Chapter 6
Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting shades of blues, reds, and purple within the solar as Aiden hid a dirk beneath his garb. He nodded to Rónán and Cailin standing opposite him. “As lord of the castle, I will take Sir Pieres and several men with me to meet whoever leads the English force.” He secured another dagger into the side of his boot. “Once I depart, you both will leave. Rónán, once out of sight of the castle, head to the Bruce’s encampment and inform him of the situation.”
Rónán nodded.
“Cailin,” Aiden continued, “round back and find cover where you can keep watch over the stronghold. When you see that I have safely arrived at the keep, return, and I will share what I have learned. After, you will ride to King Robert with a report.”
Rónán slid his thumb across the hilt of his sword. “And if anyone asks where we are going?”
Aiden slipped a third dagger onto his belt. “Say you are off to hunt.”
“A sound reason,” Cailin said, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “If the English are staying for any length of time, more food will be needed.”
With a nod, Aiden tugged on his cloak. “Let us hope they willna remain. I despise the thought of being trapped inside this bloody castle playing Lord Balfour to the Sassenach.” He glanced toward Cailin. “If anything goes awry and I am taken prisoner, inform the Bruce.”
The Templar straightened and nodded. “I pray all goes well.”
“I assure you, I await the day we are leagues from here. A life shackled to a lass, however false, is not a part I wish to continue playing.”
“Mayhap,” Rónán conceded, “but if you are to be constrained in marriage, ’tis fortuitous to be bound to such a beauty.”
“Beautiful and guiltless. She didna ask to be wed, but was cast into this position, one she accepted with dignity and grace. And,” Aiden added with disgust, “Lord Comyn is a fool to exploit an intelligent and astute woman with such disregard. Obviously, he hasna met Gwendolyn; if he had…” At the surprise flickering in his men’s eyes, he paused.
A smile brushed Cailin’s mouth. “If Lord Comyn had met Lady Gwendolyn, he would have what?”
“At a loss for words, Aiden? Hers is a fate that, upon our arrival, seemed of little concern to you. Yet now, ’tis important?” Mirth flickered in Rónán’s eyes. “I find myself curious to learn the reason.”
His friends broke into laughter, and Aiden shot them both a fierce glare. “Given the severity of the situation, our thoughts should be on the unexpected arrival of the English force, not tawdry banter!”
Their laughter faded.
Embarrassment seared his gut. He rubbed the back of his neck, shot his men a wry smile. “We are all tired and the stakes are high.”
Rónán’s shrewd gaze held his. “Lady Gwendolyn is a lass to admire.”
“Aye,” Cailin agreed.
Soft voices sounded from beyond the chamber.
Rónán placed his finger to his lips, crept over, cracked open the door. With a quiet push, he shut the entry, returned. “’Twas naught but knights walking past.”
“Were you able to see how many ships are in the fleet?” Cailin asked.
“Nay,” Aiden replied, thankful his men hadn’t pressed about his feelings toward Gwendolyn. “By the number of masts I discerned through the fog, ’tis a sizable force. If the ships are filled with soldiers, which I suspect as I saw warriors in the galleys closest to shore, there could be several thousand troops.”
“God’s blade!” Cailin hissed. “A contingent of such enormity marching east would not only divide King Robert’s men but leave his forces without access to reinforcements.”
Aiden grimaced. “Aye. Another reason ’tis imperative to discover the Englishmen’s intent.”
“What will you tell the lass?” Rónán asked.
The intensity, sincerity, and passion that had simmered within her pewter-gray eyes as they’d spoken throughout the night flickered in his mind. However unwanted, they’d forged a fragile bond. Nor could he forget how once the revelers outside her chamber had dispersed, she’d procured fresh sheets while he’d destroyed the bloodstained ones.
He smothered the blistering rush of need at her remembered scent entangled in the bedsheets, how he’d crumpled the linen between his hands in a pathetic attempt to crush the desire smoldering inside.
