Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  Trevor filed in behind Brus. “By my account, we’ll be out of arrows by morning.”

  Alan shoved back his chair and clapped his palms on the table. “You imbeciles. Can you not think for yourselves?” He leaned forward. “What about the arrows they’re firing at us?”

  “Most are hitting the wall and dropping. We’re firing far more than we’re reclaiming.”

  “My lord,” Alan emphasized. “I will be shown my due respect.”

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “I saw that.” Alan barreled around the table and drew his dirk. “Do either of you question my rightful heritage? If you do, I’d gladly prove it here and now.”

  Trevor held up his hands. “N-no m’laird. Both of us have stood beside you through bad times and good.”

  “Aye,” Brus agreed.

  “But there’s one more thing.” Trevor took a step back. “Campbell’s dragons are moving cannons through the outer barbican. They aim to blast the castle to hell.”

  Alan spun around and kicked over a chair. With all his strength, he slammed his dirk into the table. “The bastard thinks he can attack me with cannons?”

  Trevor and Brus stared at him, both red in the face. They should be on bended knee, bowing their heads. Alan tried to yank the dirk from the table, but he’d slammed it so hard, the blasted thing held firm. With both hands, he bore down and wrested it out, then he turned and threw it at a portrait of King James.

  “Where is that fool-born messenger? The king will approve my claim on Dunollie and name me the Lord of Lorn. I alone hold Dunstaffnage, Scotland’s gateway to the Hebrides. I have held off the pompous Duncan Campbell and his cowardly Highland Enforcers. I have shown the king exactly who should be lord of these lands. I am the firstborn son of the great Alan MacDougall, not Sean. I am the true heir, descended directly from the sovereign Somerled, king and founder of this land.”

  “Aye, you are the heir.” Brus bowed. “We’re in your service. Of that you’ll never need to question…ah…m’lord…if you’ll excuse us, m’lord…”

  Alan shook his finger. “My name shall be feared throughout the Highlands.”

  The men backed out of the door, but Alan followed them, his finger held high. “Now that I have disposed of the usurping Chieftain of Dunollie, the egotistical Lord of Glenorchy will bow to me!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Wearing a hood low over his brow and outfitted with his old weapons, Sean dismounted outside the tent flying the MacDougall pennant. Still early morning, the men in the camp had only begun to stir. Sean watched Angus push out the flap and hobble to a bush to relieve himself. More grunts and flatulence came from the old man than Sean had witnessed from the whole band of Highland Enforcers when they were on the trail.

  Sean tugged his linen shirt away from his skin. The sores riddling his body were still raw, but he’d steel his mind to the pain. It wasn’t the first time he’d ignored his wounds to face the devil. He doubted it would be his last.

  Sean chuckled to himself and skirted around the tent. No use making an announcement of his presence. If he did, he’d lose the fabled ghost moniker, something he wasn’t yet ready to part with.

  He peered from the corner to find Angus still releasing his water. Bloody hell, will the man go on all morning? Silently, Sean slipped behind him and whispered in his ear. “We’ll not allow my father’s bastard to kick up his heels in the king’s castle for one more day.”

  Blanching pure white, Angus’s entire body convulsed as he dropped the hem of his surcoat and reached for his dirk.

  Sean clamped ahold of Angus’s wrist before the henchman did something rash. “Hold onto your braies, friend.”

  Angus sucked in a gasp. “M’laird? You escaped?”

  “Kerrera, aye.”

  “Kerrera? But I thought...everyone thought.”

  “I ken what you group of bull-minded battlers thought, and if it hadn’t been for Miss Gyllis’s strong-willed determination, I’d be dead by now.”

  Angus shoved his dirk into its scabbard. “Jesus Christ, she asked for my assistance and I told her to go away home.”

  “Aye, just like her brother and every other miserable knight she asked for help.”

  Angus spread his hands to his sides. “I didn’t intend—”

  “I expect you to apologize to the lady later.” Sean again tugged his shirt away from his skin to ease the burn from his lesions. “Where is Lord Duncan?”

  Angus pointed toward the barbican. “We took the inner bailey. He’s set up command in the guardhouse tower.”

  Sean shook his head. “I cannot believe we haven’t yet driven them out.”

  “MacCoul has amassed quite an army. We estimate two hundred or more.”

