by Emma Prince
Blessedly, she didn’t recognize the landscape they traveled through. With the countryside washed in brilliant white broken only by the occasional stand of bare-limbed trees or cluster of thatched huts, it looked wholly different than when she’d ridden north with Logan four years past.
Yet every time they passed a village or town and heard the shouts of washer women, tradesmen, and merchants hawking their wares in English-accented voices, Mairin gripped her reins a little tighter, sat a little stiffer in her saddle, and clenched her teeth against the need to run.
The nigh-constant taut silence that hung between her and Niall only made matters worse. Why the hell had she kissed him? And what was she supposed to make of the hot surge of lust that had overtaken her when he’d kissed her back?
Her actions—and reactions—left her a tangled knot of confusion and longing. Aye, she longed for Niall—longed for his lips against hers once more, the hard, lean length of his body pressing into her, his hands on her skin, in her hair.
She felt betrayed by her own body. How could she desire an Englishman? Of course, she could admit in the privacy of her own thoughts that being English didn’t automatically make him evil. Helena, Isolda, and Lillian were also English, and they were warm-hearted, intelligent, kind, and loving.
Yet her affection for her sister-in-law and the wives of the other members of the Corps was worlds apart from the aching heat that now simmered in her veins for Niall. This wasn’t mere regard or fondness. Nay, it was something far more foreign and bewildering.
For his part, Niall was the same as ever. He remained watchful and keenly aware of her. She often caught his clear blue eyes lingering on her. He continued to wordlessly help her down from her horse and lift her saddlebags even though she could do both herself.
Was he so unaffected by their kiss?
His swift rebuff that morning still made her cheeks burn, but he was right—they had a mission to complete. Muddling matters between them could not only put them in danger, but it could threaten their entire assignment. The last thing either of them needed was a distraction.
And that was all the kiss had been, she told herself. A clumsy attempt on her part to show her appreciation for his kindness toward her—naught more.
“The town we just passed was Castleford.”
Mairin started at Niall’s low voice. Hastily, she brushed her thoughts aside and brought herself back to the present.
She glanced at the cluster of buildings off to the left. The snow was slushier here, with bare patches of dark soil exposed to the overcast sky.
“Aye?”
“We are likely only a few miles from Pontefract Castle now,” Niall clarified.
Mairin stiffened. That meant they were nearly to Lancaster, and their mission would begin in earnest. Though she loathed the idea of protecting the notorious Earl, relief rippled through her. At least it would give her something to focus on besides the serious yet soft line of Niall’s lips.
“We’ll need to find a place to store the Bruce’s pigeons,” she said with a frown.
The birds were still tucked contentedly into their woven baskets, their feathers plumped against the cold. But she and Niall couldn’t very well ride into Pontefract with the pigeons, which would reveal their double aim of not only keeping Lancaster alive, but also reporting to the Bruce on his movements.
“Any idea where to put them?”
Barring coming across an Englishman who was secretly sympathetic to the Bruce’s cause, and who also happened to have an empty dovecote at his disposal, they would have to make their own solution.
“They like anyplace dim and quiet, but with access to fresh air and plenty of nooks and crannies to make nests,” she replied.
Niall’s russet brows drew together in thought. “Would a cave do?”
“Aye, certainly.”
“This area is riddled with limestone caves.” His gaze swept the landscape, settling on an area in the distance where the snow was mottled with dark patches of earth showing through. “Let’s start there.”
They cut southwest, leaving the road and riding over the slushy, barren fields toward the aberration in the landscape. Sure enough, as they drew closer, Mairin realized that what she’d thought were spots of soil peeking through the snow were actually a system of deeply sunken caverns pocking the ground.
They wove in and out of several gullies, their horses picking their footing carefully over the uneven, slippery ground. At last, they found an opening in the exposed rock face at the bottom of one of the ravines.
Niall dismounted and moved to Mairin’s side before she could swing a leg over her horse’s neck. He lifted her easily from the saddle, steadying her in the slurry of snow and mud underfoot before releasing her waist.
They each took two of the baskets from the pole across the back of her saddle. Mairin also pulled another pouch of feed from her saddlebags. Then they picked their way toward the opening in the rocks before them.
The cave’s mouth was well above Niall’s head, but only a few steps inside, he had to hunch as the ceiling sloped dramatically. Mairin peered into the darkness in front of them, drawing a steadying breath of the damp air. The cave was wide open just behind her, she reminded herself. Even though the day was cloudy, there was still enough light to see her footing, and she moved deeper.
When the cave took a curve to the right and narrowed further, she halted.
“This ought to do.”
The birds would be tucked well inside the cave to avoid predators, weather, and prying eyes, yet they would be easy to find again now that they knew where to look. The cave walls were also pitted with dozens of uneven ledges, crannies, and natural crevices perfect for nests.
For the first time since she’d known him, Niall appeared uncertain as he took in their surroundings. “How does this work?”
“Ye mean getting them to stay? We’ll let them out of their baskets and feed them. They’ll come and go as they please from the cave, but they willnae go far, and they’ll make nests here as long as we continue to visit regularly with their food.”
