A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book)

by Amy Jarecki

  Duncan squeezed past him. “If you do not mind, I shall be on my way.” Without looking back, he strode across the courtyard. At least the brute was a simpleton. Had he a lick of sense, he would have suspected Duncan of examining the postern gate, not trying to pinch food.

  Duncan met his father in the great hall. As in all large castles, a number of people amassed. Most guests served the earl, many of them fighting men. Duncan had been in more precarious situations, though on this sortie something didn’t sit well with him—many things, actually.

  The big man who’d caught him at the back gate stood beside the man-at-arms, and together they eyed Duncan and his father as they proceeded to the dais. His visit to the rear gate would no longer be a secret.

  The henchman frowned and stroked his fingers down his beard. He suspects something.

  Across the hall, Duncan’s men sat at a modest table, one far beneath their rank, as was usual when they tried not to draw attention to themselves. The henchman followed him and took his place behind the earl, serving as protector while the great man ate.

  The Earl of Mar stood and beckoned them, gesturing to the two seats to his left. “Come sit beside me, Lord Colin.”

  A harpist appeared on the gallery and launched into a Celtic ballad. When the earl clapped his hands, servants poured from the kitchen door and proceeded to the dais. As customary, the high table was served first with a rich assortment of meats and breads.

  Da peered closely at the trencher and selected a well-marbled piece of beef. “You put on a fine display, m’lord.”

  “My thanks.” The earl lifted the ewer. “Will you have a tankard of ale?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Da held up his cup to the servant. “If it is anything like your whisky, I’m sure it will be most enjoyable.”

  Duncan scanned the table. Only ale had been set out.

  “Aye, I prefer drinking ale at night,” the earl said. “Too much whisky dulls my wits.”

  Ballocks, another of their plans thwarted. From the corner of his eye, Duncan regarded the henchman standing behind the earl, massive arms folded, daggers lashed to every limb, a sword on one hip, a dirk on the other. The weaponry didn’t surprise him, but the man had a deadly glint to his eye. No doubt, if he suspected them of skullduggery, that man would be guarding the earl’s door this night.

  Duncan cut a piece of meat and savored it while he mulled over their plan. The king employed the Highland Enforcers because they were swift and effective, and Duncan intended to uphold that reputation.

  A light flickered at the back of Duncan’s mind. Perfect.

  “How are the deer running this season?” he asked.

  The earl gestured to the henchman with his thumb. “Malcom tells me a sizeable herd has recently moved onto our lands to the east.”

  Duncan cut another slice of meat. “How fortunate.”

  “You’re an avid hunter?”

  “Aye.” Duncan’s gaze met with Da’s. “Especially night sport.”

  The henchman snorted loudly.

  Duncan grinned. “Do not tell me you haven’t tried it, m’lord.”

  Da kicked him under the table.

  Duncan reached across and topped up Da’s tankard. “The beasts are easier to stun in the darkness.”

  The earl wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “You do not say? What guides you, moonlight?”

  “And a few torches—not to mention a wager or two.”

  “I like the sound of that even better.” The earl elbowed Da. “What say you, Glenorchy—I’d wager my henchman against your son here.”

  “At what odds?” Da looked appropriately amused.

  Smiling on the inside, Duncan sipped his ale. Indeed, it was a hearty brew. While the lords settled on their wager, he made eye contact with Eoin across the hall. Slightly raising his chin, Duncan notified the knight there had been a change in plans.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Duncan and his men saddled their mounts at the far end of the stable. Da tugged on his horse’s girth a fair bit harder than necessary. “Why the blazes did you change the strategy?”

  “The henchman suspected something. I felt it in my gut. Besides, there wasn’t a flagon of whisky in the entire hall. The milk-livered earl doesn’t like the way it makes him feel after he sups.”

  Da shook his head. “It might be all right for you to hunt at breakneck speed during the black of night, but I can barely see the path ahead in daylight.”

  “Did I say we’d be galloping?” Duncan beckoned the men around and lowered his voice. “We’re going on the hunt, aye, but we’ll not be hunting mule deer. Once we reach the herd, we’ll cut the earl away whilst the others run after the beasts. With any luck, we’ll be long gone before the earl’s guard realizes what’s happened.”

