10
THEY’D RIDDEN THROUGH the day—and most of the night—but not thirty-six hours after that disastrous kiss, Thom stood in the shadow of the formidable Bamburgh Castle, listening to Douglas go over the plan that would send Thom 150 feet up a cliff and into one of the most formidable castles in England.
Though his former friend had avoided him over the long, harrowing ride across the dangerous Marches, Thom had felt Douglas’s scrutiny more than once.
Douglas was a suspicious bastard. Thom’s silent acceptance of the order to accompany him—rather than the anger Douglas had undoubtedly been expecting—hadn’t sat well with him. Douglas was probably wondering whether his sister had anything to do with it.
If he only knew.
Douglas would kill him. And it would probably be deserved. Thom had been one thrust away from taking her innocence and destroying them both.
He’d acted dishonorably, and he knew it. For his entire life, Thom had prided himself on always doing the right thing. In a world that only cared about who you were, not what you were, he’d always told himself that it was actions that made a man noble—not blood. But he’d acted as base as the world wanted to make him.
And all for what? To prove a point? To make her see what was between them? To make her realize what she’d forsaken?
Well, he’d succeeded. He’d proved that there was a hell of a lot more than friendship between them. He’d proved just how incredible it would be between them. He’d proved that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.
But at what cost? The hard-wrought peace he’d found, and the new life he’d built for himself, had been shattered. He would hear the cries of her release in his dreams for the rest of his life. He would hold the memory of her kiss, the sweetness of her mouth, the softness of her skin, and the perfection of her breasts forever. Any woman he took to his bed in the future would suffer by comparison.
For a few precious minutes he’d had everything he’d ever wanted, and it had been better than he’d ever imagined.
He never should have touched her. He still couldn’t believe he’d lost himself like that. But he’d had plenty of hours over the long journey to recall in vivid detail exactly how close he’d come to giving Douglas a reason to stick that blade in his gut.
But Thom didn’t give a shite about what Douglas thought or suspected. He was here to do a job. The sooner the better, which was one of the reasons why Douglas’s decision to wait until the following night to make their ascent didn’t sit well.
“There is no reason to wait. I’m ready now,” Thom insisted. “There are still three or four hours before dawn.” He had already inspected the cliff below the castle. “It won’t take me longer than three-quarters of an hour to climb. Even with the additional time to secure the rope, have you and the rest of the men climb that last section, and hoist the rope ladder to climb the wall, we will have Archie out of there well before the sky begins to lighten. Besides, the mist is thick tonight and will shield us from any soldiers who happen to pass.”
Douglas’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to being contradicted—especially by someone in Thom’s position. But it was bad enough that he’d been forced under his former friend’s authority again, he would be damned if he’d keep his mouth shut when he didn’t agree with something—especially when that something involved his life and area of expertise. He and Douglas would never be equals, but they were both warriors, and the field of battle had a way of leveling.
“The rocks are damp from the rain earlier,” Douglas pointed out.
“As it rains almost every night this time of year, they’ll likely be wet tomorrow as well. At least today it is relatively warm. Tomorrow it could be colder and the wet could turn to ice.”
Ice would make that last section of the cliff impassable—too dangerous for even him to attempt.
“I thought you would need time to recover after the ride.”
Thom’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”
He’d had to work hard to keep up with the rest of the men, but his struggle with riding—usually a source of amusement—wasn’t when it came from Douglas.
“MacGowan’s right,” MacLeod said. Thom was more pleased by the support than he wanted to let on. Over the past day and a half he’d been impressed—maybe even awed—by the warriors who rode beside him, and none more so than by the man who appeared to be their leader. “If MacGowan says he can do it, we should let him try. The lad has already been in there for six days.”
Jamie’s expression darkened, and despite the bad blood between them, Thom felt a twinge of compassion for his former friend. He could well imagine the dark thoughts that must be racing through his head. Christ, if Johnny were in Archie’s place Thom would be going half-crazed wondering what kind of tortures and hardships he was suffering. Actually, he had to admire Douglas’s clearheadedness and ability to prevent his personal demons from interfering with his decisions.
