Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  Sean cradled his head in his hand. He’d lived up to his philandering reputation for certain. Any errant assumptions John may have made would have been spot on.

  Though thoughts of the lovely lass consumed his mind, he should have waited until they were wed. God, had he no self-control whatsoever? He loved her—kept her on a pedestal. In his eyes, she was an angel, a goddess to be worshiped. Blast his MacDougall hot blood. The moniker “Lusty Laddie” had been well-earned and had plagued him for years.

  He chuckled to think he’d been hooked by Duncan’s sister. Duncan was the very man who’d given him the label, but truth be told, nary a lass in Scotland matched Gyllis’s beauty.

  When the ram’s horn sounded, Sean’s gut clenched. An internal warning made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

  It wasn’t unusual to receive a visitor. But it was odd for him to be uneasy about it. He’d also earned the nickname of “Ghost” from his service in the Highland Enforcers. He’d developed a perceptive ability rare to most men, a sensation honed by years of knighthood.

  Moving with the speed of a cat, he fastened the top button of his quilted doublet and pulled his heavy hauberk over his head. He would not be stepping into the courtyard without the protection of chainmail or his arms. After buckling his sword belt in place and testing the daggers in his sleeves, he headed out.

  Angus met him at the keep’s doors. At the far side of the courtyard, the portcullis creaked as the gate rose with its blackened iron fangs pointing downward.

  Sean squinted through the dank guardhouse. “Who is it?”

  “Not sure,” Angus said.

  A lone horse galloped through the gate. Eric, the stable hand raced in with his palms held high. “Easy boy.”

  Sean’s heart lurched.

  A body draped across the steed’s back. Blinking, Sean recognized the horse, the tack, and the backside of the rider. Revulsion was the only word to describe the icy tension clamping every muscle in his body. Bile bit the back of his throat with an acrid burn.

  War had been declared, a line drawn.

  “My God. ’Tis Fraser.” Angus unsheathed his dirk.

  The lad brought the horse under control and led him to Sean. He pointed to the dead man. “His throat’s been cut.”

  “MacCoul,” Sean growled through clenched teeth.

  Angus pointed. “What’s this?” He snatched a note secured in Fraser’s belt and handed it to Sean. “Addressed to you, m’laird.”

  “It’s been opened.” He slid his finger under the compromised wax. “Lorn’s seal.”

  Angus leaned in and studied the crumpled velum. “The bloody bastard.”

  Sean arched his eyebrow while his gut twisted. “I thought you had a soft spot for him.”

  A shadow crossed the old man’s face. “Not on your life.”

  A twinge of relief clicked at the back of Sean’s mind. He’d been keeping his henchman at arms-length. Not doubting his loyalty to the clan, but questioning his affinity for MacCoul. Something wasn’t right when it came to that sniveling maggot and Fraser’s death marked the last severed thread. If MacCoul wanted a feud, he’d just purchased one. His friend would be avenged.

  Sean eyed Eric. “Take Fraser’s body to the priest. He’ll ken what to do.” Then he flicked open the note and read. “God’s bones. Lorn’s wedding is only two weeks away—set for the feast of Michaelmas.”

  “And our enemies know about it,” Angus said.

  “Aye.” Sean folded the missive. “Word was MacCoul’s been in the Lowlands training an army.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Angus pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. “Alan isn’t daft enough to attack the Lord of Lorn. ’Tis you he’s insanely jealous of.”

  Sean agreed, but that didn’t mean Alan wouldn’t stage something rash—especially a demonstration to make Sean look bad. He cast his gaze to the MacDougall guard, who were watching him from the battlements above. The men would be riled by Fraser’s death and looking for blood. The MacDougalls were good fighting men, but against an army? He needed to call in some overdue favors. “You must ride to Glen Strae with a missive for Eoin MacGregor. I’ll head to Glen Orchy straight away and solicit help from Lord Duncan.”

  Angus gaped. “Campbell? But he’s aligned with Argyll—Stewart’s enemy—the reason Lorn is proceeding with this marriage is so Argyll cannot claim the title for himself.”

