Chapter 1
Scotland, November 1308
Snow pelted Elspet McReynolds as she clutched her dagger, her gaze riveted on the two roughly dressed men paces away.
“Hand over the sack!” the stocky one demanded, a jagged scar across his cheek.
His partner with a scraggly beard narrowed his eyes.
Heart pounding, she tightened her grip. God in heaven, how had her simple plan gone so horribly wrong? She’d despised robbing these strangers, a contemptable action forced by the Earl of Dalkirk’s treachery.
Horrific images of the day before stormed her mind. The grizzly death of her mother and step-father, her step-brother Blar’s screams as he was dragged away by the murdering bastard’s men, and how the earl had hauled her to his chamber.
Nausea welled in her gut at memories of her vicious fight for freedom. How dare the arrogant bastard believe that she would ever willingly share his bed. Had the noble not deflected her dagger, she would have driven the sgian dubh deep into his vile heart. She found grim satisfaction that her blade had left a long gash across his cheek.
With the noble howling in pain and demanding that she be captured and killed, she’d fled Tiran Castle. However much she yearned to leave Dalkirk land, she couldn’t leave her step-brother to die in the earl’s dungeon.
Terrified for Blar’s life, she’d begged her family’s longtime friends to help her discover if he was alive. They’d agreed. But once they’d thought her asleep, she’d overheard them planning to turn her in to gain favor in the earl’s eyes.
Devastated by their betrayal, she’d slipped from their home.
Earlier today she’d found a castle guard who’d sworn that her stepbrother still lived. For a pound he’d agreed to help Blar escape. This, on her mind when she’d stumbled across their camp in the woods and had seen both strangers at the river, propelled her to foolishly try and rob them.
A brief search had revealed where the travelers kept their coin. Except, before she could slip away, they’d spotted her and given chase.
Body trembling, she glared at the angry faces of the furious men, damned she hadn’t stolen one of their horses and ridden away. With the earl calling for her death, she had naught to lose.
Another snow-drenched gust whipped past blinding her from her ill-chosen victims. Too aware of the steep slope behind her, the harsh landscape typical of the Highlands, she edged to her left. If only she could reach the trees a short sprint away she might lose them in the dense woods.
The man with the scraggly beard stepped closer. “Hand it over!”
Her blade trembled in her hand. She must find a way to distract them. “Stay back.”
“Nay one steals from me!” Teeth barred, the scarred man moved to the side and cornered her against the dangerous incline.
Fear a bitter slide in her throat, the icy ground crunched beneath Elspet as she edged back. “I am sorry. I needed but a few coins, I—”
The scarred man lunged.
With a scream she slashed her blade.
A thin line of blood streaked his chin. “You bloody bitch!” With a snarl, he caught her arms. After twisting both behind her back, he seized the bag of coins.
Panicking, she struggled to break free. “You have your money, release me!”
With a grunt, the thickset man stowed the leather sack. “Nay, lass, you have earned naught but punishment for your thievery.” He wrenched open her cape. “Penance,” he said as his eyes darkened, “I shall enjoy delivering.”
His friend gave a cruel laugh. “A comely wench indeed.”
“Nay!” Fresh terror building in her chest, and she drove her foot against her captor’s thigh.
With a curse, the stocky man fisted his hand, swung.
Pain exploded in Elspet’s head, and she collapsed onto the snow-covered ground.
* * * *
At a woman’s scream, Sir Cailin MacHugh reined his war horse to a stop. Gaze narrowed, he scanned the area.
Another shriek rang out.
Jaw tight, he whirled his destrier toward the sound, and kicked him into a gallop.
Through the break in the trees ahead, a burly man stood over a slender woman garbed in a torn, pale green gown. At his side leered a man with a scraggly beard, as raggedly dressed as the first.
Fury exploded in Cailin’s mind at memories of a woman he’d cared for deeply who had sought his protection after she’d been badly beaten. As he’d held her bruised and bloody body in his arms, prayed for her to live, she’d drawn her last breath. From that moment he’d sworn that never again would he allow a man to harm a lass.
Jaw set, he leaned low and urged his horse faster.
The attacker hauled her up, drew his fist back to land another blow.
Blade drawn, with a roar, Cailin jumped his steed over a fallen log and into the clearing. “Release her!”
Her attacker whirled. Outraged eyes shifted to fear as they locked on his broadsword. “You bloody want her,” he snarled, “here!” He shoved the lass down the steep incline. “Run!”
