by Amy Jarecki
No matter how much Ailish wanted to argue, she took to her knees. But now she prayed for God to protect Harris, remaining in place until the service concluded and the nuns filed out of the nave.
“Come,” said the prioress, leading Ailish to her chamber. “We cannot abide soldiers forcing their way into the priory and taking children.”
“No, Mother.”
“Your uncle must have discovered Harris was here when you went to Scone.”
“Nay.” Ailish clearly remembered seeing her uncle’s man’s face in the gate’s viewing panel. “’Twas when the soldiers demanded food a few weeks past. I recognized one of them.”
Mother sat at her writing table. “Well, whatever the reason, your brother is gone. I must write to Bishop Wishart at once.”
“Agreed, the bishop must be informed.” After all, Ailish and her family had received sanctuary with his blessing. Turning, Ailish casually clasped her hands behind her back and examined the map of Southern Scotland on the prioress’ wall. It marked all the holy abbeys and priories. Interestingly, just near Jedburgh Abby was Selkirk Forest, and in two blinks, she had the journey memorized. “I also must take word to Sir James.”
“Hmm.” The prioress picked up her quill and smoothed her hand over a piece of vellum. “Perhaps we ought to send him a missive as well.”
Ailish took a step toward the table. “What if I carried the letter to him?”
The woman glanced up with a dour frown. “The ordeal in the nave must have addled your mind, child.” She dipped the quill into her ink pot. “Oh, no. It has become far too dangerous for you to step outside these walls.”
“With all due respect, the priory’s walls have already been breached. Moreover, if my uncle wanted to do me harm, he’d have taken me with him.”
“Nay, the kingdom is again in turmoil. Surely you heard the man. He said Sir James Douglas burned his own keep. I cannot allow you to leave the priory again. Not only is it too dangerous, your reputation would be ruined if you sought him out. Think of how your actions might reflect on your siblings.”
“You are concerned with my reputation? What of Harris? He’s merely a child and has just been abducted from the only home he’s ever known.”
“God will prevail.” The prioress dipped her quill. “But hear me now, if you leave our walls, you will not be welcomed back.”
Ailish’s face grew hot while the nun scribed a salutation. Yes, she had been a burden to the nuns for the past six years but, prior to that, her father had been a benefactor to the priory. He’d paid them ten times over the cost of her maintenance. “After my father’s generosity, I do not understand why—”
The mother pointed the feather of the quill between Ailish’s eyes. “I agreed to let you dress as a nun and travel to Scone to claim your brother’s rights as earl, but now things have changed for the worse. Soldiers broke into our house of prayer.”
“And took my brother.”
“And you believe a man who would raze his own keep is your answer to rescuing Harris from your uncle’s army? Your ideas are substantially flawed. ’Tis nothing short of madness, and if you leave these walls, you will put the order in further peril.”
Ailish pursed her lips. She’d known the prioress long enough not to pursue the argument. Doing so could see her locked in her cell for a sennight. “Very well. We shall send a missive…with haste.”
***
Plague take it, Ailish didn’t give a hoot about her reputation. Her brother had been abducted by the vilest man to whom she had the displeasure of being related. Harris must be terrified out of his wits, the poor lad.
Aside from Robert the Bruce who, as far as she knew, was in hiding somewhere in the Highlands, the only person who might help was Sir James. True, she could send the knight a missive, but who knew how long the letter would take to reach him…if it did at all?
Well, if she’d learned anything from her father’s demise, it was to take charge, not to idly sit by and pray for something good to happen. Despite the prioress’ intentions, good things never happened on their own no matter how much one prayed.
By the saints, leaving and not being allowed to return hurt deeply. Had she posed such a burden over the years to warrant the woman’s ire? How could she remain behind the priory’s walls while Harris suffered?
I cannot.
