Berwick, Scotland 1298

 

Lady Ilisa Douglas stirred restlessly in her sleep, her mind protesting what it sensed was coming. The sights, the sounds, the smells all returned in a rush, bringing the terrible memories along with them.

Trapped in the nightmare, she stood in the tower of the keep that sat on a rise within the city of Berwick, staring out her chamber window at the siege below. King Edward of England had breached the city gates the previous day, and the destruction worsened as the hours passed. He intended to make an example of Berwick and send a clear message to Scotland to never betray him again. Never mind the people here had done nothing wrong.

Though three stories above the chaos, Ilisa could easily make out the English knights wielding their swords, killing all in their path. The cries from below and the acrid scent of smoke rose to lure her to lean closer to the window, desperate to know what was happening.

A scream caught in her throat as she watched a knight grab a young boy who ran past. He hacked through the child with ease. The horrified cry of the boy’s mother as she ran toward him reached Ilisa as clear as day. The knight turned toward the mother, his blade glinting in the sun as he sliced through her neck. Her body crumpled to the street beside her son.

Bile rose in Ilisa’s throat as she staggered away from the window, but the appalling image remained, burned into her mind. She swallowed hard, a hand over her mouth as tears filled her eyes. As she wiped at them, a knock sounded at her open chamber door. She spun to face it, hoping for an end to the madness.

“Lady Sophia says the time has come for all of you to go,” Markus, one of the household knights, ordered. “Anon.” He gestured for her to hurry.

She threw on her cloak and grabbed her bag, having packed only what she could carry at her older sister’s behest. She followed Markus out the door and down the stairs, nearly tripping in her haste.

Sophia and their younger brother, Alec, waited in the empty great hall, bags in their hands as well. Most of the servants had already fled.

“Where’s William?” Ilisa asked, wanting their eldest brother to leave as well. Now more than ever, it seemed important they stay together.

“In the inner bailey, defending the keep,” Sophia said. “He bid us to go, and he’ll follow when he can.” But Ilisa saw the lie in her sister’s eyes. She’d said that to calm Alec.

“Nay.” Alec shook his head adamantly. “We should wait so we might all flee together.”

“He is the governor of Berwick, Alec. He cannot leave.” Ilisa met her sister’s gaze. Sophia gave the barest of nods, acknowledging the truth of Ilisa’s words.

“But—”

“Enough. We must go.” Sophia placed a hand on Alec’s slim shoulders to push him toward the door to the secret tunnel that would take them unseen out of the keep and into the city. With no mother or father to guide them, Sophia and William had served as their parents for years now. Ilisa missed them even more in this moment.

The passage was dark, cold, musty. The dampness swamped Ilisa’s reeling senses as she followed Sophia, Alec, and Markus down the stairs to the tunnel that was supposed to provide safe passage.

But Ilisa no longer believed that to be true. Not after seeing what was happening on the streets to men, women, and children. No place within the city walls would be safe.

Still, she hurried behind them; the rushlight Markus held aloft leading the way. Whether it was fear that made her shake or the cold, she didn’t know. The idea of leaving William behind caused her to tremble all the more, but he always placed duty above his personal safety. And above his family.

She wanted to find him and scream that his death would not save the people of Berwick. Yet she knew her words wouldn’t change his mind. He’d fight anyway.

They hurried along, lower and lower, until it felt as if they’d climbed into the very bowels of the earth. The farther they went the more frightened she became, panic choking her, tears blocking her vision, the jagged rock walls never-ending.

At last, Markus paused at a wooden door. He glanced at them, his expression solemn. “There is little chance of leaving the city. We must find a place to hide. Perhaps a hut near the gate as the English will have already searched those on their way past.”

He meant the occupants would already be dead. Ilisa closed her eyes, clenching her jaw to hold back a sob. How could this terrible siege be happening? Would anyone be alive when it ended?

“Stay strong.” Sophia gripped her wrist and held her gaze. “I need you to stay strong.”

Ilisa drew a deep, hitching breath and nodded as Markus extinguished the light and eased open the door. Though the knight had drawn his sword prepared to fight, no one was visible near the entrance. Thick foliage hid them on the hillside. Dusk had painted the horizon, the beauty in stark contrast to the massacre taking place.

Ilisa shook her head at the sight of the tall wall that enveloped Berwick. How ironic that what was supposed to protect them now prevented them from escaping.

