by Amy Jarecki
Indiscretions always had a way of coming back to him. Duncan had behaved like a rake for so long, everyone seemed to expect it of him. He crossed his arms. “Lady Meg is different.”
“I’ll say. She’s nobility, for one.” Da eyed him. “Are you telling me you’re serious about the redheaded lassie?”
“I care for her.”
“Aye? And you’ll care for the next bonny lass who applies ointment to your arse.”
Duncan swallowed his rebuttal and looked to the window. He didn’t want his father meddling when it came to Lady Meg. Da could end any hope he might harbor of winning her favor. Besides, he wasn’t ready to marry or do anything rash like that. He was the leader of the Highland Enforcers, a responsibility that had him away from home more often than not. What? He’d been at Kilchurn for all of a sennight? And now he’d be off again for a month, possibly more.
However, Duncan still preferred to see Meg safely home. “Have you considered what is to be done with her?”
Da retrieved the missive from the table and slid it back into his doublet. “John will take her to Tantallon.”
Duncan’s gut clamped harder and twisted. “John? He’s one of my best men.”
“Aye, but he’s kin, and aside from you, he’s best suited to negotiate the final payment with the Earl of Angus.”
Duncan let out a heavy sigh. Leave it to his brother to be given the pleasurable detail of the journey to North Berwick with Lady Meg. He wanted to hit something. “I’d prefer to deliver Meg to her brother and then travel north to Kildrummy.”
“I ken you’re not daft, son.” Da stood and moved to the sideboard. “The longer we postpone, the more likely the Earl will hear of this accusation and flee Scotland.” Squatting so his nose was inches away from the tray, he studiously poured two drams of whisky and handed one to Duncan. “Nay, we shall leave on the morrow. You’d best tell your men.”
Duncan accepted the tot and sipped. “We? Are you coming with us?”
“And not witness the look on the earl’s face when you tell him his brother’s accused him of witchcraft?” Da chuckled. “I wouldn’t miss that for a chest filled with silver.”
“Aye? Have you and the earl been at odds?”
“Let’s just say I doubt Lord Stewart could recite a witch’s incantation. When he was granted the title of earl, he petitioned for grant of our lands right here on Loch Awe.”
“God’s teeth, he tried to take Kilchurn?”
Da raised his cup. “Aye, bloody senseless bastard.”
Duncan stood. “I’ll say.” He adjusted his sword belt. “Well then, capturing the Earl of Mar shouldn’t be as distasteful as I initially thought.”
“Good on you, lad. We’ll make quick work of it and be back at Kilchurn for the Easter feasts.”
Duncan strode out of the solar wishing he could be half as content as his father. Ballocks, allowing John to accompany Meg back to Tantallon? Why the hell was I the firstborn?
Isaac slipped into the inn at Glen Orchy. He stood for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the haze. A few stragglers slouched against the bar. Though it was early afternoon, they all appeared to be in their cups. He sidled up to the pot-belled innkeeper. “A brandy, if you please.”
“What?” The man leered at him beneath thick beetle brows. “Ye’re English, are ye? We’ve whisky and ale. Which will it be?”
“Whisky.” Isaac cleared his throat. “Please.”
The innkeeper pulled the stopper out of a bottle and poured. “You’ll taste none finer than that from the Glen Orchy still.”
Isaac picked up the cup and held it to his lips. “Truly.” He sipped and swirled the oaken-flavored spirit over his tongue. “I say, that is good.”
Wearing a moth-eaten plaid and a linen shirt laced with a leather cord, the innkeeper looked as if the times had taken a toll. Perhaps the man was disgruntled with the lord of the land? Isaac took another sip, appraising the odd-looking fellow. “I saw a rather large herd of cattle just west of here. Do they all belong to the Lord of Glenorchy?”
The man jammed the stopper back on the whisky bottle. “Why are ye asking?”
Suspicious, just like every other Scot in this frigid country. Isaac sniffed. “Dunno…seems as if Lord Glenorchy is in the king’s favor. I’d wager he carries out the king’s business with a firm hand.”
