Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  Alan smirked. “I’ve an army of two hundred, and every day more fighting men frustrated with our weakling king come to me begging for a place in my guard.”

  Christ, things grew worse with Alan’s every word. Sean clenched his teeth against the throbbing pain and strained with all his might to break the irons. God in heaven, he needed to ring Alan’s bloody neck. “You’ll never get away with this,” he seethed.

  When Alan stood, Sean focused on the sword in Alan’s belt—the same one he was given at their father’s funeral. “Well, little brother.” The bastard whacked the stick over the top of Sean’s head, splintering it on the irons. “You won’t be around to witness my success. Everyone saw me spirit your body into Dunstaffnage Castle. Little did they know I uncovered an ancient sea gate on the firth side.”

  Stars clouding his vision, his heart could have exploded. The bastard intended to leave him for a rat’s feast? Sean strained his arms against the welded irons encasing them. He fought and jerked his entire body, but the welds held firm.

  Alan stood back and crossed his arms. “Fight all you like. The smithy made your cage impenetrable. You will die here.” He set a cup of water beyond Sean’s reach. “Be it from thirst or starvation, I do not much care, as long as your death is a painful one.”

  Ice pulsed through Sean’s veins. Death gibbeted by irons was the most torturous demise imaginable. Buzzards would peck out his eyes before he succumbed, rats would feast upon his flesh. “You wouldn’t,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  Alan threw the broken stick against the cave wall and strode away, the rumble of his laugh crawling up Sean’s skin.

  He drew in gasps of breath while he turned his head side to side, inhibited by strips of iron. God on the cross, even Alan wouldn’t stoop so low. “Give me a knight’s death! Please brother, if you have a soul, you will not leave me to face the vilest coward’s death!”

  Sean strained with all his might but the irons budged not an inch. Sweat streamed into his eyes and across his flesh. His lips trembled with every sharp inhale. He fought again, this time, the rivets stabbing him with unyielding bites.

  “You cannot leave me here!”

  ***

  Gyllis responded so well to Meg’s warm compresses that two days ago she’d started walking without assistance. She’d taken to forcing herself to climb the tower steps to the wall-walk and pacing around the battlements. The ascent was strenuous, but every day the effort grew a wee bit easier. From the top of Kilchurn’s walls, Gyllis could see for miles, spotting riders by land or boats approaching down the long and narrow Loch Awe.

  She’d hoped Sean would have paid a visit at least one more time before the Lord of Lorn’s wedding, but she understood how a chieftain must attend his responsibilities. She clapped her hands together and held her fingers to her lips with a smile. He’d be so impressed with her progress. She had a horrible limp, but one day she would grow so strong no one would ever know she’d suffered paralysis.

  Amid one of her daily walks, Gyllis strode along the back of the castle wall-walk, which had a glorious view of Loch Awe. When the ram’s horn sounded, she snapped her head toward the lead guard positioned on the wall across the courtyard, but she couldn’t see beyond the stone battlements. Running her hand over the merlon notches, she hastened her pace. By the time she reached the front of the castle, she gasped to catch her breath.

  Patting her chest with her hand, she peered down the long path that led from the west to the castle. Sean! Horses cantered with haste, flying the Dunollie pennant. Gyllis couldn’t make out the riders, but there was no need. Sean had come at last.

  She raced for the stairwell. Her toe caught on a raised edge of stone. Flinging her arms out, Gyllis grabbed the craggy stone to stop her momentum. Her fingers latched onto the battlement ledge while her body flailed midair. Clenching her teeth, she prepared herself for the jarring impact.

  An arm wrapped around her waist as thick chainmail cut into her back. “’Tis probably best not to try to run yet, lassie,” a gruff voice said.

  Firm hands gripped her shoulders and Gyllis glanced up. Sir Mevan smiled upon her with his careworn face. “My thanks.”

  He knit his thick eyebrows together. “Where are your crutches?”

  “I’ve no longer a need for them.”

  He eyed her like a concerned father. “Then you must take care. It hasn’t been all that long since I carried you to your chamber stricken with the first symptoms of paralysis.”

