by Amy Jarecki
He nodded over his shoulder as he led them across the courtyard. Davy and Caelan each supported one of James’ arms, dragging him as they’d done at the border church.
She’d already ascertained that Torquil had not yet arrived. She coughed, irritating her raw throat. Perhaps it was for the best that the Cunningham heir was not there to greet them. James needed time to rest.
The monk used an enormous key to unlock a door and gestured into a chamber containing only a narrow bed with a cross on the wall above, a stool and a washstand.
As the lads took James inside, Ailish curtseyed to the monk. “Thank you for your kindness.”
He gave a brief bow and left while she ventured inside. “This feels as if it is a repeat of our stop at the chapel.”
“You were right,” said Davy. “We should have stayed there long enough for James to build his strength.”
“Rest.” James coughed repeatedly, then gasped for air. “H-here.”
Ailish pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. “He’s afire. I need a cup of willow bark tea. And if the monks have a salve or oil of avens, bring it straightaway.”
“Aye, m’lady.” Davy sniffed and pulled Caelan toward the door. “Is there anything else you require?”
Neatly folded beneath the washstand were cloths and an ewer of water. “Perhaps some broth. You and the men need to rest. We are all on the verge of succumbing to fever.”
“Do not concern yourself with us. I’ll fetch the items you need and then we’ll take our rest in the stable’s loft.”
“Very good. And please notify me as soon as Torquil arrives.”
***
Night had fallen and Ailish continued her vigil at James’ bedside, no matter how much he grumbled. “Just a bit more salve,” she said, applying the concoction provided by the monks.
Laying on his side, the big knight blindly lashed out with an arm, only to jerk it back and grimace in pain.
“You’ll not do yourself a whit of good by fighting me.” She set the pot of salve on the washstand, picked up the cup of willow bark tea, and stirred it with the wooden spoon. “You are still fevered.”
But James did not hear. His eyes closed, his chapped lips parted, he slept fitfully on his side, shivering now and again.
Ailish coughed into her elbow. By the saints, she was exhausted. “You must drink a bit more tea,” she said loudly.
His eyelashes didn’t even twitch. She tilted his chin upward and held the spoon to his mouth and ladled in a bit. His Adam’s apple bobbed, followed by a cacophony of coughing. No matter how much she wanted to set the cup aside and let him sleep, she persisted until he’d swallowed four spoons.
“If that doesn’t set you to rights, there’s no hope for you.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Ailish wished she could take them back. He’d risked his life for her more than once. He even shaved his head to disguise his thick black hair—hair that identified him as the Black Douglas.
She sat on the stool and swirled her fingers through the soft bristles that had grown in. “You look more menacing with your hair shorn,” she whispered. In her eyes, he was as braw as the first time she’d seen him standing atop Moot Hill behind the Bruce. “And the shadow of beard on your cheeks and chin makes ye look like a pirate come to take your plunder.”
She kissed his overwarm temple. “But you’d never attack without cause. Just as I would not.”
She sat for a time, mulling over all that had transpired since the coronation.
“Have I ever told you about my da?” Though her eyelids were heavy, she smiled while warmth spread through her. “He was a fierce man, but fair. And he ardently supported King Alexander and his heir, the Maid of Norway. Though he kent it was a sham when Balliol took the throne. Your own father paid with his life for that mistake.”
As her voice trailed off, Ailish resumed swirling her fingers around James’ crown. “Da always told me I would marry into a noble family—told me it was my duty. That I was born of fourteen generations of Maxwells, owners of lands on both sides of the border.”
She sighed. “So many families did—still do. And those who opposed Edward have lost all, those who have joined him have become more powerful. I just wonder when it will end. I’m told Longshanks’ son is as ruthless and bloodthirsty as his father.”
Ailish brushed her lips across James’ temple. “I believe in Robert the Bruce with all my soul, but how will we rise above the armies Edward has amassed along the border? Just like Caerlaverock, your keep, Berwick, Edinburgh, Roxburgh, Hermitage, Dunbar…good heavens, there are so many castles taken over by the English, I cannot possibly name them all. Even the Bruce’s lands at Annandale have been taken.”
Her heart grew so very heavy. “And now the king is in hiding. Certainly, your army is growing, but how will we retake what is ours so that Scotland may return to the peace she enjoyed when Alexander was on the throne?”
“Fight like Wallace?” he asked.
Ailish’s breath caught as she leaned over James’ face. “Are you listening?”
He said nothing, as if the words had come from above and not from his lips.
“I ken you’re listening,” she whispered, though he seemed to alternate between wakefulness and nothingness.
Overcome with weariness herself, she closed her eyes and rested her head on the edge of the mattress. Suffering a sore throat and a stuffy nose, she needed a bit of rest to keep the sickness at bay.
It took only to close her eyes and she drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.
When morning came, a ray of light shining through the window bid Ailish to open her eyes. “James, are you awake?”
He shivered as if he’d been out in a snowstorm for hours without a cloak.
“James?” she asked, running her hand over his forehead. Drenched in sweat, his skin was burning.
She picked up the cup and tried to spoon it into his mouth. He thrashed, knocking the vessel out of her hands, it shattered on the stone floor. “You have the fever.”
