by Amy Jarecki
James pursed his lips so hard, they turned white. “Are you not worried that I’ve taken your maidenhead? Especially after the king spoke so openly about arranging your marriage?”
Ailish sighed and smiled as she gazed into his eyes. “As I recall, I begged you to take it. That worry is mine to bear. Not yours.”
“No, it is mine as well. If I live—”
“Wheesht. We will not speak of the future.”
His gaze dipped to her lips. “May I kiss you?”
“I was hoping that was why you led me off the path, sir.”
As his warm lips caressed hers, Ailish melted into him, sliding her hands around his sturdy waist. Gladly, she opened her mouth and savored the languid swirls of his tongue, drinking him in, memorizing this moment and how it felt to swoon in her lover’s arms. To know the beauty of love. For in her heart, she knew she would never again feel this way about a man.
Chapter Thirty
It didn’t take long for the Bruce to send out word to assemble the Scottish army but marching northward proved devastating to their numbers. In Perth they were outnumbered and taken by surprise by the Earl of Pembroke’s forces. Though James and the men fought valiantly, the king nearly fell under Pembroke’s blade. Beaten, they fled for the Highlands, losing three-quarters of their numbers. The defeat left the Scots weakened and vulnerable, the remnants of the kingdom all but destroyed.
And their luck only grew worse. As they reached Strathfillan in the mountains of Argyll, an army one-thousand-man strong led by the Lord of Lorne forced the Bruce’s bedraggled warriors into battle. The king fought like a lion, putting himself in mortal harm. At one time, Robert was completely surrounded by his enemies and believed the end was near. But by the grace of God, his sword did not fail him.
Still, only through the efforts of his knights was King Robert able to escape. Plucked from certain death by Sir James Douglas and spirited to Dunaverty Castle, they fled further south than where Ailish hid on the Isle of Arran and leagues away from the queen at Kildrummy.
Without an army, the Scottish forces reduced to a handful of loyal knights, James followed as the king’s men stealthily moved northward through the Highlands, skirting about the craggy peaks to avoid Lorne and his savagery.
When at last they reached Kildrummy Castle, they found naught but a burned-out shell and a few bedraggled servants. The king’s brother had been executed and hung from the castle walls. The queen and Marjorie were taken by Pembroke and, under Edward’s orders, they were now being held as prisoners somewhere deep in England, far from the border.
No matter how devastating the news, there was no time for mourning. Now little more than fugitives on the run, James procured a birlinn. They sailed to Rathin Castle where they wintered on a small Irish isle in the North Channel.
Sitting in front of the hearth in the great hall, James sharpened his dirk on a leather strap while Harris sat beside him, polishing every link in James’ mail.
Gazing longingly at the blade, Harris harrumphed. “When can I start training with a real blade?”
James stilled his hand. “Mayhap after you’ve mastered the art of wielding a waster.”
“Against the likes of you?” Harris snorted. “That will never happen.”
“Never? Och, do ye reckon you will be thirteen hands for the rest of your days?
“Nay, but you are the strongest knight in the entire realm.”
“Perhaps, but men grow old and with age comes weakness. ’Tis why we must have sons to follow in our footsteps.”
“And I already must take up my father’s mantle. I need to be able to ride into battle as you do. How else will I defend my lands?”
“Do not be overanxious. In time, you will have all for which you wish. And then you shall reflect upon your youth with longing.”
“But first we must drive the English out of Scotland.”
James sighed, thanking the stars the lad had forgotten his time with Sir Henry and was once again a loyal Scottish subject. “Aye.”
“And then can I take Ailish and Florrie back to Caerlaverock?”
The mention of Her Ladyship’s name made the emptiness in James’ chest swell like a fathomless cavern. By God, he missed the lass. Aye, they’d had their differences, but there was something the king said ages ago when they were on the Isle of Arran that James had thought about every day since.
Noble women are bred to challenge their husbands at every turn.