After Florrie fell asleep, Ailish slid a dagger up her sleeve and one in her boot. As she pulled the nun’s habit over her gown, she looked fondly at her sister, sleeping on her side with her mouth open. She hated to leave the lass alone, but she’d be far safer with the nuns and Coira would see to her care. Ailish set a note on her bed and donned her cloak. Barely making a sound, she slipped out of the dormer and through the postern gates. She tiptoed to the stables where the mule and the horse from the Cunninghams were silent in their stalls.
By the moon’s light, Ailish found a bridle and saddle, then clucked to the gelding. “Hey, laddie. Are ye up for a wee ride?”
The horse nickered and pawed the ground as she opened the stall and slipped inside. He seemed to be eager for a bit of freedom because he took the bit like a hungry hound. Mayhap he didn’t care much for the abbey as compared to the Cunningham keep.
She led him to a mounting block, but when he blew out a snort, she walked him in a circle to calm him. The last thing she needed was a wily horse to take off like he was being chased by the devil. “’Tis dark out there. We’ll both break our necks if you set out at a gallop.”
With a nod of his head, the gelding sidled to the block. “Very well, then. We ride. But we must not make a sound. We shall pick our way like fairy folk in the forest,” she cooed, keeping her voice soothing.
After she mounted, she used the bit to keep the gelding’s head low, demanding they slowly walk to the road. By the time they reached the milepost, the horse had settled into a gentle gait, easily carrying his head, his hoofbeats silenced by the grass at the side of the road.
Ailish may have managed a stealthy escape, but she knew exactly how perilous her circumstances were now. One wrong turn could very well mean her death. Worse, there was no option to turn back.
Chapter Eleven
James held out his arm while Seumas buckled his gauntlets. “Are the men ready to ride?” he asked Davy, his friend leading his horse out of the pen.
“Aye, sir.”
“Torquil,” James bellowed. “I expect to see marked improvement in your men by the time I return. In swordsmanship as well as archery.”
The Cunningham lad looked up from where he was making arrows with Caelan. “You will, sir.”
“And do not allow idleness. If we worked without stopping for a year, we would not have all we need. Repair the fences, dig deeper privies, sweep the spiders and vermin from the cave.”
“Sir James,” called a guard, leading a horse and rider into the camp. “You have a visitor.”
James pulled his arm away. New men were arriving at the camp every day, but they were never announced as visitors. As he craned his neck, a burst of fluttering wings erupted in his stomach—not exactly the reaction suited to a warrior about to ride to defend his king.
His gaze homed in on the rider wearing a black nun’s habit. And though her eyes were covered by a blindfold, he knew in his bones it was none other than Lady Ailish Maxwell. Every fiber in his body yearned to race across the camp and wrap her in his arms, but the worry tightening the corners of her mouth stopped him—that and the dozens of men looking on.
The guard tugged her horse along and as she tottered in the saddle, James realized the man had not only made Her Ladyship wear a blindfold, he’d also bound her hands.
James marched across the sparring paddock. “What the blazes is this? Untie this woman at once!”
The guard glanced back. “Thought she was a spy.”
“I am no spy and I’ve told this man the same a hundred times, yet he has refused to pay heed to a word I say.”
“A spy she is definitely not.” If he
had any doubts, her sauciness in the face of doom made James smile. He grabbed the lead line, unsheathed his dagger, and cut the bindings himself. “Good day, Lady Ailish.”
She pulled down her blindfold and gave the guard a heated glare. “I told him you accompanied me from the coronation, but he chose to call me a liar.”
“Beg your pardon, sir. But my orders are—”
“I ken your orders. I’m the one who gave them.” James helped Her Ladyship dismount. “Did he harm you?”
“Nay.” She held out her palm to the guard. “But I’ll have my dagger back, thank you.”
The man first looked to James and, receiving a nod, he returned the weapon. “Women have no place here.”
“Agreed. However, Her Ladyship is here now, and I’ll have it known she is under my protection.” James ushered Ailish down the path to the river where they could talk. When they were out of sight, he stopped, took her hand, bowed respectfully, and kissed it. “Forgive me. I did not greet you as I should have done.”