Brush snapped as both men bolted to their horses and galloped away.
Instinct urged Cailin to give chase; lost against his need to protect. He kicked his mount to the edge.
Like a broken doll, fingers splayed against the snow-covered ground, the woman lay at the bottom of the hill.
An icy burst of wind howled past as he dismounted, then hurried down the slope.
Half-frozen rocks loosened, clattered ahead of him.
With a curse, he shifted to the right to avoid any falling debris hitting the unconscious woman.
Finally at the bottom, he knelt by her side. Chestnut brown hair dusted with the fall of snow framed her angelic face. A gash creased her right brow, and a bruise darkened her cheek, both in stark contrast to her pale skin.
With a prayer she was alive, Cailin gently touched her shoulder. Once, twice. “Lass.”
Eyes the color of water drenched moss flickered open and focused on him. Their depth, intensity, stole his breath.
On a gasp she rolled away and then stumbled to her feet. Favoring her ankle, she backed up.
Cailin slowly stood. “Dinna be afraid,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “I am here to help you.”
A shiver wracked her body, then another. With a grimace of pain, she tugged her cape together, then glanced upwards toward the knoll where one of the attackers had seized her moments before. Her gaze narrowed on him. “Wh-who are you?”
“Sir Cailin.” Though years had passed since he’d ridden on Dalkirk land, he couldn’t risk her recognizing his surname and warning his uncle, let alone the rest of the earl’s reprobates, of his return. “And your name?”
The beautiful woman hesitated, her eyes dark with distrust. “Kenzie.”
By her proper speech and the quality of her ruined gown, he suspected she was a woman of noble birth. The lass’s reason for keeping her status a secret could be endless and as worthy as his own. With the brief time they would remain together, nor would he seek an answer.
“Does your family live nearby?” he asked.
She angled her chin. “Does yours?”
Blast it. Was her family of nobility within Dalkirk or had they given the earl their fealty?
“Do you know the men who attacked me?” she asked, suspicion raw in her words.
He shook his head. The combination of her physical struggle and swelling jaw made his gut twist. By God he’d catch the scoundrels. He gestured to her leg. “’Twas a nasty fall. You are injured.”
Face taut, she shrugged. “Only bruised.”
He grunted. “That I doubt. Let me carry you. You are favoring your ankle, you canna climb back up on your own.”
Defiance blazed in her eyes. “I can make it without your help.”
Regardless of the pain, if he let her, no doubt she’d try. “Aye, but ’tis rest and a warm fire you would be needing, not climbing up the brae, and,” Cailin said with emphasis, “in pain.”
In a calmer setting he would have lingered in speculation at her bold manner. Except with her injury, the snow falling at an increasing rate, and the howl of bitter wind, they needed to find shelter.
Scraping her teeth over her lower lip, she scoured the surroundings then stilled
He followed her gaze.
A step to his left, half buried in snow, lay her sgian dubh, a smear of blood across the blade.
Before she could move, he retrieved the knife and wiped it clean. Handle facing her, he offered her the dagger.
Eyes wary, she accepted her weapon. “Why are you helping me?”
“You were in danger.”
Kenzie sheathed her blade. “As simple as that?”
He held out his hand. “Aye. We must go before the weather makes travel impossible.”
After a brief hesitation, during which her gaze seemed to pierce his and evaluate his trustworthiness, she placed her hand upon his open palm.
At the silkiness of her skin against his, Cailin smothered the flare of awareness. Irritated by the desire she stirred, he lifted her in his arms.
Snow crunched as he carried her up the steep, icy incline. He tried to ignore how good she felt against him, failed. At the top of the cliff, more than ready to put distance between them, he gently set her on her feet.
Cheeks flushed, she nodded and moved back, clearly trying to shield that her leg still caused her pain. “I thank you, Sir Cailin. I owe you much. I—” Her face paled as she twisted around with a gasp. “My horse!”
Blast it, the thieves had circled back and taken her steed. “Do you know their names?”
She shook her head. “I have never seen them before today.”
No doubt the robbers had believed her a lady, and easy prey. “Why are you riding without proper guard?”
* * * *
Dismayed by the turn of events, Elspet studied the handsome knight. Dark red hair framed blue eyes that no doubt had made many a woman want. His muscle hewn body and confident stance, that of a man used to taking charge.