And as the Bruce had pointed out, James’ mother was the only woman able to talk sense into his da.
Aye, during their time together, Lady Ailish had challenged him plenty. But rather than listen, he’d treated her like one of the men, he’d expected her to be a good soldier and obey his every word without question. And at every turn, the lass had proved she had a mind of her own.
She never should have been put in danger. James’ first mistake had been allowing her to ride on their quest to rescue Harris.
But, then again, her fate would have been sealed had she gone to stay with Hew’s wife.
“Sir?” asked Harris. “When will I be able to take Ailish and Florrie to Caerlaverock?”
James resumed sharpening his blade. “That is a question I cannot answer. But you will. Mark me, one day you will.”
“Do you think she’s bonny?”
“Who?”
“My sister. You seemed fond of her when we traveled to Arran.”
“And you ask me this now? After you’ve been my squire for six months?”
“I’ve been wondering is all.”
The hollowness he’d been feeling in his chest tripled in size. “Aye, she is very bonny.”
“Have you kissed her?”
“What sort of question is that? If I’d kissed Her Ladyship, ’tis unlikely I’d tell her wee brother, is it not?”
“Because…” The lad pursed his lips and rubbed the links on the mail.
“If you are to be an earl, ye must learn early on ’tis important to speak your mind.” He eyed the lad. “Now tell me what you truly wish to say.”
“I think you ought to marry her.”
The dirk slipped from James’ grasp and clattered to the floor.
Harris looked up, his expression completely earnest. “Ye ken, she’s of marriageable age.”
Why the hell had he told Harris to speak his bloody mind? “Enough.”
“And you pair seem to be agreeable.”
James grabbed his weapon and sliced it through the air making a hiss. “I do not need a lad of ten telling me whom I should marry.”
His wee Lordship stood and examined his work. “I think your mail shines like never before,” he said as if he hadn’t just issued James with a verbal slap that made his head spin. “May I go to the kitchens? I’m a bit hungry.”
James was only too happy to be alone. “Go on, off with ye, then.”
As the boy skipped away, James sheathed the dirk and stared at the fire smoldering in the hearth. Harris wanted to wield a blade? Hell, if the young earl had any clue how close he’d come to slaying James with his tongue, he’d forget about sword fighting altogether.
Marry Lady Ailish Maxwell?
Him?
Certainly, the Bruce had spoken about finding her a match. A fact he’d desperately tried to block from his thoughts.
As a spark in the fire popped and landed at James’ feet, so too did an epiphany spark before his eyes.
He stood and marched up the stairs to the solar King Robert was using to plot his next battle.
“Ah, Sir James.” The king pressed his finger on the map near Ayr. “Before winter’s end I will return to Turnberry—my mother’s ancestral lands.”
“Do you think that wise, Your Grace?”
“There is one thing that is unwise and that is rotting on this frigid isle and waiting for Edward’s men to find me.”
“I cannot argue with you there.”
James stood for a time, pretending to examine the map while shifting from
foot to foot.
The king straightened. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”
“There is, sire.”
“Come, I cannot have my champion knight tongue-tied. Out with it.”
“I have proved myself in battle, and you will not find a more loyal subject.”
“Agreed.” The king nodded. “If you had not dragged me from Dalrigh, I would have fallen to Lorne and his army of vipers.”
James barely registered the king’s words and continued to make his point, “I am the son of William, Lord of Douglas, and Elizabeth Stewart, daughter of the fourth High Steward of Scotland.”
The king narrowed his eyes as if he weren’t certain where James was heading. “Aye.”
“My family has served Scotland for generations.”
“I do not believe that was ever in question.”
James heaved an enormous breath. Why the devil was this so difficult? “I’d like to ask your permission to marry Lady Ailish Maxwell, Your Grace.”
“But she’s the daughter of an—” The king shut his mouth and looked toward the ceiling. “Why did you not come forward sooner?”
