Highland Warlord (The King's Outlaws Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  “’Tis why I haven’t asked your opinion.” James secured the second rope. “But she kens the lad and she’ll make our ruse all the more convincing.”

  The problem was James still wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing by letting Her Ladyship come along. Too many things could go wrong, and he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to Ailish.

  “She’s not bad with a bow,” said Caelan, tightening the girth strap on his saddle. “I’d recruit her into my archers if she weren’t a woman.”

  “Wheesht both of ye,” James said, straightening his roughhewn hood and heading for the cave and batting a hand at the naysayers.

  Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, he found Blair fussing over Lady Ailish’s veil like a mother hen. The friar’s portly form blocked Her Ladyship’s face from sight. “What is taking so long?” James asked. “First I go against my better judgment and agree to let you accompany us. And now we have not even begun our journey and you’re already holding us up.”

  “Forgive me,” she said, patting her hands over the linen cloth and stepping out from behind the holy man. “But if I am posing as your wife, I mustn’t look like nun.”

  James’ mouth went dry as he gaped at the bonniest creature who ever shifted a saucy gaze his way.

  “And her lady’s maid is still at the priory,” said Blair, his words barely sinking in. “I think we have her looking quite nice, do you not agree, sir?”

  Gulping, James allowed his gaze to meander from her head to the hem of her gown. She wore only the white linen under veil, held in place by a braided circlet—perhaps hewn of horsehair. The headpiece framed her face, drawing his attention to the beauty of her eyes, fanned by long, alluring lashes.

  She pursed those bow-shaped, moist lips. Lips he’d be kissing right now if there weren’t a friar standing but a foot away. “Are you unhappy?” she asked.

  “Nay,” he managed as his gaze shifted lower to a blue gown, the neckline scooped from one shoulder to the other, plunging over a pair of succulent breasts. Aye, he’d noticed her breasts before.

  Many times.

  But he’d only seen Lady Ailish without a nun’s habit at the coronation. Aye, she’d bewitched him then, but here in the cave where they were standing only a few feet apart, he was utterly entranced. “W-where did you find the dress?”

  “You do not remember?” She smiled, her shoulders waggling. Had she any idea such movement drew even more attention to the perfection of her breasts? “I’ve been wearing it under my habit all along.”

  “Well,” he grumbled, swiping a hand across his eyes. “It is a good thing you kept it covered until now.”

  “Why, because it might end up soiled?”

  He grasped her hand. “Because the men would never be able to take their eyes off you.”

  “Your cloak, m’lady,” said Blair, holding up the garment and handing her a black, woolen bundle. “And your habit in case you have need of it.”

  Ailish turned and allowed the friar to slip her woolen cloak over her shoulders. “It would have been very miserable without this,” she said, tying the mantle closed at the neck.

  James stood back, his gaze shooting straight to her breasts. Thank goodness the cloak covered most of the distraction. “That’s better. Now come, else we’ll not make it to the border afore nightfall.”

  “Is that where you plan to make camp.”

  “Just north of there. I ken of a crofter who will shelter us for the night.” He helped Ailish onto the wagon’s bench and then addressed the retinue of soldiers he’d hand-picked to travel with them. “Listen to me, men. We are hunters traveling to Carlisle to sell our pelts. If we are stopped, I will do the talking, do you understand?”

  Everyone voiced their consent aside from Her Ladyship. James gave her a pointed look. “That means you as well, m’lady.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of speaking out of turn.”

  “Very good,” he said, climbing beside her and taking up the reins. The timbers of the old wagon creaked as he cued the horse to walk on.

  Lady Ailish glanced to the rear where her mount was tethered and following behind. “Why are you not taking the palfry?”

  “Because poor hunters do not own expensive warhorses.”

  She groaned. “I should have thought of that.” She gave his arm a pat. “The men look very convincing in their hunters’ hoods.”

