by Amy Jarecki
Meg turned and fled up to the battlements. She would not be locked within a chamber whilst her brother led an attack on her betrothed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Standing beside Eoin upon the battlements, Duncan watched the Earl of Angus’s great army surround Kilchurn Castle’s walls. The retinue progressed slowly, led by teams of oxen pulling two impressive Portuguese cannons. The earl’s men wore the Douglas tunics, emblazoned with the blue and red seal of the Earl of Angus.
A squire carried the earl’s pennant while it fluttered in the wind.
Duncan wanted to hit something. “No wonder it took the earl so long to respond to my missive. It would have taken a great deal of time for the teams of oxen to drag those cannons into the Highlands.”
Eoin slapped his hand against the stone wall. “Bloody oath. The bastard has no sense of humor, has he?”
“It appears not.”
“So he’s planning to use the big guns to blast through our walls though his sister is within?”
Duncan ground his fist into his palm. “Not if I can help it.”
Eoin stepped back. “You’ve a plan?”
“Aye.” Duncan headed toward the stairwell.
His friend hurried alongside him. “Oh no, you’re not walking away without a word. Besides, if your plan does not work, you’ll need alternative tactics.”
Duncan stopped. “I’ll go out alone and talk to him.”
“What? Have you lost your mind? He’s toting two cannons that can blast your miserable arse all the way to Inverary.”
Duncan placed a hand on Eoin’s shoulder and squeezed. “This is one fight I’d prefer to avoid. He is Lady Meg’s brother. If nothing else, I owe it to her to attempt a parley.”
Eoin spread his palms to his sides. “What if he fights?”
“Post the archers over the gatehouse. If it comes to blows, have them kill everyone surrounding me except the earl. I’ll not have Arthur Douglas’s blood on my hands.” Duncan eyed him. “Then we’ll show him what it means to fight in the Highlands.”
“But you could be killed out there by yourself.”
Duncan started down the steps. “I’m not intending to fight.” He regarded Eoin over his shoulder. “Have you not been my friend long enough to trust me?”
“Aye, but this is madness. Talk to him from atop the battlements—or by messenger.”
“Nay. I must do this my way.” Duncan pointed his thumb behind. “Go, don your armor. Organize the men.”
Duncan’s squire, Jamie MacGregor, met him in his chamber. The smart lad already had his coat of arms laid out. “I came as soon as I heard the ram’s horn.”
“Good lad.” Duncan slipped into a pair of chausses and a quilted doublet. While Jamie went to work fastening buckles, Duncan recounted the points he needed to make to the Earl of Angus. That the man had arrived with an entire army befuddled him. Why go to such great expense before he tried to talk? Had Duncan’s missive not been clear? Did the king have something to do with it? Had the king issued a pardon in hopes that the Campbells would let their guard down?
“All set, m’lord.” Jamie said.
Duncan blinked. “My thanks. Head up to the battlements with your bow.”
“Aye, m’lord.” Jamie started toward the door and turned. “Do you reckon they’ll blast those big cannons at us?”
“They might. Make sure you run for cover if they do.”
The lad blanched and headed out.
Duncan grabbed a black cloth and his helm, then hastened to the guardhouse. “Bring me a poleax,” he shouted.
A guard stepped forward straight away. “You can have this one, m’lord.”
Duncan took it and affixed the black cloth. Amused by the confusion written on the man’s face, Duncan chuckled. “Have your weapons at the ready in case my plan does not work. If the Red Douglas lives up to his reputation, he might start swinging before the first word is uttered.”
At Duncan’s nod, the guard opened the gate. Lord Campbell marched through, bearing the black flag of parley, suspended from the poleax.
The gate closed behind him with a boom that reverberated through his bones. Duncan eyed the procession. A man-at-arms stood at the front of a V formation, flanked by impressive-looking sentries, all armed with pikes and swords. Duncan held the flag high so it would be seen by all. “I request a word with the Earl of Angus.”
The man-at-arms glanced up to the battlements. “Tell your archers to stand down first.”
