by Amy Jarecki
Duncan stretched to ensure he stood a mite taller than his father. “You needn’t worry about me.”
“Nay, I shouldn’t. But you’ve no business sticking your cock where it shouldn’t be.” Da released his hand. “Mark me. Never cross the man who’s willing to pay for your services, be him the king, an earl or a lowly sheriff.”
Duncan nodded. He’d been giving himself the same lecture ever since he met Lady Meg, and he certainly didn’t need to hear it from his father. “Do you not think I ken?” He reached in his saddlebag for his flagon and pulled the stopper. “I need a tot of whisky.” He took a sip and handed it to Da.
The Lord of Glenorchy licked his lips and guzzled a healthy swig. “Once this business with the earl is over we’ll need to pay a visit to court. I’m sure the king will want a full report.”
“Aye. We’ll be close enough to Edinburgh Castle to do it in person.” Duncan liked that idea. They’d also be close enough to North Berwick for Duncan to take a detour to Tantallon Castle. Even if he could only see Lady Meg long enough to apologize for not saying good-bye, he had to see her one last time.
Da stepped into the clearing and raised his arms. “Come around, men. We must plan our strategy.”
Duncan stepped beside him. “I shall take it from here.”
Da gave him a pointed look then a nod. Yes, it was difficult for the Black Knight to let go, but he’d given Duncan the responsibility to lead the Highland Enforcers. Allowing his father to ride roughshod over him at this stage would be seen as weakness by his men. Duncan wasn’t about to stand aside and allow that to happen.
Meg closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh sea air as she rode through the gates of Tantallon Castle. It had been a long week, made longer by foul weather, but at last she was home. The family’s great deerhounds barked to announce her arrival then wagged their tails and trotted beside her.
At the head of the retinue, John reined his horse to a stop and dismounted. George, the valet, burst from the keep, a grin stretched across his face. “Lady Meg! Thank the good Lord, you’ve finally come home.”
He helped her dismount as John came up beside them. “We would have returned her much sooner if it hadn’t been for Lord Percy’s English sentries tailing us.” John smiled at her then patted his cloak. “Oh my, I almost forgot.” He pulled a missive from his inside pocket. “Duncan gave me this and asked me to deliver it to you once we arrived.”
Meg stared at the parchment for a moment then raised a trembling hand to accept it. The entire journey she’d been fuming that Duncan hadn’t the courtesy to say good-bye. She’d all but cursed him to rot in the bowels of hell.
Arthur must have come out, because he pulled her into an embrace. “Meg, dear. ’Tis so good to have you home.”
Her brother always smelled of oiled leather and rosewater. Still trembling, she returned his hug. “And I’m ever so glad to see you.” Two dogs rubbed against her on either side. “And ’tis good to see Midge and Max haven’t forgotten me.” She scratched Max behind the ears with the claw. She needn’t be mindful of her deformity hidden within the castle curtain.
Arthur shook hands with John. “Sir, I’m surprised not to see your brother.”
John bowed his head politely. “Alas, he was called away on the king’s business. He very much would have liked to accompany her ladyship himself.”
Arthur ushered them inside. “Come with me. I’d like a full report.” He smoothed his hand over Meg’s shoulder. “George, have the chambermaid draw a bath for Lady Meg.” He looked her in the eye. “You must be tired after such a long journey.”
“Aye.” She clutched the missive behind her back, thrilled for an excuse to spirit to her chamber. “A warm bath is what I need to ease the ache from a sennight in the saddle.”
“Very well. I’ll send for Elizabeth and we’ll sup together, just the three of us.”
Meg curtsied and dipped her head toward John. “I thank you, sir, for accompanying me home. I shall always look fondly upon the House of Glenorchy.”
John bowed, as was customary. “’Twas my pleasure, m’lady. One of the more pleasant duties I’ve been assigned.”
Before she entered the stairwell, Arthur gave her a once-over with a discerning eye. Dirty from the trail, she most likely looked frightful. A bath would be heavenly—after she read Duncan’s missive. She walked with stately grace until she was positive Arthur could no longer see her. Then she ran up the three flights of stairs, skipping two steps at a time.
