by Lily Baldwin
“Ye all know where we’re going tomorrow and what we’re stealing, but now I am going to tell ye how,” David said. “Alec has had the displeasure of meeting a man named Richard Ash. He calls himself a merchant but he’s really no better than a peddler. According to Alec he once had a thriving trade in Flanders, but when King Edward withdrew from his holdings there, he left a slew of unpaid debts. The Flemish king sought compensation from the English merchants living inside his borders, claiming their profits and what remained of their goods. Richard returned to England with naught but the clothes on his back. Understandably, he was furious and went to the palace to seek compensation from the king, but, of course, he didn’t find the king. Instead, he was greeted by disorder and debauchery—a scene that appealed to him straightaway. He easily charmed his way into the keeper’s inner circle. But it was not only the wine and women that drew him to the palace. He saw opportunity. Since the beginning, he has been plotting how to rob the English king, gathering close a band of allies, which includes castle guards, monks from the neighboring abbey, and, fortunately for the cause, Alec MacVie, who knows the details of Richard’s plan.”
“So, this Richard has set the heist in motion, but we are going to take it over?” Rory asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” David replied.
Rory shook his head. “But he was wronged by the king the same as us. I see no honor in stealing his prize.”
“Do not give this man yer sympathies so quickly,” David warned. “Alec has spent time in his company and has found little to recommend in his character. He is callous to those he calls friends, abusive to the servants remaining in the king’s palace, and most disturbing to Alec is Richard’s treatment of women. He steals for his own selfish gain, and Alec is convinced others will only suffer from his ill-gotten wealth.”
Rory nodded. He had heard all he needed. Alec was the surest judge of character. Rory had no doubt that Richard was wicked to the core. “What is the plan?”
“Underneath the Chapel House of the abbey is a crypt where King Edward has stored countless treasures, plates, jewels, coin from Flanders and France.”
Alex leaned forward eagerly. “So then, Richard plans to break into the crypt, and we must get there first.”
David shook his head. “Richard has already broken into the crypt.”
Rory threw his hands up. “Then he’s already made off with the prize. Why are we wasting time with all this blather? Should we not run him down and seize it?”
“Calm yerself, Rory,” David said, gesturing to Rory’s tankard. “Have a sip of ale and listen. He’s broken into the crypt, but he hasn’t robbed it yet—not all of it anyway.”
“I don’t follow ye.”
“He broke in last week and remains there still. Every day one of the monks waits by a hole they made in the Chapter House wall concealed by bushes. Every day he passes through one of the priceless treasures.”
“But that’s absurd,” Paul said. “Does he not raise the risk of being caught?”
“’Tis arrogant but not as unreasonable as ye might first think. Ye see, he’s afraid of being caught—not committing the act, mind ye, but when trying to turn the treasure into profit. Foreign coin cannot be used at market without raising questions of how he obtained it. And merchants are unlikely to barter for what would clearly be royal treasure. Neither Richard, nor any of his cronies, knows how to use what they’ve stolen. Their plan, at this point, is to hide the pieces until they figure it out.”
Rory sat back in his chair. “Where are they hiding the pieces?”
“They’re sinking the treasure to the bottom of rivers and ponds and burying it behind headstones.”
“Considering they lack the connections we have, it’s actually rather cunning,” Alex said.
“And requires incredible patience, which is not often a virtue of one so willing to flout the law,” Rory added.
David almost smiled. “I wouldn’t accuse any us of being in possession of that virtue.”
Alex laughed outright. “I suppose ye’re right. We are a reactionary lot.”
“And stubborn,” Rory agreed.
“Not to mention feckless from time to time,” Alex said, laughing.
“Let’s put our foolhardiness to good use then,” Rory said, raising his cup. “Let’s go rob the king of England. Alba gu bràth.”
Everyone but Nick raised their cups in kind. “Alba gu bràth.”
“Now, get yer arses to bed,” David said. “We wake before dawn. ‘Tis two-day’s hard ride to London.” Then he dipped his head and turned, disappearing within the trees.
