The king didn’t answer. “Do you see how my hands are trembling?” he whispered to Gillian as he gently turned the knapsack over and let the contents pour out onto the floor. An old rusty, iron hinge spilled out first, and then stones of various shapes rolled out. A clump of dirt splattered, and a cracked wooden cup splintered in half when it struck the ground. The king shouted. A dirty piece of wool wrapped into a ball dropped onto his knees. As he unfolded the cloth, a man’s tunic took shape, and when the last fold was turned over, the jewels atop the magnificent box glinted up at them.
Tears flooded John’s eyes, and he was filled with memories of his sweet Arianna. Lost for the moment in the past, his head bowed, he mourned anew the death of his true love.
“My lord, is the treasure there?” Horace shouted again.
The king was too overwhelmed with emotion to notice the soldier’s impertinence and insolent tone.
Brodick had noticed and was in the process of turning around so that his back was to his wife and the king when Horace gave the other soldiers a signal with his hand. His three cohorts quickly fanned out to form a half circle in front of Brodick. The only thing between them and the king of England was the Highlander, and fools that they were, they actually believed the odds were in their favor.
Brodick knew exactly what their plan was. His voice was low and filled with loathing when he said, “Your king is unarmed.”
John, still down on his knees, looked up as the soldiers drew their swords. His eyes widened in disbelief, and for an instant he thought that the Highlander was in some way threatening him. Then he saw that Brodick’s hands were still at his sides and his sword still sheathed. Where, then, lurked the threat that would make the soldiers draw their weapons?
Forgetting for the moment the treasure, John stood. “Where is the danger?” he demanded.
The soldiers remained silent.
“Gillian, tell your king his soldiers mean to kill him,” Brodick said.
The leader of the soldiers smiled. “And we will be honored for our deed. Aye, we mean to kill you, John, and the Highlander and his wife as well.” Nodding to Brodick, he added, “You’ll be blamed of course.”
John reached for his sword and only then realized he was defenseless.
“One shout from me and my men will come running.”
Horace snickered. “You’ll be dead before they get here.”
Brodick shook his head. “I cannot allow you to kill your king because it would upset my wife, and you sure as hell aren’t going to get near her. Have I made my intentions clear?”
They came at him all at once, and that error in judgment gave Brodick an added advantage. In their haste to get him, they stumbled into one another.
Moving with the speed of a predator, he became a blur to the men trying to kill him. They saw only the silver gleam of his sword and heard the whistling sound as the warrior swung it downward. His blade cut through two soldiers as he lashed out with his foot and broke the arm of another soldier, knocking him to the ground. He then arched back to avoid the last soldier’s blade and, twisting, slammed his elbow into the man’s face, shattering his jaw.
Gillian had grabbed hold of the king’s arm and tried to pull him back out of harm’s way, but John in a burst of true gallantry wouldn’t retreat. He pushed her behind him and shielded her.
Before she could summon a good scream, two soldiers lay dead at Brodick’s feet and the two others were doubled over in pain. Brodick wasn’t even winded. He casually wiped his blade on one of the dead to rid it of English blood, then slipped the weapon back into the sheath and turned around. He couldn’t hide his surprise at finding the king protecting his wife.
John was stunned. He stared at the traitors, then looked at Brodick. “Four against one,” he hoarsely whispered. “Most impressive, Laird.”
Brodick shrugged. “You’ve yet to see impressive.”
A fire from a dropped torch crackled in the debris behind them as the king once again got down on his knees and gently lifted the treasure with both hands. Cautiously he pressed in sequence the hidden springs, and the box snapped open. For a long silent moment he simply stared down at what was inside.
And then a low guttural sound erupted from deep within his throat, a sound that grew into a tortured, monstrous roar that reverberated through the decay of years.
And the cry of anguish for what was lost became a howling fury.
