up on the tips of her toes, needing to be a wee bit closer. “We both bear a heavy burden.”
“Aye,” he whispered, cupping her cheek with his hand—oddly warm since he’d just been bathing with cold water.
As those bold, masculine lips neared, every inch of Ailish’s skin tingled. A deep growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating through her while his intoxicating mouth claimed hers. Slippin
g her arms around his waist, she deepened the pressure, craving more. Sir James drew her nearer until her breasts crushed into his scar-ridden, rock-hard chest, making her crave more, more kisses, more of him, more of something she did not begin to understand.
His lips wandered across her cheekbones, her ears, and down her neck. Sighing, she dropped her head back and gave in to pure pleasure.
“I wish…” he mumbled.
“What do you wish, sir?” she asked breathlessly.
Sir James inhaled deeply and leaned his forehead against hers. “Forgive me for taking liberties, m’lady.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Looking into his fathomless eyes, eyes of a man who fought like the devil, yet he was more tender with her than she ever dreamed possible. “Our lives were not meant to be easy.”
“Mine will never be. Ye ken I have sworn an oath to King Robert—one which may see my end.”
“You will prevail. But first we wait. You will build your army.”
“And wait for the king to grow stronger.”
“Aye.” Ailish took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Day and night, I will pray for justice and liberty.”
“And I pray when our paths again cross, the kingdom will be at peace.”
With one last kiss, Ailish left him, as if she were floating. But she was not only dazed, uncertainty kept her from floating all the way to the clouds. Merciful saints, she might be old and bent before Scotland saw peace.
***
Among the letters James carried from the king was a missive of introduction to John Blair, an old monk who James found on his knees in the church at Fail Monastery. It had taken a bit of persuasion to be allowed an audience with the monk who had taken a vow of silence.
But James, if not gifted with a silver tongue, was nonetheless a persuasive man. He walked into the nave and sat in a pew beside Blair. His shaved head bent in prayer, a ring of silver locks revealing the monk’s advanced years.
Rather than speak, James tapped Blair’s arm with the missive.
The monk glanced back, crossed himself, took the letter, and slid into the pew.
James clenched his fists as he waited for Blair to read the contents, nearly holding his breath to keep from demanding Blair leave with him at once.
“The rumors are true,” mumbled the monk, his voice barely audible.
“I thought you’d taken a vow of silence.”
Blair glanced over with bloodshot eyes, the bags beneath sagging against his cheeks. “I did.”
“But you choose to speak now?”
“I suppose no one bothered to ask me why I entered into holy silence.”
“Why, then?”
“After they executed Wallace, I vowed to never again speak until someone with big enough cods stepped forward and put the Scottish crown on his head.”
“You’re a vassal of Robert the Bruce?”
“Och, I never thought much of the fellow when his father was alive.”
“And now?”
Blair held up the missive. “If what he’s written is true, then I have had a change of heart.”
“He said you could lead me to Wallace’s hideaway in Selkirk.”
“How many men have you?”
“At the moment, two.”
“Pardon?”
“Three, counting you. But not far from here are Douglas lands. I reckon I’ll raise fifty, mayhap more.”
“You’ll not survive a fortnight with an army that small.”
“Aye? Then let me ask you, how many men did Wallace have when he first ventured into Selkirk?”
“You think you have a point, but things are no longer the same as they once were. The people are tired. They’ve been beaten down and left with naught but a few sickly sheep, their crofts burned and left to the buzzards.”
“Mayhap you’re right. But soon the sons of the fallen will rise again. Men like me who saw their fathers murdered at the hands of the English tyrant.”
The friar adjusted the ropes belted around his waist. “You are not wrong there. Lord kens we cannot endure much more of his oppression.”
“Will you come with me?”
“Aye.” Blair stood, and seemed taller, certainly robust for a monk. “But you’d best prove to me you are a worthy leader of men.”
“I welcome you allowing me the chance to do so.” James released a long, pent-up breath. “I’ll return on the morrow. Be ready to ride.”
“Have you a horse?”
“A palfry. What about yours? Did you not ride with Wallace?”
“Upon entering the monastery, all our worldly possessions are given to the abbot.”
James pushed to his feet. “I’ll secure you a mount by morn.”
***
The day was nearly at an end when James sat atop his palfry and looked across the valley of his birth. Jutting above the walls stood the round tower built by his great-grandfather. Black smoke belched from the chimneys, settling above the castle, making it look as dark and ugly as it had become.