  “Aye, but they’ll be coming after us for certain,” Sean said.

  Duncan pointed at Sean “the ghost’s” sternum. “Not if you take care of their leader. Once that beast of a man is out of the picture, it’ll be a day or two before they regroup.”

  Da mounted. “I hope ye ken what you’re doing.”

  “I think ’tis bloody brilliant,” Eoin said.

  Duncan did too, though he would never admit it. One way or another, they’d have a fight. “At least this will take us outside the castle walls. Stay close to me, Da. I’ll be your eyes.”

  Once everyone mounted, they gathered in the courtyard with the Earl of Mar clad in a full suit of armor.

  Cumbersome. Duncan and his men wore only breastplates and helms to keep their burdens light. “Are you planning to ride into battle, m’lord?” Da asked.

  “Nay, but a man can never be too careful in these times.”

  “Aye.” Duncan rode beside them. “Especially the king’s brother.”

  The earl held a flask to his mouth and tipped it back. He licked his lips and held it out. “Would you care for a tot?”

  Da eyed him. “I thought the spirit dulled your wits.”

  The earl grinned. “Not when there’s a hunt on.”

  Duncan took the flask and pretended to sip while he scanned the Kildrummy men. It appeared whisky flasks were standard fare when hunting with the Earl of Mar. He sat a little taller in his saddle. If the men were half in their cups, it certainly would make the night’s work easier for him.

  Duncan held back while the procession traversed the barbican. He, his father, and his five men were outnumbered three to one. Not bad odds, though he didn’t like the crossbows a few of the earl’s sentries carried. Erratic weapons, they could be triggered by a twitch of the finger.

  Malcom, the henchman, led them to a hill, and, true to his word, a herd of deer grazed in the valley below, highlighted blue by the moonlight. He pointed north. “The best way down is the path yonder.”

  Duncan spurred his horse forward. “What are we waiting for?” Indeed, this was a great vantage point, and to the south the wood sprawled as far as he could see. If he could scare the herd toward the forest, the hunting party would scatter for certain.

  The pace quickened as they descended single file. Da rode behind Duncan, holding one of the torches. Next time, he’d insist the old man stay at home. Bloody hell, a mission was difficult enough without worrying about his father’s failing eyesight.

  At the bottom of the hill, the earl’s men surged ahead, and the pace sped to a gallop. Bellowing riders charged toward the herd. Duncan had no choice but to keep stride with the others. He glanced over his shoulder. Da’s torch had fallen a few lengths behind.

  Galloping at the front of the mayhem, Malcom pulled his bow off his shoulder and tossed his reins in his mouth. With a roar, the henchman dug in his heels and spurred his horse faster. Following suit, Duncan charged ahead, bellowing like an idiot. But, just as he’d planned, the deer spooked and headed for the trees.

  Malcom and his men drove their horses in a myriad of directions, resembling a mob of drunkards. Sean didn’t miss a beat, and remained on the henchman’s heels. Slowing his horse,
Duncan looked over his shoulder and spotted the earl. Just as he’d instructed, his men galloped up to either side of him, gradually steering him southwest, away from Malcom and the others.

  Duncan circled back. A flash illuminated the corner of his eye and fizzled. Good, Da doused the torch as planned. “Over here,” he bellowed to ensure the old man hadn’t lost the trail.

  Once they hit the trees, Duncan raced in behind the earl. Eoin wasted no time and grasped the earl’s reins, pulling the horses to a stop.

  “What the devil?” the earl balked.

  Duncan hopped off his horse and marched ahead. The earl reached for his sword, but Duncan latched on to the man’s wrist and twisted with brute force. “In the name of King James, I hereby take you into custody for the charge of practicing witchcraft against his royal highness.” He removed the earl’s weapons.

  The blue-black shadows of the forest made the earl’s face look cadaverous. “Witchcraft? Are you completely out of your mind?”

  Eoin made quick work of binding John Stewart’s hands while Duncan strapped the earl’s weapons to his saddle. “’Tis a question you need to pose to your brother when we reach Edinburgh.”

