Chapter 9
Aiden shoved aside a low bough and headed east, too aware of the annoyed woman behind him.
Tell me why you dinna want my touch.
Gwendolyn’s anguish-filled question flowed through his mind. Want her touch? God’s sword, will alone kept him from hauling her body against his and burying himself deep inside her slick warmth.
’Twas best if she was angry with him, believed he did not want her. He needed as much distance as he could get away from her combination of sorcery, beauty, and grace. Never had a lass scaled his carefully built walls with such ease, a woman, who if he allowed, could become important in his life.
“Hurry your pace,” he ordered over his shoulder.
Her unladylike grunt, despite their dangerous circumstances, made his lips quirk.
Throughout the day, he’d used the sun’s position to keep them headed southeastward toward the Bruce’s camp. Several times, the nearby whinny of horses or knights’ calls forced them to hide. Aiden cursed the sinking sun, mocking the fact that they’d far from covered the ground he’d intended.
He pushed through the thick tangle of brush and then continued. The harsh curve of ground angled up, the dense canopy of leaves overhead shielding the sky. They crested the next brae, and he stilled, his breath catching in his chest.
Sunlight cut through the clear skies, shimmering over the rough cut of the Highlands. The colorful blooms framed by the forest and rock swayed in the thick grass, the fragrant rush on the soft afternoon breeze igniting memories of his youth. The sort of summer day he’d enjoyed as a lad.
Gwendolyn halted at his side. “’Tis beautiful.”
A lump swelled in his throat as he stared at the stunning landscape, one torn from his childhood. “We should find shelter soon.”
“The falls are just beyond the ridge,” Gwendolyn said, her voice cool as she pointed ahead.
He nodded. “I—”
A horse snorted nearby.
Blast it! He hauled her to the ground and shoved her forward. “Move under that brush!” She crawled under the dense tangle of branches and leaves; he scrambled in behind her.
Leaves scraped into place, shielding them as several Englishmen cantered into view. Paces away from where they’d stood on the rocks moments before, the riders paused.
“Bedamned, I saw fresh tracks a short distance back,” the lead rider growled, whirling his horse in a tight circle. “They must be close.” He nodded to the man on his right. “Sir William, ride back. Tell the others to rejoin us as we have picked up their trail.”
“Aye.” Hooves scraped against rock and turf as the man galloped away.
With a grunt of disgust, the leader again scoured the rough landscape. “Before daylight fades, we will return to where I last saw their trail and then spread out.”
“Their moving southeast does not make sense,” another man said. “Loyal to Lord Comyn, why would they head toward where we were informed the Bruce is camped?”
Gwendolyn stiffened, and Aiden pressed his finger over his mouth to remain silent.
She nodded, but gray eyes darkened with concern.
“They are not traveling there,” the lead rider said, his voice smug. “’Tis but a tactic. They think we will avoid riding too close to King Robert’s forces. Before long, they will double back and then travel northeastward toward Lord Comyn’s stronghold.” He grunted. “The fools believe they will outsmart us, but they will not escape, especially not on foot.” He dug his boots into his steed’s flanks, and his men fell in behind him as he rode into the dense woods.
Aiden grimaced as the last horse faded from sight.
“We are too close to Scotland’s king,” she said, nerves edging her voice, “and must turn northeast now.”
“’Tis too dangerous, and a move our pursuers expect. Scotland’s sovereign is a fair distance ahead, and we can start northeastward long before we reach any sign of his camp.”
She gave a shaky nod. “Now what? They know we are on foot, and soon the rest of their contingent will join them.”
Blast it, whenever possible he’d kept them traveling over the rocks, but with the ground soft from the rain, the knights had caught sight of impressions from their steps.
He crawled from the cover, helped her to her feet. “We continue to the cave. Walk in my footsteps.” He chose firm surfaces when available but damned the delay as several times he was forced to walk back to erase any imprints in the drenched earth.
