The Knight's Temptress (Lairds of the Loch)

by Amanda Scott

  “Mayhap they are royal men-at-arms, escorting the duchess,” Lizzie said.

  “Or rebel forces in such number that they fear no one,” Lina replied. She felt in her bones that soldiers were more likely than the duchess.

  “It could as easily be my father, returning from Dunglass,” Lizzie said.

  “I hope it is,” Lina declared. “You’ll be well served if he finds us here, aye?”

  Lizzie grimaced.

  Peter said, “We mun turn back. If we set our horses tae a gallop—”

  “They will give chase,” Lina said flatly. “We cannot outrun them, Peter. Our horses are not fresh. Theirs may be.”

  “We are noblewomen,” Lizzie said, tossing her head. “They won’t harm us.”

  Lina nearly contradicted her. But she decided that she would be wiser to let Lizzie believe what she wanted to believe.

  Meeting Peter’s worried gaze, Lina said, “Ride into that copse yonder above us, Peter. They won’t hear just one horseman on that grassy slope. But they would hear three. Nay, do not waste time arguing,” she added when he opened his mouth. “They’ve not yet seen us, and that copse is dense enough to conceal you and your horse. Also, whoever they are, they are unlikely to interfere with us.”

  “But, m’lady—”

  “Go,” Lina said. “If they are enemies, you may be our only hope of rescue.”

  Without another word, Peter wrenched his horse’s head toward the hillside and spurred hard. He disappeared into the trees just as Lina caught sight of the first mounted riders through the woodland foliage ahead.

  “Don’t you dare look toward that copse again, Lizzie Galbraith,” she said fiercely, trying to think. “They fly a Stewart banner. But it is not a royal one.”

  “Oh, Lina, what have I done?” Biting her lip, Lizzie watched the path ahead.

  Minutes later, rebel men-at-arms surrounded them.

  Dunglass Castle, that afternoon

  “We must plan the attack on Dumbarton for well after midnight when they’ll least expect it,” eighteen-year-old Adam Colquhoun said eagerly to his older brother when they had finished their midday meal. “We can secure the royal burgh, Ian. But I don’t know how we’ll get an army up that rock to win back the castle. It’s two hundred feet high with only that one devilish steep road on the north side.”

  Sir Ian shook his head but smiled at Adam, whose dark hair, light-blue eyes, and lanky body mirrored his own. Their younger brother, Eric, fostering with cousins in Leith, had fair hair like their sisters. “We’ll think of a way,” Ian said. “In fact, I’ve carried out some of my best gambits in broad daylight,” he added, shifting his gaze from Adam to the two older men seated with them at the high table.

  The rest of Dunglass Castle’s cavernous great hall was empty.

  “Broad daylight!” Adam exclaimed. “But—”

  “Hush now, lad,” the Laird of Colquhoun interjected. “Ye’ve put your finger on the most vexing obstacle to retaking Dumbarton from that nest of villains. But Ian is the man his grace ordered to reclaim the royal burgh and castle and return them to the Crown. Let him have his say.”

  Smiling at his father, Ian said, “I do expect to draw considerably on your wisdom, sir. And Sir Arthur’s,” he added, looking at the Laird of Galbraith.

  Galbraith acknowledged his words with a dignified nod.

  “Sithee, the enemy will be much stronger than we are,” Ian went on. “So we must avoid head-on battle. Also, we don’t know who amongst the Loch Lomond lairds will be with us and who will not, whatever any of them may tell us.”

  Galbraith said, “I own, lad, I’m of a mixed mind about this venture. Ye ken fine that my son Patrick has long served James Mòr Stewart and stands now with him against the King. And Rory, my heir, serves the Duchess of Albany. She has even more reason than James Mòr to loathe the King. After all, he beheaded not only her husband and two of her three sons but also her eighty-year-old father.”

  “True, sir,” Ian said. “But Lennox and James Mòr did betray Jamie. And you also have one son who is loyal to him. I’m hoping that, even if you cannot actively support us, you will do nowt to prevent our success.”

  “My view is still that the King of Scots is chief of chiefs,” Galbraith said. “So I can make ye that promise. Forbye, I’m thinking your sire may have qualms about this undertaking, Ian. He aye puts peace above all else, does he not?”