Markus crept down the hill, moving from tree to tree, motioning them to follow in the same manner. They crouched low, listening each time they stopped to the screams in the distance. Those screams grew increasingly louder as they neared the city.

To think that Edward, the King of England, had ordered the sacking and killing as a lesson to Scotland made her ill. Knights and soldiers were trained to fight, but what harm could unarmed women and children pose?

Markus reached one of the buildings and again gestured for them to follow as he peered around the corner.

Ilisa’s nose twitched. “Do you smell the smoke?”

Her sister nodded. “The Englishmen are burning everything, shops and homes alike.”

The anger rising in Ilisa gave her strength. It felt much better than fear.

“Damned Englishmen.” Alec’s lips pressed into a thin line, and neither Ilisa nor Sophia could bring themselves to reprimand him for cursing.

“Damned Englishmen indeed,” Ilisa agreed. Perhaps anger would aid her young brother through this night and the days to come as well.

Markus eased around the corner, the shouting and cries much louder here. Fire lit the darkening sky, the smoke thick now, serving to hide them, yet limiting their path.

They followed the knight to the next street, passing a few people as they went. Sophia only glanced at them briefly, her gaze focused on Markus but Ilisa stared at those who rushed by, fearful of seeing someone she knew. Their eyes were wild with panic, some covered in blood, some in smoke, all in chaos.

“Lady Sophia,” a woman cried out. “Help us, please. Protect us.” She rushed forward to grip Sophia’s hand, pulling her. “My daughter is over here.”

“Leave off,” Markus demanded as he raised his sword.

“Markus,” her sister admonished.

“My lady, we’re in no position to help anyone,” he whispered, pleading. “We’ll be lucky to survive. We must go. Now.”

“A pox on you,” the woman called as they continued on their way. “A pox on you all.”

Her shouting drew unwanted attention. Markus ignored the other calls as well as Sophia’s request to stop and give aid.

“My orders were clear,” he insisted. “Escort you to safety. That doesn’t include assisting others.”

Guilt warred with relief in Ilisa. The idea of not helping those in need went against everything they’d been taught from a young age. But delaying seemed far too dangerous, and she was so frightened. Surely, they needed to find their own safety and shelter before reaching out to help others.

They hurried their pace, but progress was blocked by one burning building after another, the flames spreading quickly on the thatched roofs. The closer they drew to the market square, the more disorder they encountered. It all blended together and remained etched in her mind—flames, screams, bodies.

As they neared the gates, an English knight stepped out of a building, his sword dripping blood. “Hold!”

Markus raised his weapon but the knight slashed downward, blocking Markus’s attempt. Within moments, Markus’s sword clattered to the cobblestones, leaving him—and them—defenseless. Before Markus could protest, the Englishman struck him down.

Sophia grabbed Alec to jerk him back as Ilisa screamed...

 

~*~

 

Ilisa woke with a gasp on her pallet near the fire, her heart racing. She glanced about to get her bearings, the image of Markus on the ground, bloody and dying, all she could see for a long moment.

Hilda’s cottage was a small distance from Berwick and familiar to her after staying here for nearly a sennight, but the healer’s sparse furnishings were overlaid by the awful images from the nightmare.

It came less often these days, but that didn’t make it less terrifying. She could no longer separate memories from the nightmare of that grim evening two years past. After murmuring a prayer for Markus and his sacrifice, she sat up.

Her heart continued to pound, her mouth was dry, and her hands shook. She reached for a piece of wood to place on the dying embers of the fire, breathing deep to calm herself.

Alec slept soundly on the pallet beside her. That eased her heart considerably. Hilda had left to aid a woman who was to have her bairn soon. The healer expected to be gone several days.

Ilisa straightened to peek at the bed where Sir Braden de Bremont rested. Or was supposed to be resting. He shifted to and fro, making Ilisa wonder if his wound bothered him or if he suffered from a bad dream as well.

She hesitated before rising to check on the wounded man. If anyone would’ve told her that she’d be tending an English knight—the exact type of man who still terrified her in her sleep—she would’ve declared them crazed. Yet here she was, tucked in the healer’s cottage with Sir Braden, a man she’d known little over a month.

Had the nightmare been a warning for her to keep her distance? How could she if he needed her aid?

