by J. R. Tomlin
“How many? The damned Sassenach?”
James grimaced. “Four times the King's numbers at least. Better armor and weapons. More knights. Hundreds of longbows. We haven't a hope to beat them on the field. But we can starve them. No such army can bring enough food. I'm burning all the way to the sea.” He looked from man to man. “Everything. Houses. Barns. If a field still stands, we'll burn it. Trample it into the ground if we must. And we have little time. Tomorrow you'll flee into the hills.”
Will chewed his lower lip as the other two men stared at their hands. Iain turned his head to stare at his son asleep, breathe rasping. “I... I'll have to carry the bairn.”
“The guards can help with that.” Iain made a sound of protest but James cut him off. “I'll be easier on the lad.”
“He's right,” Will said. He chewed a lip as he thought. “Even hand barrows would be stuck in the muck of the roads the way they are this year. If we slaughtered the animals, the meat would spoil too fast anyway. So they must go, too.”
“I'll bury my tools. No use for them with no forge,” Iain said. “I'll carry part of the food. Won't do me harm to play pack animal. Not much else I'll need to take... except...” He glanced toward the sleeping child.
“We have one free mount from the barley we gave out today,” James put in. “Some food and supplies people can't carry on their backs may go on that. It's not much. Alycie can ride pillion behind one of the guards so she can carry your lad. You may have to slaughter some animals on the way. If there's been even a bite of harvest brought in anywhere, it's more than I have heard.”
“Where did you find the barley?” Gavane asked.
James laughed. “Where do you think?”
Gavane stared into the tiny fire on the hearth. “Only five cattle in the village. A dozen sheep. We'll herd them the best that we can.” He looked at James. “You say you'll give us guard, my lord?”
“I can only spare four.” He'd thought to say two, but two more would make little difference to his harrying the English, and there was always danger upon the road. “I stay behind with my men. If there's a straggler behind that army, we'll have him. This won't be free. They'll pay.”
“Not much I can think on needs to be said.” Iain lumbered to his feet. “Best we just tell everyone. We have the night to prepare. I say we go from one door to another. We'll spend enough time in the rain. No reason for standing out in it for a meeting.” He bobbed a respectful nod of the head to James as he headed for the door. Gavane and Will mumbled in agreement and followed.
“Blessed St. Bride,” Alycie murmured as she rose. “How can the King make you face an army by yourself? When he has men...”
James pulled Alycie into his arms. “Not enough to defeat them, hen. Not nearly enough. I won't face them. I'm not so stupid. I'll burn ahead of them and then I'll nip at their heels and take a bite from their arse if I get a chance. But you have to be safe. Away.” He dug his fingers into her thick blonde hair. He lips were soft. She carried the scent of honey and thyme. Then he was nibbling her lips, thrusting his tongue into her warmth. Hot and sweet.
“Tell me you'll miss me whilst you're gone,” James whispered. He knew what she would say but he needed to hear words.
“I miss you always. When you're gone. Fear for you.”
Her hands held him tight and James was stroking her hair, kissing her face, kissing her neck. “I've missed you,” he said, and he found her mouth again. Alycie opened her lips to that delving kiss and called forth everything hidden inside him beneath the anger.
He broke the kiss and Alycie swayed against him, arms around his neck for support. She made a little sound in her throat and drunk on the moment, he lifted her up and carried her through the door to her bed. He stripped her kirtle over her head and tossed it aside. He loved her breasts, the way they filled his hands when he cupped them. He put his lips to one pink nipple and sucked, feeling it harden against his tongue. He moved to the other teasing it between his lips.
“Jamie.” Alycie unfastened the tie of her underskirt and pushed it down over her hips.
He stripped, tossing down his armor, sword and under tunic. It didn't matter that they were wet and needed cleaning. She lay down and held his hand to pull her toward him. They lay together on her bed, light from the doorway playing shadows over their naked bodies as they moved together, rediscovering each other with mouths and with hands.