Pushing into her chamber, she hardly noticed the familiar trappings. She headed straight to the window embrasure and sat on the padded bench—her favorite place, hidden behind the heavy window furs.
She rarely received a missive addressed to her, and never had received one from a man.
Carefully, she examined Duncan’s seal. It presented a galley with eight oars and a large sail with a boar’s head. Around the edge was the Campbell motto, “Follow me.” She smiled when she read it. Aye, Sir Duncan, I would follow you anywhere. How quickly her pent-up ire had diffused.
Taking care not to damage the seal, she ran her finger beneath it. Her hands shook as she unfolded the vellum and read.
Dearest Lady Meg,
It is with a heavy heart that I write this missive, for you must know, if possible, I would have moved heaven and earth to accompany you back to your family. I never thanked you properly for caring for me when the fever hit. Without you, I would have been left in the gutter to rot, or worse. Perhaps a man like me deserves to be cast aside. I most certainly do not deserve your kindness.
However, now I’m off on the king’s business, a customary state of affairs. As the king’s enforcer, I find I am rarely ever home. I’d imagine that fact would not be particularly appealing to a gentlewoman such as you. You deserve so much more than I can give.
I will never forget your smile. It brought sunshine into my heart even when snowing. I shall always remember your eyes, because they could see through to my soul. I will always laugh when I think of your temper, for it makes each day so much more fascinating. But most of all, I will remember you, Lady Meg. Whether you recognize it or not, you have a kind heart, a tireless spirit and a razor-sharp wit. These are things a man never forgets.
I can only wish you the very best this short life has to offer. And truly, it would be an honor should our paths ever cross again.
Your servant in Christ,
Sir Duncan Campbell
Postscript: I have enclosed a poem I wrote this eve. I rarely apply my pen to such whimsical arts, though tonight it seemed appropriate.
Tears streaming down her face, Meg read the endearing poem over and over until the chambermaid, Cassie, pulled aside the furs. “Your bath is ready, m’lady.” She stepped in and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Whatever is wrong?”
Meg took in a stuttered breath. “I’ve been a miserable fool, as usual.” She dabbed her face in the crook of her arm.
Cassie reached for the missive. “You’ve had a terrible ordeal. Here, let me take that and we’ll set you to rights.”
Clutching Duncan’s letter for dear life, Meg shook her head. “Nay. Leave me be. I need another moment to myself.”
“Are you certain?” Cassie eyed her like a mother hen, though she was near enough to Meg’s age. “You look like you need to talk.”
“I’m sure there will be plenty of talking, just not at this moment.” Meg shooed her away. “Now begone with you. I can manage from here.”
“Very well. I’ll put the bell beside the bath if you should need anything.”
“Thank you.” Meg honestly loved Cassie, but didn’t want to share a thing about Duncan with anyone. She’d spent the past week convincing herself she hated the man, only to have the wall she’d built up to protect her broken heart smashed into tiny shards. Now what was she to do? She could no longer hate Duncan Campbell, or even feign dislike.
Blast him.
Meg stowed his missive in her keepsake box and locked it.
She wouldn’t have any snooping servants finding it and handing it over to Arthur. Duncan’s words were meant for her eyes only.
She disrobed and cast her filthy garments to the floor. Lowering herself into the warm water, she sighed. Duncan hadn’t callously left her without a word. She held the soap to her nose and inhaled. Lemongrass—like Duncan. Her heart squeezed. Would everything continue to remind her of him? How much time would pass before her heart stopped aching so?
After Cassie returned to help Meg dress, she descended the stairs for dinner, hair brushed and wearing a plain black gown. She figured if she were to become a nun, she may as well dress the part.
Arthur preferred to have quiet meals in his solar when family business was afoot. Both Elizabeth and he were seated at the table as Meg entered. Arthur stood and grasped her hand. “Dear Meg, you look refreshed.”
“Aye, the bath was invigorating.” Meg crossed to Elizabeth and kissed her cheek. “What news?”
