by Starla Kaye
She couldn’t make out what he said after her admission, but, from the fierce scowl on his face, she was sure he hadn’t been pleased. Odd, that.
The other man beside him called out to all could hear, “We come in peace. It is important that Lord Neville speaks with your Lady.”
All of this was unsettling. She had wanted to never set her eyes on another Englishman. They had attacked her home, killed many of her people. They couldn’t be trusted. This man with his dark gaze and powerful build in particular. She was sure of that.
“Peace. Ha!” she snapped. “Ye English never want peace. Ye want only—”
Maggie’s words faded off as she watched the man she now knew as Lord Neville sway in the saddle. No doubt he’d lost a fair amount of blood by now. She felt a twinge of regret. If they’d really come in peace…. Nay! It mattered no’. They were the hated English, at least hated by her. Her father had a number of English friends, which had included King Edward. But, in her biased opinion, the English were not to be trusted. They had taken away her father and brothers to fight a losing battle. They had attacked her castle only yesterday.
Still gripping his leg, the English lord found the strength to yell up at her. “I’ve come with word of your father and brothers.”
Her father and brothers? Word of them? Tightness squeezed her heart. Why weren’t her father and brothers riding here now instead of these men? Whatever the truth, she needed to know.
“Let them in,” she said quietly to Douglas. “But have our men watch them verra carefully.”
Nicholas knew he needed to get the arrow out of his thigh, knew he had lost a lot of blood. He was having trouble staying upright in the saddle. Yet he refused to show weakness in front of the harridan that had dared to shoot him with her arrow. It was a relief when her man in charge called out the order for the men guarding the front gate to allow them entrance. He hadn’t thought he could manage another shouting match with Lady Maggie Durward. Lady? Hardly.
Each bounce of his horse beneath him was sheer torture. His hand holding the reins had balled into a fist; the other pressed hard around the wound to help staunch the bleeding. He’d nearly ground his teeth into pulp by the time he and his first in command, Gerald, led his men over the drawbridge. The fair-haired Scot—strange that—would pay for wounding him later. Oh, yes, she’d pay dearly, protecting her home or not. He’d turn her over his knee and burn her butt until she could not sit comfortably for days. He winced again. Make that she would not sit well for weeks.
They had just reached the raised portcullis guarded by six brawny men, two in kilts of the Durward plaid and four in the saffron-colored tunics many of the Highlanders wore in battle, when Gerald turned to him. “This could be a trap.”
It could, but in Nicholas’ gut he didn’t believe so. He would go in alone, though, and order his men to drawback far enough from the castle that they’d be out of harm’s reach. He started to say just that when Gerald shook his head.
“Do not even think it, My Lord. We go with you.”
My Lord. His long-time friend only referred to him that way when protocol called for it, or when Gerald was grimly determined and disagreed with him. The man would not back down from his stand. It was becoming a battle to keep his thoughts centered. He didn’t have the strength to argue, instead urged his horse forward so that he at least led the way into the bailey.
The moment all of his men had ridden into the large area they were immediately surrounded by Scots bearing all manner of broadswords, crossbows, battle axes and fierce looking knives. Beyond them was a ring of village peasants carrying weapons of sorts as well. Tension sizzled in the air around him, from these strangers and from his loyal men. The situation was volatile. God’s teeth, he didn’t want to be here.
Then the young woman he’d come to deliver terrible news to and then remove from her home strode briskly toward them. She wore chainmail from neck to foot. He couldn’t believe it. He’d never known a woman to dress in such a manner, or to join into a man’s fight. She was nothing like the sweet lass her brother Brodie had claimed.
She pushed through her people, closely followed by a towering red-haired, seriously scowling man. But then almost everyone but the spattering of children amongst the villagers towered over her. Yet despite her diminutive height, he sensed she had a powerful spirit. And the closer she got, the more he was struck by her delicate beauty as well. A realization which irritated him. He didn’t need this complication, this immediate draw to a woman who was just another burden for him to bear.