Niall glanced out the mouth of the cave. “If I reckon correctly, we are only a mile or two from Pontefract now. We shouldn’t have trouble slipping away from time to time to return here.”
Mairin nodded. “Aye, as long as we’re careful no’ to be followed.”
“And when we have a missive for the Bruce, we merely—what? Affix it to one of the bird’s legs and send it on its way?”
“Aye, that’s it exactly. They can only carry a verra wee weight, so we’ll have to be sparing, but a scrap of parchment shouldnae be a problem. And they are by far the fastest way to send a missive.”
“Oh?”
“They can cover the distance of a twenty days’ walk in a few hours. Even the fastest rider with an endless supply of fresh horses couldnae ride in a sennight what one of these birds can cover in a day.”
Niall whistled softly. “That explains why the Bruce wishes to use them to keep tabs on Lancaster’s movements. His information would be too belated to be of any use otherwise.”
Mairin nodded. The Bruce was a master strategist. She couldn’t be sure why he wanted of-the-moment reports on Lancaster’s doings, but she had no doubt it was just one cog in the intricate clockwork of his plans.
She bent and carefully opened the lid on one of the woven baskets. The bird inside gave itself a shake and fluffed its feathers, then half-hopped, half flapped out of its cage.
She immediately sprinkled some of the seeds and grains from the pouch on the ground. The bird eagerly pecked at the feed. The three remaining pigeons began cooing for their own feeding.
Once all the birds had been let out, Mairin loosed a generous portion of the feed onto the cave floor. The pigeons pecked happily, the faintly green iridescent feathers on their necks catching the weak light from the cave opening.
Niall’s brows were still creased with a frown as he eyed the birds. “They’ll stay here as long as we feed them, but they’ll als
o know how to return to the Bruce?”
She gnawed on her lower lip for a moment. “I havenae worked with messenger pigeons specifically,” she admitted, “but aye, that’s my understanding. Lillian explained it when she first suggested that I begin keeping the dovecote. The Bruce raised these birds at Scone Palace, so they’ll ken how to return there.”
“If food will keep them here, he must have trained them similarly in Scone as well,” Niall ventured.
“Nay. Apparently copulation and jealousy are better motivators.”
At Niall’s curiously raised eyebrows, Mairin felt herself flush.
“Each of these birds is part of a mated pair at Scone. The pairs are separated, and the bird who is to be sent away is shown his mate being introduced to another bird before he departs. The bird will then no’ only return to his mate when set free, but he will fly all the faster kenning that another beau is poking around his nest.”
“Good God,” Niall murmured. “I never knew pigeons had such dramatic intimate lives.” His lips curved faintly, but then his gaze slid to her. Though several feet of cold, damp air separated them, warmth raced over her skin at the intensity pinching his eyes. “Their suffering must be nigh unbearable.”
“They are extraordinary creatures, truly,” Mairin breathed, not knowing what else to say.
Niall cleared his throat. “And you know a great deal about them. The Bruce was wise to select you for this mission.”
Blessedly, the prickle of her pride chased away the heat rising in her veins. “But I’m no’ just here because of the pigeons. I’m also here to serve as Lancaster’s bodyguard, just like ye. Dinnae forget that.”
A shadow crossed over Niall’s normally vivid eyes then. Mairin frowned. What could that mean? Before she could contemplate it further, Niall’s features smoothed to neutrality once more.
“Aye, of course.”
She cast a glance at the cave mouth, her heart leaping against her ribs. This was it. Their mission would start in earnest now.
“Ready?” Niall asked quietly.
Ready to spend the foreseeable future in England, guarding the despicable Earl of Lancaster?
Aye, she was as ready as she’d ever be.
Chapter Thirteen
When Pontefract Castle came into view, Niall reflexively clenched his hands around the reins.
The stronghold was massive, practically a fortified town unto itself. It dominated the hilltop upon which it sat, its yellow-gray stones looming ominously over the spreading, snow-dusted landscape.
Approaching from the west, he counted at least six towers positioned in a circle atop the hill, all linked with a thick, crenellated wall. As they curved southward toward the entrance of the stronghold, he was granted an even more complete view of the imposing structure.
The tower on the southwest corner was particularly enormous. Its stony exterior had been shaped into a series of curves, as if someone had cut six circular towers of various sizes in half and fused the rounded halves together to form one swollen, multi-lobed structure.
Below the towers, the wall continued to wind down the hillside, cutting back and forth like a snake and ending in yet another squat guard tower. A modest village huddled at the feet of the overpowering fortress to the east of the hill.
As they approached a narrow gate set into the stone wall on the south side of the fortress, Niall shot a glance at Mairin. She was gnawing on her lip, her brows lowered as she considered the castle. No doubt its enormity was giving her pause as well.
“Let me do the talking,” he said quietly, eyeing the battlements rising before them. “At least to begin with.”
Her accent would make her stand out like a thistle in a wheat field here. There was no getting around it, nor the fact that she would be one of a very small number of women in the middle of a stronghold which served as the base for Lancaster’s rebellion.
Niall had spent several days mulling over how to shield Mairin from the attentions of an army of Englishmen, but thus far, all he’d come up with was to try to take the lead in dealing with Lancaster and his men as much as possible.
