Chapter 7
Hues of soft golds, purples, and reds shimmered upon the clouds in the western sky, announcing the oncoming night. Pleased with the several deer the hunt had provided, Aiden halted his mount on the rock-strewn knoll and peered at the sea of grass coating the summer-warmed land, Latharn Castle but a speck down the coast.
Sir Pieres drew to a halt on his right. “Is something wrong, my lord?”
My lord. He stifled a grimace at the reminder of his duplicity. “Nay. Take the men and return to the castle. I will follow shortly.”
“With King Robert’s troops about, ’tis unsafe for you to be without escort.”
“If not for a fleet of English troops sitting off shore, I would agree.”
A frown creased the stocky knight’s brow. “’Tis possible the Bruce’s men havena sighted Lord Comyn’s reinforcements.”
“Scotland’s king is one not to be underestimated,” Aiden said. “’Tis my belief he has men hidden along the coast to report any unusual activity, and they have already passed the arrival of the English to the Bruce.”
“Mayhap the dense fog shielded the fleet from the king’s men?” The stalwart knight shrugged. “Regardless, if the Bruce’s men havena seen the English ships, with the size of the Duke of Northbyrn’s force, ’twill not be long before they do.”
“Indeed.” Aiden’s fingers tightened on the reins. “Leave me.”
“I will see you at the meeting with the duke this night.” With a nod, the knight nudged his steed to rejoin his men.
A smile curved Aiden’s mouth as the hunting party, bearing proof of their day’s success, cantered toward the stronghold. Aye, with Rónán and Cailin on their way to inform the Bruce of the English troop’s arrival, King Robert would soon know. A crucial fact Sir Pieres and the Duke of Northbyrn would discover too late.
His smile faded. Far from anxious to return to his enemy’s fortress, he stretched in the saddle. Throughout the morning, however much he’d tried to erase thoughts of Gwendolyn’s kiss, the sweetness of her mouth lay etched in his mind, her lips designed to lure a man, to invite fantasies that would drive him mad.
Leather reins bit into his palms as Aiden’s fingers tightened at memories of her soft moan, and of how her lips had moved beneath his, demanded more. Aye, he remembered, cursed the clarity of the kiss that seeped into his every pore and haunted his every thought.
God’s sword, how had he convinced himself that ’twas prudent to touch her? His plan to create distance between them had failed, miserably so. It had taken sheer will to not bed her then. From the desire in her eyes, intimacy she’d wanted as well. As if her wanting him blasted helped anything?
He kicked his steed into a gallop. The thrum of hooves upon the turf wove within the steady breeze as he guided his mount down a well-worn trail. In the distance, swells tumbled ashore to storm the beach with relentless fury. White-tipped swirls smothered rocks, enveloped the jagged shore, and then slid back.
Blast it, he had been attracted to her from the start, and with the way her strength and intelligence intrigued him, he should have considered the possibility that his feelings for the lass would grow.
Over the years as a Templar, he had faced many problems, however difficult, challenges he’d overcome. ’Twould seem Gwendolyn was such a trial. Regardless of the feelings she inspired, she was a temptation he would resist.
Nor could he forget she believed him to be Bróccín MacRaith. Thankfully, the arrival of the English fleet had turned their disaster of a marriage into a boon, one he would use to his advantage.
At least she would never learn of his duplicity. Once the Bruce had seized Latharn Castle, she would receive word that Lord Balfour had died, and never would she see him again.
Aiden guided his steed toward the cliffs. The vastness of the ocean drew him, and he inhaled the salty tang. What if his worries were for naught? Although she’d responded to the kiss, mayhap her actions weren’t out of desire but duty? Previously wed, she understood the expectations of marriage. Hadn’t she stated as much?
Relief slid through him, and his body relaxed. Gwendolyn hadn’t responded to the kiss, nor had he seen desire in her eyes, her reaction only what she believed was required, a prelude to the expected bedding.
An intimacy that would never occur.
The error of kissing her he could forgive, but with her believing him to be Lord Balfour, he refused to allow familiarity between them to go further.
A cool breeze battered his face, and he glanced skyward. Dark gray clouds moving in from the west brought the threat of a storm. With a sigh, he glanced toward the fortress. He couldn’t linger. Much remained to be done. Meeting with the duke and culling information to pass on to the Bruce. As for the lass…He grunted. With her on edge about the upcoming night, no doubt she would avoid him.