  “Aye, and he’s my closest friend. Given the gravity of MacCoul’s message, Duncan will stand beside me. I have no doubt.” Sean marched toward the keep. “Come, I’ve a missive to pen.”

  ***

  Lady Meg was anxious to try her new treatment for Gyllis and presently her chamber was half full of chambermaids and buckets of hot water. Gyllis stood with crutches under her arms and her shift knotted up over her thighs while the lasses wrapped warm cloths around her legs.

  “Word came all the way from France that warm wraps assist in speeding the recovery of paralysis,” Meg said, standing as tall as she could, looking pleased with herself. Her bright-red, curly locks stuck out from under her veil in every direction as if she’d been boiling water in the kitchen for hours.

  Gyllis sighed, wondering where on earth Meg gained information all the way from France. A wives’ tale, most likely. “I suppose I’ll try anything if it helps.” And return me to Sir Sean MacDougall’s arms sooner. She needed to find a way to send a message to Sean and advise him that she’d returned home. Not only was it improper for an unwed lassie to send a missive to a man, it bore too much of a risk. If Duncan received word of it, she’d doubtless be locked in her chamber for life.

  Meg moved in front of Gyllis and held her hands firmly. “Lassies, pull the crutches from under her arms.”

  Afraid she’d fall, Gyllis clamped her fingers around Meg’s wrists. “I need those.”

  “Do as I say,” Meg said in an authoritative voice—rather pushy for such a petite woman. She gave Gyllis a stern look. “Were the warm cloths stimulating?”

  Gyllis flexed her muscles. “Aye. I think mayhap they were.”

  “Good, then take a step toward me.”

  She did as told, then took another while Meg slowly backed away. After they’d crossed the floor, Meg pulled her around. “Now do it without holding my hands.”

  Gyllis held fast to her grip. “Oh no, more than a couple of steps and I’ll fall for certain. I always do.”

  Meg gave her a stern look that meant she wouldn’t be accepting no for an answer. “I’ll keep my hands out for you. Grasp them at your first weakness.”

  Gyllis took two unsteady steps and gasped. She’d nearly fallen—but she hadn’t. Oh blessed be the saints.

  “Again,” Meg said with the most reassuring smile Gyllis had ever seen.

  Concentrating very hard, she took another step, followed by another. Gyllis laughed. “My knees are scarcely wobbling.”

  Meg backed further. “Try again.”

  Gyllis stepped forward. Her knee buckled and she listed to the side. Meg clamped onto her shoulders. “Easy lass. You’ve done well.” She turned her attention to the line of chambermaids. “From now on we shall include warm compresses to Miss Gyllis’s treatments of massage.”

  Gyllis could have jumped for joy. “I shall be walking again in no time.” And Sean will be so happy.

  “’Tis what I like to hear.” Her sister-in-law patted her cheek. “If you keep telling yourself you can, you will. Only the naysayer lies abed and allows herself to waste away.”

  “Did you have this many monks tending you at Ardchattan?” Duncan’s deep voice resounded from the doorway.

  A chambermaid slid the crutches under Gyllis’s arms as she shot a shocked glance at her brother. He rarely ever paid a visit to her chamber. “Not by half.”

  Duncan clapped his hands. “Leave us. I need a word with my sister.”

  Gyllis watched the lassies file out of her chamber and wished she could follow them. John’s missive had caught up to her for certain.

>   Meg brushed his arm as she walked past. “I shall be in the nursery with Elizabeth and Colin should you need me.” Duncan grinned with a daft look on his face—one he only affected when Lady Meg was present.

  After the door closed, Duncan gestured to the couch. “Let us sit.”

  Gyllis’s legs were noticeably stronger as she moved and took a seat. She leaned her crutches against the table and bit down on her lip to calm her nerves. “How have things been at Kilchurn whilst I’ve been away?” Her high-pitched voice had a tremor. She clenched her fists until her fingernails bit into her palms. Whatever was coming, showing nervousness to Duncan would make him all the more suspicious.

  “John advised you were recovering well and that the priory can no longer handle you.” He took a seat beside her and leaned over, eyebrows slanted inward—definitely not a happy stare. “What the devil did he mean by that?”