James nuzzled his way up her throat, panting a little, and she opened her mouth for him. Their tongues touched and withdrew. He raised his head, and they smiled at each other.
“I'll make it safe for you to come back. I promise.”
She brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I know.”
James examined the soft features that hid such determination. Her eyes held his gaze.
“I love you, Alycie.”
James opened his mouth to say more, but she kissed him, a butterfly's breath of a kiss. “I've always loved you,” she whispered. She opened her mouth to his tongue, claiming him as he claimed her. The muggy afternoon, his horse stamping outside, a crack of thunder in the distance, the hum of voices planning their flight made a distant background that no longer mattered.
“Trust me,” he said. “It will be all right.”
“You know that I do.”
It had been too long for both of them, but they soon found the ancient tidal rhythm, like the crest and fall of waves on the shore. Pleasure built like a swell running in from the sea. He moved faster and Alycie rose to meet him, lifting with his rhythm.
Alycie whimpered, eyes shut tight, straining against him. A pink flush spread up her chest and neck. He could hear the rush of her breath, feel the slippery leak of pleasure between them. Release roared in from the depths of the sea, crashing through every doubt, every resistance. He slumped onto his elbows. She dug in her fingers as her back arched. “James,” Alycie cried.
Time blurred. James shifted into a place where there was no need for pride or titles or glory. He felt what he felt for Alycie. Here was his deepest pleasure. When he was completely spent, he stroked her face as he pulled out and rolled onto his side. She curled into his arms with a satisfied murmur. He buried his face in the sweet heathery scent of her hair, closed his eyes, half weak with pleasure. This was truly loving. He'd give whatever he had or might ever have to hold onto it.
“When you return, we'll wed. No one can stop me. Like my father. I marry whom I please.”
When he looked at her, her eyes were wide, shining in the faint light from the other room. “The King... He'd never allow it. What will he do?”
“There's nothing he can do once we're wed at the door of a church.” He narrowed his eyes into the half-darkness. The King would indeed be angry. Furious would be a better word.
“Jamie...” She tilted her head back to look into his eyes. “You can't. You... you'd die for him.”
“He'll be angry. Eventually, he'll forgive me.”
When she didn't answer, he pulled her closer. “I would die for him. Probably, one day I will die for him. But until then, why shouldn't we have a few moments happiness? God knows, we've had little enough.” He kissed her forehead. “I'll have you and anyone who doesn't like it, hell mend them. Even the King.”
“Do you think you might ask me first?” Alycie whispered. There was a smile in her voice and her cheek pressed into his neck.
He laughed softly. “I'll court you with roses. When you return, lass.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Barking like a furious hound was near at hand. James awoke with a thudding feeling, then he realized the sound was a cough. He was mashed against the wall, muting his usual sprawl because he was in Alycie's narrow bed. He slid his hand across the coverlet and found her gone. Pottery clattered in the other room. A voice softly murmured words he couldn't make out. It felt like near morning though outwith the window was still the almost-light of a summer night.
He crawled to the foot of the bed and gathered the armor a
nd clothes he'd thrown there. He pulled on his hose and tunic. A fire burned in the hearth beneath a steaming pot that sent up a scent of some medicinal herb. The bairn Alycie held in her lap, a cup to his mouth, was older than James had thought. Perhaps three years or four.
James flapped into his tunic and hose. He eyed his mail with disgust. It needed a good cleaning, so he got a cloth and wiped at it. That wouldn't be as good as it needed but better than naught.
“I...” Alycie cleared her throat. “I need to pack herbs I can use. There will be hurts to tend. More illness, most like.”
“I'll go make sure their readying to leave.” James tossed the cloth on the table and tugged the hauberk over his head. “Isn't there a woman who can care for him whilst you do what you need?”
“They have to ready what they can, as well. I'll manage.”