“When the time comes,” Aiden said, “I will deal with Lady Gwendolyn. If the Englishmen are here to join forces with Comyn, we must stall their departure.”
Cailin grunted. “The bastards are not likely to stay put.”
A wry smile curved Aiden’s mouth. “Mayhap they will.”
Rónán stared at him as if he had two heads. “Are you daft? There is bloody little you can do to prevent thousands of troops from marching east to confront our king.”
“If they are here to support Comyn, a move I believe the Earl of Balfour played a part in arranging, then there is a way.” Impatience whipped through Aiden, and he began to pace. At the hearth, he paused, turned. “I shall explain to whoever commands the English that King Robert’s troops are on the move and headed toward an unexpected position. That Lord Comyn has relayed, through me, a request for them to remain here. Once Comyn has the Bruce’s location, he will lead a force here to plan an attack against Scotland’s king.”
Rónán grunted. “You think Lord Balfour’s arrival was a strategic maneuver?”
“Indeed,” Aiden replied. “The marriage strengthens Comyn’s power, positions a noble skilled in the ways of battle to unite with the English.”
“Given Lord Balfour’s fierce loyalty to Comyn,” Cailin said, “the tactic makes sense.”
A frown lined Rónán’s brow as he glanced from one man to the other. “Except the earl didna carry a missive for the English.”
Aiden gave a slow nod. “Easily remedied, my friend. Given the sensitivity of the mission, I will explain that Comyn ordered all plans to be passed only through word of mouth.”
“Which blasted makes sense.” Cailin walked to the window, looked out, turned. “How long do you think you can keep them here?”
“A fortnight, mayhap more. Long enough for the Bruce to gather his forces and make a retaliatory plan.” Aiden glanced at Rónán. “I have changed my mind. I canna risk something going wrong and our sovereign being uninformed. Leave now.”
The Templar nodded.
Voices in the corridor grew louder. A knock sounded at the door. “Lord Balfour, the guards you requested are ready.”
“’Tis Sir Pieres,” Aiden whispered. “My thanks,” he called out.” He met each of his men’s gazes. “Stay alert. God help us if we fail.”
* * * *
Hours later, the details of his meeting with the English pouring through his mind, Aiden entered Gwendolyn’s chamber. A fire blazed in the hearth, spilling wavering shadows along the walls and the arched beams overhead, much like the anger now fracturing his calm.
He shoved the door closed. God’s sword, the situation was worse than they’d believed. He strode to the small table, poured a glass of wine, and downed the drink in one gulp.
Two short raps sounded at the entry.
With a muttered curse, he shoved the goblet aside, strode over, jerked open the door.
Cailin hurried inside. “Before you ask, the serving maid informed me you were here. As for your wife, she is in the bailey.”
Fresh rushes swirled on the floor as Aiden closed the entry with a firm snap. “Good.”
“Do you think anyone aboard ship recognized you?” the Templar asked.
“After the many countries I have traveled through, I worried that might happen, but I dinna believe so, but I canna risk further contact with the English crew.” Aiden paused. “Rónán?”
“Is safely away.” Cailin gave a dry smile. “I returned with four rabbits. Not much, but ’twill squelch any suspicions of my departure’s intent.”
“Did anyone question Rónán’s absence?”
His friend shook his head. “With the servants busy preparing for the incoming Englishmen, I doubt whether anyone noticed he did not return.”
“Still, if anyone inquires,” Aiden said, refusing to take any chances, “inform them Rónán pursues a stag in the forest.”
“I will.”
A slow pounding throbbed in his head, and Aiden poured two goblets of wine. He handed one to his friend. “The English force is led by the Duke of Northbyrn.”
The Templar muttered a curse. “I have heard of him. A nasty lot.”
“Brutal on the battlefield but a shrewd warrior, and a prudent choice to lead a force against the Bruce,” Aiden said. “Last spring he came close to routing King Robert west of here. Our sovereign willna be pleased to learn his nemesis has returned to Scottish soil, more so leading over five thousand well-armed men.”
