The Centurion

by Kathryn Le Veque

  After much sweat and worry on Alyx’s part, it was all over in a matter of moments. Finally, little Michael was lodged comfortably against her breast and Alyx gazed down at him, her fear of the infant fading. He was so beautiful and sweet that she couldn’t help but feel awed. When she clucked softly to him, he rewarded her with a hint of a toothless grin.

  Douglas watched the two of them, knowing now more than ever that he must make Alyx his wife. It was as if he had finally found the missing link, the final piece that would make him whole again. A mother for his son, a wife and lover for himself. No more lonely nights. To think of the strong sons she would bear him made him swell with determination.

  “He likes ye,” he said, wondering why his throat seemed tight with emotion. Realizing he had never seen Mairi hold her newborn son, the bittersweet moment ran deep. “See how he looks at ye?”

  Alyx nodded faintly, mesmerized by the big blue eyes. “M’laird?”

  “Aye?”

  She tore her eyes away from the babe long enough to look at him. A mischievous grin crossed her face. “He looks nothing like you.”

  Douglas feigned outrage but, in truth, he was delighted with her attempt at a joke. It meant the wall of self-protection was crumbling further. “Ah, ye’re a bold wench, insulting a man’s honor. Of course he looks like me!”

  “He does not. Not in the least.”

  “Another word and I’ll punish ye for yer insolence.”

  “He must look like his mother.”

  She was taunting him. Douglas was so pleased with her mood that he could hardly contain himself. “Now ye’ve done it. Twenty lashes at dawn and I’ll take great pleasure in yer agony.”

  Alyx grinned. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

  “I can catch ye.”

  She laughed then, and to Douglas it sounded like the singing of angels. “Bold words, m’laird. I’m much younger and faster than you.”

  “Ye’re not faster than my horse.”

  Alyx burst into more laughter. Michael, startled by the sound, whimpered and Alyx was immediately remorseful, her laughter fading as she cooed softly to calm the infant. Douglas observed, his heart melting as she soothed his fussy son.

  A son who desperately needed a mother.

  “Alyx?”

  She was still whispering to the infant, focused on the child even as she responded. “Aye?”

  A big hand reached out, grasping her gently on the arm. Startled, Alyx glanced up into eyes with emotions so intense that they took her breath away. Emotions that flowed through his outstretched hand like a river of fire, burning Alyx’s tender flesh with its passion.

  “We’ll be happy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We’ll travel if ye will, or we’ll stay here and raise a passel of sons if it pleases ye. If ye want the sun, the moon, the starlit sky, I’ll give it tae ye. I’ll give ye the whole world, Lady Alyx de Ameland, if ye’ll only consent tae be my wife.”

  Alyx couldn’t tear her gaze away this time. He was a strong man and the pull was very strong. The babe mewled and she rocked him gently, instinctively, realizing oddly at that moment that she was very content with the child in her arms.

  Douglas had been nothing but kind and gentle, his wisdom vast and logical. She knew that if Torston de Royans had never existed, she could possibly be happy with Douglas. But Torston did exist, in her heart and mind and soul, and she finally lowered her gaze, unable to give Douglas the answer he sought.

  “M’laird,” she said softly. “I… I cannot.”

  Douglas squeezed her arm, gently but insistently. “Aye, ye can. De Royans will fade from memory, with time. I am a patient man.”

  Alyx shook her head, her eyes closing painfully tight. “He will never fade from my memory. Don’t you understand that I will always love him, no matter how much you try to convince me otherwise?”

  Douglas sighed faintly, his hand still on her arm. Slowly, very tenderly, his fingers began to caress her. “Time will deaden yer feelings for him,” he said quietly. “Michael and I will replace them with love and devotion so strong that ye’ll forget Torston de Royans ever existed. ’Twill be easy tae forget a man who hasna even made an attempt tae rescue ye. Surely he knows that I’ve taken ye. If he loves ye as he says he does, then why hasna he come for ye yet?”

  Alyx was verging on tears, so very tired of the same argument, the same emotional pressure until she couldn’t stand it.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Just… leave me alone.”