He cupped her cheek. Under his palm it was smooth, warm. He stroked the blue and green plaid that covered her shoulder that had the velvety feel of having been washed a hundred times. He tried to think of something to tell her, but what they'd said in the night was all there was. “When you return...”
She nodded and he walked out the door. He passed the trees into the village proper filled with pale light. A sheep bleated. A lank haired lad of twelve poked at it with his crook as the animal tried to circle past him. “Get back you barmy thing.”
A horse blew and nickered as Gelleys led it out of the shed. Iain and Will walked toward him, gesturing as they quietly argued some point.
“We need another day,” Iain said. “Will it make that much difference?”
James wondered if he hoped the child would be better for another day's respite. “It's too much risk. Everyone must be gone today.”
Will gaped, open mouthed, staring into the distance. “Look.”
Black billows rose on the horizon, writhing to mix with the gray clouds.
“I told you. We'll burn everything ahead of the English. It's started.”
Iain shook his head. “You said... but it didn't sound real. It's bad enough when the English loot and destroy. But our own?”
“I'll burn the whole land before I let them have it.” He glared at Wat, chatting to one of the women who had her arms around a bundle. “Wat! Load the horses. Now!”
As Wat trotted to carry out his orders, the three of him watched for a moment. Iain said, “I've buried my tools. Best I see to my lad now. Alycie will have to ready her medicines to go.”
Will scowled. “The cattle should be here. I'm a mind to wallop that lazy David Kintor. He's naught but a layabout.”
“Will you see to it, Will? My men seem to think it's a holy day as slow as they are.” He took a deep breath as he strode toward the pack animals and his men throwing sacks of barley on their backs. He wouldn't shout at them or not much. They shouldn't pay for the tearing pain of doing this. “Gelleys, see Gawane for what food might be loaded onto the spare horse. Wat, I'm sending four guards with them. All but you and Richert. Gelleys should lead them. As long as they're on the road by midday, with the late dusk, they'll have time to be well away.”
“Fergus? In case they're attacked?”
James nodded.
Confusion and noise was a swelling tide: a man cursed as he led two cattle, horses whickered, women traded shouts about what to carry with them, sheep bleated, Wat yelled at the men to hurry. Gawane swatted at a filthy-faced lad and told him to run to his mam. Will carried a cask of ale on his shoulder to be loaded.
Scuttling clouds streaked the sky, but at least it wasn't raining. He motioned Gelleys over and told him to fasten padding behind his saddle for a pillion for Alycie to ride. He'd not tell her that it was as much for her as the sick lad she was tending. She'd be sure to think she should walk with the others.
It took a full three hours, but when Alycie came out of the trees that separated their house from the village, the chaos had turned into an order of march. His face felt like stretched leather, tight and grim, as he handed her up behind Gelleys. He moved his mouth into a smile. “It won't be so bad. Soon you'll be back.”
She looked around. Her throat worked. “Keep safe,” she said in a husky voice.
The day had grown warm when Fergus led them away from Douglas village, men and women bunched together. Children hung onto their mother's skirts. Wailing from a bairn, sheep lowing, a thin dog ran after them barking. With one arm, Alycie clung to Gelleys's waist, the other cradled the lad to her breast. She didn't look back. The thud of hooves faded into the distance.
James narrowed his eyes as he watched the roiling black smoke on the horizon. Five years that he'd fought. And more his father before him. Would it ever end? Well, it would not today. He picked up his horse's reins.
Wat dropped an armload of torches, an oily cloth wrapped around the end, at his feet. One flickered and smoked as he held it aloft.
James held out his hand. “Give me one.” How many times must a man destroy his own home? He studied the torch for a moment and gave an impatient shake of his head. No time for being maudlin. “Richert, take the horses clear of town, so they don't spook. You know what to do. The forge is still burning for fire. That should go last. I'll be back.” James thrust his torch up to Wat's. It caught with a sigh.