Quickly, she doused a cloth and draped it over his searing skin.
“Argh!” he bellowed, shaking it off.
“You must!” she cried, rolling the linen and wiping his forehead, only to receive a smack between the eyes for her efforts.
But that did not dissuade her. She doused a cloth and then another. “Lie still,” she commanded while she rubbed down his entire body.
“C-cold.”
She didn’t stop. If only he knew how encouraging his one word was. “I ken.”
“M’lady,” came Davy’s voice with a rap on the door.
“Come,” she said, standing and straightening her skirts.
Davy’s gaze immediately snapped to James. “He’s fevered?”
“Aye. We need more willow bark tea.”
“I’ll see to it, but first you must come with me.”
“Have you news?”
“Aye. Torquil has arrived.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
After the night’s sleep, Ailish felt a bit better as she followed Davy into the courtyard. Ahead, Torquil stood at the well, guzzling a ladle of water.
“Please tell me you have something good to report,” she said, hastening toward him.
His back heaving with a deep breath, he replaced the ladle in the bucket and turned. But he didn’t appear anything like the cocksure Torquil she’d come to know. His face was filthy and purple bruises swelled beneath his eyes.
“What happened? You look as if you’ve been wallowing in a bog whilst being bludgeoned.”
“Mayhap that’s because I have been.”
She grasped his wrist and tugged him toward a bench. “Sit and tell me everything. Do not leave out a single detail.” She sat beside him, while Davy stood with his arms crossed. “Have you located Harris?”
“At least I ken where Lord Caerlaverock took him—Lochmaben.”
Ailish’s mouth fell open. “But that’s so nearby.”
“That tidbit
of information nearly sent me to an early grave.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t waiting for us when we arrived,” said Davy. “What happened?”
“Firstly, the folk in Galloway are all afraid for their lives. They go about their affairs with their heads down, looking over their shoulders all the while.”
Her stomach twisted in a knot. “’Tis on account of Uncle Herbert’s cruelty.”
“His Lordship and the commander of Dumfries Castle—Sir Richard Girard.”
“Girard?” Ailish drummed her fingers on her chin. “I’m not familiar with that name.”
“Mayhap because you’ve been sheltered for the past six years, m’lady,” said Davy. “He’s one of Edward’s henchmen—a murderous tyrant.”
Torquil removed his helm and raked his fingers through his wiry hair. “Aye, and after news arrived of Caerlaverock’s death, the cur started rounding up every suspect, including all travelers who happened past. I barely escaped with my life.”
“Then how did you find out where they took Harris?” asked Ailish.
“When I first arrived, the townsfolk were just chilly, unapproachable, if you ken what I mean.”
Ailish nodded, though it twisted her heart to do so. Before the wars, the kin around Caerlaverock and Dumfries were kind and hospitable.
“For eight days, I minded my own affairs—sat in the alehouse and watched the comings and goings. Listened, as well.” Torquil glanced up to Davy. “A cleric came in every evening after vespers. Always sat alone, drank one pint and left.”
Gooseflesh rose across Ailish’s skin. “Alfred?”
“Do you know him?” asked Torquil.
“He was one of my father’s most trusted. Alfred was the one who helped us escape—had a skiff waiting at the Firth of Solway.”
“Then my news is most likely valid.”
“He’s the one who told you Uncle Herbert took Harris to Lochmaben?”
“Aye, and then I didn’t see him again after the Lord Warden rode into town and announced you had escaped.”
“Oh, dear.”
“’Tis dangerous beyond these walls. His Lordship has combined armies with Sir Richard and they are plundering all of Galloway, offering a reward to anyone who leads them to you and your accomplices.”
“Did you say anything to Alfred about Sir James or Lady Ailish?”
“Not exactly.” Torquil rapped his knuckles atop his helm. “But after we talked a bit, I needed to tell him something to earn his trust.”
“Of course you did,” said Ailish, dryly.
Davy picked up a smooth stone and rubbed it between his fingers. “What kind of something?”
“I told him that I understood on undeniable authority that the new King of Scotland had recognized Harris as the Earl of Caerlaverock.”
“Then he told you where the usurper took the lad?”
“That was basically the whole of it. I might have said I kent a man who would do anything to keep the lad from falling into Edward’s hands…but nothing too incriminating.”
Davy tossed the stone at the well. “How did you end up running for your life, exactly?”
Ailish leaned forward. “I would not think Alfred would reveal your confidences.”
“Perhaps he did not, but the Lord Warden was giving coin to anyone who gave them information—especially newcomers. Yesterday, a mob of the scoundrels was waiting for me in the alehouse.”
“Did anyone follow you here?”
“They beat me until I decided to play dead, then the blackguards tossed my body into a bog.” Torquil grinned—his cocksure smile returning. “No one kent I left.”
“Then I doubt they’ll search for us here,” said Davy “We’re far enough off the beaten path. Mayhap sixty miles from Lochmaben. Dumfries as well.”
“We may be safe for now, but what of my brother?” asked Ailish, her insides twisted tighter than ever. “The Lord Warden kens I’m looking for him. He’ll retaliate, mark me.”
