Lords of the Kingdom

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  On what would be their last day traveling together, Jossalyn checked on Burke’s stitches. The wound was healing rapidly with no lingering sign of infection, so she removed the stitches, declaring that as long as Burke continued to go easy on the leg for a few more days, he would be fine.

  Only a few hours into their ride that morning, the two men halted their horses. The area looked identical to the terrain through which they had been traveling for the last few days, at least to Jossalyn’s untrained eyes. The dense woods had thinned slightly, and there were increasingly more open swaths of land filled with rocky outcroppings and clumps of heather between the stretches of forest. Setting aside the general changes in landscape since they had been traveling north from the Borderlands, Jossalyn didn’t recognize anything different about this place.

  Both men dismounted, and after helping Jossalyn down, Garrick clasped arms with Burke.

  “Travel safely,” Garrick said, his voice a little more gruff that usual.

  “And you as well,” Burke replied.

  Jossalyn looked back and forth between the two men. “What’s going on? Where are you going, Burke?”

  He smiled at her confusion. “I have a different mission to complete, lass. I am needed by my Laird back on Sinclair lands.” He turned to Garrick and went on. “I’ll give your best to your brother and Lady Alwin.”

  “And I’ll tell the Bruce that you nearly gave your life to complete this mission,” Garrick said seriously.

  Jossalyn felt her jaw slacken, her thoughts a jumble. Garrick had a brother? Had she heard right that this mystery brother was the Laird of his clan? And there was some lady named Alwin—but wasn’t that a boy’s name? And Garrick had the personal ear of Robert the Bruce, enough to pass on a good word about Burke? And Burke was leaving them, meaning that they would be alone…

  Garrick watched as Jossalyn’s features clouded with confusion. She opened her mouth, and a flood of half-formed questions began to tumble out, but he held up a hand to still her.

  “We can discuss all this later, lass,” he said firmly, “but right now Burke must be on his way, and we on ours.”

  He could tell she wasn’t happy about it, but she managed to clamp her jaw shut and cross her arms over her chest. He was about to clasp forearms with Burke one last time and turn back to his horse, but Burke grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him several paces away from Jossalyn.

  “What are you—”

  “You two had better be married the next time I see you,” Burke said quietly.

  Though he was normally good at reading people, Garrick couldn’t quite measure out the mixed quantities of amusement and warning in Burke’s voice.

  Garrick raised an eyebrow at his cousin. Even though he knew Burke was a good and honorable man, and that his advice was sound, it irked him to be told what to do.

  “You’re not her father, Burke, nor are you some saint yourself,” he said dryly.

  “Nay, I’m neither, but take the word of a man who regrets not being able to follow his own advice,” Burke replied darkly.

  Garrick frowned but remained silent. He had a vague memory of a boyhood love of Burke’s being married to another, but he didn’t want to pry if the memory was still painful. He didn’t have to, for Burke went on.

  “I once found a lass that I looked at the way I see you looking at Jossalyn. I missed my opportunity with her, though, and I regret it to this day. It is not only the honorable thing for you to wed Jossalyn, but the wise thing if you ever hope to find happiness in your life.”

  Normally, Garrick would have bristled at the way Burke was being so forceful with his advice—or at least he would have teased him for being so philosophical—but Burke’s serious tone gave him pause.

  What was stopping him from asking Jossalyn to marry him? They clearly cared for each other, and they had a spark between them like nothing he had experienced before. He was also starting to truly believe their lives might be compatible. He wanted to use his skills to help the Bruce and the rebellion, and so did she.

  Was it that he still didn’t fully believe that he deserved a lifetime of happiness? Perhaps, though he was coming to trust in Jossalyn’s affection for him, despite his doubts about whether or not he deserved her. The thought of extending his heart to her and being rejected terrified him. Yet taking a shot and missing the target was better than never aiming at all.