“Now just who do ye think ye are coming in me place talking about Lord Colin as if he were a tyrant?” The innkeeper picked up Isaac’s unfinished glass. “There’s nary a soul in all of Argyllshire who wouldn’t take up his sword for Black Colin.”
The stragglers, suddenly alert, turned to watch.
Isaac held up his hands. The last thing he needed was to cause a stir. “Pardon. My mistake. With such a grand castle, I wrongly assumed there might be some resentment on the part of the locals.”
One of the men sauntered over, smoothing his hand across his dirk. “Where are ye from, Englishman? I’ll wager Lord Colin will want to know.”
“Aye.” Another stepped behind Isaac. “Mayhap we should deliver him ourselves.”
The third closed in. “Could mean a farthing or two for each of us.”
Isaac’s gaze darted to the door. Obviously he’d made a grave error. He’d discovered plenty about Sir Duncan Campbell and his father. They controlled everything in these parts, lived behind mighty fortress walls and ensured the local crofters were happy—if only things were as pleasant in Alnwick.
Surely his information was enough for Lord Percy. He bit his lip, but what about Lady Meg? Was she within Kilchurn’s walls or had she returned to Tantallon? “I understand Sir Duncan suffered quite an unpleasant injury. Who has taken on his mantle whilst he’s been recovering?”
A smelly Scot stepped within an inch of Isaac’s nose, the man’s breath as rancid as rotten meat. “I’d wager yer a bloody English spy.”
Isaac’s pulse quickened. Perhaps his last question crossed the line.
The men surrounded him. As he reached for his sword, Isaac’s fingers skimmed the pommel when a fist to the jaw sent him careening backward. He stumbled over a chair and crashed to the floorboards. While scrambling to stand, a booted foot kicked his gut. Isaac snatched his dagger from his sleeve, met with a bone-jarring heel that pinned his wrist. Fingers splaying, the weapon dropped.
Bellowing, Isaac tore his throbbing arm from under the boot and sent the man toppling to his bum. All three pounced, fists pummeling Isaac’s face.
The last thing he remembered was curling into a ball while he tried to protect his head in his cradled arms.
Returning from a turn in the castle gardens, Meg stepped into the keep. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dim light when she smacked straight into Duncan’s chest. His hands braced her arms. She didn’t need to look at his face to know it was he. His scent filled her senses—spice laced with a hint of lemongrass. She closed her eyes and inhaled again.
“I’ve been all over the castle looking for you.” His voice held an edge of concern.
She peered at each powerful hand gripping her then he released. “I went for a brisk walk.”
He ushered her inside and into the small solar where he’d trapped her the night before. “Was it pleasant out, not too cold?”
She rubbed her outer arms where he’d touched her. “Nay. The day’s quite mild for this time of year.”
“I’m glad of it.” He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit, his expression stern and commanding. “I’ve some news.”
“Oh?” The back of Meg’s neck bristled. News was rarely ever good, and Duncan had suddenly become too polite. She almost preferred the gruff warrior who made her sit in the rear of a Gypsy wagon.
He took a seat at the head of the table. His brow furrowed—definitely not a good sign. “My men and I have received a missive from the king. We’ve an urgent mission to perform.”
“Oh my.” She clapped a hand to her chest. “I hope ’tis nothing too dire.”
“Unfortunately,
I am unable to discuss any details, but we must leave at dawn.” His eyes trailed away and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Though I would dearly love to see you back to Tantallon, I’m afraid John must accompany you.”
A cannonball sank to the pit of Meg’s stomach. Yes, she expected to say good-bye to Duncan, but only after they’d had a chance to make amends, and most certainly after she reached home. She covered the claw with her good hand and squeezed. What should she say? He was leaving on the morrow. She’d never see him again. Tears rimmed her eyes. She swiped a hand over her face to hide her emotion. “I suppose ’tis for the best,” she finally blurted.
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Meg thought he might be in pain, but he pushed his chair back and stood, facing the hearth. “You feel nothing for me, then?”
Tingles danced along her skin. “I do not recall saying that.”