Cailin’s fingers whitened on his goblet. “Over five thousand. God’s blade, the Bruce will be angry.”
“He will.” Aiden swirled the ruby liquid, took a sip. “Besides being armed with the finest weaponry, the duke bragged that they carry enough supplies to build several trebuchets.”
His friend’s face paled. “How did he respond to the supposed instructions from Comyn to remain at the castle until he arrives?”
“He was livid. But”—amusement lifted Aiden’s lips—“the plan we discussed earlier worked well. I was able to convince his grace that Lord Comyn must confirm the Bruce’s position, as well as investigate rumors of Welsh archers joining the king’s forces before he makes any plans to attack.”
“Superb.” Cailin paused. “What have you told Lady Gwendolyn concerning the English?”
“That once Comyn has completed his inquiry on the Bruce’s activities, he would travel here to meet with them.”
“And her reaction?”
“Surprise, as you might expect, which shifted to concern when I explained that the Duke of Northbyrn and his nobles would be residing at Latharn Castle until Comyn’s arrival.”
Cailin lifted his goblet in a toast. “In the meantime, an attack will come, except ’twill be the Bruce storming this stronghold.” He lowered the cup. “What will happen to the lass?”
“Before the assault, I will ensure she and those loyal to her are hidden to keep them safe.”
Cailin grunted. “Is there such a place when a castle is under siege?”
A twisting wrenched Aiden’s gut. In the heat of battle, even the best laid plans could go awry. “With the size of this fortress, I am confident secret passageways exist for such situations.” He prayed he was right.
“How are you going to convince the lass to divulge such information?” Calin asked.
The slow pounding in Aiden’s head built. “A challenge, to be sure.” He downed the remainder of his wine, set the goblet on the table with an exasperated hiss. “Mayhap ’tis prudent to beseech the king to consider another tactic.”
Cailin frowned. “Such as?”
Aiden rubbed his thumb against his temple, irritated by his concern for her. Blast it, what happened to Gwendolyn was never supposed to matter. He stilled as an idea came to mind. “Our initial plan to collect information on the stronghold still stands.”
His friend gave a slow nod.
“However, against the duke’s sizable force, instead of allowing the English to remain here, I will wait a sennight, then craft a supposed missive from Comyn, requesting their presence. ’Twill lure the men away and prevent the English from using the stronghold as a defense, and Latharn Castle, along with her people, will be spared.”
Calin nodded. “A logical solution.” He downed the remaining drink, set his empty goblet on the table. “I will pass your recommendations to King Robert. Once our sovereign has decided on a strategy, I will return with further direction.”
A heavy weight settled in Aiden’s chest as he glanced toward the window. He walked there, unhinged the panes, shoved. Sunlight illuminated the land, the shimmer of golden rays glistening upon the breakers as far as he could see.
On a sigh, he turned. “Leave now, my friend. You will need every hour of daylight.”
“Aye,” Cailin replied.
Aiden clasped his hand. “Godspeed.”
The Templar strode across the chamber, pausing at the door. “Take care of the lass. She is, after all, your wife.” With a chuckle, he slipped into the corridor.
Shouts and the clash of blades from arms practice echoed from the bailey.
Aiden glanced at the combatants. His plans to manipulate the duke and his men was critical to King Robert’s intention to unite Scotland. Nor did he take lightly that Gwendolyn was an unknowing pawn in this deadly game.
Hooves clattered from below.
Astride his bay, Cailin glanced toward the tower. His gaze met Aiden’s a moment before he cantered beneath the gatehouse.
Aiden made the sign of the cross and prayed his friend reached the Bruce in time.
Worries of the upcoming meeting with the duke and his knights weighing heavily on his mind, Aiden gathered the few belongings he’d left there the previous night, crossed the room, and tugged open the door. He stilled.
Paces away, her face flushed, stood his wife.
