by Amy Jarecki
Ailish let out a long breath. He is here, is he not? The Black Douglas had not forsaken her. The king’s champion. A hardened warrior who left nothing to chance. Indeed, he hadn’t immediately ridden after Harris, but sent out a scout to gather information so they would be successful on their quest.
Yet things had not exactly proceeded swimmingly.
Things had gone rather badly.
Had he found Harris? Is that why the others were not here?
After they’d been riding for a time, she pretended to admire the scenery. Northern England was much the same as the south of Scotland with sheep and cattle dotting her rolling hills. Ever so subtly, she glanced over her shoulder and examined the five guards at the rear, her gaze halting when it connected with James’ dark stare.
Thrice he tapped the hilt of his sword while giving a nod.
She returned the gesture and resumed her forward-facing posture. But now, gooseflesh rose across her skin. Of course, James had a plan. And she must be ready for anything.
Ailish flexed her foot in the stirrup. Her dagger was still lashed to her leg, though it would be difficult to reach the blade with her hands bound with only a length of chain between them. But not impossible.
As time wore on, she watched the hills for any flicker of movement, any sign of what was to come.
Chapter Twenty-Three
James shoved his heels downward, taking in everything through his squint. He assessed the soldiers in front of him and the weapons they bore, calculating which to target first. Every man was hand-picked, deadly, and must not be underestimated.
By the saints, he was dog tired. He’d barely fallen asleep when he’d been awakened early this morn and he was bone weary. Nonetheless, they’d traveled far enough away from the city for Davy to have set up an ambush. If they didn’t attack soon, the retinue would be stopping for the night and, if he knew the Lord Warden, he would ensure his prisoner was safely behind the barbican walls of an English fortress.
And there were plenty within a day’s ride from which to choose.
The hair on the back of James’ neck stood on end as they approached what appeared to be a Roman ruin, consisting of a crumbling tower, crenellated at the top. At least the top third. The rest of the building was all but destroyed.
James sat straighter as he searched the tower for movement. With his next blink, Caelan appeared in a crenel, his bow loaded and aimed at the lead man. Without hesitation, he fired his arrow. Two more archers sprang into view, joining the siege. As the arrows hit their marks, three soldiers shrieked, falling from their mounts with mortal wounds.
“We’re under attack!” bellowed the man-at-arms.
’Tis about bloody time!
As his sword hissed through its scabbard, the thunder of horses came from around a bend, announcing Davy’s approach with a calvary of James’ men.
Acting with haste, he cued his horse to move between the pair of guards he’d been flanking as they grappled for their weapons. Taking advantage of their confusion, James ruthlessly dispatched them with two swings of his blade.
“Retreat!” Bellowed the Lord Warden, his horse spinning on its haunches as he kicked his heels and fled.
Deflecting a strike, James let His Lordship escape before he slammed the pommel of his sword in his attacker’s temple. The sentry grunted as he toppled to the ground with a sickly thud.
Ahead, a guard grabbed Ailish’s reins and jerked the horse around. She shrieked as she tottered in her saddle. The horse reared in the man’s panic to chase after His Lordship.
With a kick of his heels, James skidded beside the cur. “Not so bloody fast,” he growled, aiming for a kill to the throat.
Ailish slipped sideways, dipping low and grunting.
“Are you hurt?” James asked, cuing his horse for a sideways approach to help calm her terrified mount.
She straightened, holding up a dagger. “Just reaching for this.”
He grinned, giving her a wink just as a blade sliced into his shoulder. James countered in time to deflect the next strike. Thrusting his dirk, he went for the kill, but Davy felled the bastard first.
Thank God, the rest of the Lord Warden’s men were either killed or fleeing. The Douglas man grinned, his face splattered with blood. “What took ye so long?”
“Ye ken, we were at the mercy of the bloody English.” James smirked and glanced at the others as the archers from the ruins rode alongside them. “Is anyone injured?”