  Shifting his gaze to Colquhoun, he added with a slight smile, “What say ye, Humphrey? Art willing to wage war to help reclaim Dumbarton for Jamie Stewart?”

  Colquhoun shrugged. “I’m much less willing to let James Mòr Stewart seize control of the river that flows by this castle, not to mention the entire Firth of Clyde,” he said. “He would then control the route from here to Glasgow. And to the sea.”

  “He has apparently made no such attempt yet,” Galbraith pointed out.

  “Only because he lacks men skilled enough to manage Dumbarton’s boats in battle against others,” Colquhoun said. “Forbye, such boatmen as they do have are nearly all lads who served under our own Gregor Colquhoun. They swore fealty to James Mòr only to save their hides after he murdered Gregor and seized the castle.”

  “Also true,” Ian said grimly. “The first thing I’ll do after reclaiming Dumbarton is hang any man who served my cousin Gregor whilst he was captain of the guard there but who refuses to aid me now.”

  “And I’ll help you do it,” declared a deep voice from the rear of the hall.

  Recognizing the voice as that of Galbraith’s youngest and largest son, Ian leaped to his feet, exclaiming, “Maggy! You’re back!”

  “As you see,” the big man said as he strode across the hall toward them.

  They had been riding hither and yon, and Lady Lachina’s stomach was growling. Neither she nor Lizzie had eaten since breaking their fast that morning.

  Their captors, numbering nearly a score and riding two-by-two before and behind them, apparently had their own food and water with them. Lina had seen several of them pull out bread, salted meat, or a flask as they rode.

  Casting an oblique look at Lizzie, Lina saw that she was exerting herself to look calm. She had been silent for nearly half an hour after prattling nonstop before then without caring who might hear her. She had complained about the dastardly nature of their capture, the likelihood of her father’s violent reaction, and what—in vivid detail—Galbraith would do to punish the men when he caught them.

  Lizzie’s expression froze then, her gaze fixed somewhere ahead of her.

  Shifting her own gaze accordingly, Lina saw that the troop’s leader was looking over his shoulder at them.

  Just then he winked.

  His audacity stopped Lina’s breath in her throat. She looked at Lizzie.

  The younger girl, blushing deeply, looked down at her horse’s mane.

  Having seen how flirtatious Lizzie could be, Lina said evenly, “Don’t encourage such conduct from any of these men, Liz. They are not our friends.”

  “I know,” Lizzie muttered, still staring at her horse’s mane. She looked at Lina. “He is very handsome, though, is he not?”

  Honesty forbade denial. The leader was a good-looking man perhaps eight or a dozen years older than they were. He wore no hat or helmet and had tied back his dark hair with a string, so one could easily see his strong jaw line, firm chin, and well-formed lips. Lina noted, too, that his nose was admirably straight, his thick-lashed eyes set deep and well apart. Nevertheless, he gave her chills.

  “Lizzie,” she said sternly, “one does not flirt with a man who has taken one prisoner. These men must be some of the rebels who seized Dumbarton.”

  Lizzie shrugged. “What if they are?” she asked. “Is not my brother Patrick also one of those rebels? He has served James Mòr for years, after all. That is why I told these men who I am when they accosted us.”

  “You would have identified me, too, had I not interrupted you,” Lina reminded her. Glancing around to be sure n
o one was near enough to hear her over the noise of horses and riders, she added quietly, “You must not tell them who I am, Liz. Recall that my father’s sworn enemy Pharlain is in league with James Mòr. They both took part in the ill-fated coup a few months ago, when enemies tried to seize his grace’s throne. Perhaps you don’t realize that Pharlain is also the man who murdered my three brothers just before Andrena was born, when he usurped Father’s chiefdom and seized Arrochar, his primary estate.”

  “Well, Pharlain is not here, and our Patrick will soon sort this out,” Lizzie said confidently. “When Patrick hears what these men have done, he will make them take us home. Meantime, Lina, it cannot hurt to be nice to their leader. He will be kinder to us if we are kind to him, I think.”

  Dryly, Lina said, “Had he been at all nice in his ways, he would have left us alone. He would not have dragged us around the countryside with him as he has.”

  “Why do you think he is doing that?”

  “To complete whatever mission his superiors assigned him today, I expect. Parading themselves as they have, daring anyone to challenge them, these men must be making a show of force to frighten local residents.”