The sound paralyzed Gillian, and it all became too much for her to bear, the heartache, the treachery, the deceit, the fear. She couldn’t block the screams or the memories. And in her mind she was suddenly standing there at the top of those slippery steps in the dark passageway. The dragon was uncoiling from the wall with his long tail slashing out at her as she and Christen were hurled down into the black abyss. She was once again that terrified little girl, abandoned and all alone. She heard the anguished screams echoing around her and saw again her father looking up at her with such sorrow and regret in his eyes. He couldn’t save her. She reached out . . .
And suddenly Brodick was there, standing in front of her, calling out to her.
“Gillian, look at me.”
The tenderness in his voice and the touch of his hand against the side of her face cut through her terror, and with a sob, she fell into his arms.
“I want to go home,” Gillian cried.
“Soon,” he promised. “Now get behind me and stay there.”
The harsh command jarred her, and she quickly did as he ordered, for she could hear the shouting soldiers running toward the stable. The smoke from the smoldering fire must have alerted them. The blaze behind her began to leap higher, and she knew that when the king’s men raced inside and saw the dead soldiers, they would attack Brodick.
Turning to the king, she saw him wipe tears from his face and then snap the box closed. He wrapped the treasure in the tunic, stuffed it into the knapsack, and then staggered to his feet.
He, too, must have heard his soldiers coming because he moved to stand by Brodick. He raised his hand as his men closed in.
“Are these your men or his?” Brodick asked.
“Mine,” the king answered.
His voice was deathly calm. “Come with me,” he ordered Brodick, and then he left the stable.
Brodick dragged Gillian behind him, but when they reached the courtyard, he stopped and let out a shrill whistle. Dylan and Robert rode forward.
“Get her out of here,” he ordered Dylan. “Robert, wait for Bridgid and take her with you.”
She wasn’t given time to argue. Dylan reached down, swept her up, and urged his stallion into a gallop.
“Let the Highlanders inside,” John shouted to his soldiers, and then he motioned for Iain and Ramsey to follow Brodick and him inside.
Alford hadn’t been idle while he had waited. He’d used the time to gather more of his soldiers, for there were at least a dozen standing together near the buttery. Brodick and Iain stood behind the king, but Ramsey spotted Bridgid sitting in the corner and immediately went to her. He grabbed her hand, jerked her to her feet, and without saying a word, pulled her along.
She was afraid to speak to him. She’d never seen Ramsey in such a fury before, and it scared her almost as much as the English barons did. He didn’t say a word to Robert either, just motioned for him to take Bridgid away, and then he turned and, head down, went back inside.
The king was speaking in a low voice to Iain Maitland when Ramsey joined them. He didn’t hear what John said until the king asked if it was Iain’s son who was captured. Iain responded with a curt nod, and then the king put his hand out and requested the laird’s sword.
“May I borrow it?”
Iain reluctantly let him have the weapon. John turned, and carrying the sword in one hand, he dangled the knapsack in the other as he slowly approached the table where Alford waited.
The baron started to stand, but John ordered him to stay seated. “This day has been filled with disappointments,” he remarked, h
is voice as cold as a winter’s eve.
“Then you didn’t find the treasure after all?” Alford asked, and the smile was there in his eyes. When John didn’t answer him, Alford assumed he’d been right. “Must the Highlanders be here, my lord?” he called out.
John noticed how agitated Hugh and Edwin were. They kept giving the lairds furtive glances, showing their obvious trepidation. The king glanced at Iain Maitland but the laird wasn’t looking at him. Nay, his eyes seemed to glow with his hatred, and his gaze, like Laird Buchanan’s, was locked on his prey.
“Do they frighten you, Alford?” John drawled as he tilted his head toward the Highlanders.
They did make Alford nervous, but he also was feeling quite smug because he knew they couldn’t do him any harm. If one of them reached for his sword, his men and the king’s guard would strike them down.
“No, they don’t frighten me, but they are . . . uncivilized.”
“Don’t be inhospitable,” John chided.