Her nerves must have been running even higher than he’d estimated, for she acquiesced with little more than a nod.
Just as they reined in before the narrow gate, a helmeted head appeared in one of the guard tower’s openings.
“Halt. Who are you, and what is your business here?” a guard demanded sharply.
“Niall Beaumore and Mairin Mackenzie to see the Earl of Lancaster directly,” Niall replied. “We come at the behest of King Robert the Bruce.”
He was met with a long silence, and he assumed the guard was speaking to another. No double Niall’s proclamation would be met initially with ridicule. The idea of the Scottish King sending representatives to engage directly with an English Earl was preposterous.
Yet someone must have alerted the guards that Niall and Mairin were expected, for only a moment later, the gate groaned open.
The gate was too small for both of them to ride through together, so Niall went first, keeping his horse tightly reined so that Mairin remained close behind him.
They rode into a bailey swarming with men. Aye, Lancaster had been gathering an army for his war against King Edward, and here it was.
Hundreds of soldiers had been packed into the bailey. Some shuffled in and out of an assortment of canvas tents or clustered around fires. Others sharpened weapons or practiced drills in what little space could be carved out.
Several men stared at them as they cut across the slushy, muddy expanse. As they identified Mairin as a woman, they whistled or shouted lewd comments. Mairin sat straight in her saddle, her head forward and her chin lifted, yet her eyes had gone frosty. Niall clenched his teeth against the urge to break the nose of every man who dared insult her.
They continued on toward a gate in front of them, which Niall presumed would provide an escape from the attention that followed them. But when the gate swung open, they were met with a nearly identical scene as the one they’d just ridden through.
Apparently the castle had not one but two outer baileys to be crossed even before they breached the innermost yard within the circle of towers. Yet more soldiers filled this second bailey, which was slightly smaller than the first, making it feel even more crowded.
Niall noticed a much wider double gate off to their right, which must have been used to admit wagons of supplies, but they continued straight toward another narrow door in the curtain wall before them.
At last, they passed into the central courtyard. Niall got the impression of standing in the middle of a circle of giants as he glanced at the surrounding towers, with the enormous multi-curved tower he’d seen from outside the most intimidating of all.
It was twice as wide as the other watch towers, and even taller, since it rose from the highest point on the hillside. Like the others, it was slitted with arrow loops so that enemies could be fired upon regardless of which direction they attacked.
He and Mairin dismounted in silence. Though this yard wasn’t overflowing with soldiers as the other two had been, he still felt several dozen sets of eyes watching them from the curtain wall’s battlements.
No one greeted them, so after a lad took their reins and hustled their animals to the stables off to the right, Niall glanced at Mairin and the two of them headed toward the wide double doors at the base of the monstrous tower.
They went unnoticed at first as they stepped into a vast chamber which apparently served as the keep’s great hall. It gave Niall a moment to take in the lavishly appointed space.
Warm light filled the hall all the way from the fresh rushes on the floor to the vaulted wooden beams overhead. The sweet scent of expensive beeswax candles rather than tallow drifted in the air. A fire roared in the enormous hearth to the left, adding to the luxurious warmth and light.
Thick, intricately woven tapestries in deep reds, royal blues, emerald greens, and even shimmering gold covered nearly every inch of the stone wa
lls. They depicted epic battles, stag hunts, and mystical, lush forest scenes. The tapestries were only broken by the half dozen spiral stairwells encircling the room. Niall guessed those each led to a different section of the multi-curved tower.
In the center of the immense great hall was a raised dais cluttered with ornately carved furniture. A massive oak table with embellished legs and feet took up much of the space, with several chairs upholstered in silk gathered around it.
A handful of the chairs were occupied by men in equally lavish garments, yet one man stood out. He sat in a chair that was easily twice as big as the others, his hands clasped loosely on the table and an ermine-trimmed cape of deep forest green tossed back casually over a ruby-red silk tunic.
The man’s pale blue gaze swept lazily over the others at the table as they jovially discussed some sieging strategy. His eyes flicked past Niall and Mairin as if they were no more than servants, but then snapped back to them less than a heartbeat later. The others caught his suddenly keen interest and fell silent.
“You there.” The man tilted his dark head curiously, yet his eyes were predatory. “Step forward and name yourselves.”
Niall barely managed to suppress the urge to move defensively in front of Mairin. The man could be none other than Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, for no one but the second-most powerful man in England, behind only the King himself, would speak with such nonchalant command.
His gut tightening, Niall strode forward, carefully ensuring that Mairin remained exactly in step with him. He halted before the dais under the assessing stares of the others. Lancaster remained in his enormous chair so that even seated, he rose over Niall and even the men on the dais.
“I am Niall Beaumore, sire,” he began evenly, meeting Lancaster’s cool gaze. “And this is Mairin Mackenzie. We have been sent by a…” He glanced at the others, unsure how much to reveal before them. “By a mutual friend from the North.”
Lancaster cocked a brow. “I gather the friend you refer to is Robert the Bruce.”
Niall hesitated. “Aye, sire,” he replied eventually, but didn’t say more.