  “Perhaps, aye,” Lizzie said, looking ahead again and then back at Lina with a twinkle. “That villain is still watching us. He does have a charming smile.”

  “Aye, sure he does,” Lina said, thinking swiftly. “Such men think they have only to smile at a woman to make her swoon at their feet, Liz. Doubtless they also imagine they can bend any lass to their ill-doings just as easily.”

  “Do they?” Lizzie said, lifting her pointed little chin.

  “So my lady mother has said. Come to that,” Lina added, remembering, “Andrena told me that your brother Mag once threw a man into the Loch of the Long Boats for too impudently flirting with her.”

  Lizzie’s eyes sparkled. “Faith, I’d like to have seen that.”

  Silence fell again, and a short time later, they emerged from the woods. In the distance, Dumbarton Castle sat high atop what Lina knew, from visits by galley to Dunglass and Glasgow, was a solitary but massive rock fully a mile around. From the firth, the sight had taken her breath away. Now it depressed her.

  She had no faith in Patrick Galbraith’s ability to help them, because lacking power in his own right, he was not one of the rebel leaders. Nor was rescue likely to come from their erstwhile hostess, Lizzie’s paternal aunt, the lady Margaret Galbraith of Bannachra. Lady Margaret was unmarried, irritable, and rather elderly.

  Lady Margaret did have men-at-arms to guard her, but they were too few to send any after two young women whose own disobedience had put them in danger.

  Although Lina had glanced back several times, she had seen no sign of Peter and feared that he might have ridden back to Inch Galbraith or even as far as Tùr Meiloach to get help. No one would know where she and Lizzie were.

  Her sisters’ images suddenly loomed large in her mind.

  Andrena was on the Ayrshire coast, Muriella at Bannachra with their mother and the lady Margaret. Just thinking of her sisters stirred fresh trepidation in Lina. One, if not both, might try to find her and would thus put herself in peril. Each of the three of them could sense when another was sick or in deep trouble.

  And if this wasn’t deep trouble…

  Dunglass

  As Mag Galbraith stepped onto the dais, Ian said, “I’m glad to see you, Maggy. I was sure you’d be gone for at least a fortnight. Yet nobbut five days have passed since you left. You did not bring Lady Dree back, too, did you?”

  “Andrena will be content for a time with my sister Wilhelmina,” Mag said, shaking Ian’s hand. “You said you were inviting local lairds and knights to meet us. I expected to see many here by now.”

  “Sakes, I sent messages out only a few days ago! But Rob MacAulay will join us. And one or two Buchanans will come if only to learn what we’re up to. Jamie said we can count on some Border lords to help, too.”

  Nodding, Mag turned to shake hands with Colquhoun and Adam, leaving his father for last.

  Galbraith stood when Mag moved to greet him. “ ’Tis good to see ye, lad,” he said, clapping him on the back. “We’ve a dilemma here, as ye doubtless ken fine.”

  “I know that Jamie wants Ian to take back Dumbarton, sir,” Mag said. “I know, too, that our Patrick is with James Mòr. But Patrick chose his road. Forbye, if he knew that James Mòr intended to betray the King, I ken fine that he said nowt of it to you. Rory sets us another problem,” he added.

  “Rory is my heir and knows his duty,” Galbraith said. “But ye’re right. He does divide his loyalties between Clan Galbraith and what remains of the House of Albany.”

  “Which is to say the Duchess of Albany,” Mag said. Turning back to Ian, he said, “What do you hope to accomplish with this meeting of yours? From what I saw of Dumbarton, journeying to the Ayrshire coast and back, James Mòr controls the royal burgh, its harbor, and the castle. His position looks impregnable.”

  “We’ll find a way,” Ian said. “We must just figure out what it is. Forbye, before we can act, we must know more. But I do have some ideas for us to consider.”

  The other four men willingly agreed. And, although they dismissed several of his ideas as being foolhardy—albeit typical of Ian, a notorious risk-taker—they deemed three or four worthy of further consideration. They were discussing how to present those possibilities to the other men who would join them, when a Colquhoun man-at-arms entered with a young chap at his heels and said to Colquhoun, “Forgive us, laird. This lad begs urgent speech wi’ ye.”

  Ian did not recognize the newcomer. But Mag leaped up, brow furrowed with concern, and exclaimed, “Peter Wylie! What brings you here, lad?”