  Sean headed toward the barbican gates. “How the hell did that scum-sucking weasel manage to find that many men to follow him?”

  “Well.” Angus twisted his mouth. “Between you, Campbell, and the king, I do not think it would be difficult.”

  Sean stopped and ran his palm over his dirk. “Pardon? Your words border on treason.”

  “Forgive me, m’laird.” Angus bowed. “’Twas not my intent. I’ll die defending you and Clan MacDougall, but all the outlaws we’ve evicted—all the work you and Lord Campbell have done in the name of the king—good deeds, mind you. But any time you take up the sword and enforce the law of the land, someone’s going to feel slighted.”

  “Och aye, you’re right there.” Sean clapped him on the back. “Tell me, what else does Duncan have planned for my father’s bastard?”

  Angus cringed as if Sean’s words had just sunk in. “Alan told you did he?”

  “Aye. Had I known, all this mightn’t have happened.” Sean tugged on his hood to ensure his face was still hidden. “I would have at least tried to talk with him, give him his due.”

  “It seems the past has come to haunt me. I beg your forgiveness, m’laird. I made a promise to your father on his deathbed—vowed I would never reveal his secret.” Angus stopped. “But there is one promise I broke.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When you figured out the coffers were being skimmed, I told Murdach I’d have no part in it. Your father wanted to keep his mistake a secret, but once you became chieftain, we had no right to continue sending MacCoul coin. Especially after you’d banished him.”

  “I ken.” Sean continued on toward the gatehouse. “I overheard you saying as much to Murdach. ’Tis why your head’s still attached to your neck.”

  Angus’s Adam’s apple bobbed as his hawk-like gaze met Sean’s in silent thanks. They walked past the guard and ascended up the stairwell.

  “Duncan’s shipped the cannons down from Castle Stalker,” Angus said loud enough to be heard over their echoing footsteps.

  Sean exited on the first landing—he’d visited this guardhouse enough times to know where Duncan would be located. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled under his breath. MacCoul had certainly dug himself in. Let’s see how long it will take to ferret him out.

  Duncan looked up from a map of the castle. His jaw dropped and he blanched as white as Angus had earlier. “By God, now I know you’re a ghost.”

  Sean grinned. There was nothing more satisfying than confounding the leader of the Highland Enforcers. “Good to see you as well, m’lord.”

  “How the bloody hell did you get away? We haven’t fired the cannons because I did not want to take a chance before we spirited you out.” The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Not yet anyway.”

  Sean pulled up a chair and reclined with his knees wide. “Bloody MacCoul chained me in irons and left me to rot in a cave on Kerrera.”

  Duncan’s jaw dropped. “My God, Gyllis was right.”

  Angus stepped behind Sean. “Exactly what I said m’lord.”

  Sean relayed the story of how Gyllis had found him on the brink of death—after receiving savage hospitality from his bastard brother. He held up his shirt. “No thanks to MacCoul’s smithy.”


  Duncan hissed. “You should have Lady Meg see to that.” Then his face went dark and his eyebrows knit together. “God’s teeth, Gyllis was supposed to be assisting my wife this whole time.” He cracked his knuckles. “When I get my hands on my wayward sister I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Sean leaned forward. “No one would listen to Gyllis except your lady wife. If the lass had allowed you to ship her back to Kilchurn, the buzzards would be feasting on my eyeballs this morn.”

  “Jesus.” Duncan plopped into his chair. “But witnesses saw him cart your body into the castle.”

  Sean reflected back to the cave. “He boasted about spiriting me out an old sea gate—said it was on the Firth of Lorn side of the castle.”

  “An old sea gate, you say?” Duncan studied the map then looked up. “Angus—dress two men in fishermen’s garb and have them locate this gate.”

  Angus bowed and headed for the door. “Right away, m’lord.”

  Duncan pointed at the map. “We can attack from all sides—blast the cannons and end this siege.”

  Sean placed his palms on the table, fingers splayed. “I want Alan’s head. He imprisoned me in irons without so much as a drop of water and left me for dead. I want to see the look in his eyes before I take his head.”

  “But you’re—”

  Sean held up his hand. “Let me slip through the sea gate.”

  “Perhaps not this time. What about your wounds?” Duncan frowned. “I can tell by looking at you, you’re weakened from starvation.”

  Without moving, Sean eyed him. “I’ve fought while in worse condition.”