  Lord Stewart didn’t even try to fight. “I cannot believe I shared the same womb with that superstitious fool.”

  Duncan remounted—this was by far the easiest mission he’d carried out on behalf of the king. “Come, men. Let us be on our way before one of the Kildrummy guards decides he’s a hero.” He scanned the faces through the darkness. Where the hell was Da? Duncan turned his horse toward the tree line—no movement flickered in the shadows.

  He would not leave his father behind. Blast. He was supposed to stay beside me. “Eoin, carry on. I’ll double back for the Lord of Glenorchy.”

  Duncan crept through the trees, listening. In the distance, the hunt continued. Had anyone realized the earl had disappeared? Where were Sean and Malcom? Following his original path, Duncan trotted to the edge of the clearing where the deer had first been spotted.

  “Where is the earl?” someone shouted across the glade.

  Time was running out. Soon a search would be on. Duncan kept to the cliff’s shadows, his gaze frantically searching through the darkness. Something moved ahead. He stopped and strained to make it out. A body hunched over a horse. Duncan blinked, but could discern no more. If he called out, they’d hear him for certain. He had no choice but to ride closer.

  The shouts grew louder.

  Duncan neared. “Da?” he whispered.

  “Leave me,” a voice strained.

  It was him. Duncan quickly closed the distance and hopped off his mount. “Da! What happened?”

  Da grunted. “Shot through the leg . . . blood.”

  Sure enough, an iron-tipped arrow from a crossbow lodged deep into Da’s thigh. The Black Knight growled through his teeth, wise enough to know bellowing could see them both killed.

  Duncan ran his hand below Da’s leg. The horse’s barrel was thick with blood. “Why did you not stay beside me?”

  “Too . . . dark.”

  “Christ’s bones, Da.”

  “Leave me. My blood’s almost drained. I can feel it.”

  Duncan’s stomach convulsed. He clenched his fist and growled. “No chance on this earth will I leave you behind.” He would see his father to safety if it was his last act upon this earth.

  Kildrummy scouts approached. Duncan grasped the reins of both horses and pulled them into the burn beneath the cover of a weeping willow. Da moaned. Duncan pressed his lips to his ear. “Stay quiet until the sentries pass.”

  God strike him dead, this was his fault. He was the most selfish lout who ever bore the Campbell name.

  Duncan clutched his sword and crouched, every muscle taut. The bloody bastards rode within a stone’s throw.

  Da’s laboring breath beside Duncan’s ear sounded like the bellows of a bagpipe being emptied. Duncan’s hand itched to run forward and cut them down, but fighting this close to Kildrummy Castle could bring on the earl’s entire army.

  “Malcom’s down!” someone bellowed from across the glade.

  The two scouts exchanged glances and cantered toward the noise. Duncan didn’t hesitate. “Hold on, Da. I’ll lead you to safety.”

  Grinding his teeth, Duncan trotted the horses back to the wood. Once under cover of the forest, he dug in his spurs. He would stop at the first cottage in sight. A stone the size of his helm weighed heavily in the pit of his stomach. Every muscle tense, Duncan choked on a sickly lump in his throat. He’d seen men bleed out from a deep wound to the thigh. By God, Da will not die this night.

  The village of Huntly didn’t veer too far from the path the enforcers had opted to take. Duncan knew he’d find a farmhouse on the outskirts, and drove the horses southwest at a frenzied gait. His eyes stung with unshed tears when the smoke from a chimney spiraled light grey against the black sky. He drove the horses harder, clenching the reins in tight fists.

  “We’re nearly there, Da.”

  Father listed awkwardly over his mount’s neck.

  Duncan’s heart wrenched. Hang on, Father.

  He reined the horses to a skidding stop outside the cottage door. “I’ll have you inside in a moment.” He leapt down and pulled Da from his horse, hefting him over his shoulder. Duncan ran to the door and kicked repeatedly. “In the name of King James and all that is holy, help us!”

  He reached for the latch as the door opened. A man peered out, sword in hand. Duncan had no time to deal with an armed crofter. He pushed through. “My da’s suffered an arrow shot to his leg.”

  The man faced him, sword raised. “And who might you be?”

