Kilty Pleasures (Clash of the Tartans Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  “Nay, indeed,” he replied, grinning like an imbecile and shoving aside the people between them like Moses parting the Red Sea. “Come.”

  Since he was next in line, she hoped Nicolson and Adrian would follow as she sidestepped past folks ahead of her. Repeating Excuse me several times seemed to appease any animosity they felt. Either that or they didn’t want to tangle with the burly peasant.

  “John Smith,” he said, swiping the woolen cap off his head. “I can’t help but admire yer fetching outfit. What brings thee to Carlisle, young lady?”

  She was grateful Nicolson’s scowling presence beside her seemed to take some of the wind out of Smith’s sails. “Family business,” she replied as he backed away.

  He turned to the gatekeeper, who ushered him through the gate without pause. Evidently, John Smith was known in Carlisle.

  She became nervous when he lingered on the other side of the archway. “I hope he isna waiting for me. My impatience got the better of me,” she mumbled to Nicolson.

  “Aye, but he might prove useful. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “State yer business,” the gatekeeper intoned, his eyes darting back and forth from her hair to her breasts.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m Kyla MacKeegan from Skye, daughter of…”

  “Another Highlander,” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes as he waved them on impatiently. “Pass, pass.”

  Latecomers

  A groom appeared as Broderick and Darroch trotted into the outer ward. “I’ll teck care o’ yer ’osses, milords,” the lad said, reaching for the reins.

  Broderick tossed him a coin. “Is King James still in residence?” he asked.

  “’Til the morrow,” came the reply, “then he’s off to Edinburgh.”

  “Seems we are just in time,” Darroch said as they dismounted.

  “If thee wants to see His Majesty, he’s holding court as we speak,” the lad went on, “but thee’ll have to wait a while. Crowded with petitioners.”

  It was an unexpected stroke of luck that bolstered hopes for rescuing Kyla and Lily. “Direct us there, if ye please,” Broderick replied.

  The youth pointed. “Thee must go to the Great Hall, which is in yon keep.”

  The three-storied red sandstone keep loomed to the right, beyond another curtain wall, but it would be no simple matter to reach it. “Through a second gate?” he asked.

  “Aye. Up the ramp of the revetment and past the half-moon battery thee sees there, then explain yer purpose to the gatekeeper at the Captain’s Gate. He’ll decide if thee goes through or nay.”

  “We’ll gain entry,” Darroch asserted. “And there’ll be more coin if ye take good care o’ the steeds.”

  They outpaced many others as they hurried up the ramp, pausing to catch their breath atop the wall of the eleven-gun battery built by King Henry of the six wives.

  “I suspect we willna be allowed to take weapons into the keep,” Broderick said, unsheathing his sword. “It might impress the sentry if we offer before he asks.”

  Darroch nodded his agreement and both men handed over swords and daggers when the gatekeeper approached them.

  Broderick immediately identified himself and his companion, laying special emphasis on the fact King James had appointed him Warden of the Solway.

  Eyeing their attire, the guard passed the weapons to another sentry. “The Maxwell plaid I recognize, but t’other?”

  “MacKeegan from the Isle of Skye,” Darroch replied.

  The sentry narrowed his eyes at Broderick. “A Lowlander keeping company with a Highlander?”

  Apparently sensing the man’s suspicions, Darroch clamped a hand on Broderick’s shoulder and declared, “Aye, who’d believe it? Laird Maxwell is my son-by-marriage.”

  Broderick hoped his face didn’t betray the emotions swirling in his heart. He acknowledged a deep-seated desire to be this proud chieftain’s son-by-marriage in reality, to take Kyla to wife, to spend his life with the intriguing woman he had to rescue from Lochwood’s clutches at all costs. He preferred not to consider the possibility the wretch may already have defiled her, but if the worst had happened, it wouldn’t make any difference to his feelings.

  “Go on then,” the gatekeeper muttered. “Up the steps to the Great Hall.”

  They passed through into the inner ward. When Broderick was sure they were well away from the gate, he paused. “I do love yer daughter, ye ken.”