  One thing he wasn’t sure of was how the Bruce would respond to the idea of his best marksman getting married. What if he prohibited it on the grounds that it would take Garrick away from his missions? Or forbade it because she was English, and Raef Warren’s sister to boot?

  His struggle must have been visible on his face, for Burke smiled a little and said, “You’ll figure it out, I’m sure. When a Sinclair puts his mind to something, nothing can stop him.”

  Garrick returned his attention to his cousin. “You’re a Sinclair, too, Burke. Perhaps you can find happiness as well.” Though he had been outright hostile over having Burke join him on this mission at first, then only grudgingly accepting of his presence, his cousin had become not only a trusted companion but a friend over the course of these past several weeks. He truly wished him well and hoped he was able to resolve the lingering pain from his mysterious lost love.

  Burke snorted wryly. “Mayhap, though I sometimes fear that we only get one chance at it. Don’t waste yours.”

  The last was spoken seriously, and Garrick nodded soberly in response.

  The two strode back to where the horses and Jossalyn stood. Burke gallantly took Jossalyn’s hand and swept a bow over it, which caused her to smile girlishly. For some reason, this made Garrick frown, but on seeing his dark face, Burke only chuckled and clasped arms with him once more before mounting his horse.

  “Farewell!” Burke called over his shoulder as he urged his horse on, leaving them behind. He still had a few days’ ride ahead of him to get to the farthest northeast corner of the Highlands, where the Sinclairs made their home. Garrick and Jossalyn, on the other hand, were only a few hours away from Inverness. Though the exact location of the Bruce’s camp was not only top-secret but also ever-changing, Garrick knew it would be hidden nearby.

  Garrick mounted Fletch and then helped Jossalyn up, suddenly sensing their aloneness. Should he speak what was on his mind regarding what Burke had said about marriage? He rejected the idea, deciding he would need to speak to the Bruce first. That would also buy him more time to chew on Burke’s words. Besides, they would be at the Bruce’s camp by the end of the day.

  Jossalyn turned slightly in the saddle. “Now will you answer my questions?”

  He smiled a little at her impatience, but also relished the thought of getting to talk more with her alone. “Aye, go ahead lass.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Two, actually.”

  She waited for him to say more, but he was enjoying goading her too much. Finally, she sighed and half-twisted in the saddle to glare at him for a moment.

  “Care to say more?”

  He chortled in amusement but held up a hand for peace when she narrowed her eyes.

  “I have an older brother, Robert, and a younger brother, Daniel. We are all close in age, about a year apart each, which made for a…lively boyhood.”

  “What did Burke mean when he mentioned the Laird of the Sinclair clan?”

  “Robert is the Laird. He was the one who sent Burke and me to gather information around Dunbraes—with the Bruce’s blessing, of course.”

  Garrick didn’t often talk about the fact that his brother was a Laird. He didn’t want the other soldiers in the rebel camp to think he had risen in the Bruce’s ranks because of nepotism. But he was nevertheless proud of his heritage as the descendant and brother of the Laird of a Highland clan. It was perhaps part of the reason he felt so strongly about being a part of Scotland’s fight for independence—he wanted his clan to choose their own destiny and live freely.

  “And what about this ‘Lady
Alwin’? What kind of name is that?”

  Garrick tried to suppress a smile. Was that a hint of suspicion—or even jealousy—in Jossalyn’s voice? Of course, he had told her next to nothing of his life or his family, so he shouldn’t hold it against her that she would feel uncomfortable at the mention of a lady who lived back at his home in Roslin.

  “She is my brother’s wife.” He sensed the slightest shift from her in front of him as she relaxed a hair’s breadth. Then a thought occurred to him. “She’s English, like you.”

  Somehow, his brother and Alwin seemed to make it work, despite their differences in nationality. But there was more to it than that, and suddenly, he felt uncomfortable with the next piece of information, unsure of how Jossalyn would react to it.

  “In fact, she was betrothed to someone else before she married Robert. She was engaged to be married…to your brother.”