  Douglas understood. But her walls of defense were far enough down that he felt very confident. Holding the baby, listening to his declaration of endless devotion and stories of Torston’s failures, he knew that Alyx’s resistance was waning.

  “Of course, sweetheart,” he said. “Whatever ye say. I’ll speak no more about it.”

  The babe began to cry. Alyx gratefully left the hall and walked the corridors with the unhappy child, aimlessly, until she was near collapse. Sinking into a chair that was near the keep entry, she held the sleeping baby, leaning her head back against the wall to sleep herself.

  Douglas watched from the shadows, waiting for the right moment. When the child was finally asleep, and Alyx was groggy and weak, he lifted both of them into his arms and carried them to Alyx’s upstairs chamber.

  Alyx slept in Douglas’ arms for the afternoon, with Michael slumbering peacefully between them, but when she awoke toward dusk in the same position, she felt as if she was living a nightmare.

  This was not where she wanted to be.

  She had to escape.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The moor between the border and the stronghold of Luckenburn would present a problem.

  Torston could recollect six years ago when he spearheaded the attack against Kerr’s forces, Douglas’ stronghold had the distinct advantage of a bird’s eye view of the bleak moors. The stronghold sentries could see an enemy coming for miles and pick him off easily with the archers.

  As Torston lingered in a cluster of trees about a quarter of a mile from the Kerr fortress, his mind worked furiously to compile a workable approach without getting himself killed in the process. Douglas had to know he was coming, and he had to be prepared.

  But that wasn’t going to stop Torston.

  After days of turmoil and travel with no sleep, Torston was so exhausted that he could hardly stand. His handsome face sported a rapidly filling-in beard and dark circles beneath his eyes. He struggled against the physical fatigue, keeping his mind clear to focus on what he must do. As his eyes glittered in the weak light, the shadows of the trees carefully shielding him, Torston watched several villeins come and go from the open gates of Luckenburn Tower as the midday turned into afternoon.

  That gave him an idea.

  It wasn’t going to be easy for him to pose as a villein. He was terribly tall and well-fed for a peasant. But it was the only viable nonviolent plan he could come up with and he moved from the thickness of the trees, closer to the road that led to the Luckenburn Tower in the hopes of contacting his prey… that is, someone who could help him.

  He definitely needed help.

  Torston was prepared to pay well to join a farmer’s caravan to gain access to the fortress. Hunched in the bushes, he watched a farmer go by with an empty cart, having come from the fortress after having sold his wares. He also watched a man with a huge cart of wood destined for the castle and he briefly considered hiding himself among the kindling, but he wasn’t too fond of that idea. Were the wood to shift, it would not only prevent him from making his way out easily, but it could also potentially crush him.

  So, he waited and he watched. The road wasn’t particularly busy. At one point, a group of men in dirty tunics and bows came lumbering up the road. Torston sank lower into the bushes, watching them pass and realizing they were Kerrs. It wasn’t merely the brown tartan that gave them away, but more the stench.

  Filthy, barbaric men.

  Torston watched them go, repressing the natural urge
to leap from his hiding place and kill all of them. It was an inherent reaction from someone who had been fighting Scots for most of his life, and he was actually sweating as he struggled to maintain his control.

  They were men who had Alyx.

  The Kerr warriors headed toward the castle and out of his line of sight, and Torston emitted a sigh of relief as he resumed his watch. Another farmer passed by, then a man with a lame horse. A woman and her two small girls came along the road, looking for wild berries. One of the little girls came within inches of Torston’s foot as she picked at a vine of blackberries. He held his breath until she wandered off, relieved that his luck was holding out. But his good fortune wouldn’t last forever and he was increasingly desperate to gain entrance to the fortress.

  In fact, he was growing so desperate that he began to wonder if charging head-long into the gates wasn’t the only real option. Certainly, he could fight his way through the keep until he located Alyx and, God willing, he would still have the strength to fight his way out. But that was assuming he wasn’t killed first. Five hundred Scots against one English knight was nearly even odds, but even Torston wasn’t so arrogant or foolish to believe that he would actually have a fighting chance. The likelihood of him coming out alive in this scenario would be very slim.

