Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  With a groan, Gyllis shook out the plaid and draped it over her head. “I cannot sit in my chamber and wait for news of Sir Sean. The worry alone will kill me.”

  “You’re not planning to spirit to Dunstaffnage by yourself?”

  “What else can I do?”

  Meg crossed her arms and affected a disapproving frown. “’Tis dangerous.”

  “If anyone in this entire household would understand, ’tis you. Goodness, I remember when you drugged your guard to help Duncan escape from Edinburgh gaol.”

  She tsked her tongue. “Aye, but that was different.”

  “Was it?” Gyllis spread her palm to her side. “How can you say that? Do you know how much I love Sean? Remaining in my chamber is torture. I’ve no idea if he’s injured or…or, I can’t say it. If I do nothing I will go completely mad.”

  Meg slid off the bed and walked toward her. “If you must go, you should take a guard.”

  “Why, so he can lock me in my chamber—listen to Duncan and Mother’s every word?”

  “Heaven’s stars. You should look at yourself. You’ve been ill for so long.” Her eyes dropped to Gyllis’s legs. “You still have a limp—still weak.”

  Meg’s words only served to cement Gyllis’s determination. Everyone would cite her illness as reason for her to be cosseted in her chamber. No one would allow her the freedom she needed. She reached for Meg’s deformed hand—the claw, she called it. “Of all others in this family who should be able to sympathize with me, ’tis you.” Meg had been mollycoddled by her family and feared by society because of her hand.

  Meg tugged her claw away and rubbed it. “Will you not wait until morning?”

  “Nay. I cannot risk someone seeing me.”

  “Very well.” Meg took Gyllis’s candle and headed toward the garderobe. “Then I will go with you.”

  Gyllis hobbled after her. She wouldn’t make it far without that candle. “What about the bairns? You cannot leave.”

  Meg stepped into a kirtle and began tying the laces. “It shan’t be but for a few days. The nurse will look after Elizabeth and Colin. Besides, this gives me an excuse to see Duncan—he may need a healer—and he’s been away ever so much during my confinement.”

  “Oh no, I cannot in good conscience approve of this. What if something happened to you? Duncan would never forgive me.”

  Meg pulled a cloak over her shoulders. “Either we go together or I raise the alarm now.”

  “You are wicked.” Gyllis clapped a hand to her chest. “I’d die if you were hurt. How can I convince you to stay?”

  “You cannot.” Meg tugged another black cloak from a peg. “This is Duncan’s. It’ll be more concealing than that plaid you’ve got draped over your head. Put it on whilst I pen a missive to Lady Margaret. If we go without leaving word, she’ll send all of Argyllshire after us.”

  Gyllis hadn’t thought to leave a note, but she wondered if Mother wouldn’t send an army to bring them back regardless. But then, Duncan was surrounded by his elite guard and Gyllis couldn’t worry about Ma’s reaction now. She would not return to Kilchurn until Sean was found.

  On their way out, Meg insisted they stop by the kitchen and fill a satchel with oatcakes and fetch a flagon of watered wine. What they hadn’t counted on was the guard watching them approach the stables.

  “What are you doing up at this hour, m’lady?” he asked of Meg, crossing his arms.

  Meg’s intelligent eyes flashed toward Gyllis. Mayhap it was a blessing Duncan’s spirited wife opted to come along. “Fetch Mevan. We’ve an urgent message for Lord Duncan and need an escort to Dunstaffnage this night.”

  The man didn’t move. “Can you not send a messenger? ’Tis dangerous to travel at night.”

  “You heard me. I’ll not tolerate your impertinence. You will fetch Mevan or I will be forced to do it myself, after which, I will assure you, I’ll assign you to the very unsavory task of cleaning the middens.”

  The guard gave her a good stare and then dropped his arms to his sides. “I’ll wake him, m’lady, but he will not be happy about it.”

  Gyllis waited until the man was out of earshot. “I thought we said no guards. Mevan is liable to wake Mother.”

  Meg grinned and held up her finger. “He won’t if he is with us.”

  “Now I ken why Duncan says your spirit matches the color of your hair.”

  After they’d ventured into the stables, Mevan marched in, growling under his breath. “What is this, you need to take a message to Duncan? If you have something urgent to say, it would be best delivered by a messenger.”