“Not here,” said Caelan.
James arched against the sting of his shoulder. “Then we ride east.”
“East?” asked Ailish. “But Harris is north.”
“The only thing we’ve learned about your brother is he’s not in Carlisle. I’ve sent Torquil to Caerlaverock with orders to find out exactly where they’ve taken him.”
“But Caerlaverock is even farther north. Why would we ride east?”
“Because the Lord Warden just headed for home. Now that he’s been attacked, he’ll pull together his entire army and I do not want to be anywhere near Carlisle when he does.”
“Do you think he’ll ride after us?” Ailish asked.
“’Tis a certainty.” James inclined his head toward her manacles. “I’ll knock those off once we stop to rest the horses.”
Ailish gave a nod before she gasped. “You’ve been wounded.”
He sheathed his sword. “’Tis but a battle scar. It will heal like the others.”
Davy rode alongside him. “Nay, you’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”
“’Tis not the first time.” James tapped his heels, cuing the horse for a trot. “We ride.”
“How far do you think we can go before the horses need rest?” Ailish asked.
“They must endure until we reach the border.”
“Riding east?” asked Caelan.
“We’ll turn north at the River Eden, then skirt through Kielder Forest.”
“I’m glad someone kens where we’re headed,” said Davy.
***
Ailish clenched her cloak closed at her throat, though it did nothing to shield her from the driving rain. She was already soaked clean through, her teeth chattering and now night had fallen upon them. Worse, James had been hunched over his horse’s withers for ages. The man was clearly exhausted and yet he refused to stop. “If we do not find shelter soon, we’ll all catch our death,” she insisted.
In the lead, Davy pointed. “I see a burn ahead. ’Tis the border, for certain.”
“S-should be a chapel ’bout a mile on,” said James, his speech garbled and slow. “Keep a watchful eye. Edward’s men have infested these lands like rodents.”
As they came to the edge of the forest, Davy held up his hand, cueing them to halt.
“’Tis too dark and wet to see a damned thing,” said Caelan.
Ailish slapped her reins, driving her horse forward. They had to be close. “The darkness is in our favor. Haste. We’ve no time to spare.”
Before nightfall, she’d been watching a trail of blood as it spilled down the shoulder of James’ horse, a clear sign his wound needed to be tended. And by his posture, he was injured far worse than he’d let on.
Just as James had said, they arrived at a chapel in no time. But as the big man dismounted, his legs buckled beneath him.
“James!” Ailish shouted, hopping from her horse and dropping to her knees beside him.
His eyes rolled back. “Sleep,” he mumbled.
Davy pounded on the thick oaken door. “Open at once!”
After a great deal of pounding, the door was finally opened by a tall, gaunt priest. “May I help you?”
“My friend has been injured,” said Davy. “Please, we need sanctuary.”
The priest stood back and held the door. “Carry him to my quarters. The door on the left as you enter the vestibule.”
Davy and Caelan managed to hoist James up and sling his arms over their shoulders. But his feet dragged as they moved inside.
Ailish followed with the priest right behind. “Thank you, Father…?”
“Clive.”
“We need bandages and water to tend his wound. Have you any leeches?”
“None here. Mayhap we can ride to Hermitage Castle come morn. Sir Ralph de Neville keeps a healer within.”
“Nay!” James bellowed, and Ailish knew why. Neville was one of Edward’s vassals.
“Are ye in some sort of trouble?” asked Father Clive.
“We are looking for my brother,” Ailish explained, avoiding the question. “He was taken from Lincluden Priory not long ago. We were set upon by bandits in the forest.”
The priest held the door. “Lincluden? How did you end up here?”
“’Tis a long story.”
Inside, the chamber was spacious, a bed on the far wall, a warm fire burning in the hearth across. “Set him on the bed,” said Ailish, turning to the priest. “Please, I hate to burden you, but we need the water and bandages.”