  She inhaled sharply and twisted around in the saddle again, pinning him with her green eyes, which were wide with shock. “I had heard rumors, but I never knew…Then she would have been…my sister?” Several emotions flitted across her face. Garrick was only able to pick out surprise, sadness, hope, and confusion from the bunch.

  “What sort of woman is she? Is she kind? Does she love your brother? Why didn’t she marry my brother?”

  “Hold on, lass, one at a time! I’ve only met her once, but I can tell you everything I know.”

  She took a steadying breath and gave a little nod, turning back around in the saddle to face forward so she could listen more comfortably.

  “The circumstances under which Robert and Alwin came to be married are…unusual,” he began. Though bride-stealing and the dissolution of political unions in favor of love matches wasn’t entirely uncommon in the Highlands, he wasn’t sure how she would take it, given her English sensibilities.

  “Alwin was on her way to meet your brother, when Robert…intercepted her and took her for ransom. Your brother gave chase but wasn’t able to take her back. Robert had them wed, and now they are expecting their first child.”

  “So they are happy?”

  Garrick could remember very distinctly how his brother had looked at Lady Alwin, how he doted on her and didn’t seem to mind Garrick’s teasing about what a moon-eyed whelp he was being. Someday, you’ll understand. Robert’s words floated back to him. Perhaps he was coming to comprehend his brother’s behavior.

  “Aye, very much so. Though it was an unusual union to begin with, they are made for each other. She’s as strong and smart as a whip, and he’s become a better Laird for it.”

  She exhaled and slumped slightly in the saddle.

  “What is it, lass?” he said, suddenly confused by her reaction.

  “I’m happy for them, really,” she said, her voice sounding pinched. “In fact, I thank God she didn’t have to marry my brother. Who knows what would have happened to her.” She shivered, but then went on. “It’s just…I didn’t know for sure until you just mentioned it, but I could have had a sister. I know it’s silly, since I never had her in the first place, but now it feels as though I’ve lost her.”

  Unbidden, a thought struck Garrick’s mind like lightning. Jossalyn could still have Alwin as a sister—if he were to marry her. He shook himself a little, trying to get control of his thoughts. But despite his best efforts, the idea of bringing Jossalyn into his family tapped into something deep inside him.

  “Maybe someday you’ll get to meet her,” he said, trying to ease her sadness.

  “Yes, perhaps,” she said, her voice slightly less strained. She gave herself a little shake, then switched topics. “What of your younger brother—Daniel, you said?”

  “I haven’t seen Danny in several years,” he replied with a rueful smile. Despite the fact that his younger brother was the smallest and weakest of them growing up, he always fought the hardest, and sometimes even bested his older brothers. Though Garrick hadn’t gotten to see him in quite some time, his younger brother had already turned into a skilled warrior and powerful leader.

  “He is helping our uncle William run his keep until William’s son can take over. We were all trained to be Lairds, in case something happened to Robert. Danny—Daniel—took to it far better than I did. Perhaps someday he’ll get the opportunity to lead. Not the Sinclairs, of course,” he said quickly, sending up a prayer for Robert’s good health and long reign. “But any other clan or holding would be lucky to have him.”

  She chewed on his words silently for a while, and the quiet of the woods stretched between them peacefully. But Jossalyn apparently had one more line of questioning to put to him.

  “You mentioned that you would tell Robert the Bruce about Burke’s actions. Do you truly have the Bruce’s ear? I mean, I know that he is your commander, but you know him personally?”

  This line of inquiry was a bit harder for him to answer. He still hadn’t told Jossalyn the full extent of his work regarding his close relationship with the Bruce. He wasn’t sure how she would react to learning that he wasn’t just some soldier in the rebellion’s army—he was one of the Bruce’s most trusted and important advisors and marksmen. Garrick was the one the Bruce entrusted with the most dangerous, secretive, and internal missions and information. He wasn’t just some bowman—he was known as the best shot, and a close confidante of the man leading Scotland toward freedom.