“I would have, but matters have been dire, making the idea of marriage...” James searched for the right word. “Unobtainable, and perhaps unfair to the lady.”
“Sir James, we are wintering in an Irish keep. Our…your situation is not exactly secure.”
“But when will it be? This is war and in war one must adapt.”
“True.” The king placed his finger on Douglas lands. “But your castle is in ruins. If I give you my blessing, have you a home in mind for a lady of her station, preferably one with an outer as well as an inner bailey?”
“I received word two days past that my clansmen have built a new roof over my keep.”
“A roof, aye?”
“Indeed, and if I ken anyone who can turn that pile of rubble into a castle fit for a queen, ’tis Lady Ailish.”
“Have you a ring?”
“No, sire.”
Robert tugged a silver band from his smallest finger. “Then take this along with my blessing.”
James accepted the gift and bowed deeply. “Thank you.”
“Go, wed the lass and plant a bairn in her belly. Then I will meet you at Turnberry on the first of February.”
***
Ailish sat in the lady’s solar embroidering while Florrie read aloud. It had been very kind of Lady MacSween to offer the chamber for Florrie’s lessons, especially now that the weather had turned particularly nasty. And though there was a thick fur covering the small window and tied down at the sides, there was no warmth within, not even the fire raging in the hearth could allay the chill.
Florrie put a slip of thread in her book to mark her page and set it aside. “Why must winter last so long? I fear it will never end.”
“It does seem that way,” Ailish agreed. This season was particularly harsh. The wind never stopped. The snow blew sideways. Worse, they’d received no word of Harris who, Ailish prayed, was safely hiding somewhere with James. Of course, Lord MacSween had received report of the Bruce’s crippling losses at Methven and Dalrigh, as well as the horrible news that the king had reached Kildrummy too late.
The only heartening news was that James was named among the knights who had protected the king, which meant Harris must be unharmed.
At least that’s what Ailish told herself fifty times a day.
As with the dreary weather, all seemed lost and there Ailish sat, further away from her hopes and dreams with no idea where to find her brother, or the dashing knight who had made the lad his squire. Even the man whose coronation she had attended nine months past had seemed to vanish.
Releasing a sigh, she pushed her needle through the linen and pulled the silk out the other side.
Florrie leaned in. “Why did you choose yellow primroses?”
Because they are Sir James’ favorite. A lump swelled in her throat as she tried to smile. “Yellow is happy and primroses bloom in spring with the promise of finer days ahead.”
“Well, I like them.”
“Thank—”
The door opened and Coira popped her head in. “You have a visitor, m’lady.”
Ailish looked up. Had she heard correctly? The only people who knew of her whereabouts were presently in hiding, and most likely not even in Scotland. “You’re jesting.”
Harris burst through the door and threw his arms around Ailish’s neck. “She would never jest about me. I’m the Earl of Caerlaverock!”
Hundreds of questions came to the tip of her tongue as she squeezed her brother with all her strength while Florrie joined them. “Oh, my goodness, it is so good to see you!”
“’Tis storming something awful outside, how did you cross the sea?” asked Florrie.
“There was a matter of some urgency,” a self-assured, rather deep voice that was in no way mysterious came from the doorway.
“Sir James!” Ailish cried, releasing her brother and springing to her feet.
The knight strode inside, his hair longer and curled over one eye. His teeth glistened with a grin that made her insides melt into liquid honey. He grasped her hand and kissed it, his lips making gooseflesh shoot all the way up her arm and across the back of her neck. “My word, you are a sight for these war-weary eyes to behold.”
Her mind whirred with hundreds of things she wanted to say—like how much she’d missed him, and how much he made her suddenly feel alive when, only moments ago, it was as if all of Christendom had plunged into darkness. But most of all, she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and shower him with endless kisses. “I cannot believe you are here.”
His face colored while he stared into her eyes as if they were the only two people in the solar.
