Highland Warlord (The King's Outlaws Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  “You boorish brute. Do you not believe me able to walk across the border on my own two feet?" Ailish fought against her bindings but they only cut into her flesh. “My brother is my only care. He was taken from the priory during mass, of all things. Please, he’s only a wee lad of nine. He would hurt no one.”

  “Interesting thing about displaced Scottish nobles. They grow up to be rebels and traitors. Right thorns in the king’s backside.” The knight beckoned the guards. “Take her to the postern tower.”

  “Straight away, my lord.”

  Led away by an escort of a half-dozen guards, Ailish frantically searched for any sign of James or his men. If only she could shout his name, but doing so would betray him to her merciless captors.

  Chapter Twenty

  James walked into the chamber, and then his throat constricted and his heart with it. Leaving the door ajar, he dashed inside and turned full circle. “Where the devil is she?”

  Davy leaned against the jamb. “I thought she was to wait for you here.”

  “So did I.” Every muscle in James’ body tensed as he marched to the window and pulled the fur aside. “The lass may be bonnier than a spring rose, but she will never make much of a soldier.”

  “Why is that? From what I saw, she’s quite skilled with a bow.”

  “Talent does not make a lick of difference when she cannot follow orders for the life of her.”

  “Sounds like every woman I’ve ever met. My wife’s the same.” Davy moved beside him and craned his head out the window. “Want to know what I think?”

  “I reckon you’ll say it whether I want to ken or not.”

  “You’re in love with her.”

  Love? James had never been in love with anyone in his bloody life. “And you’re touched in the head.”

  “Admit it. Why else would you have allowed her to come?”

  James slammed his fist into his palm. “Good God, man, we’re at war. The woman of whom you are speaking has not only disappeared, I cannot afford to fall in love. Especially with a noblewoman who refuses to stay put after I’ve given her an implicit order to do so.”

  Rather than argue, Davy pursed his lips, which was a damned good thing, else he’d have a mouth full of knuckles to contend with.

  Grumbling beneath his breath, James took as step toward the door. “We need to find her. Mayhap she’s in the kitchens.”

  Before he crossed the floor, Torquil and Caelan arrived, ruddy faced and eyes wide.

  The Cunningham man’s gaze swept across the room, searching just as James had done only moments prior. “Plague take it, the bastard was right!”

  “Who was right?” James demanded. “And about what?”

  Caelan sidled around his friend. “There’s a crier in the square announcing a reward to anyone who can lead the Lord Warden to Lady Ailish Maxwell’s accomplices.”

  Torquil threw out his hands. “’Tis only a matter of time until they track us here.”

  James jammed his fists onto his hips. “I thought I told you to keep an eye on her.”

  “Me, sir?” asked Caelan. “The lass never ventured below stairs.”

  “Och, aye?” James asked. “Lady Ailish just floated out the window and landed in the arms of the Lord Warden, did she?”

  “Mayhap she slipped down the rear stairs,” said Davy, still at the window. “Did she not mention something about having a word with the washerwomen?”

  “That’s it,” said Torquil, snapping his fingers.

  James cut the arse a deadly glare. “She may have done, but the pair of you still have some explaining to do. Why the blazes were you in the square if you were supposed to be watching out for Her Ladyship?”

  “There’s no time to discuss it now.” Davy dropped the fur across the window. “There’s a half-dozen soldiers marching this way.”

  Could things grow worse? “You all should be aware my visit to the smithy shack wasn’t in vain. I learned that Harris is not in Carlisle. Hasn’t been here, either.” James grasped Torquil’s shoulder. “Slip out the back. Ride to Caerlaverock and do whatever you must to find out where the earl took the child. Someone in that godforsaken castle must ken where he is. Meet me at Fail Monastery a fortnight hence.”

  “Shall I accompany him?” asked Caelan.

  “Nay—gather the other men. Camp outside the walls—near the cathedral. I saw a copse of trees that ought to give you a modicum of shelter. Wait there until I send word.”