The powerful knight, along with his brother, Chanse, had accompanied his cousin, Sir Garrick, to Berwick to assist him with uncovering who was responsible for the unrest in the city under the cover of obtaining an agreement to purchase his wool. Sophia assisted Garrick in finding a buyer, and they’d fallen in love.

Ilisa and Alec had come to know the three English knights over the past few weeks as well. Braden had helped rescue Ilisa and Sophia from the frightening situation in which they’d found themselves at the hands of the new governor of Berwick, Sir Gilbert de Umfraville, who’d taken her brother William’s position. William remained prisoner in England where he’d been since the end of the siege two years ago. They prayed each day for his release but to no avail thus far.

Sir Gilbert’s steward had stabbed Braden in the shoulder then paid for his boldness with his life. They had all managed to escape to Hilda’s cottage, mainly because Sir Gilbert hadn’t been behind the failed plan to kill her and her family.

Which left them with the question of who had. Thus far, they only had one name but feared others were involved as well.

When her sister, Sophia, had wed Braden’s cousin only a few days ago, Braden had seemed well on the road to recovery. That was the only reason Sophia and Garrick had departed to Garrick’s home in England along with Braden’s brother, Chanse.

Ilisa already missed her sister deeply though she’d only been gone three days. It was difficult not to feel abandoned, though she knew there’d been no other option for any of them.

She and Alec couldn’t return to their tiny cottage in Berwick as their lives were in danger. Once again, she was living in uncertainty, with no bed to call her own. She hadn’t felt this unsettled since the days following the siege.

She made her way to the bed where Braden lay. His head moved as though he were uncomfortable. His massive bare chest heaved with his quickened breathing. Was his bandage on his upper shoulder too tight? She checked it, surprised at the heat in his skin. She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead only to feel the heat there as well.

The idea of this big, strong knight brought down by fever sent her into a panic. Though she knew little of healing, she knew enough to try to ease the heat. She retrieved a basin, poured water from the pitcher into it, and found a cloth. Then she sat on the side of the bed and placed the cool cloth on his forehead. Almost immediately, his movements stilled. That had to be a sign she did something right. She continued the process, moving the cloth down his neck and along his chest, avoiding the bandage.

As the firelight danced along his golden skin, she couldn’t help but appreciate the sight. Muscles lined his arms and shoulders, so different than her own body. She’d seen him in action on more than one occasion. Though large, he was remarkably graceful in his movements, comfortable in his own skin. His dark hair was overly long, brushing his shoulders. A thick beard covered his jaw, and she wondered what he might look like without it.

She found much to admire about him in the brief time since she’d met him, though she’d never admit it. After all, he was an English knight.

He’d happen to come to St. Mary’s, the nunnery just outside of Berwick where she often stayed, and helped tend a lame mare. The way he’d run his hands along the horse’s leg, slowly and gently, had touched her. She’d been stunned at the mare’s quick recovery after he cared for her.

Braden and his brother, Chanse, were obviously very close. While she had two brothers, William and Alec were far apart in age. Their relationship was quite different than the friendly banter Braden and Chanse shared. The two were constantly ribbing each other. It seemed everything they did was a competition. She couldn’t imagine Chanse returning and her having to explain that Braden had perished.

That thought had her fetching cooler water so she could continue running the cloth along his skin.

As she worked, she couldn’t shake her upset from the nightmare. No doubt Braden was to blame. Despite her gratitude for his assistance, she was certain the problem was him—or rather, who he was. Perhaps it would be best if she and Alec stayed at the nunnery. Surely they could remain hidden there until the danger passed.

Hilda would return soon and when she did, Ilisa and Alec would leave. That would be best for everyone, but especially her peace of mind.

 

~*~

 

Braden de Bremont woke the next morn, his body drenched in sweat, a sure sign his fever had broke. Though his shoulder still burned like fire, he hoped the worst had passed. Then again, he’d believed that to be true two days ago.

He sighed as he moved, realizing he felt as weak as a babe. The sensation was irritating as hell. He was a knight. A warrior. As such, sickness and injuries had no place in his life. If only his body would listen to his logic.

A sound at the door caused him to glance in that direction in time to see Ilisa enter. The only benefit of being hurt was having her take care of him. At least then she was forced to actually look at him. She hadn’t uttered more than twenty words in total since Garrick, Sophia, and Chanse had departed.