“Yes, of course.” The priest picked up a pail. “There’s a well out back. I’ll be but a moment.”
Davy gave her a look while James grunted, settling face down. “Say no more to him. He may be a spy.”
She nodded. “You look nearly as ragged as he does.”
“Both of us were on watch last night and barely had a wink of sleep.”
“Then quickly remove his mail and shirt. The sooner we set him to rights, the sooner both of you can rest.”
Father Clive returned and set the pail beside the bed.
“Have you a cloth?” Ailish asked.
He plucked a folded bit of linen from a shelf. “Here.”
“My thanks.” She cringed as James bellowed while the men removed his garments. “I’m sorry to be a bother.”
“Not to worry. This is the most excitement I’ve seen at this wee chapel for ages.”
“Is it usually quiet?” she asked.
“For the most part, except on Sunday mornings.”
“Does Sir Ralph attend mass?”
“Heavens no. He employs a priest from London within his walls. Says he cannot withstand the Scots tongue.”
“Well, I’m certain you are of far greater service to the local kin than you would be to a knight who is hardly ever home.”
“I daresay you are right.”
Davy set the mail and shirt aside, his expression grim.
Ailish stepped to the bedside and clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a gasp. A jagged cut with the impression of the links of his mail ran from his shoulder to the top of his flank. “Good heavens, he’s been flayed.”
“He’d be dead if it weren’t for his armor.” Davy examined the minced flesh. “I’ve no choice but to cauterize it.”
James growled. “I’ll be fine.”
Ailish lightly patted the cloth around the seeping wound. “I’m afraid Davy is right.”
The Black Douglas muttered a shocking string of curses while Father Clive crossed himself, muttering Hail Marys.
“Can the men bed down in the nave?” Ailish asked, drawing the priest’s attention away while Davy set a poker in the fire. “Have you any food to spare?”
“A bit of bread and cheese.”
“Perfect.” She strode to the door and beckoned one of the men. “Please help Father Clive serve the meal.”
By the time Ailish had cleaned the wound as best she could, everyone had eaten, the poker had grown red hot and James was sound asleep.
“I’ll need all of you to hold him down,” said Davy, retrieving the rod from the fire. “And stay clear of this iron unless you want a branding.”
Ailish moved to the head of the bed, ready to hold down a shoulder.
“You’d best stand back, m’lady.”
“But I want to help.”
Davy eyed her. “He’ll need you after.”
Standing against the wall, Ailish gripped the cloth between her fists, wanting to look away, but unable to do so.
“I’ll make this quick,” said Davy as James bucked.
“You bloody backstabbing, pustule-sucking maggot!” the big man shrieked as the poker singed his flesh, the stench of the smoke burning Ailish’s nostrils. He thrashed so violently, three of the men lost their grips. “Damn ye and your filthy spawn! Every last one of ye!”
Bellowing like a bull in the castrating pen, he dropped to the mattress, his breath ragged.
Davy stood back. “That went well, I’d reckon.”
“You cannot be serious.” Ailish moved to the bedside and examined the damage. “He’s half-dead. Far worse than he was afore you branded him.”
“Aye, but he’ll be much better off, in a day or two,” said Davy. “Come men, we’d best head for our pallets.”
Ailish moved a chair beside James’ unmoving form. “I’m staying here.”
Father Clive tiptoed forward and bent over the wound. “The bleeding has ebbed.”
“Thank heavens for small mercies.”
“I’ll make up a pallet for myself in the sacristy.”
She nodded.
“Is there anything else you need, m’lady?”
Though she hadn’t told him she was highborn, Davy had used the courtesy. She grasped the priest’s hand. “It is of utmost importance that you tell no one of our presence here. Understood?”
He offered a kindly smile. “I believe that is why it is called sanctuary. Your need for shelter is as sacred as your confession.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Searing pain gnawed at James’ shoulder as he tried to roll to his side. With a grunt, he decided it might be best to remain where he lay on his belly.