  She bowed her head and curtsied. “Thank you for reminding me. I shall exercise more care in the future.” Her heart fluttered so fast, she hated to think of slowing her pace before she reached the bottom of the tower stairs. If only she could speed her recovery even more.

  Mevan waved her away and Gyllis limped to the stairwell, using the wall for balance. When finally she arrived in the great hall, Duncan was escorting Angus and a few other Dunollie guardsmen into his solar. She knit her brows and stared at the keep’s double doors. Surely Sean would be among them. Discounting her idea to go to the courtyard and look for Sean’s horse, she hastened to the solar door.

  The voices within were filled with muffled turmoil. She pressed her ear to the door to better hear them.

  “’Tis grave indeed m’lord.” Angus’s weathered baritone was clearer now.

  “The Lord of Lorn is murdered and the Chieftain of Dunollie captured?” Duncan’s voice asked.

  Gyllis clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp. Sean captured? Lorn dead? She couldn’t breathe.

  “Aye. All of Dunstaffnage is under siege.”

  My God, could it be worse?

  “I never on my life thought MacCoul had the wherewithal to follow through with his threats,” Duncan said. “The piss-swilling whoreson.”

  “Not even Sir Sean’s father would have been able to turn a blind eye to Alan’s treachery now.”

  “What say you?” Duncan asked. “Sean’s complaints of his father turning a blind eye are founded?”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  “But why the devil did the old man allow it?”

  “Laird Alan MacDougall swore me to secrecy with his last breath…Please m’lord, consider his given name. If you think on it, you cannot help but guess.”

  After a long moment of silence, Gyllis pressed her ear harder. Mother stepped beside her with an alarmed look and did the same.

  “By God,” Duncan said. “Alan MacDougall sired a bastard?”

  “An elder bastard—one blind with rage and hell-bent on revenge.” Footsteps clamored toward the door. “We’ve no time to waste. We must away to Dunstaffnage at once.”

  Gyllis clutched her arms around her midsection when the door opened, her eyes wide, the two women facing Duncan’s grim stare. Her gaze darted from her brother to Angus. “W-where is Sir Sean?”

  Duncan marched past them. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Och aye, it does.” Gyllis limped beside him with Mother right behind. “I love him. I-I must go to him at once.”

  Duncan pointed to Mevan. “Assemble the guard. We leave within the hour.” Then he grasped Gyllis’s shoulders. “You and I will have words about the source of your ill-grown feelings upon my return.”

  “You cannot leave me here.” She pushed Duncan’s hands away. “I must go.”

  “I ken you’re not daft, sister. What good would a crippled woman be amongst an army of Campbell men?”

  “But—”

  “I said no,” he bellowed. “Your place is here with your mother. Do not make me confine you to quarters.”

  Ma patted Gyllis’s shoulder. “Come, dear, be reasonable. You must leave the fighting to the men.”

  Gyllis clapped a hand over her mouth. Locked in her chamber, she could be of no use to Sean. Worse, she’d be in the dark with no news of the siege. She threw a pleading glance at Angus. “Will Sir Sean be all right?”

  The henchman shook his head, his eyes filled with fear. “I’ve no idea if he’s even
still alive, miss.”

  Gasping, Gyllis could have jumped out of her skin. Tears stung her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Sean was in trouble and she was forbidden to go to him? Surely she could be of help. Somehow. No one could expect her to remain behind. “Duncan, please. I can cook, or mend or…or be a healer.” Her head spun. “I’ve been tended to so much these past months, I’ve had a lifetime of education in the healing arts.”

  Mother grasped Gyllis’s arm and pulled her toward the stairwell.

  “This cannot be happening.” She snapped her gaze to Ma’s face. “If Alan captured Sean, he’ll kill him.”

  She couldn’t breathe. The room started spinning.

  “Fetch Lady Meg,” Mother shouted at a serving maid. “Tell her Gyllis needs a calming tincture.”

  “I do not!” Gyllis wrenched her arm away. Sobbing, she attempted to dash after Duncan, but her knees gave out and she fell, sprawling over the floorboards. “Blast my weakness!” The world was shattering around her and her miserable legs were too weak to withstand it.