“Not to worry,” she said, blushing and giving him a grateful smile. Och, he’d missed the bonny lass ever so much. “I imagine my arrival comes as quite a surprise.”
“Aye, you were the last person I expected to see.” He placed his palm in the small of her back and headed for the shore. “Why did you not send a messenger? You could have been killed by coming here. Not to mention traveling alone. Where is Coira?”
“She is with Florrie, but I have grave news.” Her eyes grew haunted as she clutched James’ hand and squeezed. “My uncle stormed into the nave whilst we were at prayer and took Harris.”
James groaned, his head dropping back. Was no one safe? What of the sanctuary of the church? “How did Herbert discover you were harboring your brother in Lincluden?”
“I cannot be positively certain, but I believe one of my uncle’s men was riding with some soldiers who stopped to demand food. I tried to hide Harris from him, but he must have seen us—and I ken for certain he recognized me.”
“Blast.” James paced. “Where have they taken him?”
She fell in step beside him. “My uncle said to a place the lad will learn respect for the English crown.”
“South of the border, most likely.”
“Please, we must ride after him at once.”
James stopped. “Nay.”
“I beg your pardon?” Ailish shook her fists. “Harris is the Earl of Caerlaverock, a peer of Scotland, mind you, and he has been kidnapped by a tyrant!”
“’Tis an outrage, and I know you must be beside yourself with worry, but if we ride blindly after him now, we’ll never find the lad.”
“You cannot mean what you say!” A tear slipped onto her cheek. “Bless it, the longer we wait, the deeper into England he may go.”
James didn’t doubt her reasoning, though it still didn’t make the lad’s whereabouts any clearer. “Or he could be held at your father’s castle.”
“I doubt that. I feared my uncle would kill the boy until he said Harris would be taken to become a vassal of Edward.” Ailish knit her brows, giving him a wary once-over. “He also told me you razed your own keep—said you’d gone mad.”
“Hmm, I’m glad they took notice. I also wonder if Herbert kens of our alliance.” James scratched his beard as he paced. “We must take every care to ensure whatever measures we take to rescue Harris will not be thwarted. I shall send out scouts first, else we risk riding into a trap.”
“Scouts? I cannot possibly sit idle whilst my brother is in fear of his life.”
“Aye, we’re all in fear of our lives.” James grasped her shoulders and looked into those captivating eyes. Och, he’d missed them so. “Let me ask you this; if I am killed acting like a raging bull, what good will I be to Harris then?”
Ailish turned and buried her face in her hands. “I just want him back.”
His heart twisted as he smoothed his hand across her shoulder. No matter how much he wanted to ride to Caerlaverock and put the castle to fire and sword, it was a mighty fortress—one only conquerable with thousands of men and siege engines. Six years past, Edward had taken the castle with three thousand men and four catapults, hurling trebuchet balls day and night. And if James had learned anything from his years of training, it was always to ride into peril with a solid plan, preferably when one has the highest ground.
“We both want the same thing, lass,” he whispered as gently as possible. “But when I go after the lad, I must do so with a clear head and a solid plan.”
“What if your scouts do not discover where he is?”
“If nary a soul sees a Maxwell retinue ride south or mayhap east, then we’ll ken your brother is at Caerlaverock.”
“Oh, Lord in heaven, my insides feel as if they’re being torn to shreds.”
James slid his hands around her waist and pulled her into his arms. He knew her pain. He knew all too well the rage clawing at her insides. If only he could tell her how happy he was to see her again, but now was not the time. He closed his eyes and savored her scent. “M’lady, you have my oath I will find him. Now, I need to arrange for an escort to take you back to the priory where you’ll be safe.”
“Nay.” She pulled away from his grasp, a new bout of worry filling her eyes. “The prioress said if I left to find you, I could never return.”
“What? Why?”
“She thought it was too dangerous for me to come.”
“Well, she was right there.”