Bile burned his throat as he craved sweet revenge. It should be he sitting before the hearth in his great hall, his wife at his side with a babe in her arms. Had things been different, his da might have arranged his marriage to Lady Ailish.
James chuckled to himself. How sweet it would be to hold such a woman in his arms every night. Make love to her every night. Awake each morning to her bonny smile.
And where was he now? A landless knight, staring at his ancestral lands like an outsider. Damnation, the mere thought of what might have been stirred his ire—made him want to barrel through the gates and put the lot to fire and sword. Aye, soon James would face Clifford and rid his lands of the English vermin.
But not this day.
He rode into a copse and waited until darkness fell. Only then did he make his move and slip through the back door of his father’s most trusted man’s cottage—the very man who had delivered James into the care of Bishop Lamberton eleven years ago.
A woman saw him first, dropping a wooden trencher to the floor of packed earth.
“I’m James Douglas, son of William Douglas and it is time to take back what is mine.”
Sliding his fingers onto the hilt of his dirk, Hew, now far older, his face worn like old leather, his hairline receded halfway up his skull, rose to his feet. “God on the cross, ’tis as if ye returned from the dead.”
“’Twas you who took me to Saint Andrews.”
“Aye.”
“The bishop trained me well.” James picked up his heel and pointed to his boot. “Earned my spurs from the king at his coronation.”
“Sir James,” Hew whispered, marching across the floor and offering his hand.
“I’ve been tasked by His Grace to establish an army nearby. We’ll raid like Wallace, attacking the English when they least expect it.”
“Dear Lord, no more,” said the woman.
Hew held up his palms. “Wheesht, Sara.”
“I ken Scotland’s people are weak and hungry, but as long as we remain beaten, the English will continue to plunder our homes and our crops. They’ll take our lads to fight their wars and rape our women until…” James thumped his chest. “We put an end to it.”
Hew pointed to the houseboy sitting in the corner, cutting beans. “Seumas, go fetch Davy, and be quick about it.”
Davy was Hew’s son, as well as a lad James had played with when they were young. It wasn’t long before they were sitting at the table together. Now in his prime, Davy had turned into a sturdy Scotsman.
“I ken of a dozen who we can trust,” said the man.
“Only twelve?” asked James.
“If ye spread word wider, you’ll risk having your plans exposed,” said Hew. “Clifford has us all by our throats.”
“Then we’ll cast a wider net. Recruit trusted allies outside of the clan.” James picked up an ewer from the center of the table and poured himself a pint of mead. “I ken some of the Maxwells to the south are not fond of the new e
arl.”
“Aye, they have his protection, though.” Davy plucked a hazelnut from a wooden bowl in the center of the table, slammed the shell with a hammer, and popped the meat into his mouth. “They might be afraid to take up arms.”
“Mark me, they’re being oppressed by the murderer who calls himself earl.” James tossed a nut into the air and caught it. “Mayhap we test the waters—Davy go see what you can find out. Bring any willing souls to Selkirk. I’ll have a sentry posted to lead you in.”
“Very well. Shall I pay a visit to the Johnstone as well?”
“Anyone ye ken who’s had a gutful of Longshanks’ tyranny is welcome.”
By the time they’d finished plotting, five trusted clans would be visited on the morrow and given news the King of Scotland needs an army. In the wee hours, James headed back to Fail, a tad deflated that he hadn’t immediately recruited his fifty men. Nonetheless, his numbers had increased tenfold and that was a start.
If only he could ride to Lincluden and tell Lady Ailish of his plans—ask her which Maxwell men might support the king.
Hold her in my arms and kiss her under the stars.
Alas, the priory was the opposite direction to Selkirk Forest. And like it or not, the sooner he put the beguiling lass out of his mind, the better off he’d be.
Chapter Nine
Ailish tried to smile as Harris played at being a knight, galloping across the courtyard, using a stick as his horse.
“I’m Sir James and I’ll smote ye where ye stand!” the lad yelled at the top of his lungs.
Cringing, Ailish wiped a hand across her mouth. The braw knight had been gone for a fortnight now and her heart still ached as if he’d taken it with him and left a gaping hole.
On the bench beside her, Sister Louisa gave Ailish’s hand a pat. “You’ve been melancholy ever since you returned from Scone.”
“I suppose.”
“But why? You should be overjoyed that your brother’s earldom has been recognized and preserved, thanks to your bravery.”