Paul stood and smiled. “This will be one to tell my grandchildren when I’m old and gray,” he said, chuckling. Then he bowed at the waist to Alex. “I’ve heard of ye,” he said. “’Tis a pleasure to meet the lady agent.”
“The pleasure is mind,” Alex said. She watched him retreat into a different portion of the woods.
Only Nick remained. Alex looked at him expectantly. She had yet to hear him say a word. She watched while he ran the sharpening stone slowly down the blade of his dirk one last time. Then he stood, and without even a glance in their direction, he crossed the glade and, like the others, disappeared between the trees.
“Don’t pay Nick any heed,” Rory said. “He’s a good agent, his loyalty to Scotland unquestioned, but he’s hard, ruthless even. A part of me understands why. His family, his wife and three children, were burned alive in their home during the massacre.”
Alex gasped, her heart suddenly aching for Nick.
Rory nodded. “’Tis unthinkable, I ken, but his pain and fury have blackened his soul. Meeting Nick helped soothe the same beast within me. After my parents and sister were slain, I desired vengeance, blood. Now, I fight only for freedom.”
Alex scanned the woods. “They all left in different directions. Where have they gone?”
Rory pointed to the sky. “Into the trees. The Harborage is our haven, remember? A place for us to rest without fear. We’ve built platforms within tree branches. They are concealed by canopies of leaves and underbrush.”
Alex frowned. “Abbot Matthew will hear from me on this matter. All this while an Eden has existed, and I’ve been denied because I’m a woman. ‘Tis unjust. I work just as hard as anyone else. Do I not deserve a bath in a lovely, moonlit pool?”
Rory smiled. “I for one think ye do. In fact, why don’t ye avail yerself of that luxury now?” He gestured toward the empty pool, which glistened in the moonlight on the other side of the glade.
She gazed at the inviting water and started toward it. “I believe I shall.”
“I will keep watch,” he said.
The corner of her mouth lifted into a sensual smile. “Actually, I insist ye watch.” She boldly turned to face him and eased her tunic over her head. She met his gaze and stood for a moment, allowing him to feast his gaze upon her body, clad only in her kirtle. Then she removed the thin barrier and stood before him naked in the moonlight.
He looked at her hungrily, his eyes slowly traveling over every inch of her bare flesh. “Ye’re magnificent.”
She smiled and threw her kirtle at him, then dove into the water. Icy currents swept over her skin. She squealed when she surfaced. “It bites,” she said.
Rory looked down at her. “So do I.”
His words shot through her, igniting her body with warmth despite the frigid pool. Her heart quickened. She licked her lips as she took in his large frame, his penetrating gaze. She promised herself, in that moment, that one day she would again know the feel of his hands on her body.
But what if she didn’t have one day more?
Alec’s prophesy trumpeted in her mind. What if she was going to die? Her heart quaked, but not with fear. She was not afraid to die for the cause. Her heart trembled for that which she feared most—regret. What if she were to die without ever lying in Rory’s arms? She sucked in a sharp breath and dove beneath the surface.
Rory crouched down be
side the water’s edge and waited for her to appear again. She emerged directly in front of him, the surface of the pool lapping her waist. Water sluiced off her firm, proud breasts. His mouth watered at the sight of her taut peaks.
As if of their own accord, her arms flew around his neck. “I will have ye now, Rory.”
He pulled away to look into her eyes, which gleamed with near feverish intensity. “But…what about your duty?” he said.
“Nay! I will not think of duty right now. My whole life I have thought of little else.” She cupped his cheeks, bringing his lips a breath away from her own. “What if this is all we have? This moment. This night. I want yer hands on my body.”
His heart pounded. Hunger gripped him like nothing he had ever felt before. He brushed her lips with a kiss—the barest whisper of a caress. Then he plunged his hands into the water and cradled her up through the air, icy water soaking his clothes. “I’m going to make yer body quake,” he promised and carried her toward the trees.