  Loud voices rumbled below stairs as Torquil hastened away.

  Caelan popped his head out into the corridor. “What are you planning to do whilst I’m biding my time with the men?”

  James grabbed the satchels and beckoned Davy to follow. “I aim to spirit Lady Ailish out of this godforsaken hell.”

  As footsteps thundered on the stairs from the alehouse, James and the men slipped out the rear. Caelan strode for the stables while James led Davy through the shadows until they reached an awning that housed the smithy’s wood pile.

  “Tell me you have a plan,” said his friend, glancing out from the stacks of wood. “We cannot hide here for long.”

  James grabbed his satchel and pulled out his hunter’s hood and leather jerkin. “This is why I left no witnesses when I razed my own castle,” he said, shrugging into the coat. “Even if they discover Lady Ailish is under my protection, they will not recognize me. They may have heard of the Black Douglas, but no one truly kens what he looks like.”

  “Aside from a man the size of Goliath with black hair and a black beard.”

  James pulled his razor out of his satchel. “I mightn’t be able to shrink, but no one will ken the color of my hair if we shave it all off.”

  Davy slid down on his haunches. “Then what? There’s only a handful of us. And no matter if ye are a brute of a man, we’ve no chance of standing up against the Lord Warden’s army.”

  “Did I say anything about staging a siege?” James fished around for his cake of soap. “Now go find me a wee pail of water.”

  ***

  Ailish spent a sleepless night atop a pallet made up with musty straw and a rough-hewn woolen blanket. She’d been tossed inside a dank chamber like a sack of grain and left to rot without so much as a morsel. And this is where they imprisoned the nobly born? She might be alone in her cell, sealed with a thick wooden door with naught but three bars across a viewing pane, but the accommodations were akin to a cellar.

  No one had said a word about Harris, and though she’d shouted his name half the night, the only response she’d received was from the guard telling her to shut her gob or he’d cut out her tongue.

  This morning, a guard had cracked the door wide enough to push in a slice of stale bread and a cup of water. And either the oaf was mute, or he had been instructed not to reply to any of her questions.

  She paced the floor, nibbling on her thumbnail, a habit she’d overcome years ago. But she didn’t care. She desperately needed something to occupy her mind—to overcome the sickly feeling that something dreadful had happened to her brother.

  And where was Sir James? Did he know she’d been captured? And how in God’s name would he manage to rescue her without an army of a thousand men? From the ground floor, they’d climbed two flights of stairs before they’d led her through a dark passageway and shoved her inside, slamming the door behind.

  Footsteps resounded in the corridor. As they stopped outside her door, Ailish turned, crossing her arms tightly. The Lord Warden’s beak-nosed visage appeared in the viewing panel. “Ah, my lady. I see you’ve survived the night.”

  “No thanks to your inhospitality,” she said, her voice hoarse and grating.

  “If you do not care for your accommodations, I can arrange for you to be taken to the tollbooth. I’m certain there are a number of interesting souls who would find you quite appealing.”

  She pursed her lips. Good heavens, not even a man as vile as Andrew Harclay, the Lord Warden, would stoop to such a vulgarity.

  A rueful
chuckle rumbled through his nose. “I thought not.”

  “The only reason I have traveled to Carlisle is to find my brother.”

  “Yesterday you told me you had come all this way alone,” he said, skirting the subject.

  “Indeed.” She dropped her arms and straightened. His Lordship might be inclined to believe her if she came across as unflappable. “I spirited away from Lincluden Priory after my uncle captured Lord Harris in the midst of—”

  “Vespers. I know the story. You’ve repeated it often enough. But I fail to believe that a wisp of a woman like you managed to slip past my border patrol.”

  “Oh, but that part was easy,” she said with a toss of her head. “Surely you are aware of the shallows not far east of the bridge?”

  Thank goodness she’d paid attention when they crossed into England. The river had meandered around a bend, but she’d seen the sandy bank of a wee island that parted the waters. Though Lord only knew how deep the water was on either side.