* * * *
Her pulse racing, Gwendolyn lowered the blankets in her arms and stared at the stranger she’d wed. A man who confused and tormented her, a noble at odds with the warrior Sir Pieres had described.
Except there was no denying that, due to her husband’s involvement, an invading force had moved into her castle.
Her knees weakened by his commanding presence, how he dwarfed the space around him, leaving little room to put much-needed distance between them, confines that in the dark of the night left the setting too intimate.
“My lord husband. The Englishmen from the ships have filled all the available chambers.”
“Which means…?”
She frowned, irritated to have to explain the obvious. “This morning, in preparation for Lord Comyn’s arrival, I readied the chamber I had promised you for him.”
“Your point?” he pressed.
The words scraped her throat, his formidable presence piling atop her omission like a weight as she glanced at the few items in his arms. “Regardless of both our wishes, your other possessions have been moved into my chamber for the duration of his stay.”
For a moment he did not speak, though his eyes flared with unreadable heat. “I see.”
To Hades with him for being able to intimidate her. ’Twas her home. More important, there were bigger issues to deal with, those that involved her people. “Our food stores are inadequate for the additional men.”
With a shrug, Bróccín placed the contents in his arms atop the remainder of his belongings, then walked to the window and leaned against the frame. He glanced out for a long moment, then faced her. “I will lead a hunt.”
She forced her frustration aside. Her husband wasn’t from this locale, nor had he time to review the ledgers to understand the seriousness the extra mouths presented.
“Due to the years of war, much of the wildlife and crops are depleted. The few homes still standing have long since been raided, leaving little for those who remain.”
Bitterness iced his gaze as he shoved away from the window. A pace away, he paused. “There is naught fair in war. ’Tis a violent clash for power. Few win in their lethal quest, for the path to victory is riddled with the bodies of the innocent.”
His impassioned words cut through her. Shaken, she fought to refocus her thoughts. Any belief she carried of his indifference to the carnage spawned in battle dissolved on her blistering breath and further chipped away at the wall she’d built around her heart.
Fighting to control the riot of emotions, she walked to the chest. Hand trembling, she flipped open the top, dumped the blankets inside, and then secured the top. She turned. “Earlier this morning, I sent out several fishermen. Their catch will add to whatever game you and the men return with.”
Her husband nodded. “Sir Cailin returned a short while ago with several rabbits.”
“I thank you.” Swallowing, she lifted her chin. “I am surprised you didna mention the duke’s coming arrival at our first meeting.”
“Why?” he asked, his brow raising as if with a careless afterthought. “The Englishman’s arrival or that of his force has naught to do with you.”
The arrogant ass! “When my home is infiltrated by the English,” she growled, “by men who will deplete our already strained resources, and possibly pose a threat to those I protect, it has everything to do with me.”
Irritation darkened his gaze. “The time the English will remain at the stronghold will be brief.”
How dare he dismiss her concerns? “They are here now!”
Hard eyes held hers. “You dinna like the English?”
“I am loyal to my liege lord,” she said, her voice unapologetic, “a Scot. But I struggle to condone the presence of warriors in my home who are loyal to a king who seeks to claim Scotland as his own.”
“The Hammer of the Scots is dead,” her husband said with soft precision as he watched her. “His son isna a man driven to war, to collect lands or power for his own vain purposes.”
She scoffed. “Yet Edward of Caernarfon sends troops to my castle. Why?” she asked, her voice rising. “To kill Scots in the guise of aiding Lord Comyn in his bid to bring King Robert to heel.”
“’Tis traitorous words,” her husband softly warned.
Fear curled through her. Aware she took a great risk, she couldn’t help but speak her mind about a king who’d so far proven untrustworthy. “However loyal I am to Lord Comyn, I canna trust England’s sovereign.”
Silence fell between them.
She awaited his displeasure, the roar of a threat.
Instead, the hard lines of the earl’s mouth relaxed. Without warning, the moment shifted, and his gaze darkened with awareness. “’Twould seem you are as courageous as you are beautiful.”