Was this warrior one of the Earl of Dalkirk’s men out searching for her? She struggled for an explanation that would satisfy the formidable knight so she could slip away before he recognized her.
“I was en route to my aunt’s home in the Western Highlands when thieves attacked my guard. He was…” She drew in a ragged breath, allowed the terror since she’d fled Tiran Castle to fill her words. “H-he died. I escaped, or believed I had. Except the men caught up to me and…” Her breath hitched. “Thank God you arrived.”
Somber eyes held hers. “They willna touch you again,” he said, his voice somber. “That I swear.”
A sense of rightness emitted from this man, a strength, integrity that left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Shaken, Elspet dragged in a steadying breath. “How I wish you could promise such.”
Intense blue eyes held hers. “I mean what I say.”
However foolish, more so after her neighbor’s betrayal hours ago and with him possibly one of the earl’s men, she believed him. “Never have I seen you before.”
The daunting knight’s eyes grew unreadable. “I am but traveling through.”
Tension in her body eased. Thank God, he was not in service to the noble. “You are a stranger to Dalkirk lands,” she said. “What you witnessed today was but a pittance of the lawlessness the earl allows his men.”
Surprise flickered in Cailin’s eyes. “Your attackers are men within his guard?”
She hesitated. Regardless if he was an outsider and ignorant that the earl had ordered his knights to catch and kill her, ’twas wisest to take care with what she shared. Another shiver swept her. “Ignore my ramblings, ’tis exhaustion feeding my words.”
A frown creased his brow. After a moment, he nodded. “’Tis time to leave.”
“Where are you going?”
“We,” he said with emphasis, “are riding to an inn up ahead where I have a room for tonight. You will have a meal, and a place to rest while your injury mends.”
One she’d passed earlier this day. Though far enough away from where anyone would recognize her, without coin or time, a tavern she’d avoided. Neither did she wish to go with him.
She shook her head. “I canna—”
“While we sup,” he continued, “we will discuss arrangements for you to reach your destination.”
“You would escort me to my aunt’s?”
“Nay. As you are without sufficient funds, I will arrange for a coach.”
“I…” Elspet smothered another surge of guilt. “Your generosity is appreciated, but I refuse to disrupt your travels further. If you would kindly spare a pound, which will cover fare, meals, and lodgings for the remainder of my trip, I willna delay you further,” she said with a demure look. “Money I assure you, once I know where you are headed, that I will repay.”
He paused. “I dinna carry such a large amount when I travel.”
She smothered a burst of panic. What was she going to do? However much she dreaded the thought, only one choice remained. She must rob another unsuspecting traveler, then make haste to reach the guard who’d promised to free Blar.
“I understand and appreciate your kindness,” she forced out, “but I nay longer need your assistance.”
A red brow lifted in stunned disbelief. “You want me to leave you here injured and without a mount or protection?”
Straightening her shoulders, she limped back a step. “Aye. If I find the need to rest, as you said, there is an inn nearby.”
He frowned. “With how the storm is worsening, we will be fortunate to reach the tavern by horse much less on foot. Or, in your case, hobble. Nor, by your admission, do you have fare to pay for a room.”
Blast it. She scowled at the thick flakes tumbling past, damned the throb in her ankle. All she needed was the coin, not more time spent with this alluring stranger. The delay may cost her stepbrother his life.
An errant ray of light broke through the clouds and shimmered off the knight’s broadsword.
Elspet stilled. Atop a leather grip, an intricately carved gold crest lay etched within the pommel. She’d believed him but a knight, except a warrior could far from afford such a superior weapon, garb of such quality, or a destrier of such caliber.
Unease rippled through her. God in heaven, was he nobility? If so, why had he not proclaimed his title? Regardless, a sword of this quality would bring more than enough to pay the guard.
She lifted her gaze to his. As much as dishonesty went against her grain, especially when it was directed towards this courageous man who had rescued her, to save Blar, she had no choice but to steal his weapon. “I agree.”
A dry smile touched his mouth. “I thank you, my lady, for allowing me to offer escort.”
She didn’t correct him. Let him think she was of noble birth, ’twould make it more difficult when he tried to find her.
The warrior swung into his saddle. With ease he lifted her before him.
Elspet tried to ignore the hard ripple of his muscle against her body, his warmth, the strength of his arms as they circled around her to lift the reins or how, for this moment, she felt safe. Given her predicament, she had no business noticing anything about this handsome knight.