High in the treetop, a canopy of leaves hid her naked body, even from the stars above. Only Rory could feast upon her luscious curves. Her body was both soft and strong. He ran his hand down the gentle slope of her waist, over her hip and down her long sleek leg. She wrapped her arms around his neck, slowly pulling him closer, her lids half-closed, heavy with desire. He ran the backs of his fingers gently down her cheek. Then he crushed his lips to hers. She groaned, clinging to him, her tongue stroking his.
“Take this off,” she cried out, tearing at his tunic.
He whisked the fabric over his head, and winced as her nails dug into his back. He grabbed her hands and pinned them over her head with one hand while he swept his other hand over her breast. With his palm he gently caressed her nipple. Then he lowered his mouth, His hot breath teasing her hard peak. He stroked it with his tongue, forcing a gasp from her lips. Then he seized it gently between his teeth, and she cried out. He drew the point deeper into his mouth and suckled her while she writhed beneath him, soft moans escaping her lips. She twisted to release her hands from his steel grip. Still he held her, trapping her while he slowly caressed her hip and smoothed over the dip of her stomach. Then his fingers brushed the soft curls, and he cupped her mound.
“Let me go,” she cried. “I want to touch ye. I want to feel yer body.”
“In a minute, love,” he said softly. Then he held her gaze while he gently pushed her thighs apart. He trailed his fingers slowly from her knee, up the inside of her thigh, his touch soft as a whisper. He paused just as he reached the very heat of her. She bucked her hips, her eyes pleading.
“Please, Rory,” she cried.
He watched the agony of desire twist her features as his touch barely grazed her flesh.
Again, her hips bucked against his hand, her body demanding more. He leaned over and seized her lips the instant he deepened his touch. Her body, hot and wet, contracted around him, and he stroked her, bringing her higher and higher. Then her eyes flew open. “Rory, I want ye to make me yers,” she cried.
He groaned, releasing her hands. She came onto her knees and pulled on the waist of his hose, freeing his hard length. He pushed her back onto the platform and positioned himself between her legs. Then slowly, so slowly, he entered her. Her tight sheath constricted around him. She was so tight. He held his breath as he stretched her wider until he filled her. She wound her arms firmly around him, her face buried against his neck, and slowly he started to thrust. Her hips met his, her body slick with sweat. She gripped him. He thrust harder, then faster. Her breath filled his ears. Her pounding heart beat against his chest. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and pulled down on him, meeting his hard thrusts with furious demand. She seized, as a cry tore from her lips, then she shuddered and quaked in his arms. He drove deeper, her rapture tearing through him, bringing his own body toward exquisite pain, which suddenly released as wave after wave of pleasure shot through him.
Chapter Eighteen
Bent low, Alex quickly climbed from the riverboat onto the King’s bridge. She stayed close behind Rory as they hugged the palace’s inner wall. Turret’s loomed overhead bearing the king’s colors. They came to a break in the wall.
“Wait,” David hissed behind her. She and Rory stopped, hunkering down against the wall.
“Wasn’t that the gate?” David whispered as he pointed to the map Alec had drawn. Paul and Nick sidled up behind them.
“I think it was,” Nick whispered.
Rory grabbed the map and shook his head. “’Tis the second gate. We must circle around first. “Then we’ll have a straight shot into the abbey grounds.”
David nodded and rolled up the parchment, then motioned for Rory to go. Alex stayed right behind Rory as they continued around the wall.
At the next gate, Rory turned and looked at her. “Remember,” he whispered, “this is the most vulnerable stretch. The abbey’s infirmary is to the left. Alec said the monks who remain there are loyal to Edward, but seldom leave. Move quickly.”
She nodded and turned to David. “This is it,” she said.
Rory raced through the gate. She followed right behind. Her eyes darted to the left. Torch fire lit the glass windows in the infirmary. She pushed harder, following the narrow path, which cut through the abbey’s cemetery. Up ahead, she could see the circular design of the Chapter House. Rory lead them away from the garden entrance, knowing that was where Richard and his cronies had made their hole, and instead followed the cemetery to the dormitory.