  “Listen,” MacKeegan replied, “I’m a mon besotted with his wife. I recognize the look in yer eyes. If Kyla has any feelings for ye at all…”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of five or six scowling noblemen leaving the keep. “Judging by the sour looks on their faces, I’d say they’ve been unsuccessful in their petitions to the king,” Darroch observed.

  A worry gnawed at Broderick. “Aye, we’d best increase our pace. ’Tis possible the gathering is coming to a close.”

  They hurried into the keep, taking the three flights of stone steps two at a time.

  Their noisy, breathless advent into the Great Hall on the top floor caught the attention of the crowd still milling about. Heads turned. A hush fell.

  Gulping air, Broderick scanned the hall. Floor to ceiling banners warmed the stone walls, but it was the ray of sunlight pouring through a single arched window high up in the far wall that led his gaze to the man basking in its light. King James sprawled in an elaborately carved, high-backed chair which seemed to have been strategically placed to take advantage of the sun’s benediction. A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he drawled, “Latecomers.”

  When Darroch shoved him, Broderick had no option but to make his way through the gathering and go down on one knee. “A thousand pardons, Majesty, Laird Broderick Maxwell,” he said with head bowed. “Yer appointed Warden of the Solway.”

  The monarch sat up straight and arched a brow. “Maxwell? Yes. Aye. We didna expect to see ye here. What’s this we hear about sinking a birlinn?”

  A cold chill settled on Broderick’s nape, but he took the Scottish-born king’s lapse into his native brogue as a good omen. He risked raising his head. “I came on a matter of grave importance concerning crimes against my family, and against Laird MacKeegan from the Isle of Skye who has accompanied me here today. The sinking of his vessel is part o’ the story.”

  James scanned the small remaining crowd. “The MacKeegan’s here? All the way from Skye? ’Twas his birlinn?”

  Darroch came to bend the knee before the throne. “Aye, Yer Highness, and our tale will shock ye to the core.”

  James rolled his eyes. “Nay the usual petty clan squabble, we hope,” he replied.

  “The lives of two lasses are in dire jeopardy,” Broderick insisted.

  His Highness leaned forward. “Rise, then, and tell us what’s happened.”

  “Corbin Lochwood has abducted my sister and Laird MacKeegan’s daughter.”

  James swatted the air. “We’d hoped to put a stop to the practice of ransoming folks back to their clans, but…”

  “He doesna demand ransom. He wants to marry my sister,” Broderick interrupted, “because he thinks to usurp Caerlochnaven and be appointed Warden.”

  “But there canna be two Wardens.”

  “Lochwood thinks I am dead,” Broderick explained. “He tried to drown me.”

  A collective murmur of outrage rose from the assembly.

  James raised his hand and the crowd quieted. “’Tis a grave accusation.”

  “His plot against me failed, but he did murder the sexton o’ Darling Abbey.”

  “Auld Cladh?”

  Broderick was impressed the king recalled the name of an unimportant sexton of a remote monastery. “Aye.”

  “Ye have proof?”

  “Aye.”

  “And what does this have to do with the sinking of the birlinn?”

  After Broderick explained the circumstances, Darroch added, “And his criminal actions caused the deaths o’ two
o’ my kinsmen, and nigh on drowned the captain, my daughter.”

  James shook his head. “Ye allow a woman to captain yer ships?”

  “She’s a better captain than I am, Yer Majesty.”

  The king’s eyes widened. “And why has he kidnapped her?”

  Bile rose in Broderick’s throat. How to tell the king of the vile plans a lunatic had in mind for the woman he loved?

  Darroch came to his rescue. “Yer Majesty, I swear to ye, that if Corbin Lochwood violates my daughter, I’ll tear him limb from limb with my bare hands.”

  The king nodded thoughtfully. “I can understand that. We’ll send out search parties…”

  “He’s on his way here,” Broderick interjected, wondering what the penalty was for constantly interrupting a monarch. “He intends to ask for yer blessing on the marriage and for the royal appointment.”

  The king drummed his fingers on the ornate arms of his throne, eyeing them.

  Impatience threatened to rob Broderick of breath, but he thrust out his chest and resolved to stand resolute, just as MacKeegan did.