  Mother crouched beside Gyllis and patted her back. “I ken how worried you are, but Duncan is right. The men will face Alan MacCoul and rescue Sir Sean.”

  “But what if he’s already dead?” The words caught in her throat as if placed there by Satan. An uncontrollable whimper seeped through her clenched teeth. Every extremity shook. This couldn’t be happening. Sean had to be all right.

  Offering her hand, Mother helped Gyllis up. “If Alan MacCoul kills Sir Sean, he is more of a fool than the lot of us believe. He’ll have nothing with which to bargain.”

  “He may very well be a fool.” Gyllis grasped her mother’s arm and together the two women staggered up the stairs. “The man is consumed by hate.”

  Once inside her chamber, Gyllis still couldn’t breathe. “How can you appear so calm? Sir Sean has been a part of this family for years.”

  Mother gestured to the settee. “It is not that I choose to do nothing. Our role is to wait and pray for not only the Chieftain of Dunollie’s health, but for a quick victory by Duncan and our men so they all return home to their families.” She sat. “Where is Meg with that tincture?”

  Gyllis’s limp became more pronounced as she paced. “I do not need a mind-numbing tonic.” What she needed was to be on a horse heading west.

  “Sit down before you fall,” Mother ordered, her tone growing irritated. She patted the seat beside her. “Come. Let us read The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle. You’ve told me so much about it, I’m anxious to hear the story for myself.”

  Gyllis plopped beside Ma. “I cannot possibly read at a time like this.”

  “Perhaps if I read, the story will help calm you.”

  Gyllis clamped her mouth shut and nodded. She was about to jump out of her skin and Ma wanted to read?

  “You are smitten with Sir Sean,” Mother said, as if she’d just figured it out, but Gyllis knew better than to think her mother dim-witted. And the matron had only returned from Helen’s wedding last eve. Helen had promised to hint at Gyllis’s yen to marry Sean, but Ma was shrewd and Gyllis had best play along. Besides, the woman knew everything that went on under Kilchurn’s eaves. If a pin dropped, Ma would know about it.

  “I care for him. I always have.” Since Sean had not approached Duncan about their engagement, she wouldn’t make such a confession now.

  “And he cares for you,” Mother said. “I am still surprised to know he had your crutches made. I must speak to Duncan about…” her voice trailed off.

  Gyllis chanced a glance in Mother’s direction. “About?”

  Ma batted her hand through the air. “’Tis nothing. This mess with Mr. MacCoul must be settled first. Come, read to me.”

  Before Gyllis opened the book, Meg rushed in, carrying a cup and pitcher. “My heavens. I came as soon as the twins were settled.”

  Gyllis held up her hands. “I do not need a tincture. Ma was overreacting.”

  “I should say not.” Meg poured a cup of her potion. “You must be worried to death. Take this—you’ll feel much better.”

  Gyllis took the cup and grimaced. “I honestly would prefer—”

  “Drink it,” Mother commanded. “We all could use a tot. The lot of us are worried half to death.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gyllis had no idea what time it was when she woke. Meg’s tincture had her dozing before she finished reading the first page of The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle. From her bed, she peered around her chamber. The others must have made it to their rooms because she was alone.

  After lighting the candle, Gyllis slipped out of bed, her toes hitting cold floorboards. It didn’t make a difference that they were in the midst of summer, night air still brought a chill. She gathered the plaid from the foot of her bed and lumbered toward the window embrasure. Pulling aside the furs, a moonbeam glistened blue-white on Loch Awe.

  She strained for a glimpse of the eastern sky. From what she could tell, it was close to midnight. The sun wouldn’t make an appearance for some time. Dropping the curtain, she rubbed her eyes to clear her head from the poppy juice or whatever it was Meg had drugged her with.

  She clutched the plaid tighter around her body and faced the door.

  Then a clammy sensation of dread spread across her skin, so powerful, it was as if a ghost had passed over her soul.

  Gyllis froze.

