The Highland Knight's Revenge

by Lori Ann Bailey

  The Highland Knight’s Revenge

  Lori Ann Bailey

  Copyright 2020 © Lori Ann Bailey

  THE HIGHLAND KNIGHT’S REVENGE © 2020 Lori Ann Bailey. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part or the whole of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or utilized (other than for reading by the intended reader) in ANY form (now known or hereafter invented) without prior written permission by the author. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, and punishable by law.

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  THE HIGHLAND KNIGHT’S REVENGE is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and or are used fictitiously and solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.

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  Edited by Jess Snyder Edits and Quillfire Author Services

  Cover Design by Dar Albert @ Wicked Smart Designs.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Lori Ann Bailey

  Chapter 1

  Rose Citadel

  Gracious Hill, England, June 1193

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  Revenge.

  That was the answer, but he couldn’t remember the question or who had asked it.

  Giric de Beaumont MacDonald squinted to get a better look at the man who sat two tables down. He’d just been informed the dark-haired man was Edward Linton, the son of Baron Gillingham, the Englishman who had come to Scotland and taken everything from him.

  His enemy’s son laughed with a petite brunette whose face was obscured by the man sitting on her other side. He wondered if Edward was aware the devil himself had fathered him. According to what he’d been told, Edwards’s dark appearance and large build were the same as his sire. But Giric had never actually seen the English baron who killed his father.

  Knowing he was so close to the man’s family forced images of that dreadful day to the forefront of his mind, making them more real than the typical hazy scenes plaguing his waking hours and haunting his sleep. The only difference was that Edward wore a carefree smile instead of the scowl he’d envisioned on the man who cursed his dreams.

  The bastard’s son comported himself as if he were still a boy of fifteen and just learning the appeal of a lass. It was plain for all present that he was smitten with the lady at his side. Giric wished he could get a better look at her to see Edward’s weakness.

  He had waited eleven long years for the opportunity to meet his enemy. The Baron de Rose, Lord Yves, had given him this chance by inviting all the English nobles and knights to his castle for a tournament.

  The coward who had killed Giric’s father hadn’t had the courage to make an appearance at the castle, sending his heir instead.

  “Sir Giric?”

  Squeezing his eyes shut to block out the rage that had pulled him back in time, back to plumes of smoke and the smell of burned wood and flesh, Giric turned toward the man at his side.

  He took a deep breath. Patience. His vengeance would come soon now.

  Meeting the other guest’s questioning gaze, he plastered a smile upon his face. The man’s eyes were framed by pale lids creased with age and too much awareness. His mealtime companion had once been a knight, but he’d been elevated to baron after the deaths of a nephew and his three older brothers. His father had been called Edward. It seemed the English had a fondness for the designation because Giric had been introduced to three other knights and an additional baron with the same name since his arrival.

  “Pardon me. ’Twas a long journey, and I’ll be a better companion after I’ve had a night’s rest. What was yer question?” Giric gave his attention to the aging baron, who took a gulp from his wine goblet, then set it back down.

  “What brings you here from Scotland?”

  Revenge wasn’t his only reason for making the journey south. “Lord Yves extended the invitation to my king, and William thought he should have some representation present.” Giric didn’t bother to mention he wasn’t the only knight from Scotland in attendance.

  “So, King William won’t be joining us?” the baron asked.

  Giric shook his head. “Nae. He had other matters requiring his attention.”

  “Pity, I would like to have met him. My lands are nearby on the border, and I think we would have some mutual interests.”

  “I’ll see to it that he knows ye wish an audience. Mayhap when I am rested, we can converse again.”

  “I would enjoy that.” The old man smiled.

  “Please excuse me for now. I need to see that my squire and horse have been settled.” He pushed back from the table and the generous feast their host had provided.

  Giric had barely touched his food, but he needed air. The stuffy confines and loud sounds of a room filled with revelers gnawed at his nerves.

  A plan was necessary. His king had sent him to find out where Lord Yves’s loyalties lay, and he would find that answer, but his personal mission was in jeopardy. How was he to get his revenge without Baron Gillingham in residence?

  Meandering out of the castle, he made his way toward the competition grounds, away from the throngs of people. As the clanging sounds of music and the noise of the crowds started to fade, he could think clearly again.

  Throwing a gauntlet at the feet of his enemy upon his arrival had been Giric’s original intention. He’d trained hard with King William’s knights and was confident he could best most of the challengers in England.

  But his prey wasn’t here.

  The son, Edward—he would be the answer. It might even be a fortuitous turn of fate to take the life of the man’s son and let the arse live to endure a pain similar to what he’d experienced. But he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t kill an innocent man. The son would not be recompense for his father’s crime.