Thom’s tone lost some of its combativeness. “Let me try, Jamie. If it looks like it will take longer or the conditions worsen, I’ll turn around. You know I can do this.”
Jamie held his gaze and eventually gave a terse nod. “Don’t take any unnecessary chances. We can’t afford anything to go wrong. If we lose the element of surprise . . .”
He didn’t need to finish. They all knew that without surprise they had virtually no chance of rescue. The only way to get Archie out of there would be a direct attack on the castle or a siege—neither of which was going to happen. Bruce was focused on taking Scotland’s castles, not England’s.
“We won’t,” Thom replied, the decisiveness of his voice adding assurance. “We’ll be long gone before the English realize we were there.”
Douglas’s mouth quirked. It was probably the first time he’d smiled at Thom in eight years. “Aye, well, I wish I shared your confidence. But I’ve been doing this too long and have learned that if something can go wrong, it will. Just ask MacGregor about the dog at Berwick,” he added dryly.
The famed archer overheard him and told Douglas to do something to himself that was physically impossible.
The rest of the men laughed, and Thom was already looking forward to hearing the story on the return journey to Roxburgh.
He took Douglas’s words of caution to heart. His former friend might be an arse, but he was an experienced, battle-hardened one who’d been on God knew how many dangerous missions. This was Thom’s first, and no matter how it had come about, he was determined to prove himself among his companions. If that meant casting himself in the role of pupil to Douglas’s teacher, he would do so gladly. Whatever his personal feelings, Douglas was one of the greatest knights in Scotland; Thom would be a fool not to heed his advice.
Fortunately, Douglas’s trepidation proved unwarranted. The plan proceeded without a hitch—or a barking dog, as Thom was to hear about over the campfire the next evening.
Thom climbed the cliff and scaled the last thirty feet of sheer rock without any trouble. Jamie and Elizabeth had been correct in their estimation of his skills. He wouldn’t characterize it as easy, but neither had it been difficult. Had he not ridden almost nonstop for the last twenty hours or so, and had a sore shoulder, he would have climbed it in even less time than the forty minutes it took him.
The most difficult part of the mission turned out to be finding somewhere to tie the rope that he dropped to Douglas and the six others who’d accompanied them into the castle—MacRuairi (who supposedly would be able to open the gate), Sutherland (who apparently had some knowledge of black powder that might give them extra time if they needed it), MacKay (who like Thom didn’t have any fondness for riding and also like Thom apparently possessed some skill with working iron), Boyd (who didn’t need to tell him what he was there for—his physical strength was obvious), MacSorley (whose easygoing presence and seafaring skill were put to use throwing the grappling hooks of the specially made wooden ladder they used to scale the wall), and MacLeod (whose unrivaled skill with the sword would be needed if they stumbled on any trouble). Campbell, MacGregor, Lamont, and MacLean had remained outside the gate to keep watch and alert them from below if anything appeared amiss.
Eventually Thom decided to secure the rope by winding it around a large rock and using his own body to provide extra leverage as the men climbed the last sheer section of the cliff.
MacSorley threw the grappling hooks over the wall with barely a sound, and to Thom’s surprise, after Douglas, he was the next man sent up the ladder. It was an unexpected honor, and Thom knew it was MacLeod’s way of letting him know it was a job well done.
Once in the castle, they encountered no resistance in their search for Archie. He was exactly where he was supposed to be: in the prison tower at the edge of the cliff. The two soldiers in the adjoining guardroom had been dispensed with quickly, and within a matter of seconds MacRuairi had the iron bar of the door unlocked.
It was pitch-black in the small chamber, and MacSorley had fetched a torch from the guardroom. Three filthy, bloodied faces stared back at them from a corner of the room; one of them was Archie’s. Thom’s stomach rolled, and bile rose up the back of his throat.