Davy covered a cough with his hand. “I say we remain here until James regains his wits.”
“Can we not send a scout to Lochmaben?” Ailish asked. “Surely there is someone in the camp from Annandale. ’Tis no secret that Edward is building his grand fortress there on the Bruce’s lands.”
“She has a valid point,” said Torquil quite surprisingly.
“I do.” Ailish pushed to her feet and thrust her fists onto her hips. She was a lady, the daughter of an earl, and she would be obeyed. “As far as we are aware, no one is searching for Caelan. Have him make haste to Selkirk Forest and find a man who hails from Annandale. See what he can uncover about my brother. And I want him to report back here in a sennight. James will be fit and ready to fight by then, mark me.”
Not waiting for anyone to voice opposition, she headed for James’ cell, praying for his swift recovery.
***
Coming awake, the fog in James’ mind was thicker than the mist hovering on the Saint Andrews shore after a midwinter’s storm. The last clear thought he’d had was when riding toward Fail Monastery. Above him hung an iron cross, an indication they had arrived at their destination, though he had no recollection of it.
When he shifted his hand to his brow, someone moved.
“Are you awake?”
Ah yes, he recognized her angelic voice.
Slowly, James shifted his gaze to Ailish. Though weariness was etched upon the smooth mantle of her face, she was still the bonniest creature he had ever seen. “A man could grow accustomed to waking to such beauty,” he said, his voice gravelly as if he hadn’t used it in days.
A bit of color sprang in her cheeks while she leaned over and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “The fever has broken.”
Now he remembered. A bit, anyway. He’d been abed for some time. And she had remained by his side through it all, spooning water and tea into his mouth. But what he remembered most of all was how soothing her voice had been as was her touch.
By the grace of God, she would make a fine wife.
For someone.
“What are you thinking?”
“I was wondering how long I’ve been abed,” he fibbed.
She daintily blew her nose into a kerchief. “Three days.”
“Are you ill?”
“We’ve all had a bit of a sniffle, but I think we’re through the worst of it now.”
He took her hand and drew it to his lips. Closing his eyes, he thanked the stars for this woman’s selflessness. “You weren’t feeling well, yet you remained by my side.”
“I would be nowhere else.”
“Has Torquil returned?”
“Aye with news. Evidently Uncle Herbert took Harris to Lochmaben.”
James sat up, the motion making his head swim. “Unbelievable. He’s been right under our noses all this time?”
“I had Caelan ride to Selkirk to find someone from Annandale who would not be suspected if he returned home.”
“Smart lass.” James reached for a cup of water and drank. “When do you expect them to report back?”
“A few days. Hopefully long enough for you to regain your strength.”
He held the cup aloft. “Bring me something stronger than this and a plate of food, and I’ll be back to myself by the day’s end.”
She snatched it out of his hand and planted a wee kiss on his forehead. “I’ll believe that when I see you spar like the devil.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
It wasn’t exactly the day’s end, but the following morn James marched into the sheep’s paddock and found a solid oak fencepost standing like a lone Pictish stone. He walked around it, testing the wood for stability.
This will do.
Glancing toward the grounds, he spotted a few monks going about their chores, but none of his men were in sight. Nor was Ailish.
Raising his great sword above his head, he addressed the post and slowly lowered the blade until it touched the wood. His arms trembled with his weakness, but James
bore down and clenched his forearms until the trembling stopped. Closing his eyes, he blocked all pain from his mind. He intended to massacre this bloody post if it killed him.
Bellowing the Douglas war cry, he spun in place and slammed the blade into the column with every sinew of strength in his body. Pain shot through his shoulders while the force of the strike reverberated all the way up to his eyeballs, rattling in his head until he saw stars.
Again, James glanced behind. Thank the good Lord no one had seen him make an arse of himself. He’d been daft to think he could best the post in one deathly swing. He should have begun with a sparring pattern before he tried to smash the devil out of a solid oak pole most likely driven six feet into the ground. For all James knew, it had been there so long it had petrified.
After drawing in a few deep breaths, James again addressed his unforgiving opponent. With both hands, he struck the column from side to side, chipping away the wood. Initially, his muscles burned, but James gritted his teeth and worked through the pain. Bested by a piece of wood?
Not this day.
Not ever.
Still, as he fought, his legs trembled like a weak old man.
Ailish came into view in his periphery, toting an armful of hay. She tossed it on the ground and whistled. “Come, sheep!” she called as the flock headed her way with happy bleats at the prospect of a meal. And knowing Ailish, she was most likely giving the beasts far more than the monks did.
James’ heart skipped a beat when she looked at him.
But rather than smile, he quickly addressed the post and lunged, striking with his most deadly “kill” maneuver. Nearly blinded by the pain from his recent branding, James tightened his abdominals to keep his hands from shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her retreat as he reverted to the warm-up routine.
Nonetheless, he sensed her eyes on him. With a heightened sense of awareness, he put everything he could muster into murdering the post—reaching high, chopping his blade downward while dropping to one knee. James gnashed his teeth and brutally attacked. Damnation, the piece of oak didn’t stand a chance.