Confidence in his plan restored, and with his men safely on their way to King Robert, Aiden reined his mount toward the stronghold.
* * * *
“Lord Balfour arrives,” a guard called from the tower.
Heart pounding, Gwendolyn shifted her gaze past the battlements to where, against the fading ball of sun on the horizon, Bróccín cantered toward the gatehouse. Forcing an expectant look on her face, she tamped down the fear and walked to the turret. However much she wanted to bolt down to the bailey to meet him, she refused to raise suspicion.
Hurried steps echoed from below. Torchlight wavered with violent shadows as an English guard appeared, rushed past.
Thank God he hadn’t stopped. Alone, she quickened her pace. Pulse racing, she exited the keep, moved across the sun-dried turf, praying those watching attributed any signs of nervousness were due to her being a new bride anxious for her husband’s arrival.
Bróccín cantered beneath the arched stone entry with the confidence of a warrior, his air unapproachable, and his stalwart bearing commanding respect. For the first time since they had met, Gwendolyn found herself grateful for his daunting presence.
He drew his steed to a halt before her. Eyes unreadable, the earl dismounted, handed the reins to an awaiting lad.
Forcing a smile on her face, she rushed forward. “Welcome home, my husband,” she said loudly, forcing cheer into her voice. “Put your arms around me as if you welcome my presence,” she whispered, “then draw me close as if to kiss me.”
His entire body stiffened. “Wh—”
“Do it,” she ordered, leaning in.
Green eyes narrowed, then strong hands wrapped around her waist, pulled her flush against him.
Gwendolyn lifted on her toes and pressed her mouth against his. A fraction of a second passed. On a soft groan, his arms tightened, and his mouth claimed her, hot and hard. A shudder ripped through her as his taste, touch, poured through her until her mind blurred.
Until she almost forgot why she had initiated this demonstration.
Almost.
Heart pounding, she broke off the kiss and leaned her head against his shoulder. “That should appear believable,” she murmured. “Dinna look around, but cup my chin as if in affection.”
He complied.
“We are in grave danger,” she whispered. “The duke has seized the castle.”
His thumb slid along her lower lip as his gaze covertly skimmed the stronghold and then shifted to her. “Explain.”
The calmness of his voice belied the fury blazing in his eyes, an anger that matched her own. “This morning, after I saw to the health of an elder in a nearby crofter’s hut, I returned to the keep. As I walked down a corridor, from an open door ahead, I overheard the duke informing one of his nobles that my guards were taken care of and Latharn Castle was now under English control. Worse”—she rasped, damning the tremor in her voice—“he stated that his hosts could now be disposed of.”
Bróccín’s jaw tightened, and he skimmed his mouth along the curve of her jaw. “Why would he betray Lord Comyn?”
“I canna be sure.”
“Thank God you are safe.” Her husband lifted her face, his gaze intense. “You should have escaped and then tried to find me.”
Though she’d once dreaded his existence, she couldn’t help feeling comforted by his presence. “I needed to warn you.”
His hands slid down her back, pressed her body fully against his, nor did she miss the flash of heat in his eyes. “What of Sir Pieres and the knights who went on the hunt with me?”
“I met with Sir Pieres in the stables upon his return. In brief, I advised him of the situation and ordered him to leave with the men. I warned, if anyone asked the reason for their departure, to explain they needed to hunt further. But, once out of view, to return and enter through the secret tunnel, hide there, and await further orders.”
His brow arched with interest. “A secret tunnel?”
Before she could reply, the entry to the keep thudded open.
On a nervous breath, she stepped back, forced a smile, then tucked strands of hair that had come loose from her braid into place.
A portly man, a scowl darkening his face, waddled toward them.
On a nervous breath, she clasped her hand within Bróccín’s. “The Duke of Northbyrn is headed this way,” she whispered with urgency.
“Where is the entry to the secret tunnel?” her husband whispered.
“My chamber.” Now wasn’t the time to hesitate at revealing secrets, especially those he had a right to know.
“Good. Trust me,” he said, his eyes holding hers with fierce intent. “Whatever I say to the duke, agree.”