Gripping the knapsack in one hand and Iain’s sword in the other, John began to slowly circle the table. “Today has brought back all the pain,” he said then, and turning to the lairds, he offered an explanation. “I’ve only loved one woman, and her name was Arianna. My dearest friend, Alford, brought her to me and I fell instantly in love with her. I believe she loved me too,” he added. “And I would have found a way to marry her.”
He stopped pacing and dropped the knapsack on the table in front of Alford.
“Open it,” he commanded.
Alford turned the knapsack upside down and watched the contents spill out on the table. The box rolled out of the tunic.
John told him what was inside. “My dagger is on the bottom. I sent it with the squire for Arianna to cut a lock of her golden hair. Do you remember, Alford?”
Before Alford could answer, John continued. “On top of my dagger is a lock of her hair. Tell me, Alford, what’s on top of the hair?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” Alford stuttered.
“Yes you do. Your dagger.”
“No, it’s not mine,” Alford shouted.
John slowly began to walk around the table. “No? Your crest is on the handle.”
“Someone . . . stole my dagger . . . Gillian’s father must have . . .”
John’s voice lashed out like a whip. “Her father wasn’t in court, but you were, Alford. You killed her.”
“No, I didn’t . . .”
John pounded the tabletop with his fist. “If you want to live, you will tell me the truth.”
“If I want to live . . .”
“I won’t kill you as long as you tell me the truth,” John promised. “I want to know exactly what happened, but first you will admit it to me. You killed her, didn’t you?”
“She was going to betray you,” he stammered. “She wouldn’t listen to my . . . counsel . . . and she was determined to come between you and your advisers. I sought only to protect my king. She had gone mad with power because she knew . . . yes, she knew she could control you.”
“I want to know exactly what happened,” the king demanded, his voice shaking with fury.
“I went to her chamber to reason with her, and she mocked me, my lord. Aye, she did. Your squire carried in the box and put it on the table. It was open and your dagger was inside. The squire didn’t see me, and after he left, Arianna took your dagger and cut a lock of her hair. She put the dagger and the hair in the box—”
“And you continued to reason with her?” John demanded.
“Yes, but she wouldn’t listen. She swore she wouldn’t let anyone get in her way. She attacked me, and I had to defend myself.”
“And so you cut her throat.”
“It was an accident. I’ll admit I panicked. Your squire had returned and was pounding on the door, and without thinking, I threw my dagger in the box and closed it. I was going to tell you. Yes, yes, I was,” Alford cried out.
“And because you had a key to the chamber, your escape was so simple, wasn’t it? You locked the door and took the box to your chamber. Is that right, Alford?”
“Yes.”
“And then you consoled me when I found her body—good friend that you are.”
“I was going to confess, but you were so distraught, I decided to wait.”
“No, you decided to blame the Baron of Dunhanshire.”
“Yes,” Alford admitted, trying to sound contrite. “Gillian’s father had come to my estate to discuss the common land we shared. He saw the box when he came into the hall unannounced but pretended he hadn’t, and the second my back was turned, he stole it. He was going to keep it for himself,” he ended.
“You didn’t believe that,” John muttered. “You knew he would bring it to me, didn’t you, Alford? And so you lay siege to Dunhanshire and killed him to silence him.”
“I had to kill Arianna,” Alford repeated. “She would have destroyed you.”
“Me?” the king shouted. He couldn’t continue the game any longer. He stood behind Alford now and raised Iain’s sword. “The Devil take you,” he screamed as he thrust the blade through Alford’s back.
The baron rigidly arched up and then slowly fell forward. John stepped back, his chest heaving with rage. The room was deathly quiet as John picked up the box and walked toward the door.
“Your son has been avenged,” he told Iain Maitland as he motioned to his soldiers to follow him.
Hugh, who had been cowering behind the soldiers, called out to him. “My king, Edwin and I had no part in Alford’s treachery.”
John ignored his baron. As he was striding past the three lairds, he said, “They’re all yours.”