Douglas didn’t say anything, but Thom knew what he was feeling because he felt it, too: rage. Archie was only sixteen, damn it, but the lad had obviously suffered a vicious beating. He was covered in bruises and cuts, and the eyes that looked back at them were white with terror.
But with no time to take inventory of the wrongs committed against his brother—wrongs that Thom had no doubt would be accounted for in the not-so-distant future—Douglas simply gave the lad a quick embrace and helped him out of the hellhole in which he’d been trapped. They’d taken the other two men (who weren’t much older than Archie) with them as well.
Though in bad shape—weak from hunger and the beatings they’d suffered—the former prisoners nonetheless found a boon of strength to aid in their escape. They managed to climb the ladder and descend on their own, albeit with some help and the support of the ropes.
By the time the group was riding away from the castle, there was still nearly an hour of darkness remaining. Lamont and MacLean had found additional horses, but Archie and the two others were too weak to manage them on their own. Douglas took his brother, and Campbell and MacGregor took the other two behind them for the first few hours of hard riding.
Once they’d crossed the border near the English-occupied Berwick Castle, Douglas slowed the pace. After the first break, where the prisoners had washed, had their wounds tended by MacKay, eaten, and drank a good draught of uisge-beatha, they were able to ride on their own.
But rest is what they most needed, and by early afternoon, Douglas halted for the night. Unlike the ride the day before, they had no cause to press. With the rain, sodden ground, and taking to the hills whenever possible to avoid the main roads and running into any English patrols, the ride was slow-going and treacherous to say the least.
They’d stopped somewhere in the Cheviot Hills, near what appeared to be an old hill fort. Archie and the other two lads were asleep on bedrolls in the canopy of the forest, while Thom relaxed with a skin of ale and some of the other warriors around the fire. MacLean and Lamont were on guard duty, and MacLeod and Douglas had gone somewhere—probably to hunt for food—but the other men were enjoying their well-earned rest. Thom was content just to listen to the conversation (most of which consisted of pointed barbs and needling), but he found himself drawn in more than once.
He’d already heard the story of how a dog had foiled the taking of Berwick Castle (when MacGregor hesitated to shoot it), and how they’d narrowly escaped capture afterward due to a resourceful young girl from the family who was hiding them deciding to sell tickets to see “the most handsome man in Scotland,” when the conversation turned to the most recent—and more successful—mission.
MacSorley, whose wicked smile was matched by his sense of humor, clearly liked to needle the others. His current target, however, was surprising. From everything Thom had heard of Lachlan MacRuairi, he was not a man to prod. His reputation as a black-hearted scourge and the most feared pirate in a Western Isles kingdom of pirates was well known. Thom had been shocked when MacRuairi had been unmasked as one of Bruce’s Phantoms and assumed he had been paid a fortune for his sword. But after watching him for the past couple of days, Thom was no longer certain his loyalty had been bought. Still, MacRuairi wasn’t a man Thom would want to cross swords with in a dark wynd or close.
MacSorley, however, seemed undaunted by the infamous mercenary’s reputation. “I think that pretty wife of yours and all those bairns you were never going to have made you soft, cousin.” They were kinsmen? Thom couldn’t hide his shock. The two couldn’t have been more different in appearance and temperament. “I thought you said climbing that cliff was ‘impossible.’ ” The big, fair-haired seafarer who would have made his Viking ancestors proud grinned. “MacGowan here didn’t seem to have any problems.”
“Sod off, Hawk. I think you are confused. I’m built like a rock, but that doesn’t mean I am one.”
MacSorley—Thom wondered where the name Hawk came from—chuckled and turned his gaze to Thom assessingly. “Interesting theory. Rock. I like it. It fits.”
Thom had no idea what he was talking about, but the others seemed to, as he saw more than one man smile.
MacRuairi wasn’t finished. “Anytime you want to show me how it’s done, cousin, be my guest. But I didn’t hear you volunteering to lead the way.”
MacSorley gave a dramatic shudder. “Nor will you. Christ, I didn’t even like being up that high with a rope. Be it good old terra firma or the wooden planks of a ship, I need something under my feet.”