At the appreciation stroking his words, heat slid through her. Floundering at the flare of desire, and needing to shift to safer ground, Gwendolyn touched the cross hanging at her neck. “I have been known to speak my mind.”
Her husband folded his arms across his massive chest. Genuine amusement flickered over his handsome features. “A trait I have noticed.”
Warmth crept up her neck as her gaze lingered on his muscles, noticing the raven-black hair on his chest peeking from beneath his tunic. Her fingers bit into the cross as she fought to smother the scorching sensations unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
Blast this man to Hades and back. She focused on their conversation, however dangerous, safer than her body’s traitorous yearnings. “Neither will I curb my tongue.”
“Nor would I expect such.” In a swift movement, he stepped forward and lifted her chin. His fingertips warmed the skin where he touched. “I canna tolerate a weak lass, nor one who blindly follows dictates.”
His somber admission swept over her like a caress. This close, she reveled in the mesmerizing depths of his eyes, the dark flecks of gold, sinking further into the emerald warmth reflected back.
He leaned toward her, his scent of man and heat wrapping her within their potent embrace. On a soft gasp, her mouth parted.
His shoulders stiffened. As if scalded, he lowered his arms and strode toward the door.
“W-where are you going?” she stammered as she struggled against her body’s traitorous recoil.
“To gather men to hunt,” he snapped.
“Bróccín?”
His intense gaze leveled on her.
A tremor ran though her as she remembered his request for an heir. Her breathing grew shallow and warmth swept her cheeks. Gwendolyn cleared her throat. “I… I pray you have good luck.”
Eyes narrowed, Bróccín strode across the room, each step stealing the air around her, caging her as if bound. “That isna what you meant to say,” he stated, his throaty challenge leaving her further off balance. “Where is your courage now?”
Her pulse slammed in her chest. “I was thinking,” she rasped, “that mayhap we can overcome our differences.”
Nostrils flaring, he scoffed. “Overcome our differences?” His gaze swept to her mouth, lingered. “Is that what you wish?”
The raw need of his question slashed her defenses. Never had she been so aware of a man. Aye, she’d endured Luke’s touch, but never had he ignited such longings.
In stunned realization, she stared at the warrior. For the first time in her life she craved to please a man, to garner his favor.
“Nay,” he continued in a sultry burr. “I think what you want between us is far more.”
Overwhelmed by her body’s intense response to him, she stumbled back. “Nay!” She had to get away from him before she did something foolish—like invite him to her bed.
Eyes dark with heat, he stalked toward her.
* * * *
Aiden’s body roared its demand as he caught Gwendolyn’s wrists, stroked his thumb across the silkiness of her lower lip. “I think—” He skimmed his mouth atop hers in a soft caress, “that we could—”
“N-nay,” she breathed.
He was pleased at the flush pinking her cheeks, by the way her breathing shallowed, and how against her will she’d leaned closer. Her pulse raced beneath his fingers, pleasing him more. Aye, just one kiss, ’twould end the question of how she would taste, allow him to push thoughts of her aside.
He pressed his body against hers and, with slow intent, sealed his mouth over hers. An explosion of feelings blinded him to his cause until he lost himself in her sweet taste.
A low moan rumbled in her throat, and she deepened the kiss, demanded more, igniting a fierce, primal need that shrouded rational thought.
His blood pounding hot, Aiden backed her up against the door, his hands gliding over her curves as his mouth devoured. He shoved aside her garb, needing to touch her, to cup her soft flesh in his hands, to strip her until—
Stunned by his loss of control, Aiden jerked his head back. God’s sword, never had a woman made him lose control! He scowled at her mouth, swollen from his kisses, her rumpled garb exposing a hint of her tempting breasts, and her eyes dark with need that seduced him into crossing every line he’d ever drawn.
Damning his weakness, Aiden whirled and strode away, before he did something reckless, like take her.