Mayhap that was for the best, for he didn’t know what he’d say to her if she wanted to converse at length. He tended to become inept at speaking when she was near.

Lady Ilisa Douglas was beautiful with her soft blonde hair and dark blue eyes. Long lashes and arched brows over eyes the color of a winter sea made him forget his thoughts. The fragility of her features hid intelligence and determination she didn’t realize she had. She and her family had been through so much. Looking at her overly long tied his thoughts in knots.

Yet even as he studied her while she glanced about the one-room cottage, he knew. She intended to leave. He looked at where her and Alec’s few possessions normally sat near the fire. They were gone.

An odd mix of anger and hurt stole through him. “Leaving, are you?”

Guilt took over her expression even as her chin lifted. “I believe Alec and I should move to St. Mary’s. Prioress Matilda would no doubt take us in.”

“That will make it difficult for me to protect you.” The moment he said the words, he regretted them. He closed his eyes, silently cursing his weak body. No doubt she thought she’d be safer at the nunnery than here with him. He wasn’t certain he could lift his sword let alone wield it in defense of her or Alec.

“You’ve sacrificed enough for us already.”

Still, his anger wouldn’t subside. “Take care not to be caught because I can’t save you at the moment.”

Her lips twisted at his remark as though she found it displeasing. Good. Perhaps then she’d think twice.

She moved toward him, her kirtle clinging in all the right places on her slim figure. The thin braided leather belt that held her knife sat low on her hips. How ridiculous that his attention lingered on her figure when she’d just told him she planned to depart. ’Twasn’t as if he wanted to stay here with the unhappy ice princess anyway. Nor did she want to be here with him.

If not for the manners his mother and father had drummed into him since he could remember, he’d be tempted to tell her that he disliked her as much as she disliked him. Which was both immature and a lie.

What in God’s teeth was wrong with him?

“How are you feeling this morn?” Her soft-spoken words of concern had him scowling.

“Well.” He didn’t look at her as he answered.

“Liar.” The bold statement caused him to though. She lifted a brow as his gaze met hers as though daring him to protest.

“Humph.” That was as much protest as his bruised ego was willing to give. He knew he acted gruffly but couldn’t help it. How often had his own mother told him he made the worst patient?

“You had a fever during the night.” She stepped to the side of his bed, reached out a gentle hand, and touched his forehead. “It seems to have broken.”

“Aye.” Again he closed his eyes, enjoying her touch, wishing he could think of an excuse for her to continue.

“I would imagine you’re hungry.”

His stomach growled in response.

Her soft chuckle had him quickly opening his eyes. Her rosy lips curved and her blue-grey eyes lit with mirth. The sight caused his breath to catch. “You don’t smile enough.” The words escaped before he thought them through.

Those eyes widened even as her lips resumed their normal solemn pose. “Rarely is there anything to smile about.” She turned away and walked to the hearth.

He couldn’t argue with that. Her life had been difficult for over two summers now. And nothing indicated it would be improving any time soon. Not with someone intent on killing her and the rest of her family.

“I wish you would consider staying.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him then bent to stir a pot hanging over the low fire. “Are you feeling so poorly then?”

He hesitated, wondering how honest to be. “Weak still.”

“We will remain until Hilda returns.” She dished some pottage into a wooden bowl and brought it to him with a spoon.

If she left, what would he do? Where would he go? It seemed unwise to consider returning to Berwick. The chances of Sir Gilbert, the new governor of the city, deciding to have him killed would surely increase. Nor was he strong enough to make the journey home on his own. Staying with Hilda wasn’t an option either.

Yet the idea of returning home tempted him. He missed his family dearly. He missed the rolling hills of his small holding that bordered his father’s. The longing that coursed through him surprised him with its strength. Obviously, he was weaker than he realized if he felt this way.

He shifted to a sitting position, leaning against the bolster and settling the bed linens over his lower body as best he could. “My thanks,” he said as he took the bowl of steaming pottage, the aroma causing his stomach to growl again. The thin soup-like dish held bits of onion, carrots, and leeks with some dried herbs, including cloves, for seasoning.

“Alec tells me it requires more salt.” She handed him a small clay salt cellar.

“I’m certain ’tis good.” He took a spoonful only to realize he should’ve taken her, or rather Alec’s, advice. He barely managed to swallow the tasteless paste. “Perhaps just a little salt.”