MacRuairi leaned back, kicked his legs out, and crossed his arms, eyeing his cousin slyly. “I didn’t think you were scared of anything, cousin—other than your wife.”
A few of the men laughed, and MacSorley grinned. “And people say you have no sense of humor.” He shook his head. “Let’s just say I have a healthy respect for both.” He turned to Thom. “So, Rock, how the hell did you learn to climb like that? I’ve never seen anyone scale a cliff so high or sheer.”
Thom smiled at the name—understanding the others’ amusement earlier—and shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just something I enjoyed, so I kept doing it. I like the challenge, I suppose, and the satisfaction of doing something no one else has before.”
A few of the men exchanged glances, and Thom wondered what he’d said.
“Well, that’s an understatement. I’d wager the English are still scratching their tails, wondering how we got in there.”
Tail was a slur for coward, and Thom chuckled along with the others.
The Highlander Magnus MacKay, who was leaning against a tree next to Thom, gave him a long look. “I have to admit I share Hawk’s healthy respect for heights.”
“And for your wife?” Sutherland quipped.
MacKay grinned; his wife, Helen, was Sutherland’s sister. “Aye, with her knowledge of plants, I’d better.” He turned back to Thom. “How do you get past it?”
“The height?” Thom asked.
MacKay nodded.
He wasn’t aware Jamie had come up behind them until he heard him answer. “He doesn’t look down.”
Surprised—actually, shocked as hell—at the easy reference to the day of their first meeting and what had solidified their friendship, Thom snapped his head around to look at him.
There was something odd about Douglas’s expression. It took Thom a moment to pinpoint why: he wasn’t looking at him as if he was contemplating ways of sliding a blade between his ribs.
“Can I speak with you for a moment?” Douglas asked.
Thom nodded and stood from the rock he’d been sitting on. It wasn’t without some effort. His limbs ached from the long hours on horseback.
He was sure Douglas noticed, but he refrained from making a remark. They moved a short distance away toward the small stream where they’d watered the horses. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence, but he waited for Douglas to break it. When he did, he said the last thing Thom expected.
“Thank you,” Douglas said, stopping at the edge of the water and turning to face him. “I owe you . . .” His voice fell off, and when he spoke again, Thom could hear the emotion. “You saved my brother’s life.”
Maybe he should have just accepted his thanks and left it at that. But too much had passed between them, and the past burned with too much resentment. “I wasn’t left with much of a choice, was I?”
There was still enough light left to see the pulse below Douglas’s jaw tic, but it was clear he was making an effort not to lose his temper. “I couldn’t take any chances.”
“You could have tried asking.”
“You refused my sister, I didn’t think you would do it for me.”
“That’s a pile of shite,” Thom said angrily. “You didn’t ask because you couldn’t stand the thought of lowering yourself to ask me for anything.”
The anger and animosity were back, filling the air between them as they faced off in the semi-darkness.
“Maybe because I knew how much pleasure you would take in refusing me,” Jamie snapped back.
They knew each other too well—knew their weaknesses and the pride that was the source of the tension between them even when they were the closest of friends. Douglas was right. Thom would have refused, and after how they’d found Archie, the realization shamed him.
The anger seeped out of him. He drew back and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “No matter how it came about, I’m glad that I could help, but I wasn’t alone.”
Douglas gave him a wry look, apparently amused that Thom was seeking to share the credit. “Nay, but we wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” His expression cracked, revealing the torment underneath. “Christ, if I hadn’t been so stubborn—if I’d listened to Ella and brought you in the first place we could have saved him two or three days of suffering. What he went through . . .”
Archie had told them that they hadn’t had food in days, and the only water they had was from the rain that backed up from a drain in the floor. They’d been left to freeze every night, and the only time they’d seen light was when they were taken out to be beaten by the bored soldiers. Three of the men they’d arrived with they suspected had been killed.
“MacKay said he will have no lasting injuries. He is fortunate nothing was broken.”
Why the hell was he trying to give him comfort?