  But he considered it anyway. Alyx was waiting for him and he could delay no longer. Mustering his strength and courage, he adjusted his armor, made sure his war implements were secured to the saddle properly, and emerged from the bramble and onto the road. Just as he did so, a man and his son came upon him, bearing a heavily-loaded wagon between them.

  Torston was cool as he faced them, but the boy and his father were rightfully surprised. But before anyone could speak, Torston realized in that split second that this is what he had been waiting for. Peasants on the road to Kerr’s fortress, clothed and burdened… and in desperate need of money.

  “Sassenach?” The old man had missing teeth and a scarred, worn face. He didn’t seem particularly frightened, but simply startled. “What are ye doing so far from home?”

  Torston thought quickly. “Waiting for you, actually,” he said smoothly. “I thought you might be able to help me.”

  The old man and his scrawny son exchanged baffled glances. “How so?” the boy asked.

  Torston moved toward them, slowly. From his saddlebag, he withdrew a pouch containing a good deal of money. He jingled it loudly, making sure the boy and his father heard the clear tinkling noise that indicated a weighty amount of silver. When they were properly drooling, Torston delivered the offer they could not refuse.

  The peasants never had a chance.

  “Have ye seen her?”

  Robby shook his head at Douglas’ almost shouted question. “Doogie, we’ve looked for her. She’s not in the keep, I tell ye!”

  Douglas was having a difficult time controlling his temper. He paced anxiously in front of the big, sooty hearth of the great room. The chamber was vacant, cold, and their voices echoed off the ceiling.

  “She likes tae wander the trees,” he said. “Did ye think tae check the trees?”

  Robby shrugged irritably. “No, I dinna think tae check the trees. For Christ’s sake, Doogie, do ye have tae have the woman in yer sights every second of the day and night? Allow her some time tae herself, man.”

  Douglas’ jaw ticked dangerously as he eyed his cousin. “She was with me when I put her and Michael tae bed after the nooning meal,” he growled. “She was gone when I woke up. I want her found, Robby.”

  Robby sighed, slowly. “Doog,” he said. “Ye canna smother her with your presence. Ye want her tae stay, but ye’re going tae drive her away with yer aggression.”

  Douglas refused to listen, turning away from his cousin as if to block the man out. “’Tis not aggression, but attention. And she’s coming tae respond tae me.”

  “Because ye give her no choice,” Robby said softly. “Ye hound her like a dog in heat. The girl’s got tae breathe, ye know.”

  Douglas suddenly paused, eyeing Robby suspiciously. “Have ye been conspiring with my mother?”

  Robby shook his head. “Of course not. Why do ye ask?”

  Douglas stared at him a moment longer as if he didn’t believe him. Then, he turned away. “Because ye sound just like her.” He shook his head, his agitation calming. “She wants me tae let the lass go.”

  “And she’s right,” Robby replied, feeling his own irritation ease. “Mairi’s been gone but two months, Doog. Ye’ve not yet fully grieved for her and now ye’re chasing after another woman.”

  “I’ve grieved for her,” Douglas insisted weakly, his eyes averted. “But Alyx… I simply canna let her get away. I need her, Robby.”

  “Need her, is it?” Robby’s faded green eyes twinkled knowingly. “Are ye simply afraid tae be alone after all of these years?”

  Douglas lifted his gaze, staring his cousin in the face. “That’s not a fair question. Since when have I ever been afraid of anything?”

  Robby sighed, perching his big body on the edge of the long feasting table. “In battle, ye’re fearless. Ye rule yer clan with an iron hand. But when it comes tae yer private life, Doog, can ye not admit it fears ye tae live the rest of it alone?”

  Douglas didn’t say anything for a moment. He realized that Robby was more than likely right, but he was too stubborn to admit it. Instead, he avoided giving the man an answer by gesturing toward the keep entrance.

  “Let’s go out and find her,” he insisted, avoiding Robby’s intense gaze as he made his way from the hall. “We’ll check the trees. And if we find her there, I swear I’ll skin the man who let her pass from the gates.”