Cailin draped his cloak around her. “I will protect you,” he said as if sensing her need for reassurance, then he kicked his steed into a gallop.
Protect her? If he knew the truth of what she had planned this night, he would have abandoned her to the fate of the men.
* * * *
A short while later, settled in their room at the inn, the savory scent of food filled the air, and firelight from the hearth filled the chamber with a soft golden light and warmth. Elspet scowled at how the swelling in her ankle had grown steadily worse.
“I fear my aunt will be worried when I do not arrive,” she said.
Cailin tore off a piece of bread, dipped it in the hearty stew, popped it in his mouth, then swallowed. “Given the ferocity of the storm, she will understand.”
As she ate her portion of the fare, she scanned their tiny room. Aside from the hearth, a bed with extra blankets folded atop stood in the corner, and nearby sat a small table holding a pitcher of water.
However sparse the furnishings, Cailin’s presence seemed to fill the chamber, a potent reminder of her predicament. “’Tis unseemly for us to share this chamber.”
“Under normal circumstance I would agree.” He took a sip of ale. “We were fortunate that I had already paid for a room. Given the steady flow of travelers seeking shelter since our arrival, by now even the stable is filled.”
Indeed. With the throng of people below, they were fortunate to have acquired a meal and drink.
He refilled his goblet. “You will sleep in the bed. I will make a pallet beside the hearth.”
And once he was asleep, she would leave, except… Another wave of guilt swept Elspet as she glanced toward the finely crafted broadsword hanging near the door. If only he’d had the coin to loan her, then she wouldn’t need to resort to thievery.
While he continued to eat, she fingered the sack of powdered valerian root hidden deep in her gown pocket. A healthy dose would make him sleep.
However much she regretted taking his weapon, for a powerful man of wealth, procuring another would be naught but an inconvenience. More important, on the morrow she’d meet with Wautier Brecnagh, a merchant known for purchasing stolen goods. She prayed he’d give her enough to pay the guard to save Blar’s life.
At least once she departed, they’d never see the other again. Given the stakes, neither could she afford to care what this handsome warrior would think of her.
Elspet rubbed her arms. “’Tis cold.”
Eyes dark with concern swept over her. “Exhausted and injured, you might be coming down with a chill.” Cailin crossed to the hearth.
On a trembling breath, she withdrew the valerian root. After a quick glance to ensure he hadn’t turned back, she sifted a liberal amount into his ale, stirred.
Logs clunked in the hearth, and her fingers jerked. A swath of powder spilled on the table. Nay! She swept away the residue, secured the sack, and then stowed the herb.
Sparks swirled within the churn of smoke as he laid several more smaller pieces of wood into the flames. Brushing the dirt from his hands, he stood. “That should keep us warm for the night.” He walked over, settled in the chair, and lifted his mug. Cailin’s brow furrowed.
Her heart pounded. God in heaven, had she missed some of the powder? “Do you have a large family?” she blurted out, desperate to distract him.
Weary blue eyes shifted to her. “If I reply, will you be answering my questions about yourself as well?”
Tension eased within her. He suspected naught. “Nay.”
With a grunt, he lifted his cup in a mock toast, downed the brew, then hissed. “God’s blade, they must have scraped the dredges of the barrel for this rot.”
She forced a smile. “As you said, we were fortunate that any food or drink remained.”
“Nay doubt until the storm they had planned on dumping the foul brew.” With a grimace he shoved aside the goblet then stood. “Go to sleep.
“I thank you.” Mindful of her throbbing ankle, Elspet limped to the bed, and then slipped beneath the covers. Feigning sleep, she watched for signs of the herb taking effect.
At the hearth he made a pallet. Instead of lying down he knelt, and then made the sign of the cross.
Soft whispers of the Lord’s Prayer reached her, each word thick with grief, each verse as if dredged from his soul. Once Cailin finished, he began again.
Mesmerized by the intensity, the passion of each word, she couldn’t look away. What had happened to cause him such angst? A part of her tried to ignore the anguish in his voice, but another longed to offer him succor.
Elspet’s heart ached. His faith was a potent reminder of how days before her belief in Him had been as strong. Except, after what she’d witnessed yesterday, she could no longer fathom believing in a God who put people through such horror.
After whispering several more paternosters, he again made the sign of the cross, and then sat back.
On a yawn, the warrior glanced toward her.