  “Ah...” Gyllis stared at her hands, her entire body growing hot as a boiling pot. Stop it Gyllis. He mentioned nothing about Sean. Surely Duncan would have brought him up first had John revealed the night at Dunollie. “Ah…I-I believe one of the monks became infatuated with me.” It was the best she could do on the spur of the moment.

  Duncan sprang to his feet and slammed his fist against the backrest. “I knew it. Did he touch you?” He pounded his fist again. “I’ll kill the bastard. Tell me his name and I’ll see to it he never again looks at another lass.”

  Gyllis waved her hands across her body in rapid succession. “Please no. ’Twas an innocent fascination. He did nothing untoward.”

  “No?” Duncan paced. “Then why did John send you home—using a pair of pegs no less?”

  “They’re crutches and they help me move around quite nicely.” Seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from her indiscretion, Gyllis pointed to the buckets. “Besides, your wife found a new treatment the monks hadn’t used. Already this morning I took seven steps on my own.”

  Duncan sat again and frowned.

  “After today’s treatment, I have no doubt I’ll be walking again soon.” She clapped a hand over her heart. “I give you my vow I’ll not become a burden to the family.”

  “Ah, Gyllis.” He draped an arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. “Is that what you think? You’ll be a burden?” He snorted. “You’re kin. Even if you’d remained bedridden I’d have taken care of you. You ken that do you not?”

  “Aye.” Yet another tear stung her eye. She’d honestly believed Duncan would send her to a nunnery if she didn’t recover. “Thank you.” She allowed herself to exhale. Thank God for John. He hadn’t betrayed her confidence after all. She owed him a debt of gratitude.

  Now to focus all her energy on her recovery—and finding a way to see Sir Sean as soon as possible.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sean followed the sentry into the keep. How odd to be escorted. He practically knew Kilchurn Castle better than he did Dunollie. God knew he’d spent more time there. The irony was the woman he couldn’t clear from his thoughts was elsewhere. Though Fraser’s death and the blatant message he’d received from MacCoul weighed heavily on his conscience, he couldn’t ride to Kilchurn without thinking of Gyllis.

  He’d decided to keep his intentions to marry the lass quiet for now. First he needed to see Lorn wed, and deal with MacCoul before he approached Duncan for her hand. I should have hanged the bastard when I had him in my grasp. If it hadn’t been the day of my father’s funeral, I never would have allowed Angus to step in. And now look. My failure has caused the death of one of my closest friends.

  The guard knocked on the door to Duncan’s solar—a place where Sean had spent many hours debating Highland Enforcers’ affairs. Though he didn’t realize it at the time, life had been far simpler before he’d inherited his father’s mantle.

  “Sir Sean MacDougall of Dunollie,” the guard announced, as if Sean needed an introduction.

  Duncan shoved his chair back with a grin. He marched forward and clasped Sean at the elbow and held firm—a more personal greeting than a handshake—the one used by the enforcers. “By God, ’tis good to see you.”

  Sean couldn’t bring himself to smile. “You as well.”

  “Too much time has passed.” Duncan gestured to a seat. “Are you ready to rejoin the enforcers? Tension with England is mounting.”

  “I wish I were.” He sat and leaned back with his knees wide. “Being Chieftain of Dunollie has brought on a host of problems.”

  Duncan moved to the sideboard and pulled the stopper out of a flagon. “I’d agree there. I never had an appreciation for my father’s responsibilities until I stepped into his shoes.” He set a cup in front of Sean and raised the one remaining in his hand. “Let us toast to our clans as well as long health.”

  Sean held up his whisky. “Slàinte.” He sipped and swilled the oaken flavor across his tongue. One thing was always a certainty when he visited Kilchurn. There was no finer whisky in all of Scotland than that from Campbell’s still.

  Duncan took his seat at the head of the table. “So, if you’re not itching to head back to the borders, what brings you to Kilchurn?”

  Sean watched the whisky while he swirled it in his cup. He needed to choose his words carefully, else he’d come across as an incompetent boob. “I’ve some grave news…”

  Looking Duncan square in the eye, he leaned forward on his elbow and started with Alan MacCoul’s banishment from Dunollie lands, the cattle thieving, Fraser’s mission and the return of his body—and the missive. “…now I’ve nay choice but to provide fealty service for Lorn’s wedding.”