  The scent of burning wood from campfires drifted toward him. Soft musical notes and distant revelry hummed a gentle murmur, blending with the sounds of nature. Glancing in that direction, his attention caught on a lone figure standing in the archery fields. It was a woman but from this distance and the fading light of day, he only knew her to be so by the dark blue gown and headpiece with gossamer fabric that billowed in the breeze. She gracefully pulled a quill from the pack sitting upright on the earth nearby.

  Something about the scene was familiar. Like a child seeking reassurance after a nightmare and looking for comfort, he moved closer.

  Leveling up with the shooting line, she squared her stance parallel with the target. Her spine was straight, and she rolled her shoulders back. She took aim, but instead of releasing the arrow, she paused. Her grip on the weapon loosened as she held her hand aloft. Shutting her eyes, the lass appeared to let the elements wash around her. Her graceful movements were like a dance with nature. The gentle breeze picked up, and gooseflesh rose on his arms.

  Fear slapped him.

  He was taken back to just before his father’s death, reminded of the others who perished that day. A vision of the girl he couldn’t save stabbed into his memory. She had been about twelve summers, and he’d been drawn to the scene then as well. Her brown hair had been cut at the shoulders, and the child had looked more like
a pageboy than a young woman, but her nimble movements had captured him, much as the lass before him did now.

  The lass from his memory and her father had been murdered the same day his father had…by Baron Gillingham.

  He watched this lass let the arrow fly. He was so near that he could imagine a whizz as the shaft split the air and hit the target almost dead center, just as that child from the past had on the day he’d spied on her.

  She pulled another arrow and repeated her ritual. She hit the mark, this time scoring better. He was amazed anyone could produce such results at that distance and with the dark of the evening starting to close in around them.

  Motion caught his eyes as two men rushed toward her. Concern for her safety lashed at him. He hadn’t been in time to save the child from his past, but he could make sure no harm befell this lass.

  Jennet Linton took aim and let the arrow loose. It landed slightly off the center. Not her best, but perhaps it was this headache and the strange environment she was now in. But she knew the truth—her world was shifting, and she’d finally be allowed the freedom she’d craved for years. And while that excited her, she also couldn’t shake the feeling something would knock everything off course, just as fate did every time something good was supposed to happen.

  With the promise of hope, there always came new misery.

  Her father’s health had deteriorated so much that he no longer recognized her or her two brothers. Although his mental decline had been progressing since her youth, his body and spirit had become frailer with each passing season. The healer who had attended to him for years said the baron would probably not survive through the harvest. In a way, it would be a relief to see him at peace.

  Eddie had decided it was time to take charge and would be stepping into their father’s place. No more keeping secrets. No more being tied to a life she hadn’t chosen as they attempted to hide the severity of her father’s fragility. But now, could she live up to her parents’ wishes? They’d said she could marry for love, but did she have room in her heart for anyone outside the family?

  She couldn’t imagine trusting another with the truth of the past.

  Glancing around, she saw people skirting the archery field, most already merry with spirits though the sun still gave enough light to illuminate her target. As a voice fell and rose, she spotted a bard spinning a tale in the encampment to the south. Jeers and laughs met his story, but she couldn’t make out his words. Even if she’d wanted to, her mind couldn’t focus beyond what her brother had shared with her this evening.

  Assured no one would heed her movements—or at least confident those who would judge her were probably in the castle—she’d sneaked out to the place that always brought her clarity. Her head was pounding and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the weight of her headpiece or the dawning revelation that although independence was what she’d wanted for years, something could go astray still. Her life might yet be tied to a circumstance she couldn’t foresee.

  Eddie had taken her arm as he escorted her down the hall and toward the feast. “I’ve asked Lord Robert if Ada and I might have permission to wed. He said yes.”

  She’d thrown her arms around him because it was the best possible news. Her best friend would be coming to live with them.

  “I take it you are happy.” He laughed.

  “Of course I’d be pleased that Ada will be coming to our home.”

  That was when his look had turned, and he’d shifted his eyes away as though summoning his courage. “You will need to marry.”

  “But you, Father, and William need me.” She’d been taking care of them for years—between her father’s failing mental health, Edward’s limp due to a fall from a horse several years ago, and William, her youngest brother, never knowing their mother.

  “No. I’m grown now, and it’s time I take responsibility. And you know Ada. She’ll take good care of us.”

  Her chest had ached at his words, but they were the truth. He had become an admirable man. Once they made her father’s condition known to the world, he’d have no problem taking over the duties of a baron. Edward had been taking on more the last few years, and she’d felt his resistance to her being at the helm of the household. And with Ada there, they wouldn’t need her.