He snapped around. “What about my brother?”
She shrugged. “John is very nice.” But he’s not you. I want you.
“Do you have feelings for him?”
She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. “To what are you referring? Would I thrust myself upon him and take advantage whilst he’s in a fevered stupor?” Her voice became a whisper. “Nay. I would not.”
Duncan stepped beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Lady Meg, I—”
She jerked from under his grasp. “Stop. You owe me no apology.” Pushing her chair back, she stood and slipped to the door. “We both knew this would happen. Why make it more difficult?” She jerked down on the latch and fled.
Running through the great hall, Meg could scarcely breathe. Why was she being such a mutton-heid about Duncan’s news? He doesn’t love me.
Tomorrow she would finally be rid of him and could focus her mind on returning home. If Arthur refused to allow her to take up the veil, she would spirit away on her own. Besides, she was ruined now. Prickly heat spread across her skin.
Pushing outside, a tear slipped from her eye and dribbled down her cheek. She didn’t want to live in this cruel world. Giving herself to God, she would be cloistered in a nunnery where no one could ever break her heart again.
18
Dumbfounded, Duncan stared at the closed door. He resisted running after Meg, though every fiber of his being screamed for him to do so. She was right. Sooner or later they would have parted ways, and there was nothing he could do about it. Chasing after her now would only make matters worse.
Presently, too many things demanded his attention, the most urgent being the mission at hand. To depart on the morrow, he needed to prepare his men and supplies. Stomping around like a raging bull, Duncan barked orders whilst everyone scurried about him.
When he finally pushed into his chamber, he sat at the round table beside the hearth and cradled his head in his hands. Usually he was eager to leave on a mission, but this one filled him with trepidation. Had thoughts of Meg influenced him so much, he’d lost his fighting edge? No. Once he mounted up in the morning and felt the cold wind on his face, he’d be ready.
However, tonight he wanted to do something for Lady Meg. But what?
Rubbing the stubble on his chin, Duncan eyed the quill in front of him. He reached for a piece of parchment and dipped the tip into the inkwell.
’Twasn’t long ago a bonny lass claimed my heart,
After meeting her gaze, I prayed we would never part.
I could nary close my eyes without picturing her bonny face.
Had we met in another time or another place,
I might have knelt before her and declared my love,
But my life’s not my own,
And she must go away home,
Afore I can earn her favor.
I shall never forget her, for she is my savior, a woman I will always savor.
Forever, you will be my heavenly dove.
He sanded the parchment and reread his poem. He wasn’t much for writing verse, but he’d made most of it rhyme. And now he’d written it, a weight lifted from his shoulders. He only wondered if he should give it to her—and when?
Gyllis shook Meg awake. “Lady Meg, you’ve slept late.”
Her head throbbed. This was the first good night’s sleep she’d had in ages. She rolled to her back. “I’m so tired.”
“Aye, but John is readying the horses to take you back to your family.” Gyllis clapped her hands. “Are you excited to see the Lord of Angus after all this time?”
Yawning, Meg sat up. “I suppose. Ready to go home and resume my life.”
Gyllis offered her hand and pulled Meg to her feet. “You’re still set on taking up the veil?”
“Aye.” Her shoulders sagged. “Now more so than ever.”
“What makes you say that?”
Meg pattered to the bowl and poured in some water, splashing her face so she didn’t have to answer Gyllis’s annoying question.
Without much of anything to pack, she dressed quickly, then she and Gyllis ate eggs and sausages in the kitchen.
John sauntered in and sat beside his sister. “Are you ready to ride, Lady Meg?”
“Aye.” She peered around him to gain a glimpse of the courtyard through the window. “Will Sir Duncan see us off?”
John cringed. “Did he not tell you?”
“No…” Certain she didn’t want to hear John’s response, she bit her bottom lip.
“The men rode out at first light. They had no time to spare.”