Aiden wiped the sweat from his brow as they topped the next brae. He glanced down, noted the sheen of perspiration on her face, her mouth grim with determination. However tired, the lass held her own.
The stand of trees around them grew denser, the thick cover overhead embracing them within its cool shadow. He walked on any fallen trees and sticks littered upon the ground, scanning their surroundings for any sign of movement, the glint of steel or scrape of hooves upon stone.
Again, the ground angled up. The churn of water ahead grew, smothering their labored breathing. At the top, the trees fell away.
Below, boulders jammed with brush lining the bank guided the rush of water below. In a violent play of might, the churn of white collided against the rain-swollen banks before plummeting over the ledge.
Above the pool, sunlight collided with the droplets hurled into the air by the pounding water, like the fey caught in a wild dance.
With a sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck, irritated by the errant thought. He wasn’t an innocent lad intrigued by stories of the wee folk from the Otherworld. The days of his youth, of time given to thoughts of fancy, were long past.
After a thorough scan to ensure the English weren’t about, he worked his way down the steep slope. As his feet hit the soggy earth surrounding the bank, he glanced back.
Gwendolyn moved with caution, choosing her every step with care. She paused, glanced up and met his gaze.
“The cave?” he mouthed against the thundering roar.
She nodded, eased past him.
He caught her sweet scent, and his body tightened with need. Ignoring her effect on him, he kept pace.
Gwendolyn detoured into the dense thicket. Several steps later, she knelt before moss-coated rocks and twigs. A smile tugged at her lips. “Watch.” She settled her palms atop the earthen cover, shoved.
Foliage gave way as what had first appeared a solid boulder shifted, exposing an entry.
He crooked his brow. “Clever.” He knelt, followed her through the narrow opening, his forehead bumping against the sensuous curve of her derriere. He gritted his teeth, fought to stifle the unwanted surge of heat.
She turned, her body but a hand’s breath away. “There are handles inside the cover. If you lift them as you pull, the stone enclosure will settle back in place.”
Aiden turned, caught the forged grips, and secured the door. Darkness encased them as he stood, and then his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light.
The muted rumble of water grew as she led him deeper into the tunnel, the passageway brightening with each step.
After a short distance, they entered a small chamber. In one corner, water roared in a violent spill past a stone opening. The sun’s rays glistened off the deluge, casting the cavern in a prism of light.
Gwendolyn walked to where several rocks were shoved together, pushed one against the wall, and then removed a small chest. From inside, she withdrew a candle, flint, and clumps of dried grass. With a deft hand, she struck the iron, and the tinder sparked to life.
Once the candle was lit, she smothered the grass, stored the items, then gestured to a blackened passageway at the back. “’Tis where we will stay until we leave.” She paused. “We are protected here. These chambers were designed so that even if we light a fire, it willna be detected from outside.”
“Who else knows about this cave?” he asked, impressed.
“Nay one.” Flickers of yellow light wavered over the stone walls as she led him into the darkened corridor. “My great-grandfather oversaw the building of this refuge. ’Twas made if ever our family needed to escape. Only I know of its existence, and now you.”
“How is that possible?”
“Those who helped craft this sanctuary have long since died.”
Aiden nodded. In the future, if ever the need arose, ’twould be a perfect location for the king or the Templars to meet in secret.
The roar of the falls faded to a muted rumble as they stepped inside a large cavern.
Beneath the shimmers of light, he scanned the chamber, amazed to find benches, a table, and several chests within. His gaze lingered on a bed centered along the back wall. His body tightened. Blast it; the last thing he needed to think about was her lush body pressed against his.
“The workmanship is impressive,” he forced out.
Pride shone in her eyes. “According to my father, it took more than five years to complete every detail in the original plans. Tunnels were dug to connect several natural chambers, including the passage we used to enter.”
My great-grandfather oversaw the building of this refuge.