  Robby reluctantly heaved himself up, following his cousin from the keep. It was typical for Douglas to ignore his shortcomings, even at the expense of others. It was more typical that he always got what he wanted.

  In this case, it was Alyx.

  The bailey was busy, the smell and dust of late afternoon filling the air. Robby was on Douglas’ heel as they made their way through the soldiers and villeins. The armored gates were wide open and although protected by a group of Kerr warriors who checked everyone entering the keep, the men paid little attention to those leaving.

  Douglas knew at that moment that Alyx must have used the activity coming in and out of the bailey to make her escape. Although he seriously doubted she was on her way home, the urgency to find her was nonetheless palpable.

  “I need a mount, Robby,” he issued orders to his cousin. “We must waste no time.”

  Robby nodded briskly to his liege’s command. “She’s got a head start on ye, Doog. If she’s a mind tae return home, then she’s halfway there by now.”

  Douglas shook his head. “I dunna think she’s gone home. But I do fear her wandering about in a strange land. There’s no telling who she’ll meet up with.”

  Robby was already moving in the direction of the stables. Douglas, his eyes raking the bailey one last time in a vain attempt to locate Alyx somewhere in the crowd, followed his cousin. Two hairy ponies were nearly saddled by the time he arrived and he waited, impatiently as Robby finished with the tack. Taking the reins of the black stallion with four white fetlocks, he led the animal out into the open where he could mount him without getting kicked or thrown.

  Robby was behind him, shouting to a couple of the men to mount up and follow. Douglas ignored his cousin’s bellowing, more concerned with finding Alyx as quickly as possible. Reining his snorting beast out into the hub of the bailey, he was heading for the open gates when a loaded wagon suddenly cut in front of him.

  His horse reared up, startled. Douglas, his patience nil, snapped angrily at the man towing the wagon. The peasant, terribly hunched and swathed in yards of tattered fabric, raised his hands in apology. Douglas cursed the man again and reined his horse around the rig, digging his heels into the hairy black sides. As the horse lurched into a frenzied canter, Douglas suddenly yanked the animal to a halt.

  The horse scr
eamed, throwing foam. Robby, directly behind, nearly plowed his own horse into Douglas. There were men shouting, dust swirling, and Douglas could hear Robby demanding to know the reason for the abrupt stop. But through it all, Douglas couldn’t seem to answer. He was staring at the hunched man in the tattered peasant clothing, hauling a wagon that was so heavy that three normally able-bodied men would have found it difficult to pull. Instead, one man alone was towing it through the mud on his way to the kitchens. But it wasn’t the strength that impressed Douglas. It was something else.

  It was the hands.

  He turned his black mount around, far more harshly than he should have. Robby, frustrated and for lack of a better response, followed. Together, they thundered through the crowded bailey, pushing aside soldiers and villeins until they came to the man hauling the loaded wagon. Douglas directed his horse in front of the man, blocking his path.

  The man came to an unsteady halt as chunks of mud sprayed in his face. The folds of his hood shielded his features. Douglas gazed down at the figure, his hazel eyes smoldering, fogged with a suspicion he couldn’t seem to isolate. But there was something….

  “I’ve not seen ye here before,” he finally said in a tone as cold as steel. “Where are ye from?”

  The man coughed and sniffled. “The… the village, m’laird.”

  The accent was good. Too good. In fact, it rang of noble breeding and Douglas directed his horse closer until he was nearly on top of the peasant.

  “Ye’re a farmer?”

  “Aye.”

  “And these are yer goods?”

  “Aye.”

  Douglas paused, his gaze raking every inch of the shabby old figure. As the pause lengthened, a tension seemed to take root, growing like a vine to encompass all it touched. Especially Douglas. Finally, he spoke.

  “If that is true,” he said slowly, “then show me yer hands.”

  Robby, observing the happenings, eyed his cousin uneasily. It was a strange question, punctuating the even stranger apprehension. But Douglas ignored his cousin’s searching gaze, focused on the man before him.