  Duncan thoughtfully rotated the cup in his fingers. “You’re worried about a wedding?”

  Sean tossed back the last of his whisky. “The last thing Fraser said was the whore told him MacCoul was amassing an army.”

  Duncan chuckled. “A bedraggled crew, no doubt. It sounds like a gang of renegades. They’d be no match for your trained men.”

  Sean wished he were as confident as his friend. “I’m not so certain. I think they’re organized.”

  “What kind of men would follow a festering pustule like Alan MacCoul? What means has he?”

  “I know not. But my father had an affinity for the bastard.”

  “Well, you’ve put a damper on your da’s former misguided affections.” Duncan rested his elbows on the table. “My bet is he’ll be a thorn in your side until you lure him back to MacDougall land and arrest him—string him up like you should have done after he attacked you. Christ, he challenged you right after you were declared chieftain?”

  “Aye, I ken what I should have done. But now I cannot take a chance on him causing mischief for the Lord of Lorn.” Sean sat taller. “I need your help, Duncan.”

  “’Tis a wedding, no?” The Lord of Glenorchy smirked.

  “Aye, at Dunstaffnage Chapel.”

  “MacCoul would be an idiot to attack you on the king’s lands. Besides, you’ll have your army as well as Lorn’s. Surely you can handle a wee skirmish.”

  “But I won’t have the stealth of the enforcers. I want to establish an impenetrable barrier for my uncle.”

  Duncan sat back and spread his arms to his sides. “’Tis a wedding for Christ’s sake. Worse, it’s John Stewart, Lord of Lorn’s wedding. If I’m there and something does happen, the Stewart Clan will be blaming me.”

  God, the man made Sean’s worries sound daft. But Sean persisted, “You ken I’d vouch for you.”

  “Aye, after the dust settles.”

  “What about sending in a dozen of your best men? They can wear my colors.”

  “All but a handful are on the borders. Wouldn’t get them back here in time.” Duncan shook his head. “Nay, I’d be daft to call them away from the king’s business to stand watch during a wedding.”

  Sean bit the inside of his cheek. “Bloody hell, Duncan. You’re the closest thing to a brother I have.”

  The lord tapped his finger against his cup. “I ken.”

&nbs
p; “Can you not put aside your fealty for Argyll for a wedding and provide some weapons?”

  “That’s just it.” He ground his finger into the board. “’Tis a miserable wedding—hardly something we need an army for. Christ, man, you’ve at least fifty skilled men in Dunollie’s guard. In my opinion, you are overreacting to Fraser’s death. He rode into the wrong camp is all. You know that as well as I.”

  Sean groaned. “When you say it like that, I feel the fool for having traveled so far to gain your audience.”

  “Not at all. I’m always glad to share a tot with you.” Duncan stood and grabbed the flagon from the sideboard. “If you have more trouble with MacCoul’s thugs thieving your cattle, the enforcers will be able to help you. That’s our motto—to support the king and maintain order.”

  Sean watched him fill his cup with another shot of whisky. Had he overreacted? What would his father have done in his stead? He puzzled. The MacDougalls always had their enemies, but Duncan was right. The Dunollie guard posed a force to be reckoned with. Had Sean lost confidence because of his lack of trust? Angus had proved his loyalty. So had the others for the most part. Even Gawen had proved his loyalty when he kicked the stools at the hanging. It was time for Sean to cast his misgivings aside and lean on his own men for support. Besides, Angus might have better luck soliciting help from Eoin MacGregor.

  Sean raised his cup. “I hope I do not have to take you up on that offer. I intend to squash MacCoul the first time he shows his beastly face.”

  Duncan grinned. Sean hadn’t noticed it before, but the Lord of Glenorchy’s smile was dimpled like Gyllis’s. He sipped the fiery liquid. If Duncan had any idea how often he’d seen Gyllis in the past few months, he’d run him out of Argyllshire. I’d best stick with my plan and leave the topic of marriage alone this trip. Duncan is likely to blow hot steam through his ears—just like old times.