Oversaw? Not, designed. Something niggled at him as Aiden glanced toward her. “Who devised this cavern?”
A frown wrinkled her brow. “I dinna know, which is odd.”
“How so?”
“Throughout the written history of Latharn Castle, the details of my family, every corner of the keep, and additions to our stronghold have been meticulously documented,” Gwendolyn explained. “But to my knowledge, there is nay record describing this place.”
“That this complex was built as an escape could explain why naught was ever recorded,” he suggested.
“I would agree, except that in a family ledger I keep hidden, the secret tunnels above the castle and the hidden chambers below are noted. I have always wondered, why those details and none of this?”
“Hidden chambers?” he asked, remembering those constructed below Avalon Castle, the complex designed and built by the Brotherhood, one now under the control of his friend and fellow Templar, Stephan MacQuistan. He stilled. God’s sword, had the Templars played a role in the design of both strongholds? ’Twas unthinkable.
Or was it? Unease crawled up Aiden’s spine. Whoever had planned this secret complex had a proficiency held by few. The design was anything but simple, considering the quiet of the room so close to the thunder of the falls, and the intricate craftsmanship of the entry. He’d known several stonemasons accomplished enough to design something of such caliber, all Knights Templar.
The Grand Master was known for his complex planning within the Brotherhood. Nor could Aiden forget another fact known by few: Scotland’s king was secretly a Knight Templar.
Before France’s sovereign had disclosed his arrest order for the Brotherhood, word of King Philip’s nefarious plan had reached the Grand Master. A deed that had unsealed a secret pact, one drafted between Jacques de Molay and King Robert Bruce years before to serve as a haven if ever the Brotherhood was forced to flee.
More important, ’twas Bruce who had ordered Stephan MacQuistan to seize Avalon Castle. Once captured, the stronghold had turned out to have important ties to the Brotherhood.
God’s sword, had King Robert sought the capture of Latharn Castle for the same reason? If so, ’twould explain why Robert Bruce had chosen him, Cailin, and Rónán, all Knights Templar, to scope out the fortress in preparation for an attack.
He slanted a hard glance at Gwendolyn, noted she watched him with confused interest. She had stated that Latharn Castle had remained in her family, but she’d also mentioned documentation of every addition to the stronghold had been kept over the years, which was another Templar habit.
Reeling from the prospect, Aiden again looked around. ’Twas not an artless chamber. The detail involved, the years necessary to construct this compound, hinted at more—if one but looked.
He yearned to see whether Latin inscriptions were tucked into discreet locations within this room or passageways within the complex.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Nay,” he said, forcing lightness into his words. “Rest. I will make a pallet by the entry and keep guard.”
“There is nay need. They willna find us.”
If indeed this place had been designed by the Templars, he would agree. Still, with his thoughts in turmoil, his earlier fatigue had faded. He needed time to think, to explore the rest of the cavern alone.
“Through the break in the side of the waterfall,” he said, “there is still enough light to keep watch to see if the English have picked up our tracks.”
She nodded, lit a second candle, then handed it to him. “You may need this.”
“My thanks.”
* * * *
Gwendolyn’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion as her husband departed. Alone, she withdrew several blankets and smoothed them over the bed. Thankful the rush of water and depth of the room inside the cliff smothered any chance of the scent of smoke being detected, she started a fire. As the tinder caught, flames rose up, offering comforting warmth.
Though summer, the cool dampness of the cavern had her wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. She stared at the flickering light, pondered the many times she and her father had stayed here over the years.
She’d enjoyed their time together, whether on a walk, a hunt, or on their way to a destination. His laughter echoed in her mind, as did his recollections of her mother, and the tender way he’d spoken of the woman she missed with all her heart.
The stories of how her father had wooed his wife drew a smile. Every day he’d brought her mother a gift, each one more special than the one presented the day before. At first, she’d ignored his attempts to catch her interest, but in the end, her father’s determination had won her mother over.