  Apparently having reached a decision, James summoned two guards. “Alert the keeper of the Captain’s Gate. If Laird Corbin Lochwood appears with two lasses, they’re all to be brought here. We’ll hear his side of this sorry story.”

  Pandemonium broke out as the guards exited the hall.

  *

  Corbin kept a firm grip on Lily’s arm, annoyed he’d tried every tactic he could think of to gain entry to the inner ward. “It’s a sad story,” he assured the scowling gatekeeper. “As you see, my betrothed hasn’t recovered from her brother’s untimely death, and she blames me for it. Who can naysay her? If I’d tried harder to save him…”

  He was thrown off stride when another sentry came to whisper in the gatekeeper’s ear. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Soldiers were ignorant. Most of them peasants. He tapped his foot impatiently. Lily was becoming a handful, and he could hardly slap her in front of…

  “What did thee say yer name was?”

  About to hiss a warning to Lily, Corbin momentarily forgot what he was going to say. “Er, Laird Lochwood, from Annandale. It’s imperative I speak with the king.”

  The gatekeeper grinned. “Right. And His Highness apparently wants to see thee. There’s supposed to be two lasses, but seems thee only brung one.”

  Corbin proudly thrust out his chin as two guards came to escort him and Lily into the keep. The mere mention of his name had been enough to gain him an audience.

  He’d have made better progress on the narrow staircase but for Lily dragging her feet. The exciting prospect of meeting the king had thrown his thoughts into disarray. Surely the gatekeeper hadn’t mentioned two women? There was no way the king could know about Kyla.

  When they entered the Great Hall, one of the soldiers took his arm with far too much force. It struck him the hall was oddly quiet given the number of people assembled there. Momentarily blinded by a shaft of bright sunlight from an upper window, Corbin didn’t realize until the guard hissed Kneel that he was in the king’s presence. This wasn’t the moment, but he’d complain later about the rough treatment. After all…

  “Are ye Laird Corbin Lochwood?”

  Surely the monarch of all England and Scotland wouldn’t speak like a common Scottish peasant? One glance at the angry-looking man with the crown on his head convinced him otherwise. Quickly pulling Lily to kneel beside him, Corbin cleared his throat and replied, “I am he, Sire.”

  *

  Broderick itched to leap from the curtained alcove where the king had commanded him and Darroch to conceal themselves. His knees threatened to buckle when he saw his sister had survived, though she was pale and drawn. The need to reassure her he hadn’t died was overwhelming.

  But where was Kyla? If he could get his hands around Corbin’s scrawny neck…

  “Patience, laddie,” Darroch advised. “Let him tie himself in knots.”

  “Who is this young lass ye’ve brought?” King James asked Corbin.

  Lily pouted, eyes fixed on the stone floor.

  “I’m proud to introduce Lily Maxwell of Caerlochnaven, Sire. I’ve offered for her hand after the tragic death of her brother. The least I could do.”

  “The man I appointed Warden of the Solway is dead?” the king asked, stroking his beard.

  Corbin put both hands over his heart. “Alas, Sire, drowned in the very waters he swore to protect.”

  A glare from the king quickly put an end to the murmur of disbelief that rippled through the crowd.

  Broderick seethed. “Lying toad,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Aye,” Darroch rasped.

  “Under what circumstances did this take place?” the king asked.

  Corbin opened his mouth, but into the silence came Lily’s voice, clear as a bell. “This cruel mon made him take off all his clothes and forced him into the deep water where he drowned. He’s naught but a…a…beaked toad.”

  Folks gasped and giggled.

  Broderick admired his sister’s spunk, but heat swamped him. His humiliation would be the talk of the Court.

  “Did Kyla witness this?” Darroch growled in his ear.

  There was naught for it but to tell the truth. “Aye,” he whispered, “but she refused to look away, knowing that’s what Lochwood wanted. ’Tis hard to explain, but it helped me bear the torment.”

  He expected outrage, but MacKeegan merely nodded. “I’m beginning to think Kyla does love ye.”