She’d missed him? Unable to breathe, she bit that lip harder so she wouldn’t cry. Why on earth didn’t Duncan say he wouldn’t be there to say good-bye? She might have poured her heart out and made an embarrassing attempt to pledge her love. Her gut twisted. Of course that’s why Duncan didn’t say good-bye—he knew I would grovel and plead, and couldn’t bear the thought of it.
“Are you all right, Lady Meg?” Gyllis asked.
She tried to smile, though her cheeks felt like two-stone weights hung from them. “Ready to ride.” Meg swiped a hand across her eyes and stood. “Come, Sir John. The sooner we set out, the sooner we shall see Tantallon Castle.”
Once outside, John grasped her arm. “I ken why you’ve had a sudden bout of melancholy, and he’s not good enough for you, m’lady.”
She stopped and eyed the younger brother. “I daresay you’re wrong.”
Isaac looked up from the moss, one eye swollen shut, his lip split, and God only knew if he had any broken bones. He’d been lucky to make it out of the inn alive. His solar plexus had ached so much, he couldn’t mount his horse. He’d led the gelding into a copse of trees and collapsed on the cold, mossy turf.
Earlier that morning he’d heard the hooves of warhorses pummel the ground. A contingent of men rode with purpose, but Isaac’s bleary eyes saw no woman with them. He’d led enough sorties to know something more important than the Earl of Angus’s sister was afoot. Any other day, he might have tracked them, but at the moment, he could barely move.
Moments later, he received his answer as to Lady Meg’s whereabouts. A procession rode past at a far slower tempo. An armored knight led a dozen sentries with her ladyship riding in the center of the retinue.
At last, the Lord of Glenorchy sees fit to provide an escort to accompany the lady home. But the big Highland warrior who protected her wasn’t with them. Surely he must have been with the group that rode out earlier.
Isaac cared not for the reason. Let the Scots ruin themselves. I’ve gained enough information for Lord Percy. The Campbells of Glen Orchy were responsible for Lady Meg’s rescue, and by the time Isaac reached Alnwick, she would be returned to her brother.
Lord Percy would probably dismiss him, but Isaac had enough of the bleating cold north. He’d had nothing to do but think about his future, and he wouldn’t be kidnapping any more maidens for Northumberland. Fighting a battle man to man Isaac could handle, but all this backstabbing skullduggery must end.
Though he might lose his position at Alnwick, a skilled man-at-arms could find work
in any town of size. He’d head home and report to Percy. If his lordship dismissed him, he’d pack up his family and move them to Shrewsbury or Carlisle.
Isaac dragged his aching body onto his horse and chuckled. That would be a boon. Leaving the Yorkists to join the Lancastrians. It doesn’t matter where I go. Each side needs fighting men.
19
It took them a week to reach Aberdeenshire. Stopping to make camp, Duncan checked the food stores. “We’ll need to hunt on the morrow.”
“Hunting a man, aye,” Da said. He stepped beside Duncan and looked into the saddlebag. “We’ve done with less.”
Duncan growled. “Oatcakes and a slab of salt pork won’t last long.”
“We’ll not hunt until we take the earl into custody. ’Tis too risky.”
“Aye? Then we should not light a fire this night either.” Duncan closed the saddlebag and gave it a slap. Da grasped his shoulder.
“I agree. No fire.” He leaned toward Duncan’s ear. “But you’ve been brooding since we left Glen Orchy, and I’ve a mind to put you on your horse and send you to your ma.”
“Bloody hell.” Duncan yanked his shoulder away. “I’m no wee bairn you can order about.”
“No? Then you’d best stop acting like one. If you don’t pull your finger out of your arse, men will die. Campbell men.” Da grasped his collar. “Is that what you want?”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind. It does not mean I’ll shirk my duties.”
“It had better not. You need to remove the Douglas lassie from your thoughts. Aye, Lady Meg has a pretty face, and a feisty temper to go along with that wild mane of red tresses, too. She’s best remaining with her kin.”
Duncan took a step back, but Da held firm to his collar. “You’re a young lad, and if you’re smart, you’ll have a long life like me. There are plenty of lassies to be found. In all my years, one thing is for certain. Court is never at a loss for bonny young maidens.”