  What would happen to her?

  She’d grappled for a reason to stay. “But…I belong at Cresthaven.” Images of a large stone estate, plush gardens, and sunny orchards that would soon be bursting with apples grazed her consciousness. It was their home in southern England, and although she’d desired a way out of being held back by duty, she’d never considered being forced to leave.

  Edward had straightened to his full height and used a voice that she knew would identify him as a strong leader one day. He was ready for this, but she wasn’t. “No. You don’t. It is well past time you had your own family.”

  Her eyes had stung, and she couldn’t explain her own reticence as they entered the great hall. She’d turned from him as pain ripped through her chest. “I know that.”

  “Then it’s time you started acting like a sister instead of a mother. Pick a man from this tournament if you wish. I don’t care who. After what we’ve been through, you deserve to be happy. But it’s time. We all need to move on.”

  He was correct. At the age of twenty and three, it was long past when she should have wed and started her own family, but until recently, Edward had been too young and their father too frail.

  After their conversation, she’d only nibbled at the bounteous feast laid out by their host, Lord Yves. As soon as she’d been able to, she’d made an excuse to retire early but instead had run to her chamber, grabbed her bow and quiver, and then set out for the fields.

  She loosed her second arrow. It landed just beside the first, vibrating with the impact. Satisfied she was calm now and knowing that her brother had been correct, she started forward to collect her arrows before her return to the castle. She was startled when a dog ran in front of her, followed by two men who barreled after it, calling and promising the animal a morsel for its obedience.

  “Pardon us,” they blurted as they ran by.

  A shiver ran down her spine, and she turned toward the castle only to notice a man had entered the field. He stood still, but it appeared as though he intended to rush toward her or the men. She followed his gaze as he analyzed the newcomers while they trotted off after the mutt.

  Then his stare met hers and held.

  Gooseflesh rose on the back of her neck and down her arms. The figure nodded some sort of acknowledgment, then he pivoted and marched back toward the castle. She let out a breath, and a strange awareness flowed through her, leaving her exposed in the large field with the cooling night air. The sensation left her thinking that her world had shifted twice in the same night.

  Chapter 2

  Giric’s heart pounded a hectic warning as his fingers trembled. The vision of the woman in the field had shaken loose a brick in the foundation of his plans. His quest to avenge his father’s death had been only a dream in the back of his head these last few years, but now that he had a chance at finding justice, it consumed him, and he was reading into things that weren’t there.

  That girl from the inn had perished with his father. He had seen her remains as remnants of the burned inn smoldered behind him. Perhaps smoke from the campfires had filtered into the part of his brain that couldn’t let the past go. She was not here. This lass in the field couldn’t be the girl from that fateful day.

  Taking a deep breath, he turned toward the camp and vowed to focus on something else before anger consumed him. It was time to check on his squire, who had set a tent among the legion of others in attendance.

  He wanted to make sense of what he’d glimpsed. Why had it affected him? Obviously, seeing his enemy’s son had triggered an avalanche of despair and rage, along with images long buried. Feelings he’d managed to push away after his aunt, Ermengarde de Beaumont, the queen consort, had brought him into her home to live.


  Since then, he’d become a trusted knight and guard of King William of Scotland. That confidence was what found him here in England now. Not to participate in the tournament, but to see what he could learn of their host.

  The English evening fell sooner than that of a Scottish one in June. It had grown dark by the time he marched back into the great hall, intent on his royal mission. He was to determine if Lord Yves’s loyalties lay with King Richard, who was off fighting for the crusades instead of leading his country, or John, who was rumored to be attempting a rebellion against his brother’s administrators in the king’s absence. His host’s lands were at a strategic point in the north of England, and the baron’s loyalties would disclose for King William what kind of neighbor he had.

  The feast was nearing an end, and it appeared the tables were being pushed aside to make room for dancing. After circling the hall a few times with no sightings of his mysterious host, Giric determined the man had retired or was taking care of other business. Music began, and he turned to make his way up the stairs to his room. Exhaustion from the journey and the enormity of his tasks beat at him.

  He froze as familiar blue skirts swished into his vision. He followed them upward to see a fair face with a headdress similar to the one from the form in the field. Her bow was gone, but he was fairly certain she was the archer. The woman swiveled to enter the space where the dancers gathered. He lost sight of her for a moment. Propelled by curiosity, he stepped onto the dance floor. A strange pull drew him toward her.

  Guests circled for several moments before the music brought them together. He positioned himself so that she would be forced to partner with him. Their eyes met first, but she gave no sign of recognition, only a bonny smile in polite greeting. He had been a good distance away on the field.