“I will,” she promised, and for the first time since she had realized the duke had seized her home, had a glimmer of hope that she and her people had a chance of surviving.
* * * *
Jowls sagged on the duke’s face, his eyes dark with condescension riveted on Aiden.
Far from intimidated by the arrogance pouring off the noble, Aiden held his hard glare. He’d met his kind before, born into wealth and a formidable title without proving his worth. Aye, the warriors who served him were dutiful, not out of admiration but likely from fear of repercussion if their lord perceived a slight.
The rotund duke halted before them, his well-tailored garb tinged with the stale stench of sweat. “Lord Balfour, you mentioned that once Lord Comyn confirmed the Bruce’s latest position, along with his suspicion that Welsh archers had joined his cause, he would travel to Latharn Castle.”
“Indeed,” Aiden replied.
Coldness flickered in his eyes. “The situation has changed.”
Gwendolyn’s hand tensed in his, and Aiden gave her fingers a calming squeeze. Aye, ’twould seem the situation had changed because the bastard had seized the castle. Why? With Lord Balfour’s well-known loyalty to Comyn, no doubt plans to unite with English forces had been made months before.
Had King Robert’s military success across the Highlands forced Edward of Caernarfon’s hand to seize control of the remaining critical strongholds loyal to Comyn?
The reasoning made sense.
With the Bruce’s tactical strength increasing, Comyn could offer little retaliation to the duke’s coup.
But this meant the information Rónán and Cailin rode to deliver to the king was moot. Blast it, he had to warn the Bruce.
“Once we sup,” the noble continued, “you and Lady Gwendolyn will join me in the solar. I have important news to impart.”
Of that he had no doubt. Nor did Aiden dismiss their fortune in not being arrested on the spot. He owed the blunder to the duke’s arrogance. With the stronghold in his control, the bastard was doing naught but toying with them for his own perverse amusement.
“I learned you and Lady Gwendolyn were recently married.” The duke’s lecherous gaze slid over her with insulting slowness, and his nostrils flared. “If I had a wife of such beauty, I would not have allowed her out of my bedchamber for at least a fortnight.”
Well aware the duke baited him, Aiden smothered the urge to drive his dagger into his chest. “’Twould seem, Your Grace,” Aiden said, his voice icy. “England’s definition of what is proper discussion in the presence of a lady far from meets the standards of Scotland’s.”
The noble’s face reddened.
Before he said something to incite the noble further, Aiden nodded. “As you said, we are just married, and I wish to be with my wife. If you will excuse us.” Without awaiting a reply, he led her across the bailey, his hand ready near his blade.
Several paces away, Gwendolyn’s gaze narrowed on Aiden. “The cur is fortunate I didna drive my blade into his heart.”
“Or mine,” Aiden agreed. The bastard would die before he touched her. “We will talk more in your chamber.”
In silence they walked, and with each step he noted the changes around the castle. The number of guards posted at the entry, as well as upon the wall walk, had increased. Englishmen carried goods into the castle, along with weapons into the guardhouse.
A short while later, thankful to have reached her chamber without incident, Aiden shut the door behind them, slammed the wooden bar into place.
“Do you think his grace will wait until this evening to arrest us?” she asked, nerves edging her voice.
On a deep breath, he stowed his anger. With the decisions ahead, he needed a clear mind. “I believe so. We must be gone before then.” He scanned the chamber. “Where is the entry to the secret chamber?”
She crossed to the wall, pushed aside the chest, and pressed her finger into a hidden indentation in the stone.
A portion of the wall slid open, exposing a black void.
Aiden strode over, the deep, rich scent of sea air from the tunnel strong. “This leads directly to the shore?”
“Aye. It also branches off to several paths beneath the castle.”
He nodded. “Tunnels we will use when we return to reclaim the stronghold.”
Eyes dark with worry held his. “How? The knights Lord Comyn sent to guard the castle have been killed. We have naught but you, myself, and the handful of knights I sent with Sir Pieres. And the two knights who rode in with you.” Her face was pale. “Mary’s will, they—”
“Are out hunting,” Aiden finished. “I will tell Sir Pieres to warn them not to return.”
She gave a shaky nod.
“Once we meet with your guard, I will decide the best course of action. That we still have the element of surprise gives us an advantage. Hurry; gather the few things you must have with you.”