“What be this important word you have of me father and me brothers?” she asked in more of a demand than question. Clearly feeling safe surrounded by her people and not the least bit intimidated by he or his armed men, she walked right up to stand in front of his war horse.
As frustrated as he was with the situation and with his injury, he didn’t want to blurt out such bad news in front of everyone. She would need privacy for the tearful breakdown he anticipated. “I would speak to you in private.”
She glared at him in fierce challenge.
He drew in a shaky breath, stiffened in his saddle, and then promptly swayed. He nearly toppled to the ground. As it was, he grabbed at his leg and ground out a string of curses.
The sea-green eyes softened and a furrow creased her brow. A bare second later, the softness disappeared. “Bring him inside. We’ll remove the arrow and tend to his wound before anymore is said.”
“I—” He wanted to take charge, not follow the directions of this woman who had given the order and turned to walk toward the keep. “I—” He couldn’t get out more than that before leaning forward against his horse’s neck and fighting not to pass out. “Bollocks.”
“Get him off the horse before he falls off,” she said in disgust. She’d stopped to glance back at his mumblings.
To his humiliation, Nicholas did slide over to the side and would have fallen if Maggie’s first in command hadn’t sped over to catch him. The shifting of the arrow in his thigh made him cry out in agony. And then blessed blackness claimed him.
* * *
Maggie sat with her legs curled under her on the trunk in her brother Brodie’s bedchamber watching as sunlight slipped through the oiled paper covering the twin small windows. She’d been here with the big English Lord the night long, in spite of Anice’s tsking about it no’ being proper. She yawned and fought to stay awake. She couldna rest until she talked with him, until she heard what news he had to give her.
After his wound had been tended to, she’d tried to get the Lord’s first—Gerald—to tell her. Stubborn man refused. But she was a Scot, she didn’t give up easily. So she’d supped in the Great Hall with her men and his, with the hope that he’d change his mind and talk to her. He hadn’t said two words. She’d suffered the silent glowers from both quarters as long as she could stand it. Then she’d gritted out an apology of sorts to Gerald and his men.
She shifted her legs out from under her, pursing her lips in annoyance. The great gowk Douglas had nearly choked on his bread so shocked at her reluctant admission of guilt for having acted so rashly. Somehow after that the tension had eased. The men had even begun sharing ale and tales when she’d stormed out of the hall in disgust.
With a huff, she looked toward the bed. Lord Nicholas Neville had slept like the dead for far too long, in her opinion. Of course, Anice had given him a potion to put him in that state. Maggie had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate having been put to sleep and lying here basically at the mercy of the woman who’d shot him with an arrow. But it had been a nasty wound and he’d lost much blood. He needed the recovery time.
She slid from her roost on the trunk and walked in slippered feet across the stone floor. The sunlight danced over his head, playing with the raven black hair that reached his shoulders. He’d bathed recently, probably in the loch. His hair was clean and he’d shaved as well. Although his handsomely carved face was covered in a rough growth of stubble now, which she found app
ealing. In truth, her body held much interest for the large, muscled man sleeping in her brother’s bed. She found herself wanting to touch him, to smooth her hand over that stubbled jaw, to run her fingers through his hair….
His midnight blue eyes snapped open and startled her into jumping back and gasping in surprise.
“Like what you see, My Lady?” he questioned boldly.
Heat flamed over her face, but she refused to cower in shame at being caught admiring him.
“I’ve seen better.” Liar. He was the most handsome devil she’d ever seen.
He raised an eyebrow. “Have you now?”
He used his powerful arms to lift up and shift backward until he sat with his back to the headboard. With the movement, the color had leeched from his face, pain lines pinched his brow. She saw all of that and more. The more being his well-toned, hairless bare chest. The linen covering him had slipped low until it barely hid a man’s most intriguing part from her sight. She hadn’t known Gerald and Anice had fully stripped him of his clothing and was definitely annoyed that she’d missed them doing so. Then she realized what she’d been thinking and cursed under her breath. He was an Englishman! That very word said it all.