  “Well, if your accomplices are here, we shall find out soon enough. In the meantime, I’ve written to your uncle to see if he corroborates your story, and I’ve also sent a missive to the king to advise him of your presence.” The Lord Warden’s gaze shifted to her breasts. “I’m certain the king will be very interested to discover a nobly born waif is in my gaol. Especially one as fair as you. If, of course, you can manage to hold your tongue.”

  “You fiend. I am not to be trifled with.”

  “Is that what you think? My word, you are naive.” His Lordship pointed a long, slender finger through the bars. “You would do well to heed me. Edward can be quite generous to those subjects in whom he finds favor, but he is ruthless with those who cross him. That is why your man Bruce will face the same fate as William Wallace.”

  Ailish gulped back her desire to scream. To tell him exactly what King Robert planned for Carlisle—once he organized his army. But boasting about battles to come did nothing to help her find her brother. “Are you harboring Lord Harris?” she asked without blinking. “Do you ken where he is at this very moment?”

  “Goodbye, my lady. Enjoy your stay in my tower.”

  With a smirk, he slammed the viewing panel.

  “You cannot leave without answering my question,” she shouted, though she was so hoarse it came out sounding like a fledgling hawk.

  Blast, blast, and double blast! She raced to the door and pounded until her fist ached.

  The dagger in her hose came loose and she stooped to retie it in place. Her weapons hadn’t been accessible once her hands had been bound, and the first thing the guards had taken from her was the dagger in her sleeve. Thank goodness they hadn’t found this one.

  Thus far, she’d been presented with no chance to use her weapon. Though she would have liked to plunge it into the Lord Warden’s eye when he was smirking at her through the bars.

  Sooner or later, a chance would present itself and she’d escape this miserable cell regardless if the tower was reputed to be inescapable.

  Ailish’s attention was drawn away by a bout of shouting and cheering resounded from the courtyard. Curious, Ailish moved to the tiny window, in the shape of a clover, yet impossible for even a child to slip through. The clang of iron on iron rose above the din. Down below, two men sparred, their swords flickering in the sunlight.

  One was quite large like James, but his bald pate shone nearly as brightly as his weapon. His opponent, a guard wearing the Carlisle coat of arms emblazoned on his surcoat, was clearly outmatched.

  The big man fought as if he were possessed by the devil. But he was toying with the guard. Ailish counted five times he could have delivered a mortal wound or demand his opponent beg for quarter, but he kept on as if he had something to prove. With a brutish upward strike, the big man ripped the sword from the guard’s hands and sent it clattering to the cobblestones—a move she had seen James perform at the camp in Selkirk Forest.

  Oh. My. Heavens!

  Ailish’s heart started racing. If only she could call out. But if she did, surely the Lord Warden would know her accomplice was he. With haste, she shoved an arm out through one of the clover circles and waved—not like she was trying to draw attention, but as if she were enjoying the cool breeze on such a fine day.

  She watched as another challenger stepped forward. James made a show of taking a flourishing bow, clearly issuing an insult. Before he straightened, he looked up.

  Ailish waved once more, then drew her hand inside.

  What on earth was he on about, sparring in the courtyard with His Lordship’s guards? Did he intend to be arrested? Good heavens, if they put him in irons, he’d be no use to her whatsoever. And why had he shaved his head?

  Ailish gnawed her thumbnail, forcing herself to watch, yet flinching with every clanging strike. After James had faced three men, he was swarmed by the crowd and marched toward the keep. She craned her neck and pressed her cheek against the stone wall, trying to figure out where they were taking him, but with her next blink, his shiny head had passed out of sight.

  She gripped her hands atop her churning stomach. Aye, hunger pained her but, moreover, she knew how angry he must be. He’d warned her not to disobey his orders and she’d thought herself smarter. And where had she landed? Locked away in this ungodly tower.

  If the Lord Warden had his way, this nightmare had only begun. If she didn’t find Harris and escape soon, she might very well find herself in London, forced to marry some vulgar lord of Longshanks’ choosing.