Through her lashes, she watched him.
For a long moment, he studied her.
And why wouldn’t he be curious? She’d revealed naught about her past, and during their brief discussion of her travel, she’d remained vague. Neither had she pressed him for information.
However ill-timed and destined to be short lived, she found herself drawn to this handsome warrior. Foolish indeed when soon she would leave.
He started to turn away, and half-tipped over. On a muttered curse, he righted himself.
“Cailin?”
His lids raised, and she caught the slight dazed look. She gave a relieved exhale. The valerian root was beginning to work.
“Aye?” he replied.
“I want to thank you for rescuing me this day.”
“’Twas naught.”
“I disagree. Many would have ridden past without a care.”
“That, I f-find,” he slurred, “hard to believe.”
“I would have agreed,” Elspet said, “but since Gaufrid MacHugh, Earl of Dalkirk, took control of Tiran Castle years ago, everything has changed.”
He sat, braced himself against the wall, his face pale at the effort. “Explain?”
What could it hurt? He was unlikely to remember this conversation. “He is a cruel man. All within Dalkirk fear him.”
“As you?”
Tears threatened as horrific memories of yesterday rolled through her. “Nay. I despise him.”
“Why?”
Far from pleased by the shift in the conversation, she looked away.
“Kenzie?”
Tears burned her eyes and Elspet damned that he’d ask or care. The crackle of flames echoed within the chamber, melded with a faint yell and laughter from below as if the night was normal.
A soft thud had her turning.
Eyes closed, Cailin lay on the floor, his red hair lay flopped against his cheek. On his next breath, a soft snore fell from his mouth.
Anxious for this moment to arrive, now regret weighed heavy upon her. Though she’d known the knight for mere hours, he seemed good, decent, and kind.
Refusing to let her conscience outweigh what she must do, Elspet pushed from the bed and hobbled over as quietly as she could. She allowed herself the luxury of skimming her finger along the hard line of his jaw, then sliding the pad of her thumb along his firm mouth.
In sleep his expression had softened as if a gentle man, except she saw the faint scar on his cheek, and another across the side of his neck that disappeared beneath his garb.
He was a man of war, one who would not tolerate being crossed. When he awoke he’d be furious.
A fact that couldn’t be helped.
With a deep exhale, Elspet pulled a blanket up to his chest, then moved across the chamber and withdrew his broadsword from the scabbard. The weight of the weapon surprised her, but her gaze shifted to the gold crest etched within the pommel, then to the intricate carvings on the guard.
After securing the weapon beneath her cape, she opened the door. Throat tight she glanced back. “I am sorry, Cailin.” Elspet stepped into the hallway, and quietly closed the door in her wake.
* * * *
Through the fog of sleep, Cailin forced his lids open, peered out. He cursed the pounding in his skull, the dizziness blurring his thoughts, and the awful taste in his mouth. Blast it, where was he, and why did he feel as if he’d drank too much?
Foggy memories of the men assaulting Kenzie rushed through his mind, of his saving her, and then their trek through the blizzard to the inn.
He sat. Pain spiked through his head. With a slow sweep, he scanned the unfamiliar chamber. Coals glowed in the hearth, the sheets on the bed lay turned back, a slight impression of where she’d slept remained, but the lass was gone. He rubbed his brow. Mayhap she’d gone downstairs for food. Foolish when the inn was filled and without his protection.
Cailin shoved to his feet, damned another blast of pain. He started to turn, stilled.
His scabbard was empty.
Unease prickled up his spine. Had she taken his weapon to fend off any threats? He grunted. As if with her ankle injured she could swing the sword with any force. Blast it, why hadn’t she woken him?
Muttering a curse, he turned, paused at the smear of powder on the floor beside where he’d sat for supper. His mind churned with several reasons for the residue.
None good.
Wanting to be wrong, Cailin stalked over, swiped his finger through the powder, sniffed.
Valerian root!
He glared at the closed door. Nay, he hadn’t slept, nor were his aliments the result of too much ale. Kenzie had drugged him, and then stolen his broadsword. His anger surged. Blast it, the lass was in league with the men whom he’d found her with yesterday. They hadn’t been robbing her, ’twas naught but a bloody ploy for her to fleece him!
Fury seething through his veins, against the splintering pain in his head, Cailin jerked on his cape, gathered the few belongings he’d brought, then stormed from the chamber.
Aye, he’d find her.
God help her when he did.