When she glanced up at his face, she found him studying her and he didn’t look happy either. He drew the linen higher, but not by much. Then he reached down gingerly and felt the wrapping around his leg.
“I assume you weren’t the one to undress me.” His glower warned the idea that she might have didn’t sit well with him.
She could lie, but she shook her head and wrinkled her nose to show distaste that she didn’t really feel. “I’d hardly touch my hands to an Englishman.”
His intense eyes narrowed. “I’ve done nothing to you, Lady Durward.” His hand still over his wounded leg, he added grimly, “But I plan to at a later time when I’m a bit stronger.”
Maggie’s stomach fluttered as she recognized the basic wording, the tone she’d heard many a time before her father took her in hand. The very thought of this big, far-too-handsome man even considering disciplining her was distressing. She might deserve it for her hasty decision to shoot at an innocent man, but she wasn’t about to let it happen. Nor did she want to even skirt around the issue.
“Mayhap no’ you specifically, Lord Neville.” She bristled, clenched her hands into fists at the sides of her skirt. “But another group of English soldiers attacked us recently. In fact, we only ran them off two days ago.”
His brow furrowed, a crease deepening between his thick eyebrows. “I thought I noted more damage to your curtain wall than nature should have done.”
She straightened her shoulders, felt fury firing through her. “Aye, there is a fair amount of damage, but we’ll fix it soon enough. The lives taken, though, canna be replaced.”
Bitterness seared through her and tears misted in her eyes. Annoyed at that, she blinked them away. “So ye understand why we werna gracious hosts upon yer arrival.”
He nodded and shifted again, wincing. The linen slid lower and tempted her with more than she was interested in seeing at the moment.
Maggie strode closer, jerked the fur shoved down to the foot of the bed, and tugged it up to toss it over his chest. Then she stepped quickly back once more.
Amusement flashed in his eyes for just a second and then he turned grim again. “We need to talk, Lady Durward. Perhaps you should sit down.”
She thrust her chin out. “I will stand. Now, what ‘tis the news ye have brung me.”
“I won’t tell you until you sit down.”
They had a visual sparring match, but she finally blew out a breath of irritation and flounced back to the trunk and plopped on top of it. “Happy now?”
A muscle twitched in his unshaven jaw. “We’re going to have trouble getting along, I see. It won’t bode well for you.”
“I have nay need to get along with ye. Now, stop yer stalling and tell me the news.” Her stomach clenched with unease. Whatever it was he needed to tell her wasn’t good. She knew it in her heart.
He was quiet a minute and then looked steadily at her. “I’m sorry, My Lady, but your father and Fergus were killed in battle.” He hesitated and appeared even more distressed. “I fear Brodie is dead as well by now.”
She couldn’t breathe, could only stare at him in horror. “Nay, it canna be. No’ da. No’ Fergus.” She trembled, still couldn’t breathe.
“Take a breath, Maggie,” he ordered. He had somehow managed to get out of bed, hold the fur in front of him, and walk over to her. He held her gaze. “Breathe. Now.”
She gasped for air, coming out of the trance. “Brodie? Ye arena sure about his death?” She latched onto the faint hope that her beloved brother could still be alive. She needed him to be alive.
He reached for her face and used a calloused thumb to smooth away tears streaming down her cheeks. She wanted to pull away from his touch. At the same time, she didn’t want to.
“No. I’m not certain. Brodie was badly hurt in the last battle.” He swallowed hard and glanced away. “I tried to save him. He was in my arms while I tried to drag him away. He made me remember a promise I had made to him only a day before. A vow to him and your father, as well as to King Edward.”
Maggie found the strength to shove his hand away. “I care no’ about yer promises or yer vows.” She sucked in a shuddery breath. “Why isna Brodie with ye?”
He moved gingerly back, pain from his leg making him wince. Guilt sounded heavy in his tone as he said, “Someone hit me from behind. I was knocked unconscious. When I awoke much later, tied down over my horse, Gerald and my men were riding us away from the battlefield. No one knew what had happened to Brodie. He was gone by the time they found me.”