The door closed as Iain and Ramsey and Brodick slowly advanced.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Ramsey and Brodick weren’t easily embarrassed or intimidated, but by the time Baron Morgan Chapman finished giving them a piece of his mind and a thorough tongue-lashing, the lairds were clearly mortified.
And men enough to admit it. Although they both wanted to argue with the crusty old man, they didn’t dare because they had been taught to respect their elders, but Morgan was making it difficult for them with his wild accusations.
It seemed to take him forever to get to the heart of the matter. He stood facing the lairds with his arms folded and acted like a father who was chastising his boys. It was damned humiliating, but Ramsey and Brodick suffered through it.
“I’ve lived a peaceful life, but in the past two days I’ve heard enough wailing and carrying on by two very angry young ladies to last me a lifetime. You had the gall to dump them in my lap and send them home with me, and I swear to you my ears were ringing by the time we arrived. But did it end there?”
Ramsey made the mistake of guessing it didn’t and shook his head, gaining him a scowl and a blasphemy from the cantankerous baron.
“Nay,” he ranted. “The sweet lasses had only just got started. I thought about taking to my bed, but I knew they’d follow me.” Nodding to Brodick, he declared, “You’ve broken my Gillian’s heart, and she wants never to see you again.”
“Then she can keep her eyes closed, but I assure you she’s going home with me.”
“You married in haste.”
“I knew what I wanted, and I took it.”
“It? We’re talking about my niece, aren’t we?”
“Yes, sir, we are.”
“She says you gave her your word, and then you broke it.”
“Yes.”
“She believes you used her.”
“I did.”
“Hell, man, you could at least explain why.”
“You know why,” Brodick countered. “I couldn’t allow her to be in such danger. If anyone should be angry, it is I, for she recklessly followed me.”
Morgan threaded his fingers through his white hair. “She doesn’t believe you love her, and she insists she’s going to live here with me.”
Before Brodick could respond, the baron turned his hot temper on Ramse
y. “Bridgid has also decided she wishes to stay with me. She insists she likes the English, God help me.”
“She’s going home with me,” Ramsey announced.
“Why?”
Ramsey was surprised by the question. “Because she’s a Sinclair.”
“That isn’t a sufficient reason. She says you keep trying to marry her off to get rid of her. She also says her mother tossed her out. Is that true?”
Ramsey sighed. “Yes, it’s true.”
“And aren’t you doing the same thing?”
“No, I’m not,” Ramsey insisted. “Bridgid told me she’s in love, but she refuses to tell me who the man is.”
Thoroughly exasperated, Morgan shook his head. “Did she tell you he was a stupid man?”
“As a matter of fact she did,” he replied.
The baron’s head dropped down, and he peered at Ramsey through his bushy eyebrows for a long, silent minute. Then he sighed. “Were you born yesterday, son? Who in God’s name do you think she loves? Think hard and I’m sure it will come to you.”
It wasn’t what he said as much as how he said it that sparked the epiphany. The light dawned, and with it came a slow, easy smile.
Morgan nodded with relief. “So you finally figured it out, did you? And high time, if you ask me,” he muttered. “If I have to suffer through another long-winded description of your charms, I swear I won’t be able to keep my food in my belly. Are you going to forget this nonsense about marrying a lass named Meggan to keep peace with your clans?”
“She told you about Meggan?” Ramsey couldn’t stop smiling.
“Son, I don’t believe there’s anything she hasn’t told me about you. Have you stopped being stupid then and come to your senses?”
Ramsey didn’t take insult. “It seems I have,” he agreed.
“She’s a handful,” he warned.
“Yes, sir, she is.”
The baron straightened up. “Now then, I want both of you to listen carefully, because I’m going to give you my conditions.”
“Your conditions, sir?” Brodick asked. He nudged Ramsey to get him to stop grinning like an idiot and pay attention. “I could use some help here,” he muttered.
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