  They traveled along the winding maze of narrow pathways that kept their camp well hidden from the enemy while a team of men worked to erase their tracks. Ailish examined the bow and quiver of arrows James had placed at their feet. “Why are the men not carrying their swords?”

  Everyone but James had stowed their weapons beneath the pelts where they were easily accessible if one knew where to look. “Again, most hunters cannot afford swords.”

  “Except everyone seems to have their bows,” she mused.

  “Tools of the trade.” James patted the dirk guarding his loins. “Not to worry. Every man is amply armed.”

  “If we’re ambushed, will we be equipped to fight?”

  “Aye, lass.” He slapped the reins. “And the arrows are at our feet for a reason. Caelan tells me you’ve become one of his better archers.”

  “Did he?” She pulled an arrow out of the quiver and ran her finger along the shaft. “Surprising.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he never said as much to me.”

  “Mayhap he wants to make you better.”

  “By not telling me I’m one of his best?”

  “Possibly. If the student continues to practice day and night as you have, the student may one day become better than the teacher.”

  “Hmm.” She replaced the arrow. “Where did you learn all this—the hiding of weapons, the training of men, the way you fight like a demon is chasing you?”

  “Aside from growing up with a sword in my hand, ’tis what comes from eleven years of being a squire to Bishop Lamberton.”

  “But that’s what I don’t understand. He’s a holy man.”

  “He’s a warrior, and the knights who follow him are some of the best-trained fighters in Christendom. Some spent their youths on the Continent following the tournaments. Others paid their dues in the Crusades.”

  “Have you been to the Continent?”

  “Nay. Lamberton had already been by the time I came under his wing. But there were plenty of skirmishes for an apprentice knight to learn his trade.”

  “Tell me about the bishop.”

  “He’s a great man. He was instrumental in seeing John Balliol sent to France and, afterward, he supported William Wallace. Lamberton’s men led many of the schiltrons in the first war against Edward. He’s rebuilding Saint Andrews Cathedral after the English razed it in retaliation for his actions against them.”

  “And he presided over the king’s coronation.”

  “That he did.”

  “And I imagine he had a hand in your knighthood.”

  “If it weren’t for Lamberton, I’d be making hay in Douglas, too poor to own a cow, I reckon.”

  “I admire him.”

  “As do I, m’lady.”

  “What was it like to be his squire?”

  “There were no easy days, for certain. We woke every morning afore dawn for lauds. When we weren’t fighting the English, there were never-ending chores amongst all the praying and training.”

  “What chores did you like best?”

  James thought for a moment, easily swaying with the cart’s movement. “I never minded spending hours in the stables grooming horses, cleaning stalls, learning a bit about the smith’s duties.”

  “I like the solace of the animals as well. ’Tis always peaceful in a barn.”

  “That it is.”

  “Then what did you like least of all?”

  “Cleaning the middens for certain.”

  “Eew. That must have been disgusting.”

  “Very.”

  “But I’ll reckon
it made you strong.”

  His gaze slid to her face. “Know what made me stronger?”

  She shook her head while the cart pitched with a rut in the trail, making her press against him. “What?”

  “I carried fresh water from the burn with a yoke across my back.”

  “A bucket on either end?”

  “Two. Four in all.”

  “Oh, my heavens. I can hardly manage one from the river to the camp.”

  “And I had twice as far to go, straight up an incline.”

  “Astounding,” she said, her voice filled with awe and making James feel like a king. “No wonder you grew to be as sturdy as an ox.”

  After they reached the North Road, neither of them spoke for a time until Lady Ailish grasped his arm, her fingers making a welcome shiver course up his arm. “What will happen if the king’s response comes whilst you’re away?”

  “I left Davy behind with instructions to bring us word straight away.”

  “You must have thought of everything.”

  “Och, one never kens what they’ve forgotten until they need it.”

  “True.” Ailish smoothed her hands along her skirts. “Ahhh…there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

  He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. The melody of her “ah” made a certain appendage between his legs rouse to attention. “What is on your mind, lass?”