  I would rather die than submit to that barbarous viper’s whims.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I cannot understand why you volunteered for the night watchman’s post,” Davy complained as they made their way around the west side, patrolling the curtain walls. “We’ve been on duty for seven miserable nights and we’re no closer to our purpose than we were when you nearly had your arm cut off by that idiot in the sparring match.”

  At the mention of his arm, the gash in James’ shoulder throbbed. But at least his efforts had served their purpose. They’d been hired on as guardsmen for the Lord Warden which was their best chance to rescue Ailish. “’Tis but a scratch.”

  “You’re lucky it was your left, ye cavalier fool.”

  James grumbled under his breath. There were a handful of people in all of Christendom he’d allow to call him fool—the man walking beside him because he was right, Lamberton, the Bruce, and Hew.

  In the wee hours, a blanket of silence fell over the city. The wind was louder, the river rushed more clearly, even the sparks from the braziers crackled with crisp clarity. James had spent this time atop Carlisle’s wall-walk learning and listening. After the vigils bell, the only other guards posted were five at the postern and a dozen at the main gates, not to mention all the sentry patrolling the grounds.

  Rounding the corner, he waved to the postern gate guards as he had done on every turn.

  A few paces on, Davy inclined his head toward Ailish’s tower. “We’re but a stone’s throw from her, and yet we may as well be marching around Edinburgh Castle’s wall-walk.”

  “Wheesht,” James thwacked the man’s shoulder. “Enough of your naysaying. We’ve naught but to bide our time and when the opportunity presents itself, we’ll act swiftly.”

  “Just remember, you told Torquil to meet you at the monastery in a fortnight—seven days hence, mind you.”

  “I do not need your reminder. Be patient, my man.”

  “Patient?” Davy raised his voice, then hissed and glanced over his shoulder. Resuming a heated whisper, he leaned nearer. “I’ve held my tongue long enough. When have you ever shown a lick of patience? You returned to Douglas, pulled together a ragged army, unleashed your ire as if you were possessed by Satan, and now me ma is dead along with half the villagers.”

  Sickly bile churned in James’ gut. He should have waited before he retaliated against Clifford. And afterward, he should have posted fifty men around the perimeter of Douglas. He also should have t
aken Ailish back to Lincluden Priory and demanded that the prioress give the lass sanctuary.

  Damnation, the litany of “should-haves” was growing longer by the day.

  “Mark me, I will face Sir Henry Percy sooner than later. As long as I am breathing, no man will plunder my lands or murder those under my protection and live.” Stopping, James grabbed his friend’s shoulders. “Not a day goes by when I do not lament over your mother’s death—all our kin’s deaths. Know that she will be avenged. Know my purpose is not for myself but for the kingdom we must fight to set free from tyranny.”

  Davy swept his arms in an arc, making James release his grip. “I ken why it happened. I just cannot understand why we do not just storm into the tower, seize Her Ladyship and ride like hellfire. We’d be in Selkirk by nightfall.”

  “Because when we do, I wish for no one to be hurt—or worse captured and tortured to death. Not you, not Lady Ailish, and not Caelan and the others. Mind you, I haven’t been marching around these walls for a sennight with my mind in a muddle. Did ye ken tower guard changes twice per day with the lauds and the compline bells? And our best chance to escape this shite-infested hole is in the wee hours via the postern gate.”

  “I’ll alert Caelan come morn—tell him of your plan. We ought to act on the morrow.”

  “Nay.”

  “I beg your pardon? We are solving nothing here and the longer we remain, the more precarious our situation. Sooner or later, some bastard will peg you as the Black Doug—”

  “Enough! I will decide when the time is right.”

  “By the bloody saints, there’s no talking sense into you.”

  James ground his back molars. Why could Davy not realize he was acting responsibly, mayhap for the first time in his life.

  “It might pay you to know I’ve struck up a wee friendship with the postern tower’s night guardsman.”

  Davy gave him a shove. “Why the hell didn’t ye say as much in the first place?”