Her sister chuckled and patted Meg’s arm. “My heavens, you’ve been kidnapped and then rescued by a mob of Highlanders and you’re asking me for news?”
Meg walked to the other side of the table. “You make it sound so frightful.”
“Was it not?”
Both Arthur and Elizabeth looked at her expectantly.
Taking a deep breath, Meg sat. “True, the kidnapping part was terrifying. However, the rescue was exciting and fraught with unimaginable danger.” She waggled her eyebrows to add shocking effect.
Eyes bulging, Elizabeth patted her chest. “My heavens.” The servant came in and placed a trencher of food before her. She picked up her eating knife. “I pray Lord Percy has chosen to abandon his feud against our clan.”
Arthur frowned. “I’m sure Meg’s rescue inflamed his ire tenfold. He has spies all over Southern Scotland. ’Tis a matter of time before he strikes again.”
Meg shuddered. “Is there anything we can do to stop him? He’s completely mad.”
Arthur’s lips formed a thin line while he reached for the wine. “I have it in hand. You needn’t worry. He’ll never touch you or any of my family again.” He poured for her and then himself. “I’ve decided ’tis time for you to marry.”
Meg nearly fell off her chair. “No.”
Elizabeth reached for the bread. “Meg, darling, you cannot remain a spinster your entire life.”
“Why ever not? I’ve made the decision to give myself to God.”
Arthur placed the ewer on the table. “That is a preposterous notion.”
Elizabeth nibbled a bite of her bread. “I agree. You are distraught, and in no state to make such a decision.”
Meg clenched her fists under the table. “I strongly, most emphatically disagree. In fact, on my pilgrimage to Melrose, I was planning to gain an audience with the abbot to discuss taking up the veil.”
Arthur slammed his fist on the table. “Becoming a nun is out of the question. You are far too beautiful to hide behind the cloistered walls of a nunnery.”
Meg’s insides jumped, but with every muscle in her body taut, she maintained her composure. “You cannot stop me,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Or what? You’ll spirit away and end up in Lord Percy’s hands?” Arthur pushed back from the table and fumed.
Meg held up the claw. “Who in their right mind would want to marry a decrepit maid?”
Elizabeth gasped. “Oh please, Meg.”
Arthur leaned forward and pointed. “There a number of nobles who wish to make alliances with our house. For God’s sake, Meg, think. You are the daughter of an earl.”
She stared at her brother’s accusing finger. “I will not allow you to use me as a pawn to increase our holdings.”
Elizabeth’s gaze softened. “Let us all relax. You said yourself you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You must give it some time.”
Arthur snatched up his goblet. “Agreed. We will make no decisions until you have a chance to recover from your fright.”
Meg stabbed a slice of lamb with her eating knife. “I thank the good Lord for small mercies.” Heaven’s stars, she’d only just arrived and Arthur was already plotting her wedding to some lofty old member of the gentry. She didn’t care what either of them said. She’d have none of it. No man in Scotland could match the allure of Sir Duncan Campbell. If she could not marry the dark knight, she would marry no one.
Arthur sipped and peered over the top of his goblet. “Perhaps we should attend court for the Easter celebration. Half the nobles will be in attendance for certain.”
20
Duncan rode over the barbican drawbridge beside his father, their horses clomping a rhythm akin to a death knell. He spat at the sour taste pervading his mouth. Together they led their men through the well-guarded gatehouse under the guise that they were meeting with the Earl of Mar regarding a lucrative wool-trading venture. As planned, they’d arrived late afternoon, not long before the evening meal.
The burly master-at-arms met them while they dismounted in Kildrummy Castle’s expansive courtyard. “You’re in luck. The earl has agreed to see you.” The man didn’t smile.
Da handed his reins to the groom. “If I know Lord John Stewart, he won’t want to pass up a chance to swindle the English.”
“I’ll leave such dealings to his lordship.” The henchman gestured to Duncan’s men. “Are you planning to stay the night?”
“Aye,” Duncan said. “We’ve been a sennight on the trail. My men would appreciate a pallet with fresh straw.”