  “I will imprison you in irons and laugh while your body rots in a dank cave.” The vow Alan swore when Sean defeated him at Beltane rang so clear in her mind, it was as if she’d heard the words spoken aloud right there in her bedchamber.

  Had Alan been planning this even before Sean’s father passed? She clenched her fists. Will Duncan remember? I may limp, but I have a strong mind and I know of no one with a more determined will.

  But traveling alone during the day was dangerous. Who knew how much more perilous the twenty-mile trip would be at night…and for a woman.

  At once she knew what must be done.

  Gyllis hastened to her dressing table and quickly braided her hair. She could not allow anything to impede her determination this time or she’d never spirit past the gate.

  After donning a pair of sturdy boots, she cast the plaid aside. Not even bothering to wrap herself in a dressing gown, she headed for Duncan’s chamber.

  Gyllis cracked open the door and peered inside. The room was so dim, she could scarcely make out the four-poster bed, but she heard breathing. Since they’d been wed, Lady Meg had taken to staying in Duncan’s chamber. They used the adjoining “lady’s” bedchamber for a nursery.

  Slipping inside, Gyllis held up her candle and stared at the bed, watching for any sign of movement. She didn’t dare shut the door. A click of the hasp could ruin her plans. As quietly as she could, she tiptoed to the trunk where Duncan stowed his things, and set the candle on a nearby table.

  The flame didn’t cast much light and the contents of the trunk were dark as a dungeon. Sliding her hands over the clothing on top, then down the sides, grainy leather brushed her fingertips. Breeks. Her heart leapt as she tugged the trousers from beneath the pile. Holding them out, she stepped into the legs, shoving her shift through the waistband. When she released, the breeks slipped low around her hips. Still too large.

  She turned toward the candle and examined the waistline. A cord swung, catching the light. If only I had more experience with men’s garments. She found a matching cord on the other side and tied the breeks snugly around her waist. It felt awkward to have the bulk of her shift scrunched about her hips, but at least the linen filled up some of the extra space. She’d never realized how much larger Duncan was.

  Her eyes adjusting to the dim light, she had an easier time locating a linen shirt—right on top. She pulled it over her head then tugged the laces closed and looked down. The shirt was large enough to hide her bosoms for the most part—and she couldn’t spare the time to bind them. With one last dip into the trunk, she found one of Duncan�
��s quilted doublets. By the musty smell, it had been well worn, but would help conceal her form. She shrugged into the oversized garment and rolled up the sleeves to her wrists.

  Once assembled, she inspected her attire and pointed a toe to the side. I think this will do. Now all I need is a hood. She drummed her fingers against her lips. If only she’d kept her plaid. She’d never seen Duncan wear a hood. He either wore a feathered bonnet as a sign of his barony, or a helm. She picked up the candle and searched inside the trunk one more time, but found nothing resembling a hood.

  Biting her lip, she turned toward the bed. Lady Meg lay on her side with the bedclothes pulled up to her chin. All Gyllis needed to do was walk across the floor and pull the plaid from the footboard.

  Easy enough.

  Taking her first steps proved awkward. She’d never worn a pair of breeks before. The leather chafed her inner thighs. With her next footfall, her ankle twisted. She stumbled toward the bed, but caught herself before she fell. Had that happened a sennight ago, she would have fallen for certain.

  Gyllis held her breath and peered at Lady Meg. By God’s grace, the woman remained sound asleep. Drawing in a calming breath, Gyllis picked up the plaid, bundled it under her arm and headed for the passageway.

  She’d nearly made it to the door when a floorboard creaked loud enough to wake the dead.

  Behind her, the bed rattled and Meg gasped. “Who’s there?” she clipped in a high-pitched voice.

  Gyllis stopped and glanced back.

  Sitting up, Meg had the bedclothes clutched under her chin. “Gyllis? What are you doing?”

  “Nothing—go back to sleep.”

  “Why are you wearing breeks?”

  Gyllis inched toward the door. “Please, just ignore me.”

  “Are those Duncan’s?” Meg crawled across the bed. “What are you planning? I ken that look on your face.”