As Richert gather the reins to his horse and Wat's James swung into the saddle. He cantered into the trees and the house was before him, a simple thing though larger than most in the village, three rooms instead of only one. A gift from to their family from his father. Sturdy thatched roof. Stone walls. Windows with strong shutters.
He tied the reins tight to a branch. No time for chasing down a spooked stead. Then he strode in through the front door, banging it open with the flat of his hand.
His footsteps were like drumbeats in the empty house. The bed where he'd slept last night with Alycie, the coverlet still crumpled, the dents of their bodies in the mattress. Whole it wouldn't catch so easily. He slid his dirk from his belt and plunged it in, ripping a slash. It gaped like a wound, bleeding straw. He thrust the torch into it. Held it.
The straw caught. Flames curled and spread across it to snake like a live thing up the wall toward the open window. The fire crackled, sending up ribbons of smoke. He spun on a heel and thudded into the main room. He knocked clay jars about and found one filled with uisge beatha. He tightened his hand around it until his arm shook. James went to the door and dashed it into the fire. It went up whoosh. Heat scorched his face. He tossed in the torch and backed toward the open door. Flames followed, wrapping the rafters, eating hungrily into the thatch. Smoke boiled out. James backed out the door. The thatched roof flared. Flames danced across it.
He loped to the horse, jerked loose his reins and mounted. He squeezed the reins so tight they cut into his hands as he watched. The roof collapsed with a gush of flames as high as the treetops that outshone the gray daylight. He turned the horse's head and rode toward billowing columns of smoke.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A cold wind cut at James's face, and black clouds like fish scales slid across the high morning sky. He settled on the edge of a low boulder and fumbled his whetstone out of the leather bag that hung from his sword belt. He pulled the stone along the edge of his dirk with a nervous whisk. He flexed his neck and shoulders, aching from the weight of armor he'd not been out of in long weeks.
Ice glazed the dry heather, glittering like a jeweled crust in the pale morning sun, tiny flashing gems of blue and white. It had been three days since they'd picked off a handful of English stragglers. A man needed to keep busy, or he'd think of things better ignored. A man might think of burned villages and cold, hungry people sheltered in caves in the hills. Think of a bairn coughing his life away. Might think of Alycie torn from her home. He might wonder... He pushed the worry away. He must trust that Tom would take care of Alycie. He had enough to worry him here.
The men bunched in small groups over tiny fires, plaids pulled tight around their shoulders. Fergus's thumped the hilt of his sword to bang a de
nt out of his helm. Richert rifled through a bag. One of the arches muttered under his breath as he ran his hands over his bow. But most of the two hundred men rubbed their hands together over the fires.
James raised his head sniffing. There was no doubt. The wind carried the scent of coming snow.
The dry, scrubby heather rustled as Wat wended his way past through the camp. He dropped onto the boulder beside James. “Gelleys and the scouts have been gone longer than I like.”
“It's a good way to Dumbarton. And no point coming back without news.” James tested the point on his thumb and stuck the blade back into his belt.
“Think the English will retire all the way to Berwick?”
James grunted. Wat was nattering on like an old hen wife, but he got like that when he was nervous. “You know they will. It will be snow fly soon enough.” He grunted a laugh. “They're near enough eating their horses now.”
“Might be they'd winter at the Linlithgow Peel.”
James shrugged. “How are we on grain for the horses?” What they had, they'd taken from the English, and that was getting scant.
Wat opened his mouth to answer, but a horn winded a long note. He snapped his mouth shut and stood up.
James dropped his hand to his sword hilt, but another note wound its way through the air. “Good.” He stifled a sigh of relief.
Allane stood up and rubbed his lean belly. “Wouldn't mind if there was news of some Sassenach with food for us.”
Fergus barked a loud bray of a laugh. “We've already taken it all.”
“Nae, they must have some left.”
James listened quietly to the clatter and mutter of men rising, adjusting weapons and watching the braeside for riders. He stood up with Hew cantered into sight up the slope.
James strode toward him. “Are they moving?”