“Very well. They can bed down in the southwest tower.” The big man waved his hand over his head and pointed.
Duncan bowed his head. “My thanks.” Being met with cordiality made a distasteful task all the more difficult. However, the Earl of Mar stood accused. If he was indeed innocent, he could provide evidence to disprove the charges in Edinburgh. Duncan need only bring the man in, and he doubted the earl would go willingly. No one ever took kindly of being taken into custody.
He walked beside Da as the guard led them into the tower at the southeast corner. Of course the main keep had to be the furthest building from the gate, making a quick escape dubious.
Da leaned into him. “Can ye see the postern?” he whispered.
Duncan scanned the back of the courtyard. Lined with buildings, if there was a back gate, it would most likely be a part of the catacombs below. “Nay.”
“Blast.”
“At least we’ve earned an invitation to meet the earl.” Duncan nudged Da’s shoulder. “I only wish you would have stayed at the camp. Your eyesight grows worse by the day.”
“My eyes are fine. Besides, I’m still Lord of Glenorchy, and best to negotiate with the earl.”
“Very well.” Duncan cupped his hand over his mouth to ensure he wouldn’t be heard. “Make him an offer he cannot refuse and we’ll see he’s filled with whisky before he retires this night.”
They climbed the winding stairwell to the second floor, where they were ushered into the solar. Smiling, the earl rose. Duncan estimated the man could be no more than five and twenty.
Da stepped forward and offered his hand. “’Tis good to see you, m’lord.”
“Glenorchy.” The earl accepted the hand and turned his attention to Duncan. “And who might this be?”
“Sir Duncan Campbell, m’lord.”
Colin grinned. “My heir.”
“Welcome. Sit.” The earl gestured to the big wooden table filling the room and moved to the sideboard. “You must be parched after your travels.”
“Aye.” Colin sat. “A tankard of ale would go down nicely.”
“Ale?” The earl lifted a glass ewer. “The brewmaster has just brought up a new flagon of whisky.”
“Then whisky it is,” Colin said.
Duncan sauntered to the window before he sat. Pulling aside the furs, he looked out over the back of the estate. The property sloped down a steep ravine to a river. A man carried two pails of water up the incline, along a path leading t
o the east tower.
“Sir Duncan, would you care for a tot?” the earl asked.
He dropped the fur curtain back across the window. “Thank you. I see you have an ample supply of fresh water from the river.”
“Aye, the Snow Tower here receives fresh water on all seven floors—brought by a pulley system.” The earl served the whisky with his own hand, looking pleased with himself. “Quite a work of ingenuity, I’ll say.”
Da sipped. “Kildrummy Castle has always been one of the better-equipped fortresses in the realm.”
“Aye, and I’ve plans to make it even better.”
Duncan hated brainless babble. His mind wandered while Da continued to stroke the earl’s ego. Indeed, there was a rear gate, which he’d inspect at his first opportunity. He wanted to avoid a skirmish, especially with Da in tow. With its row of shiny black cannons, the Kildrummy gatehouse was one of the most fortified he’d ever seen. If Duncan and his men erred they’d be slaughtered, a bloodbath neatly contained within the walls.
“What is this my henchman tells me about selling wool to the English?” the earl asked.
Lord Glenorchy grinned. “Aye, last season the flies severely hurt the southern flocks.”
“I can fetch four crowns per pound in Aberdeen.”
“I can guarantee you six,” Da lied.
“Six?” The earl licked his lips. “But transport would consume the added profits.”
“Nay.” Da shook his head. “If you can transfer the wool to a transport in Aberdeen, my galleys will take it from there.”
Och, Da could spin a string of drivel and make it sound tempting. He’d go to hell for certain, and Duncan would be right behind him.
After the two noblemen shook hands to close the deal, Duncan and his father were escorted to their rooms to prepare for supper. Duncan thanked the groom. “Are we on the top floor?”
“Nay. The donjon has seven floors. You’re on the fifth.”
“My, that is impressive. I imagine his lordship gets a great deal of exercise climbing seven floors to his apartments.”