  Duncan carefully laid Da on the table. “I am Sir Duncan Campbell, and this is my father, the Lord of Glenorchy.”

  Lowering his sword, the man scratched his head. “I’ll be a bleating monk of Judas.”

  Duncan glanced to the hearth. “Stoke the fire. I need the poker flaming hot, and bring some rags.”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  Duncan removed Da’s helm and smoothed a hand over his head. “Hang on. We’ll have the bleeding stanched in no time.”

  Da raised his lids slightly. “Nay.” Even in the dim light, he looked whiter than a blanket of snow.

  “I need to remove the arrow.”

  “Duncan.” Da reached for his hand.

  Blast it all, there was no time to waste. “Aye?”

  Da’s tongue shot out and licked dry lips. “Promise”—he drew a stuttered breath—“you’ll go to Edinburgh with the earl.”

  A dry wedge felt like it lodged itself in Duncan’s throat. “In God’s name, I will see you back to Kilchurn.”

  “No.” Da strengthened his grip. “You must finish . . . mission. This is your time. Delivering the earl to the king will bring”—he coughed—“favor upon you and our house.”

  “But—”

  Da hissed through his teeth, squeezing Duncan’s hand. “No matter what happens, do not delay. Promise me.”

  “Aye. I give my word.”

  Duncan tried to pull away. Da held fast. His eyes rolled back with a sticky swallow. “Tell your”—he gasped—“mother I’ll always love her.”

  “No. You will not die here.” Duncan threw a look over his shoulder. “Is that damned poker ready?”

  The crofter turned it over in the fire. “Not yet, m’lord.”

  Duncan reached for a flagon and uncorked it. “A swig of whisky will ease your pain.” His fingers trembled as he poured a dram into Da’s mouth.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed and he coughed weakly. “You must not delay.”

  Duncan could have breathed flames through his nose. Da lay on the board, an inch from death, and he was worried about the mission? Duncan drew his dirk and cut away the breeks over the arrow. “Is that whisky warming your belly?”

  Da uttered not a word.

  Duncan’s gut clenched, and he forced his gaze to shift to his father’s face. For a moment he thought the worst,
until Da’s chest rose and fell. “Da?” he asked, but the lord didn’t respond. He turned to the crofter. “Mercifully, he’s unconscious.”

  The man nodded and held up the red-tipped poker. “’Tis ready.”

  Duncan straightened. “He’s already lost too much blood. When I pull out the arrow, jam the poker in the wound straight away.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lord Percy excused himself from the table when the groom advised his errant man-at-arms had returned. He met Isaac in the solar. “Where in God’s name have you been?”

  Shoulders slumped, hair unkempt, a yellowed bruise beneath his eye, Isaac looked like he’d aged twenty years. “The man’s name is Sir Duncan Campbell. He’s the heir to the Lordship of Glenorchy.”

  Isaac glanced toward the flagon of brandy on the sideboard, but Percy made no move to pour for the miserable sop. “Is that all?”

  “He’s the leader of a band of men called the Highland Enforcers. I believe most members are nobles. The king of Scotland uses them to maintain order in the north.”

  “I daresay that would be an insurmountable task.” Percy stood and sauntered to the sideboard, pulling the flagon’s stopper. “They mostly undertake the king’s business, you say?”

  “From what I could gather from the suspicious, miserable Scots around Glen Orchy. I witnessed Sir Campbell ride out with his men hours before another contingent departed Kilchurn with Lady Meg. I trailed her retinue as far as Edinburgh, and then headed south.”

  Lord Percy rubbed his hands. “Interesting, indeed. A man in the king’s service could find himself in any manner of trouble.”

  Isaac looked as if he were going to drop where he stood. “True.”

  “Do you know why this Sir Duncan rode with such haste?”

  Isaac spread his callused palms. “No m’lord. He rode north, whilst the others turned south.”

  Percy made a show of pouring himself a glass of brandy, then sipped loudly. “I have the fortunate opportunity to appear before King James as an emissary for King Edward.” Percy chuckled. “It seems both sides are interested in strengthening their little truce. Perhaps a trip to Edinburgh could serve two purposes.”