“Please, Sir James. I have nowhere to turn.”
He gestured back toward the camp. “I’m living in a cave with hundreds of men. ’Tis crude to say the least. This is no place for a woman, let alone the daughter of an earl.”
Her lovely lips parted as if she had much to say but could not bring herself to form the words. “It seems there is no place for me, then.”
“Nay, once you are in my care, there you will remain.” James groaned. “I was about to ride to the Highlands to gain an audience with the king—tell him of our progress here.”
“May I go with you?” Ailish’s eyes lit up as if she were already plotting. “Perhaps His Grace can help us find Harris. He might also suggest a place for me—and then I can send for Florrie.”
James could only imagine the king’s solution, and it included holy matrimony with some overstuffed, elderly lord. Moreover, since he’d dispatched Clifford and burned the Douglas keep, reports were the English had stepped up their patrols as well as their raids. “I’ll send a missive—advise the Bruce as to what’s happened to Lord Harris and why I’ve decided to remain here. I’ll figure a way for you to stay here until I receive word of your brother’s whereabouts.”
The furrow in Ailish’s brow eased as she wrapped her arms around James’ midriff. “I kent you would help. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”
His throat thickened as he cradled her in an embrace. Every night since he’d left the priory, he’d dreamed of having her in his arms but, deep down, he knew she mustn’t remain in Selkirk Forest for long. He prayed the king would see reason. After all, Harris was a Scottish earl, too important for the future of Scotland.
***
Seumas, a self-proclaimed squire to Sir James, sat beside Ailish as he helped her trim a stack of beans they were preparing for the evening meal. “Are ye a real nun?”
Ailish snipped a bit of stem with her eating knife. Though she continued to wear the habit, Sir James had already introduced her as a lady and had given the men a stern warning that she was under his protection. “Nay, but I’ve lived with nuns for the past six years.”
The lad tossed a bean into the pot. “That’s how long I’ve been with Hew and his wife.”
“Are you an orphan?” she asked, covering her yawn with her hand. After riding all night, she was ever so tired.
“Aye, lost my parents when Lord Clifford stormed the Douglas keep when I was a wee bairn.”
“I’m so sorry. It seems war has made too many orphans.”
“You sound like my brother.”
“Is he a lord?”
“Mm hmm. He’s an earl.”
“Holy merciful fairies. A real earl,” said the lad, his eyes round and his voice filled with awe.
Ailish chuckled. “He’s a couple of years younger than you, but I reckon you’d make fast allies.”
“And then we could both train to be knights together.”
“Indeed.” Ailish mussed the lad’s brown hair. “Tell me about Hew. He’s a Douglas man, no?”
“Aye, and he was ever so glad to see Sir James return. He’s the one who took him to Bishop Lamberton, ye ken.”
“Was he?” No wonder James seemed fond of the man. “And what do you know of the other men here?”
“Well, Davy is Hew’s son, but he’s as old as Sir James—has a wife and everything.” The lad went on to rattle off a list of names as if he were reading from a scroll. “…and I mustn’t forget Friar John. He led us to this camp—rode with William Wallace he did.”
“I am duly impressed.” Ailish had met the monk. He was in charge of the cooking and had set them to preparing the beans to go with tonight’s stew. “How many rabbits do you think it takes to feed all these men?”
The lad shrugged. “The friar uses whatever the hunters bring in. Sometimes it is not very filling, though.”
“Mayhap we can assist by gathering roots and berries.”
After she sent Seumas to the cooking tent with the beans, Ailish stretched and looked out over the camp, spotted with dozens of tents. Every man seemed to be going about his task, reminding her of a shipping port busy with the affairs of the day. If they weren’t chopping and carting wood, or putting up tents, they were making arrows, sharpening blades, or fashioning spears. A number were in the sparring ring with Torquil and at least a dozen practiced archery with Caelan, shooting arrows at straw targets. Some of the men showed promise, but none of them were near as skilled as Sir James.