  Lady Meg faced him with her fists on her hips. “I am the lady of this keep and when the lord is away, you will do my bidding. Miss Gyllis and I have business to attend at Dunstaffnage, and that is all you need to know.”

  The big knight pursed his lips. “Very well. If it cannot wait until morning, you ladies will need spirited horses—ones that can outrun an attack if need be.”

  Lady Meg bowed her head. “I will leave that to your wisdom. Please select horses you deem suitable.”

  Mevan looked a bit less grumpy after her acquiescence. But then he assessed Gyllis with a guffaw. “Might I suggest Miss Gyllis remain behind?”

  She stepped toward him. “I will not. I can ride far better than I can walk.”

  Mevan frowned dubiously.

  “She must come along,” Meg argued. “Now let us saddle the horses.”

  Gyllis could have slammed her fist into the henchman’s big nose. She’d been right to try to slip away without anyone knowing. If Meg weren’t there she wouldn’t have made it out of the stable. And how dare Mevan look at her as if she were an invalid, of no use whatsoever?

  Mevan held up a dagger. “You’d best take this. If anyone makes a go for you, slam it into his wrist like this.” He demonstrated with a downward strike.

  Gyllis nodded and accepted the knife while Meg armed herself with a bow and quiver of arrows—though she had a crippled hand, Meg was an excellent markswoman, using her “claw” to pull back the bowstring.

  Once mounted, Mevan took the lead, holding a torch. “We’ll ride at a walk.”

  Gyllis’s mount skittered sideways. The fine-boned colt couldn’t be more than two. He whinnied and snorted through his big nostrils. “This fella wants to run.”

  “Rein him in and he’ll follow my warhorse. With luck on our side, we’ll disappoint the colt and arrive at Dunstaffnage without incident.”

  Gyllis kept the horse’s head down, and as Mevan said, the colt followed his gelding. Though angry at their slow pace, at least they were on their way, and at this rate, she estimated they’d reach the castle about dawn. Thank heavens Sean had run the outlaws out of Fearnoch Forest. Their journey should be a smooth one.

  ***

  The witching hour, they called it. Gyllis could barely keep her eyes open and the sway of the horse did nothing to help her stay awake. Ahead, Meg was hunched over and Gyllis suspected she was asleep. But Mevan sat tall in the saddle, still holding the torch to light their way.

  Fortunately, the moon peeked through the wisps of clouds sailing above to help light the path. The eerie night shrouded the forest with dark blue hues.

  He was a good man, Mevan. He’d been loyal to the Campbells for years. Mother never traveled without him. Regardless if he’d questioned Gyllis’s abilities, he’d still done their bidding and she formed a new respect for the old henchman.

  Something flickered out of the corner of her eye. Gyllis peered into the shadows and squinted. She saw it again—something shiny caught the light from Mevan’s torch, perhaps twenty paces away. The more she stared, the clearer it became. Someone was following them. Someone clad in a breastplate with a very large sword.

  “Outlaws!” she screeched, demanding a gallop from her horse.

  Meg bolted upright and followed.

  Mevan glanced back and cast the torch aside. “We’ll outrun them,” he bellowed.

  In the blink of an eye, t
he trio sped through the wood with Gyllis in the lead. She hoped to God her horse knew the way, because the path was flying past so quickly, she couldn’t be sure of each twist and turn.

  “Faster!” Mevan bellowed from the rear.

  Gyllis slapped her crop against the horse’s rump. “Run for your life, you wee beasty!”

  The forest thinned and the path became clearer in the moonlight. Gyllis dared a glance behind. Meg was close on her heels, the whites of her eyes round as silver coins. Mevan had replaced the torch with his sword, but Gyllis didn’t see the outlaw. No matter, she didn’t slow to give the blackguard an opportunity to catch up.

  When Gyllis recognized the farmhouse on the outskirts of the village, she slowed her horse to a trot and Mevan rode in beside her. “’Tis safe now, lass.”

  The sky had turned violet with the coming dawn and the old guard smiled a weathered grin. Gyllis returned his grin. “Thank you, sir knight. Your assistance will not go unrewarded.”