“He could be alive then,” she whispered the words, caught them to her heart. She couldn’t lose everyone she loved.
“It’s doubtful.” He shook his head, sadness in his eyes.
“I’ll no’ believe otherwise.” As awful as this news had been, instinct warned her there was more to hear. But what else could there be? This was enough to destroy her. “There’s more, isna there?”
For several seconds he just looked at her, seeming to weigh his thoughts, how would say them.
“Tell me,” she demanded.
“Your betrothed, Rob MacKenzie,” he hesitated, “went down as well in the battles. An earlier battle, though.”
She saw him watching her, clearly waiting for her to fall apart. She was silently crying, yes, but he wouldn’t be a witness to her collapse. She would do so in private. Later.
Drawing upon what little emotional strength she had left, she got to her feet, felt shaky. Ye canna break down in front of him, she vowed. Somehow she regained her shattered composure. “I thank ye fer coming out of yer way to tell me. I ken ye dinna have to.”
Again he was silent for a few awkward seconds. He met her gaze and held it, determined. “Brodie had become a friend, Fergus as well. And I respected your father. He was a good warrior.”
Her lower lip trembled. Her heart hurt so badly. She had to leave, had to find someplace to cry away her pain. She attempted to move by him.
He stepped in front of her. “I’m not finished, Maggie.”
She blinked at him. What more could there possibly be? He’d destroyed her world with the news of her father’s and Fergus’ deaths. After the two-week long attack to her home and this devastating news, how much more could she take? Still, she raised her chin and nodded. “Then finish it.”
At first he looked reluctant, and then determination filled every inch of his large body. “You are coming with me to Middleham. Your father and brothers made me vow to come get you and take you to my new castle if something happened to them. I’m to find you a new betrothed.” He must have noted her defiant look. “King Edward approved making you temporarily my ward.”
She sucked in a horrified breath and then spat at his feet. “That is how I feel about yer English king.”
His nostril
s flared in anger. “I obey my king. Your father and brothers chose to obey him.”
She stiffened her shoulders and clamped a hand over her knotting stomach. “He ordered my father and brothers to fight in a battle all knew they couldna win. He cost the lives of my father and Fergus…and Rob, too. I dunna care fer his wishes, his orders. I willna go with ye!”
“Brodie’s dying words were to remind me of my promise to him and your father. I won’t go against it.” He stretched to his full intimidating height, his chest expanding in his irritation. “You will come with me, even if I have to take you away from here tied to your horse.”
She shoved at him, tears streaming down her face, her body quivering in pain from all that she’d heard. It was too much to bear. “Brodie isna dead! And I willna go with ye!” With that she ran from the room.
Chapter Two
Nicholas carefully made his way down the circular stairs of the corner tower. He’d spent the rest of the day before stewing over the problem of Maggie Durward, his reluctant and unwanted new ward. Still too weak to withstand the long trek across half of Scotland and part of England to Middleham, he’d decided to stay here another few days, possibly a bit longer. He wanted to see the recent damages to the castle’s defenses for himself. Douglas had been hesitant at first to show him, but finally agreed.
“’Tisna all that bad. We can fix the outer part of this wall without too much trouble.” Douglas waited for him at the foot of the stairs.
“I agree.” He took a slight misstep, caught himself, and grimaced at the pain in his thigh.
“The lass has always been a bit headstrong.”
Nicholas tried not to show the relief he felt when he finally stepped off the stairway. The proud Scot was studying him again, just as he’d done when they’d talked in Nicholas’ room yesterday. Douglas had taken the news of his Laird’s and Fergus’ deaths hard but, as the man now in charge of Urquhart, he vowed to keep it safe until Brodie returned. Like Maggie, he refused to believe otherwise. But Nicholas assessed him as a good and loyal man. He liked and approved of him. And it appeared that Douglas felt the same respect for him. They’d done some talking about Maggie while up on the parapet. Douglas loved the young woman like a sister. It sounded like everyone in the castle and village liked her, knew she could be a handful at times, but liked her.