  The dismay on Peter’s face made it plain that he had not expected to see Mag. But he recovered swiftly, saying, “ ’Tis glad I am tae see ye, Sir Mag. This were the nearest place I knew tae come. But…”

  When he hesitated, Ian said impatiently, “What is it? Who is this chap, Mag?”

  “I be Peter Wylie, Sir Ian, from Tùr Meiloach. But I were at Bannachra this morning. If ye’ll permit me, I should speak privately wi’ Sir Magnus.”

  Before Ian could object, Mag said, “Tell us all, lad. We’re with friends here.”

  “It be their ladyships, sir,” Peter said, darting an anxious glance at Galbraith.

  “Which ladyships?” Ian demanded, drawing Peter’s gaze back to himself.

  Swallowing visibly, Peter glanced at Galbraith and Mag again before he met Ian’s gaze and said, “The ladies Elizabeth Galbraith and Lachina MacFarlan, sir. Rebels captured them near the woods at the southwest end o’ Loch Lomond.”

  “The devil they did!” Ian exclaimed. An image of the lady Lachina leaped to his mind’s eye: a slender lassock with long golden plaits, whom he had first met a decade ago when he was fourteen and she a too-dignified eight.

  “Where were you, Peter?” Mag asked ominously.

  Looking wretched but speaking firmly, Peter said, “See you, sir, we were tae ride only as far as the loch. But the lady Elizabeth rode off tae see if the duchess were at Inchmurrin yet. Lady Lina shouted for her tae—”

  Noting Mag’s frown, Ian hastily interjected, “We know the lady Elizabeth, Peter. But you fail to answer Sir Magnus’s question. If you were with them…”

  More wretchedly than ever, Peter chose to address a point between Ian and Mag, saying, “See you, we heard men and horses ahead o’ us in the woods, and Lady Lina ordered me tae take cover, lest they be enemies.”

  “Why did not all of ye take cover?” Galbraith demanded.

  “She said we must not, that they’d hear three horses but might miss one. By my troth, laird, them villains never looked my way. They had eyes only for their ladyships. They surrounded them and turned back the way they’d come. So I followed them.”

  “What else did you see?” Mag asked. “Did they harm either of them?”

  “They rode hither and yon, just showing theirselves an
d their arms now and now. I saw nowt else save they ended at Dumbarton. When we reached the flatlands betwixt the castle rock and the woods, I stopped in the woods beside the river Leven. But I saw them ride up that steep track and in through the castle gates.”

  “This changes things,” Ian said grimly.

  “It does, aye,” Mag agreed with a thoughtful look.

  “We need more information straightaway,” Ian said. “You and I—”

  “Nay, lad, I’m for Ayrshire again, straightaway,” Mag said.

  “For Ayrshire!” Ian and Galbraith exclaimed as one voice.

  Ian added curtly, “Mag, Lizzie’s your sister. You and I can sneak over…”

  But Mag was shaking his head, and Ian detected a twinkle in his eyes before Mag said, “You’re daft if you think I can sneak anywhere, lad. I’m too big. Forbye, one factor exists of which you have no ken or don’t credit if you do. My Andrena shares so strong a bond with her sisters that each one knows when another meets danger. If Dree is not already on her way back, she soon will be.”

  “Certes,” Ian said, “your good-brother would stop her.”

  “She’d come despite him,” Mag said. “Forbye, before I left, she informed me that I’m soon to become a father. She hadn’t told me before, because she knew I wanted her to meet Wilhelmina. The only thing that might keep Andrena from leaving is if she knows that I’ll come for her. So I must.” He shifted his gaze to his father. “As you know, sir, if the lady Aubrey has not locked young Muriella up or tied her down, she, too, will be seeking a way to reach Lina.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Galbraith said. “I took them all to Bannachra when I got Ian’s message. You fetch Andrena. We’ll see to things here.”

  Mag said in a near growl, “If Patrick lets anyone harm Lizzie—”

  “He won’t,” Galbraith said.

  Ian could tell that Galbraith was not as sure as he sounded. A glance at Mag told him that he had even less faith in Patrick than his father did.

  Ian thought again of the lady Lachina. He had seen little of her for years and had often teased her in the past, when she, Andrena, and their lady mother had stayed with the Colquhouns on their way to visit kinsmen. Lina had often expressed disapproval of him, with good cause. But he had liked her nonetheless.