  A lovely shade of rose colored her cheeks. “We are posing as husband and wife, yes?”

  “We are,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Um…” She traced a finger along his forearm, the friction making him all but shiver. “What about when we sleep?” she whispered, checking to ensure the others didn’t hear.

  There was one thing he hadn’t planned for—sleeping arrangements. But holy Moses, the lass had a knack for disarming a man. Of course, the first response that came to mind was to ask if she wanted to bed him. Lord knew he’d wanted to bed her so badly that he’d been hard ever since she set foot in the camp in Selkirk Forest. Hell, he’d been hard since he’d first set eyes upon her at the coronation. But his unsated lust aside, the lady did have a point. James slowly swiped his mouth, trying to come up with an appropriate reply until he recalled the night they’d spent in the tent when traveling from Scone.

  “Err…ah…you’ve slept beside me afore.”

  “Not exactly. As I recall, Coira slept between us.”

  “Well…” A wry grin played on his lips. “Since you’ve left your lady’s maid at the priory, you’ll simply have to control your urges, m’lady.”

  As a look of complete shock crossed her face, she thwacked him on the arm.

  Unable to keep a straight face, James threw back his head and laughed.

  “Sir James!” she chided.

  “Och, lass. Surely you must realize if you cannot trust me, then there’s no hope whatsoever.”

  Then he looked away and cringed. More importantly, could he trust himself?

  ***

  By the time they turned onto the old crofter’s lands, the sun had become an enormous orange globe on the western horizon. Ailish shaded her eyes, but it was so bright she could barely discern the outline of the cottage.

  As the wagon veered, she spotted an elderly gentleman leaning on a pitchfork.

  “Finlay of Galloway?” asked James.

  “Depends on who wants to know.”

  James reined the horse to a stop and hopped out. “I’m Sir James Douglas, son of—”

  “Ye mean to tell me the Black Douglas is here in the flesh?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “That’s what they’re calling ye.” The crofter grinned, showing more missing teeth than otherwise. “From Glasgow all the way to Carlisle, I reckon.”

  “Truly?”

  “Are ye the savage lord who razed his ancestral keep?”

  James scratched his black beard, his gaze darting to Ailish. She gave him a reassuring nod. This fellow was obviously awed. “I am. And your son is one of my best men.”

  Finlay pounded his pitchfork onto the ground. “Bloody oath he is.”

  “The good man is a leader in my camp.” After shaking Finlay’s hand, James signaled for the others to dismount. “We need a place to bed down for the night—for my men and my wife.”

  Stopping herself from gasping, Ailish folded her hands and tried to look wifely. She hadn’t expected their ruse to start quite this soon. But then that’s what they had agreed.

  The man gave her a quizzical onceover. “If you’re out to raid an English garrison, why have you brought your wife along?”

  “Just gathering information at the moment,” said James, helping her down. “We’re taking these pelts to market in Carlisle to raise some coin. And ye ken women at the mention of a market.”

  Ailish gaped. “I beg your pardon?”

  Finlay rolled his eyes as if all women were afflicted by some market-day ague. “I reckon it is a good thing you’re not going to Carlisle to put the castle to fire and sword, because that old fortress is impenetrable.”

  “So I’ve heard,” said James. “We’d be obliged if you allowed us to bed down in your stable’s loft.”

  “Och, there’s no chance I’ll allow the wife of the Lord of Douglas to sleep in a musty old loft. The pair of ye can take the bed in my wee cottage. I’m certain ’tisn’t anything as grand as what Her Ladyship is accustomed to, but it provided comfort for my wife and me over the years.” Finlay crossed himself. “God rest her soul.”

  A sudden swarm of butterflies swarmed about Ailish’s stomach. “Nay, nay, we couldn’t possibly—”

  “’Tis very hospitable of you,” said James with a bow of his head.