Duncan didn’t like the blatant lack of trust, but gave the signal to Eoin above. The archers would stand out of sight and that was all.
The earl’s men sidestepped their horses and opened a pathway for Duncan to proceed.
Bloody rat’s bane, they’re acting as if I would singlehandedly skewer them all.
Mounted on a grey steed, Arthur pushed back the visor on his helm. “You had better speak quickly, Glenorchy. If you’ve laid so much as a finger upon my sister, so help me, I’ll blast you and your kin to hell.”
Duncan held up his palm and bowed deeply—something he’d been reluctant to do when he’d met the earl months ago. “Hear me, m’lord. Lady Douglas has done me a great and honorable service and I am in her debt.”
“Stop this madness!” Meg’s shrill voice pierced through the tension in the air. She raced up beside him. “What on earth are you thinking, Arthur?”
Duncan grasped her hand. “Meg. You could be hurt.”
She pulled her hand away.
Arthur hopped down from his horse and marched up to Duncan, craning his neck. “You dare call my sister familiar?”
Duncan again bowed. Ballocks, he could be an imbecile. “Forgive me—”
“I love him.” Meg pushed between them.
Arthur drew his sword. “You rutting bastard!”
Duncan ushered Meg behind him. “Before you choose to wield your weapon, I beg you, come inside and sit with me like a gentleman. Hear me out.”
Arthur eyed him, as if the puny, beef-witted codpiece would have a chance in hell of fighting Duncan. God’s teeth, the man’s posturing rivaled all other milksops.
Meg shoved between them. “Please, Arthur. Listen to reason.”
The earl glared at Duncan and lowered his sword. “Ready yourselves for battle, men!” He grabbed Meg by the arm and yanked her beside him. “I’ll have words with you next.”
Duncan eyed Eoin upon the battlements and gave the nod for the archers to resume their places. Though the earl had proved himself adept at posturing, anything could happen whilst they were engaged within the walls of Kilchurn.
Duncan led Arthur to the antechamber behind the dais. There he’d be far away from the earl’s men and those cannons.
He stopped outside the door and grasped Meg’s hand. “Lady Douglas, please wait here.”
Her gaze shot to Arthur. “But I cannot allow him to—”
Duncan squeezed her hand and frowned. “This is business to be conducted between men. Please—”
“For God’s sake, Meg, go sit at the high table and await my return,” Arthur snapped.
She flashed Duncan one last worried look before he ushered the earl into the chamber and closed the door. “Can I offer you a tot of whisky?”
Arthur took a seat at the head of the table—Duncan’s seat. “Do you plan to dull my wits before I run you through?”
Duncan chose not to sit. They could do away with bloody pretense now they were behind closed doors. He had no doubt he could take the Earl of Angus right there in that room if it came to blows. But he didn’t want that—only because Meg would be devastated. He crossed his arms over the top of his cold breastplate. “Why the elaborate show of weaponry and men?”
Arthur removed his helm and stretched his neck. “Are you serious? What did you expect? My sister administered a potion to her guardsman so that she could flee to the Highlands with a convict? Do you know how that looks at court?”
Duncan dropped his arms. “My men advised her to
return to Tantallon with her guard. I did not steal her away.”
“Nonetheless, I am the laughing stock of the gentry.” Arthur slammed his fist on the table. “And then there’s your goddamned missive.”
“Aye?”
“You blubbering fool. It lacks propriety. No man keeps a highborn woman within his castle and sends a missive. Why on earth did you not return her to Tantallon and approach me, as is proper? It was one thing when your father was lord. He was older and married.” Arthur looked him from head to toe. “But you . . . Christ, you look like a pirate.”
Duncan swallowed his groan and took a seat. “After she’d come with us, it seemed the most practical course of action. Besides . . .”
“What?”
He drew in a deep breath. Time to show my hand. “You could have refused me. And that would have suited neither me nor Lady Meg.”
“Suited you? What about my wishes? Were you aware I was in France arranging Lady Meg’s betrothal?”
“Nay.” Duncan’s gut clenched. “Was Lady Meg aware?”