“Maybe not his bones, but the spirit does not recover so easily. Christ, Archie told me they were planning to torture them. If we’d waited until tomorrow, God only knows in what state we might have found him.”
Both men were silent for a while, staring at the slow-moving water before them. There wasn’t much that could be said. Finally, Douglas straightened and turned back to him. “Anyway, I meant what I said. You acquitted yourself well today, and we wouldn’t have been able to do it without you. For what it’s worth, you have my thanks.”
Surprisingly, it was worth a lot. Thom nodded in acknowledgment, feeling as if an uneasy truce formed between them.
“I probably should be thanking you,” he said after a minute.
Jamie didn’t hide his shock. “For what?”
“Giving me a chance to fight alongside the best warriors in Scotland—hell, probably in Christendom.”
Only someone who knew him as well as Thom did would see the hint of wariness that returned to Jamie’s expression. But he needn’t worry; Thom wasn’t looking for confirmation. He didn’t need it. If these men weren’t Bruce’s illustrious Phantoms (and at least two were), then they might as well be.
Perhaps recognizing that, Douglas relaxed. “Aye, they are that.”
“They?” Not Douglas, too?
Jamie lifted a brow. “If I didn’t know you better, I would think that was a compliment.”
“And if I didn’t know you better, I’d think that was you being modest.”
Jamie laughed, and Thom found himself smiling as well. For a moment, it almost felt like old times. The easy exchange, the jests, the prodding—he’d forgotten how it had been. It was probably why despite the danger he’d been enjoying himself so much the past couple of days. These men had a bond not unlike the one he’d had with Jamie all those years ago.
He’d never let himself acknowledge how much he’d missed it.
“What will you do now?” Jamie asked as they started to walk back.
“Nothing as exciting as this. But thankfully not taking down any more castle walls—at least for a while. Although with the weeks of boredom ahead at Stirling during the siege, I might be wishing for an excuse to swing a hammer.”
Jamie frowned. “I thought Ella said that you had something else to do first? Something about an engagement to the widow?”
The reason for the frown became apparent. Undoubtedly, the knowledge of his betrothal had been met with considerable relief by Jamie—which might explain some of the easing of tensions between them—and he wanted to make sure what Elizabeth had told him was the truth.
Thom nodded, allaying his fears. “Lady Marjorie Rutherford.”
Douglas lifted both brows, clearly impressed. “I’ve met her before—you have done well for yourself.”
Thom shrugged. “Nothing has been formalized.”
“But it will be?”
If the question was more intense than the situation warranted, Thom pretended not to notice. “Aye.”
A broad smile spread across Jamie’s face, and once again, he was relaxed. “Well, then you have my congratulations. Jo will be beside herself with two betrothals to celebrate.”
“Two?”
Jamie stopped to stare at him, his expression recovering some of its wariness. “Ella didn’t tell you?”
Thom heard the irritation in his voice. “Tell me what?”
Sensing he wasn’t going to like what Douglas had to say, Thom braced himself.
“My sister is to be betrothed to Randolph.”
No amount of bracing could have prepared him for the blow. For the white-hot ball of pain that had shot into his chest and exploded.
He flinched—maybe even staggered.
Elizabeth was getting married.
Why hadn’t she told him?
Because he had nothing to do with it. She’d never looked at him as a potential suitor. Christ, why should she? She was about to marry one of the most important men in the realm. And he was just a lad from the village.
Damn it, he’d thought he was immune. He thought she’d lost the power to hurt him.
Anger at his own weakness made him stiffen. Pride schooled his features into a hard mask, but he knew Douglas had seen the toll his words had taken.
Forcing the bitterness from his voice, Thom said, “She did not mention it. But when you see her, please give her my congratulations. To you both,” he amended. “An alliance with the new Earl of Moray . . .” He let his voice fall off. Not even Douglas with his well-known ambition could have reached much higher. “You must be thrilled.”
Douglas swore. “Fuck, Thom, I’m—”
But his apology—if that’s what he intended—was lost when Thom walked away.
For good.