  “Excellent.” Finlay picked up his pitchfork. “I’ve a lamb pottage warming. Stable your horses and we’ll have a wee bite to eat.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After the evening meal, Ailish had insisted on cleaning the wooden bowls, though in truth the pottage had been so good there wasn’t much left to clean. She considered asking Finlay to go to Selkirk Forest to help Friar John with the cooking.

  “There was more meat in my bowl of pottage than I’ve had in a month,” said James, rubbing his belly.

  “I’ll say,” Torquil agreed, watching Ailish hang the drying cloth over a rafter.

  Most of the men had supped in the stables, though as James’ men-at-arms, Torquil and Caelan had been invited to dine at the table. Ever since they came inside, the lad had made her a wee bit uneasy—but it seemed his nature was to be a bit too opinionated and abrasive. To be honest, everything had made her uneasy, especially the bed across the floor. The cottage consisted of one chamber.

  One.

  With one bed.

  And as sure as he was sitting at the table like a presumptuous cat, Torquil was on the verge of taunting her. If Sir James weren’t present, she was certain the blackguard would say something vile. Aye, he might be a good ally on the battlefield, but Ailish always felt ill at ease whenever the lad was near.

  She wrung her hands, looking for something else to occupy them.

  “You look a bit nervous, m’lady,” Torquil said with a bit of mischief in his tone.

  James patted the bench beside him. “Come and have a rest, dearest.”

  Dearest?

  The endearment made her stomach flip. Dropping her hands to her sides, she did as asked hoping she wasn’t blushing at the mere thought of being James’ dearest.

  “What would you have to be nervous about?” asked the crofter.

  “Nothing at all,” James said, patting her thigh.

  Of course, such intimacy made Torquil snigger behind his tankard.

  The rhythm of rainfall on thatch came from above. Ailish rubbed her arms, glancing to the bed. When would the others head for their pallets? What then? What would it feel like to be in a bed alone with Sir James?

  She felt the color rise in her face as her mind wandered back to every kiss—in the wee hours at Dun
cryne Castle, behind the stables at the priory, and in the wood only a few days past.

  All she could think about was kissing him again. Wrapping her arms around James and holding him as if he were her…her…husband.

  ’Tis scandalous!

  But Ailish was already twenty years of age. Elizabeth de Burgh had only been ten and four when she married Robert the Bruce—the same age Ailish was when she fled Caerlaverock with Harris and Florrie.

  With war a certainty, who knew if she’d ever wed. More than likely she would not, and most certainly not before the Maxwell lands had been reverted to the true earl, which could be years if not eons.

  James poured her a tankard of ale. “Be careful not to swill it, Finlay’s ale is as thick as his pottage.”

  “It helps a man sleep at night,” said the crofter, his toothless grin appearing over the top of his mug.

  “So tell me,” said James. “What news?”

  Finlay wiped the froth from his moustache with the back of his hand. “Last I heard, Edward’s men have stepped up their raids along the borders.”

  “Because of the coronation?” asked Torquil.

  “Aye.” Finlay’s gaze cut to James. “But from here to Glasgow, they’re pounding on every door seeking information as to where the Black Douglas is hiding.”

  “They’ll never find him,” said Caelan. “Selkirk Forest is as impenetrable as any fortress I’ve ever seen.”

  Ailish smiled to herself. She rather liked the new moniker they’d given the king’s most gallant knight. On a sigh, she took a long draw of the potent ale. She could use a good night’s sleep as long as the brew didn’t leave her with a sore head come morn.

  “What about you?” asked Sir James. “Have they been here demanding to ken my whereabouts?”

  “Aye. But they’ll never get a sane word out of me. I always act as if I’ve lost my wits whenever those bastards come calling.” Finlay raised his tankard toward Ailish. “Pardon my vulgar tongue, m’lady.”

  “Carry on,” she said, saluting him in kind.

  “That’s bloody clever,” said Caelan.

  “This old fool still has a trick or two up his sleeve.” He pointed a gnarled finger at James. “And ye’d best not tell them you’ve been hunting in Selkirk Forest.”