  He tipped his head. “My reward is your safety, Miss Gyllis. I carried the pails of hot water on the day of your birth whilst your mother labored. You may not be aware of it, but you’re as dear to me as my own children.”

  She stared at his back as he rode ahead and led them into the encampment. Yes, the old guard was a good man and now she knew why her mother trusted him with their lives.

  ***

  After they found Duncan’s tent and Meg announced their arrival, Gyllis’s brother shoved the flap aside and glared at them both. Gyllis could have sworn a fire flickered in his dark eyes, his black hair mussed by sleep, all the while his face grew redder until his angry stare focused on Meg. “What the devil were you thinking? Why are you here? What about the twins? How could you have ridden all that way in the dark of night?”

  Gyllis stammered. “I…we…” did he have to look so exceedingly angry?

  “Are those my clothes?” Duncan snatched the hem of his—Gyllis’s doublet. “Merciful holy Christ—”

  “Stop.” Meg held up her hands. “If you’d take a breath, I might gain a fleeting moment to explain.”

  He rolled his hand with a heated, yet expectant look.

  “Firstly, the bairns will be fine in their nurse’s arms for a few days, especially with your mother’s constant doting. Besides, I can be of more use to you here—”

  “We must find Sir Sean,” Gyllis interrupted.

  “Tell me something I do not already know.” Duncan’s steely gaze shifted her way. “Alan MacCoul has him in Dunstaffnage’s dungeon.”

  Gyllis wrung her hands. “I do not believe so.”

  Duncan guffawed with his sneer. “So you think you know better than a dozen witnesses? Does wearing my clothing suddenly make you an expert?” He frowned, looking her over from head to toe. “Stay here. I’ll fetch the guard to take you home.” He started away and shook his finger. “But you’ll be taking good men away from their posts.”

  “We are not leaving,” Lady Meg called after him, but he proceeded on, marching like he was mad enough to kick a wounded dog.

  Meg grasped Gyllis’s arm. “You know something.”

  She drew in a ragged breath and nodded. “I remembered what Alan MacCoul said when he and Sean fought at Beltane—told him he would watch Sean die in irons whilst rotting in a cave.”

  “Why did you not tell Duncan?”

  “If he’d given me a chance, I would have—but he wouldn’t listen anyway. He never listens to me.” Gyllis peered over her shoulder. “I must find Angus. He’ll help me.”

  “Go. I’ll set Duncan’s priorities. Do what you must.”

  Gyllis caught her hand. “Thank you.”

  ***

  The morning’s mist had begun to lift while Gyllis hastened through the camp, searching for the MacDougall pennant. She stumbled over an exposed tree root. Stutter-stepping, she tried to catch her balance, but her legs wouldn’t work fast enough. With a yelp, she fell hands-first. Pain shot up through her wrists. Clenching her teeth, she rubbed them.

  “Bloody Christmas, stumbling over a wee branch?” a deep voice cursed behind her. “Were you in your cups all night, lad?”

  Gyllis blinked, remembering she looked more lad than lass. She tugged the hood lower over her forehead. “Nay. The nasty thing caught the tip of my boot,” she said in her deepest voice.

  The man walked around front of her, but Gyllis kept her head low and stared at his feet. “You’re just a lad. What is your business here? You could be hurt.”

  “I’ve a message for Angus, the MacDougall henchman.”

  “Oh do you now?” The man offered a weathered hand. “Then you best be telling me what it is.”

  “’Tis only for his ears.” As she took his hand, Gyllis peered out from under her hood and gasped.

  With a startled gasp, Angus tugged her up and stepped forward. “Miss Gyllis, what are you doing here? All matter of harm could befall you. This is an army camp—no place for a lady.”

  She stamped her foot. “That is why I’m dressed as a man.”

  “I’m afraid your disguise will not protect you for long. You’re too bonny to mistake for a lad.”

  Gyllis swallowed her smile. She’d seen a bonny lad or two in her lifetime. Not that Sean looked feminine—but heaven help her, that he was bonny was not to be argued. She cupped a hand alongside her mouth so she’d not be overheard. It wouldn’t be surprising if there were spies about. “Do you know of a cave nearby?”

  “Aye, there are a few.”

  “Any that are secluded where a man wouldn’t be found—perhaps on Dunollie land?”