As she rushed about the chamber, he grabbed a basket of bread, wine, apples, and cheese, and set them in the tunnel.
Gwendolyn lit a candle. “After I overheard the duke, I used a tunnel that has a concealed exit in the kitchen to hide extra food stores where Sir Pieres and his men will meet us.”
“Excellent.”
Eyes blazing, she angled her jaw. “’Tis our castle we retake. Whatever I can do to aid our cause, I will!”
Aiden’s breath caught as he took in his warrior wife standing strong and fearless beside him, as fierce as any knight. Aye, they would seize Latharn Castle, though for a purpose far from what she believed.
He clasped his dagger’s handle, scanned the chamber one last time, his gaze pausing on the bed. Hours before, too aware of Gwendolyn, her taste, the softness of her skin etched in his mind, he’d worried about the night ahead. Now, foolishly, he yearned for the uninterrupted hours lost.
A dangerous thought. Whatever bond they’d built was constructed upon a foundation of deceit.
He must keep his mind on his mission. “We have to hurry.”
The candle flickering in her hand, she clutched her bag in the other and looked one final time around the room, as if memorizing it. Eyes filled with determination met his; then she stepped into the tunnel.
Mouth tight, he followed, sealed the entry behind him.
* * * *
Guided by the flicker of flames, Gwendolyn allowed herself a moment of despair as she made her way through the twists and turns of the passageway. Though Bróccín believed they could reclaim the fortress, doubts battled the glimmers of hope.
An ache built in her chest, and she struggled against thoughts of never seeing her home again. The last time she’d seen her father, she’d promised to do whatever was necessary to keep her legacy safe. Now, regardless that she’d wed the noble chosen by Lord Comyn, however fierce a warrior, a real chance existed she would fail.
A drip of water dropped in the blackness ahead, the scent of the sea growing stronger with each step. As she rounded the next turn, the crash of waves echoed in the distance.
“How much farther?” Bróccín’s deep voice reverberated in the gloom.
“A short way.” On a steadying breath, she stepped down several strategically placed rocks. Behind her, the steady pad of boots sounded, the thrum of confidence in his every step.
What if her husband was wrong and they couldn’t recapture her home? She shook her head with disgust at her doubts. When had she become a spineless fool who surrendered at the first sign of adversity? Bróccín was a man of war, one trusted by Comyn to defend her, a man who in the brief time she’d known him had earned her respect.
If he believed they would retake her home, regardless his plan, she would give him her trust.
The faint waver of torchlight illuminated the scarred walls ahead, and through an opening, she caught shadows moving about. Her shoulders sagged with relief. “My men are there.” She led her husband into the large chamber. Twenty knights rested near chests filled with blankets and the food she’d left there earlier.
Hand clasping his sword’s hilt, Sir Pieres jumped up from a rock cropping. Recognition flickered in his gaze, and he released his weapon. “Thank God you were able to escape. The state of the castle?”
“’Tis under the duke’s control,” she replied, “except he doesna know we have slipped out.”
“A fact he will soon discover when we dinna appear to dine,” Bróccín said.
Face grim, Sir Pieres sheathed his blade. “Now what?”
Pride filled her as she gazed upon her husband. “We make plans to retake the castle.”
A short while later, as Sir Pieres and his men moved out into the darkness, Gwendolyn’s chest tightened at the danger of their mission ahead. “I pray they can recruit enough locals to aid us in our task. With the Bruce having gained control of so much of the Highlands, many have shifted their fealty to him.”
Her husband hesitated. “Once we return with reinforcements,” he said at last, “we will add whatever men Sir Pieres has found to our ranks. For now, we must warn those faithful to you to burn their fields, then flee.”
Bile rose in her throat; she despised the distressing news she would bring her tenants. “My people have endured so much,” she rasped, “the thought of asking them to burn crops they have nurtured since the last time troops swept through and devastated their harvest breaks my heart.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “’Tis a necessity to ensure the duke’s men canna use them. Once the castle is secure, we will help the tenants to replant their fields and rebuild their homes.”
“Aye,” she said, sadness weighing her words.
Bróccín picked up a water pouch. “The alarm announcing our escape will soon sound. We need to be long gone before then.”
She glanced down the blackened tunnel, angled her jaw. By God, when they returned, they would recapture her home!