“I’m not adept at cooking.” She shook her head, her cheeks flushing as her plaited hair swung over her shoulder.

“Nor am I. Chanse has that skill, so it never occurred to me to learn it. He normally cooks our meals when we travel. He has more spices in his saddlebags than most wives have in their kitchen.”

“Alec offered to sneak into Berwick to buy some bread, but I forbade him.” To his surprise, she perched on the side of the bed, watching him as he ate.

“Wise decision. A loaf of bread is not worth being captured.” Luckily, the addition of salt much improved the pottage.

“Don’t you think that since a sennight has passed, the situation has calmed enough that we could return home?” The wistful note of longing in her voice tugged at him.

He took another bite to allow himself time to think of some way to counter her disappointment. Unfortunately, none came to mind. “Nay.”

“But—”

He reached out a hand to cover hers where it rested on her lap. “Ilisa, even if Sir Gilbert has decided against retaliating for what we did or he thinks we did, what of the Sentinels?”

She sighed. “I don’t understand why they want me and my family dead. What do we have to do with who leads Scotland?”

“I don’t know. But considering we don’t even know who these men are, other than Lord James Graham, it will be nearly impossible to protect you from them.”

She rose to pace the small space. “I wouldn’t know Lord Graham if he passed me on the street, nor would he know me.”

“They might not know what you look like, but as long as your surname is Douglas, and you’re sister to Sir William, they want you dead.”

“There are many others with tighter ties to England than my family if that is their purpose.”

“Then they’ll probably be eliminated as well.”

She paused to stare at him. “You’re not making me feel any better.”

He couldn’t help but smile even if she didn’t mean it as a jest. “Am I supposed to be making you feel better?” If so, he could think of a far better method of doing so than talking.

“I suppose I would like assurance that all will be well.”

Braden didn’t answer as he scraped the spoon along the bottom of the bowl, wishing he could offer it without uttering lies. He’d appreciate support as well, but he’d bet his last coin that no one could provide it to either of them.

“That is why I thought it best if we go to the nunnery,” she added as though realizing he couldn’t give her what she wanted.

He met her gaze. “I don’t know if Prioress Matilda can protect you or offer assurances for that matter. From what little I know of nuns, few know how to fight.”

Ilisa sighed. “But if no one knew we were there—”

“So each time a tradesman comes or someone from Berwick in need of something arrives, you’ll quickly hide so no one will know you’re there? Can you guarantee none of the sisters will allow it to slip that you and Alec are staying there? What of Alec? Do you expect him to muck out the stable and hoe the garden all the day?”

She glared at him, hands on hips. “You’re making it sound impossible.”

He lifted one shoulder, noting that her gaze lingered there. His body warmed in response, and it had nothing to do with a fever.

Surely, he was mistaken. She could barely stand to remain in the same room with him. There wasn’t any possibility of her being attracted to him. He returned his thoughts to the subject at hand. “I only raise these questions to make certain you’ve thought of every possible outcome.”

She turned away to pace once more. “Obviously not. So we’re just supposed to wait here until your brother or the others return? And when they do? Then what?”

“Excellent questions to which I do not have answers.” He rubbed a hand over his stomach. While the pottage helped fill the void, he doubted he’d regain his strength on such a diet. And if Ilisa and Alec left, the road ahead of him would be even more difficult.

He wanted her to stay for many reasons, some of which he didn’t care to put words to, yet he wouldn’t lie in order to convince her to stay. Though he wasn’t capable of protecting them this day, he hoped he soon would be. Regardless of his present health, he’d be breaking his vow to Sophia and Garrick to watch over Ilisa and Alec if they went to St. Mary’s. His word was his honor. If he could do or say something that would help convince Ilisa to remain here with him, he’d gladly do it. Protecting her and Alec meant they needed to stay together.

He didn’t like the situation any better than she, but he had the advantage of knowing it was temporary for him. It had no end in sight for her. He waited, hoping she’d agree to remain for more reasons than he cared to share.

Ilisa raised a hand to rub her forehead, a gesture she did when worried. “We’ll wait to discuss it further when you’re feeling stronger.” She turned to face him. “We’ll stay. For now.”

Before he could say anything more, she left, the door closing firmly behind her, the sweet scent of her lingering in the air. He sighed with relief but realized the days ahead would be a challenge in more ways than one.