One day, she hoped to find the same closeness her parents had enjoyed. How would it feel for a man to want her so much?
On a weary breath, she tugged the blanket up to her chin. For the second time she’d wed for duty, but in this union, though her husband was a stranger, he was becoming a man she could admire.
Except, she grumbled inwardly, for the way he had pushed her aside earlier, when she’d confessed her attraction...a draw even she did not quite comprehend. Though she agreed, the timing had been poor.
The distant rumble of water had her glancing toward the exit illuminated in the flicker of flames where Bróccín had departed a while before.
Guilt edged through her. After helping her tenants flee, setting fire to the homes and fields, they’d spent hours getting away. They were both exhausted.
However much he pushed her away, by the flare of desire in his eyes when he looked at her, he was far from immune to her touch. To be fair, ’twasna desire that had him keeping her at a distance. Given their dangerous surroundings, his decision came from the need for preservation.
Shame filled her. Lured by need, however brief, she’d ignored the danger. On a sigh, she lay several sturdy limbs across the fire. Flames engulfed the dry wood, and she rubbed her hands against the building warmth.
Legs unsteady, she shoved to her feet and retrieved her satchel. She cut wedges of cheese, smoked meat, and bread, then arranged them on a piece of cloth. Gwendolyn filled two cups with wine. Wiping her hands, she headed into the tunnel to invite him back to eat.
But he wasn’t at the edge of the waterfall. Surprised, she scanned the area, frowned at the faint light shining from the passageway by which they’d entered. Curious where he’d gone, she headed down the tunnel. As Gwendolyn neared, she paused, watched as Bróccín, on his knees, slowly moved a candle along the forged steel door half-opened at the entrance.
Aware the rush of water would smother her voice, she walked up and tapped him on the shoulder.
At her sudden touch, he whirled, and then his body relaxed as his eyes met hers.
She leaned closer to be heard without having to shout. “What are you searching for?”
Face unreadable, Bróccín lowered the candle. “I was curious as to the design.”
Too tired to be intrigued, Gwendolyn glanced back to where water spilled with a ferocious roar. “I have laid out food for us in the cavern.”
He shifted. “Return to the chamber and rest. Once the sun has set, I will join you.”
She nodded and turned to leave, then hesitated, glancing at him over her shoulder. Guilt had Gwendolyn kneeling beside him. “Earlier, after we climbed out from under the shrub, I shouldna have become upset when you stepped away from me. We were in danger, and…” Heat swept her cheeks. “I was wrong to have wanted to kiss you.”
In the wavering of yellow light, intense green eyes locked with hers. “You have naught to apologize for.”
“But I—”
“As I stated before,” he cut in, his voice solemn, “I willna rush you into my bed. And I agree. With danger about, ’tis unwise to invite intimacy.”
She should be pleased by his unexpected understanding. Only too aware of him, she ached for his touch, to lean forward and press her mouth against his.
“Once we recapture Latharn Castle,” he continued, his voice devoid of emotion, as if they weren’t but a breath apart, “then we can allow our thoughts to turn to the need for an heir.”
* * * *
A man’s shout had Aiden glancing to the ledge above.
Several knights moved along the bank at the top of the falls.
Blast it, he’d been so shocked by Gwendolyn’s innocent words, he had missed the men’s approach.
“They have followed us here,” Gwendolyn gasped. “How?”
“Persistence,” he muttered. With the stakes so high, nor was he surprised.
She gave a sharp inhale. “Look to the left!”
Across the river, several more knights emerged from the dense forest. Moments later, he caught sight of a large contingent riding into view. Several men dismounted, and the others followed suit.
Aiden cursed as soldiers began to set up tents. Candlelight wavered across her face as he slid the entry back into place, muting the roar of the falls. “’Twould seem they are planning to remain here through the night. Is there another way out besides this passage?”
Face pale, she shook her head. “Nay.”