Alec had assured them that at that late hour the rest of the monks would be in the palace’s great hall well into their cups. Alex held her breath as Rory slowly pushed the door open. Inside was dark. She dared not breathe as she silently crossed the floor, expecting the hand of a holy man to snake out and grab her arm at any moment. Then she froze. A soft snore rattled from the far corner of the dark room. Rory seized her hand, and David grabbed her arm from behind. They stood rooted to the floor for several moments. Her heart pounded, almost drowning out the sound of the sleeping monk. Then Rory eased forward. She followed behind, waiting to hear Rory’s fingertips graze the far wall.
A soft tap sent a surge of relief through her. She heard his careful exploration of the wall and knew when he had found the door by the quiet click of the handle. He eased it open. She held her breath as candlelight from the cloister invaded the dormitory. She glanced back at the monk now clearly visible in his narrow bed.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she followed Rory into the hallway with David, Paul, and Nick at her heels. They circled halfway around the cloister, and just as Alec promised, there was the sacristy, beside which was the only entrance to the crypt beneath the Chapter House. Resisting the urge to race forward, she kept pace behind Rory. Their practiced steps made no din as they crossed to the door. Rory opened it and darted inside. Torch fire lit the dark stairwell. She descended behind Rory. Glancing back, she saw David and Paul right behind her. But Nick stayed at the top of the stairs to guard the entrance. They circled around three times. Then Rory stopped and turned. He motioned for her to turn. She felt him check that her sword was secure. Then he cupped her cheeks and kissed her hard on the lips before he started back down the stairs.
Her heart raced. This was it. Three more turns and they would reach the drop into the crypt where royal treasure and Richard Ash awaited.
*
Richard Ash’s chest tightened as he once again scanned his strangely opulent surroundings. The crypt beneath the abbey floor had been transformed from a dark, empty stone chamber to a glittering treasure house that surpassed even his wildest dreams. For nearly a week he had spent night and day beneath the Chapter House, and still he marveled at the glorious sight. The stone arched ceilings and carved faces of tortured saints might have appeared sinister, but as he gazed upon the glittering jewels, chests of coin, rolls of rich velvet, he felt like weeping. The only way down to the crypt was a long, winding stairwell next to the sacristy, but the stairs did not reach the f
loor. They ended abruptly, making a drop off nearly the length of two men from the last stair to the crypt floor. He wrapped the cloak he wore tighter around his shoulders against the creeping chill, which signaled night had fallen. Still, the cold could not penetrate his newly acquired thick velvet robe. He swept the purple fabric with an elegant flourish, admiring the rich color. Commoners were forbidden to wear purple. For his crime, he could be sent to the stocks for weeks. He stroked the soft ermine fur, which lined the edges of the cloak and closed his eyes against the intense pleasure, moaning aloud, his fingertips tingling. His eyes flew open as the experience overwhelmed his senses. He took his hand away from the fur to catch his breath, but then his eyes caught sight of the rings lining his fingers, making his heart pound harder. Each ring held a stone the size of a plump blackberry. He straightened out his arm, admiring how the jewels glinted in the torchlight. For the first time in his life, he smiled at his small, thin fingers with pride. They looked stronger—the hands of a man who answered to no one. His smile curled into a sneer. If only his father could see him.
His father had never believed in him. When the larger boys walloped him in the streets for sport, he’d return home bruised and bloodied, only to have his father beat him as punishment for his weakness. His father, his teacher, his priest and everyone else for that matter, never believed he would accomplish anything, but Richard soon learned to work their contempt to his advantage. It was easy to surprise those who expected nothing from him. This was how he rose to power right under his father’s nose, stealing his best customers right out from under him. Because his father never truly saw Richard, he never saw him coming—for who would have expected a weakling, a disappointment, to become a wealthy merchant. In no time, his father was penniless and begging Richard for help.