Beside him, Ailish slept in a chair, her arms folded on the bed, cradling her head. The amber glow of the fire danced on her face, making her look like an angel. Her lips slightly parted, the fan of dark lashes contrasting against her ivory skin. He brushed an errant lock of silky hair away from her cheek.
James would suffer a hundred brands with a fire poker if it meant keeping this woman safe from harm.
Stirring, Ailish opened her eyes. “You’re awake?”
He tried not to grimace. “For the moment.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve done battle with the devil and lost.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Stay right where you are, lass.” He raised his head enough to glance about the chamber. “Where are the others?”
“Father Clive is in the sacristy and the rest have made up pallets in the nave.”
“Good.”
“Davy’s worried the priest will notify Sir Ralph of our presence.”
“Nay. We can trust him.”
“I thought so, too. But how can you be so certain?”
“I’ve been here before. With Lamberton. I reckon I was about seventeen years of age.”
“He’s for the Bruce, then?”
“He’s for Scotland. He and many other Scottish priests on the borders have been usurped.”
“He mentioned as much.” Ailish brushed cool fingers across James’ forehead. “Davy told me the pair of you went without sleep.”
“Did he?”
“Thank you for riding to my rescue. I almost feared—” Shaking her head, Ailish glanced away.
“What did you fear?”
“Being locked away in a cell for days on end with but a bit of bread and water muddles one’s mind. When I heard no word from you, I was afraid you may have forgotten me.”
“Never.”
“Then why…?”
“Hmm?”
She cupped his cheek. “It can wait until you are feeling better.”
“Nay, speak your mind. What is it you want to know?”
“I felt hopeless—as if you left me in the prison to rot.”
“I assure you I did not.”
“But I heard no word from you for an entire sennight.”
“Because I was doing everything in my power to wheedle my way into the Lord Warden’s defenses.
It would have been a great deal easier to break you out of a town gaol and not a fortified tower protected by five hundred soldiers or more.”
“What would you have done if the Lord Warden had not decided to take me to London?”
“I had a plan. Davy and I were hired on as night watchmen. It was only a matter of time afore I convinced the man-at-arms to allow me to guard you.”
“But that could have taken months.”
“Perhaps.” James swallowed the thick goo in his mouth. “Water.”
When Ailish brought a cup, he moved just enough to take a drink.
“What happened with your uncle?” James asked.
“He threatened to preside over my very long and painful death.” She shook her head, wiping a hand across her brow. “I struck the vein at the base of his throat with my dagger just as you showed me. Every time I close my eyes, I see his gruesome face. ’Tis awful.”
James grasped her hand and squeezed. “You defended yourself.”
She wiped away a tear. “I’ll spend an eternity in purgatory for my sins.”
“Nay, lass,” he whispered gently. “The man was evil. And in war, we must kill or be killed.”
Pursing her lips, Ailish gave a definitive nod as if she were trying to come to terms with the horror of her ordeal. “He refused to tell me where he sent Harris. But said the boy was to be fostered.”
“We will find him.” James grasped her hand, tightly closed his eyes, and kissed it. His heart squeezed as the warmth of her skin, the thrum of her pulse met his lips. He would do anything for this woman. “On that you have my solemn vow.”
***
No matter how much Ailish tried to convince James that he needed respite, the following day he insisted they continue their journey to Fail Monastery. They traveled the byways through bogs and forests thick with briars while the wind blew, and spats of rain slowed their progress. And though the Black Douglas rode in silence, he grew paler and weaker by the hour.
When at last they reached the monastery, every single one of them was coughing and sneezing. Ailish’s throat burned, but she said nothing. Her misery held not a candle to that of James’.
And thank heavens the monks welcomed them, albeit with wary and solemn eyes. They had all taken vows of silence. “Are you under Bishop Lamberton’s protection?” she asked an ancient monk with all but a ring of grey hair shaved from his pate.