  Angus wrapped his fingers around his greying beard and tugged. “I don’t ken…I seem to recall a cave on Kerrera—in the Firth of Lorn just south of the castle. On a clear day you can see it from the shore. But ’tis just an undeveloped island. There’s nothing on it.”

  “Kerrera? That must be it.” She grasped his arm and recited Alan MacCoul’s threat.

  Angus continued to scratch his beard. “Aye, but everyone saw Alan’s men haul him into the castle.”

  “Did you see this as well?”

  “Nay, I was patrolling the forest when the attack happened.”

  “Is it impossible for Alan to have spirited Sean to Kerrera?”

  “Well, nothing’s impossible, I suppose.” Angus glanced in the direction of Duncan’s tent. “But the Lord of Glenorchy is planning an attack soon, cannons should be arriving from Castle Stalker in a day. Once we storm the castle, we’ll find the chieftain, I’m certain of it.”

  “Cannons?” Gyllis peered through the trees at the Dunstaffnage battlements. “Is that why we haven’t driven them out yet?”

  “We’ve tried.” He pointed. “Every time we move within shooting distance, the bastards rain arrows upon us. Duncan also sent a missive to the Earl of Argyll requesting more targes to protect our men on the battering ram.”

  “When will the shields arrive?”

  “Today, God willing.”

  “Please.” Gyllis clasped her palms together. “All I ask is that we sail to Kerrera to look in the cave. You’ll be back before Duncan even discovers you’re missing.”

  “I’d like to help you, lass, but Sean MacDougall is shivering in Dunstaffnage’s dungeon—not in the bloody cave on Kerrera. I can feel it in my bones.” He grasped her elbow. “Come, I’ll take you to your brother and he can organize an escort to take you home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Two days. Sean licked his bleeding lips with a coarse and dry tongue. Another day without water and he’d be dead for certain. Everything ached. The rivets knifing into his flesh had already worn ulcers. His neck was stiff. Even the slightest movement of his chin caused a jabbing pain that made his teeth ache.

  Immobile, the irons affixed to the cave wall, he had a sense of how Christ had suffered on the cross.

  The ulcers and aches Sean could bear, but thirst consumed his mind. The cold and damp were but a minor inconvenience compared to his need for water. T
he ceaseless dripping behind him tortured his tongue to the point where Sean tried to lick moisture from the iron bar across his mouth.

  Mucous drained from his nose, yet he was helpless to wipe it, helpless even to tend to his most basic needs. His skin chafed and the odor of his own piss mixed with the stench of rotting seaweed around him plagued his guts with the urge to heave.

  Sean closed his eyes and willed himself to think of Gyllis. Her memory calmed him. Taking in a shaky breath, he pictured her long chestnut tresses when they caught the wind. His fingers could feel the silkiness of her hair, his cracked lips the pillow-softness of her mouth. If only he could travel back in time to the carefree days at Ardchattan when they would sit together in the garden.

  Two miserable days had passed with nary a soul in sight. The only sounds were the surf and the damned water dripping and trickling under his feet.

  If only he’d spent more time with Gyllis. If only he could hold her in his arms—one more time before he perished.

  God on the cross, no wonder Alan MacCoul had killed Fraser. Sean would have been much better prepared if he’d known what his half-brother had planned. And by God, he should have been more forceful with Duncan. The Lord of Glenorchy had always respected Sean’s intuition in the past. He should have stood his ground. Sean recounted his visit to Kilchurn over and over. He’d succumbed to his own foolish pride by not insisting Duncan and the enforcers attend Lorn’s wedding. He’d played down the threats and the raids. Deep in his soul he’d known Alan MacCoul was behind it all. But he’d been too proud to admit it to Duncan—too proud to ask for the Lord of Glenorchy’s help because he was a friend. If he’d been honest and presented the depth of his concerns, Duncan would have supported the MacDougalls without question. After all, he’d dedicated his life to Duncan and his father—served in the Highland Enforcers to maintain order for King James.

  And now here he was, the feared knight, wrapped in irons, pinned to the wall, unable to wipe the snot from his face.

  A water rat watched him from across the cave.

  “Be gone with you.” Sean’s voice was so dry it painfully grated in his voice box.