“Of course not.” Arthur pushed his chair back and paced. “I did not want to raise the poor lassie’s hopes, but I planned to tell her as soon as I returned to Scotland.”
“And what of this Frenchman’s suit?”
“Withdrawn.” Arthur stamped his foot. “Because I received a missive from Tantallon of Lady Douglas’s imminent ruination.”
Duncan placed his palms on the table. This needn’t be difficult. “If she marries me, she will not be ruined, and our houses will be all the more powerful.”
“So you say.” The earl moved to the sideboard and poured himself a tot of whisky. “And how was your stay in the Edinburgh dungeon? How can I allow my sister to marry a man who was accused of killing the Earl of Mar?”
Duncan had enough. He pushed back his chair and stood, towering over Arthur by a head. “I am innocent. I’ve received a pardon from the king.”
“After you refused to confess.”
“After the king had me tortured to within an inch of my life—yet I still professed my innocence. Good God, I was the one who captured Mar from Kildrummy by the king’s orders. If I wanted to kill him, I could have done it whilst we were on the trail.”
“Aye? By my account, I hear you practically did.” Arthur tossed back his whisky, his eyes darting toward the door. Was he a wee bit nervous about facing down a larger man—a trained killer? “What about the accusation that you killed your own father during this unfortunate sequence of events?”
The words cut Duncan with the force of a bullwhip. Clenching his fists, he took a moment to steel his grit. “True, my father was killed in the skirmish, but aside from my mother, no soul was more devastated than I.” Duncan relayed the story of what happened to Da, and by the time he’d finished, every muscle in his body clenched taut to help him maintain a steady voice.
Arthur poured two tots this time, and handed one to Duncan. “I respected your father. He was a good man.”
Duncan accepted the cup. “None better.”
“And Meg, she likes it here?”
“Aye. She’s formed quite a friendship with my sister.” Duncan sipped thoughtfully. “Forgive my frankness, m’lord, but I love her. I want to marry her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
The earl sucked in a deep breath. “But she has such a grotesque deformity.”
“’Tis but a wee flaw that in no way detracts from her beauty or her exuberance.”
Arthur chuckled. “She does have enthusiasm to spare.”
“It would be my greatest honor to marry Lady Douglas.” Duncan held up his cup. “Shall we drink to it?”
“Not until we’ve agreed to terms.” Arthur stroked his fingers down his beard.
Duncan gestured toward the table. “Then let us begin.”
The earl’s posture relaxed as he moved to his seat. “The men will be unhappy if they’ve come all this way without a fight.”
“Perhaps we can remedy that with some sport?”
Meg wrung her hands and paced across the dais. She’d never seen Arthur look so angry. Duncan either, for that matter. Yes, he was most likely upset that she hadn’t joined the women in the solar, but surely he understood she couldn’t possibly hide—not when her brother intended to wage war.
How could Arthur drive his army into the Highlands without first trying to speak to Duncan? Besides, Duncan is highborn and a knight. I doubt Arthur could find a better match if he looked for years.
They had been locked inside the antechamber for ages. The only reason she’d known they hadn’t killed each other was that she’d heard no struggling within.
What have they got to talk about that would take so long? I love Duncan. He loves me. Arthur should be elated to have me off his hands at long last. Duncan is a good match. Certainly, he’s wealthy. Aye, he’s known for being the king’s henchman in the Highlands, but that should only serve to further impress my brother.
Meg’s heart nearly burst out of her chest when the latch clicked. She spun around to see Duncan and Arthur smiling broadly, their noses red. They’d had more than a tot. She didn’t care. Their grins were infectious. Her gaze darted between them. “Well?”
Arthur cleared his throat. “I have given my consent for you to marry Lord Campbell.”
Meg sighed with a huge breath. Flinging her arms wide, she couldn’t decide whom to hug first. Duncan made the decision for her by properly stepping back and gesturing toward her brother. She flung her arms around his armored neck, which was none too welcoming. “Thank you, Arthur. Thank you!”
“You shall be Duncan’s worry from here on out.” He held her at arm’s length. “What were you thinking, racing into the Highlands after a band of knights?”