  Just as he was about to open his mouth and fumble for an answer, Garrick noticed the forest around them had suddenly gone quiet. It had been peaceful before, but now he couldn’t hear a single bird chirping or fluttering in the trees. He felt his stomach twist.

  Something was very wrong.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jossalyn was waiting patiently for an answer from Garrick, but he was slow with his words. She didn’t mind that trait at all—in fact, she liked that he thought about what he wanted to say, and then said it in a plain way. But her curiosity was getting the better of her, and she was growing impatient.

  Suddenly, he pulled up hard on Fletch’s reins, his body tense behind her.

  “What is—”

  Before she could get her question out, his hand clamped down over her mouth, silencing her. He leaned in very close to her ear.

  “Shhh.”

  She nodded her understanding, and his hand eased away from her mouth. He slipped quickly and quietly from Fletch’s back, but left her perched atop the large warhorse. Then he reached into his saddlebags and withdrew his bow and quiver, smoothly nocking an arrow and half-drawing it.

  “Show yourselves, lads, or get an arrow apiece in the throat for your trouble,” he said loudly into the woods.

  She jerked this way and that, suddenly flooded with terror at the prospect of some unseen and unheard villain lurking nearby—or surrounding them.

  Abruptly, a whistle pierced the air off to their left. Like lightning, Garrick swung his bow toward the whistle, drawing the bowstring all the way back to his cheek. But instead of letting the arrow fly, he sent another whistle of his own back, all the while keeping the arrow trained on a clump of dense trees and shrubs a little way off.

  The shrubs rustled slightly, and from them emerged, to Jossalyn’s horror, a fierce-looking, kilted warrior. He had a large sword strapped to his hip, and though he was still some distance off, she could tell that he was a giant of a man, both tall and broad.

  Garrick kept the tip of his arrow trained on the man, but a rustle from behind them sounded, and he jerked his bow toward the new noise. Another large warrior in a different colored plaid emerged from the branches of a densely foliated tree. He swung down from a tree limb and landed with a thump on the forest floor.

  As if from a nightmare, a third man appeared in front of them, his sheathed sword swinging at his hip as he walked slowly toward them. Jossalyn felt a scream rising in her throat. Even though she knew that Garrick was an excellent shot, it was three against one, and these savage-looking men appeared battle-hardened and deadly.

  The sound of Garrick’s laug
h snuffed out her terror like a bucket of water over a fire. The sound startled her, for she had never heard him fully laugh before—he would chuckle, or snort, but never all-out laugh. That is, until they were surrounded by Scottish warriors looking murderous.

  To her shock, the other men moving in on them also broke out into hearty laughter.

  “Garrick! Garrick Sinclair! We were expecting to see that sorry, red-plaided arse of yours a week ago! What took you so long?” bellowed the giant who had revealed himself first.

  Garrick finally lowered his arrow and released the tension on the bowstring. He replaced the arrow inside his quiver and slung the quiver, along with his bow, over one shoulder.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Angus,” Garrick said lightly.

  When the giant had reached Garrick, he thumped him heartily on the back, a blow which should have sent Garrick flying, but he braced himself for it.

  “Apologies for the welcoming party,” the man approaching from behind said with a boyish grin. “Can’t be too careful these days.”

  “I was expecting to ride several more hours before reaching camp,” Garrick replied, turning to grasp forearms with the sandy-haired young man who had just spoken.

  “We moved,” the third man said tersely as he halted in front of Fletch.

  Garrick only exchanged quick nods with this man, whose dark eyes continually darted between Garrick and Jossalyn.

  Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who had noticed her.

  “And who is this radiant vision of a lass with you?” the one called Angus said in a hushed tone.

  He was gazing up at her with wide eyes, and for some reason, Jossalyn had to suppress a giggle rising in her chest. No one as fierce-looking as the giant warrior in front of her should attempt gallantry or genteel manners. It was too incongruous.