  The color drained from Lochwood’s face. “Sorry to say, Sire, ’tis well known Lily is a wee bit simple. The tragic events have confused her.”

  The king gripped the arms of his throne and leaned forward. “Yet ye wish to take her to wife?” he asked. “I suppose the prize of Caerlochnaven has naught to do with it?”

  Glaring at her tormentor, Lily pointed to his empty scabbard. “That’s my brother’s. He stole the sword.”

  Evidently sensing the interview wasn’t going well, Lochwood gritted his teeth and shifted his weight to his other knee.

  James beckoned Lily. “Come, child.”

  She yanked her arm from Corbin’s grip, got off her knees and went to stand beside the king, insisting tearfully, “I’m nay simple. I’m telling the truth. He murdered my brother. I dinna want to marry him.”

  “I ken, bonnie wee lassie, and ye willna be forced into marriage if ye dinna wish it.”

  Lochwood mumbled a protest.

  James silenced him with a glare. “The other thing we’d like ye to tell us is the whereabouts o’ Mistress Kyla MacKeegan.”

  Relieved the king had at last revealed his knowledge of Lochwood’s misdeeds, Broderick saw no point in remaining concealed. He stepped out of hiding, followed closely by Darroch.

  The excited crowd parted as Lily squealed his name and ran to him.

  He scooped her up and rocked her in his arms as she sobbed. “Dinna fash, sweet sister,” he crooned, “I’m nay dead. Do ye ken what he’s done with Kyla?”

  “She’s in Gretna.”

  The air filled with jumbled shouts of outrage and dismay.

  Gretna!

  Murderer!

  Grab him!

  There he goes!

  “He’s making a run for it,” Darroch exclaimed before he rushed off.

  The Postern Gate

  Kyla and her companions walked away dejectedly from the agitated soldiers rushing about inside the Captain’s Gate. Halfway down the ramp of the revetment, she espied John Smith waving to her from the middle of the outer ward.

  To her dismay, he hurried toward them, red-faced and breathing heavily when they came together near the outer gatehouse. “Did thee not get through?” he asked.

  Nicolson stepped between him and Kyla. “The keep’s closed to all comers until further notice. Something about a fugitive on the loose.”

  Kyla clenched her jaw. “Today of all days! We have to get in to see the king.” She resisted the urge to wrinkle her
nose at the muck in Smith’s fingernails when he thrust out his chin and scraped the stubble on his fat neck.

  “There is a postern gate,” he whispered conspiratorially after glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “Behind Queen Mary’s Tower.”

  “Heavily guarded, I’m sure,” Nicolson replied.

  Smith shook his head. “Bricked up long ago, but…”

  Kyla became impatient when he hesitated. “But what? No one can hear us.”

  “They left part of it open, just blocked by a grill.”

  “And how are we supposed to open the grill?” Nicolson asked.

  Smith tapped the side of his nose. “Thee’s forgetting I’m the smith. I’ll lend thee the tools. The forge is on t’other side of the ward.”

  He strode away without a backward glance.

  “Why do ye think he’s helping us?” Adrian asked.

  Nicolson snickered. “Something to do with red hair.”

  Kyla winced. “That’s what I’m afraid of, but do we have a choice?”

  Her navigator shrugged. “We could end up being arrested.”

  “At least then we’d be inside the keep.”

  Smith came to a halt and turned. “Art coming or nay?”

  Without further ado they hurried to catch up to him.

  *

  Lily buried her head against Broderick’s shoulder as the uproar continued around them.

  “They’ll catch him,” he reassured her, though he feared the indignant crowd rushing to the stairs had impeded rather than helped the pursuit.

  Darroch reappeared. “The fools have the stairwell blocked,” he hissed.

  Broderick shook his head, signaling the need not to alarm Lily.

  Darroch nodded. “Ye’re certain Kyla’s in Gretna, brave lass?” he asked, stroking her hair.

  She raised her head. “Ye’re Kyla’s dadaidh.”

  He chuckled. “Aye. The red hair gave me away, I suppose.”

  “Lochwood left Kyla with my brother’s boat. He threatened to hurt me if she wasna there when he got back.”