Coira cleared her throat. “Harris and Florrie, Lady MacSween has a treat awaiting you in the kitchens.”
“And Sir James has something of grave import to discuss with my sister,” said Harris as if he were already privy to the king’s counsel.
Ailish glanced from her brother back to James, giving him a questioning look. But he said nothing as he stood, holding her hand until they were alone.
“I—”
He dropped to his knee. “Lady Ailish, I would be remiss if I did not tell you I have been tortured in the months since we last embraced.”
“I am so very sorry. Were you injured in battle?”
“My suffering has not been of the flesh.”
“No?”
“Nay, lass.” He kissed her hand again. “It is you who have caused my misery.”
“Me?” Whatever had she done to hurt him so?
“Aye, you have held my heart captive and there is only one cure to relieve my torment.”
Ailish’s own heart began to thrum erratically as James continued, “Marry me, m’lady. Marry me this day in the chapel below stairs, and you will make me the happiest man in Scotland.”
Unable to speak, her mouth dropped open as a tear spilled onto her cheek. Ever since they shared their first kiss, she had dreamed of this day. “So soon?” she whispered.
“I cannot bear to live any longer without you in my arms.” He tugged her hand over his heart. “I love you. I love everything about you and if you do not say yes, you will slay me from now until eternity.”
“Yes.” She laughed. “Yes, I will marry you this day!”
Chapter Thirty-One
James had not an iota of remorse for insisting Ailish marry him at once. The last several months had been torture and his patience had run its course. As soon as the king had given his blessing, the only thing James thought about was to have his bonny lass in his arms to cherish for the rest of his days. As soon as he’d stepped ashore at Lochranza Castle, he set MacSween to task, insisting the priest be summoned without delay.
Within an hour, Her Ladyship managed to don a gown of lavender silk and a veil to match. Her beauty took his breath away and he stood transfixed while the priest chanted the order
of holy matrimony.
It was a small affair with the lord and lady of the castle in attendance as well as Florrie, Harris, and Coira. After the service, MacSween provided a feast of roast leg of lamb, but there had been no time to arrange for musicians or dancing or any of the pomp that comes with a wedding. And James did not give a fig. He had his strong-willed, quick-tongued, stunningly beautiful Ailish by his side at long last.
All through the meal, he was giddy with anticipation, barely able to wait until they could be alone. Finally, when his bride led him to her chamber above stairs, he followed as if he, the feared Black Douglas, were floating on a cloud.
“I cannot believe this day,” Ailish said as she opened the door. “’Tis as if all of my dreams have come true with the snap of my fingers.”
“You harbor no regrets that I insisted on a hasty marriage?” he asked, following her inside. The room was small but warmed by a peat fire and lit with an array of candles artfully placed on the mantel. In one corner stood a washstand with an earthen bowl and ewer. There was but one chair, though the round table beside it contained a flagon of wine and two goblets with a note beside it.
“Look at this.” Ailish moved to the table and picked up the slip of vellum. “May the joy that binds you yield fruits of the spirit – MacSween.”
“He’s a good man.” James pulled her into his arms, closed his eyes, and kissed her, slowly, deliberately, possessively. “Och,” he sighed. “I’ve never been so happy.”
“Nor I.”
He glanced to the narrow bed, wedged against a wall. It was a bit small but would do. Hell, the floor would do.
The table.
The window embrasure.
As long as they were in each other’s arms, he’d make love to his lady anywhere.
Leaning away, he refused to release her from his arms. “Would you like a wee bit of wine?”
Ailish slowly scraped her teeth over her bottom lip and toyed with the brooch at his shoulder. “First…”
“Hmm?”
“I want you to make love to me.”
His knees buckled. It took all the self-control James could muster not to rip the lovely lavender dress from her lithe bones and lay her down. For the past nine months, this woman had consumed his dreams, his thoughts, his hopes.