Meg guffawed. “Do you forget so easily that these were the same men who rescued me from the clutches of the Earl of Northumberland?”
Arthur shuddered. “Another bastard I’ve yet to deal with.”
With a broad grin, Duncan grasped Meg’s hands. “On the morrow we shall celebrate our betrothal with Highland games for the warriors, followed by a feast to rival all others.”
Meg’s heart leapt. “And dancing?”
“Of course. No feast would be complete without minstrels and high-stepping reels.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Meg and Gyllis sat upon a plaid and watched as the men laid out the rope for the tug o’ war. Duncan and his Highland Enforcers were matched against Arthur and his best men. The Highlanders wore plaids belted around their hips, while the Lowlanders wore linen shirts tucked into their chausses. Meg leaned into Gyllis so no one else could hear. “Poor Arthur has not a chance.”
“Hmm.” Gyllis drummed her fingers against her lips. “Though it looks like his men have some impressive muscle.”
“Aye, but I’ve seen both sides spar, and the Douglas guard could learn a few things from the Campbells.”
Fortunately, the sun made an appearance for the day’s events, and families milled about the castle foregrounds with an air of excitement that came with spring. Meg leaned forward when Duncan and Arthur faced each other and shook hands. Leading their men, they stooped to pick up the rope. She clasped Gyllis’s arm. “It begins!”
Arthur tugged first, catching Duncan off guard, but the larger man dug in his heels, using brute force to haul the rope back. At the rear of the Campbell party, Sean bellowed the command to heave.
Meg’s heart hammered. She desperately wanted Duncan to win, but only after the Douglas side made a good show of strength. The rope suspended taut between the two teams. Meg folded her hands beneath her chin and prayed for a tie. But her whisperings were fleeting words whisked away by the wind.
Duncan and his men heaved to the cadence of Sean’s booming voice. In the blink of an eye, Arthur and the Douglas guard were dragged into the muddy bog.
Meg covered her mouth and tried not to laugh. Arthur had fallen on his face. He looked like a wet dog. Duncan planted his hands o
n his hips and chortled. Meg almost died. No one should ever laugh at a Douglas earl.
Arthur and his men ran straight for Duncan and tugged him into the bog. Bellowing their war cries, the entire contingent of men was soon covered in mud, wrestling in the muck, fists flying.
Gyllis stood clasping her hands to her head. “Make them stop!”
Meg shook her head. “You want to be pulled into that mayhem?”
From the top of the wall-walk, the bagpipes launched into a sobering Highland rendition of “Hey Tuttie Tatie.” Lady Margaret stood beside them like a queen, her red veil flapping in the wind. Meg pointed. “Your mother is a smart woman.”
“I’ll say.”
The men stopped their bandy and stood at attention. Every soul in Scotland was familiar with the tune, made famous when Robert the Bruce’s troops marched into the Battle of Bannockburn.
After the tune ended, Duncan and Arthur walked arm in arm toward Meg. She’d never seen her brother in such high spirits. He grinned at her. “I’d like to join with your enforcers and go after that pox-marked maggot, Northumberland.”
Duncan swiped a hand across his muddy face. “And break the truce?”
“I doubt even the king would agree the truce applies to that slimy snake.”
Meg shuddered. “I want no more to do with Lord Percy. Leave him to wallow in his own misery, I say.”
After changing into a clean plaid and doublet, Duncan headed to the great hall. As usual, Gyllis had absconded with Lady Meg so they could dress for the feast. Duncan chuckled, wondering what sort of elegant gown Meg would don this eve. If only he would later be able to spirit her up to his chamber and rip it from her deliciously seductive body.
When he rounded the stairwell, it pleased him to see the ladies already upon the dais. Meg looked his way. A radiant smile lit up her face. She stood and moved to the steps—floated, actually. Never in his life would he grow tired of watching her. This eve, she wore a burgundy gown, edged with gold trim. Unfortunately, this one had a high-necked collar. It did make her look regal, though Duncan preferred a lower-cut bodice. Alas, Mother undoubtedly had something to do with the dress selection, especially since her brother was in attendance.