  Duncan stood and crossed to the sideboard then poured three tots of whisky. “’Tis a risk to go in there on your own.”

  “Aye,” Sean agreed.

  “I cannot allow it in daylight.”

  “Duncan, I can—”

  The lord turned with a flagon in his hand. “I, more than any other, know what you are capable of. But I’m in charge of this standoff and I’ll not have anyone recognizing you.”

  Sean bowed his head and accepted a cup from Duncan. “M’lord.”

  “A missive from the king,” a messenger said from the doorway.

  Sean kept his face averted.

  “Thank you—report to the cook’s tent and fill your belly.” Duncan took it and ran his thumb under the wax seal and read. “My oath, the miserable sop has Herculean cods.”

  “What does it say?” Sean asked.

  “It appears your bastard brother demanded the king grant him the Chieftainship of Dunollie and the Lordship of Lorn.” Duncan tossed the missive on the table in front of Sean. “It seems there’s been a premature announcement of your death as well.”

  Sean scanned the note then clenched it in his fists when he read the last line from the king: Rid Scotland of this arrogant vermin. ’Tis why I hold ill favor for illegitimates. They oft do not know their place.

  Sean crumpled the velum. It will be my pleasure.

  Duncan inclined his head in the direction of the camp. “How many people saw you?”

  “Angus,” Sean said, thinking back. “The guard down below. The camp was only beginning to stir when I arrived.”

  “Good. I want to keep your presence quiet.” He pointed at Angus. “Go fetch Lady Meg. She can tend to Sean’s lesions whilst we plan our attack.”

  ***

  It was a good thing Angus spotted her when she’d first arrived at Dunstaffnage, else Gyllis might have told the entire camp Sean was not only alive, she’d come to give him a piece of her mind. During the ride with Cadan, Gyllis had ample time to collect her conflicting thoughts. And the more she pondered it, the more she didn’t care to wake up alone in Sean’s enormous four-poster bed.

  He had no business taking up his sword so soon after she’d found him on the precipice of death only the day before. For heaven’s sake, he’d hardly been able to climb the stairs last eve. Would he even be able to raise a heavy two-handed sword above his head? Aside from his foolishness, he’d up and left her alone at Dunollie. What if a chambermaid happened upon her sleeping in his bed? She shuddered. He could have at least had the decency to wake her before he took his leave. Who knew what kind of deleterious state he was in when he arose that morn?

  Angus led her toward the gatehouse tower. “If anyone asks, tell them you’re here to see your brother. Mind you, the chieftain’s presence must be kept quiet.”

  “I understand.” She tried not to limp and keep up with his fast pace. At least this time he hadn’t told her to go home.

  She followed the henchman up the stairs to the first floor of the tower until he stopped outside a closed door and turned to her. “Sir Sean told me it was you who found him in the cave. Please forgive me for not believing you, Miss Gyllis. If I had known you were planning to go after him alone, I would have assigned a guard to assist you.”

  Gyllis blinked. The man had been downright arrogant toward her. At the time, she sensed Angus considered her presence as irritating as a briar’s thorn. But now was not the time to argue. She gestured toward her legs. “I hope you will disregard my limp and take me seriously the next time something important as your chieftain’s life is in peril.”

  He turned scarlet and bowed his head. “Aye, miss.”

  When he opened the door, Gyllis clapped a hand to her chest. She’d expected to see Sean, but Duncan stood and glared at her. “Leave us, Angus.”

  “Very well, m’lord.” The henchman shut the door and left Gyllis alone with her dragon-hearted brother. And from the look on his face, the dragon was awake and fiercely guarding his treasure of gold.

  “You disobeyed me.”

  She moved her hands to her hips. “Pardon? As I see it, you refused to listen to me—even when your dearest friend’s life was on the line.”

  He crossed his arms. “Let us not skirt the issue.”

  “Come again? The issue is—”

  Duncan sliced his hand through the air. “I told you to ride home with the guard. And then my scheming wife convinced me you were helping her in the hospital tent. I ought to—”

  “What?” Gyllis stamped her foot. “Send me to Ardchattan Priory to learn piety? Have you forgotten I’ve just returned from three months of their hospitality?” Oh no, Duncan wasn’t about to quash her with: I’m your brother and your lord so you’d better do as I say. Gyllis balled her fists. Of all the pompous, bombastic, single-minded men she’d ever met, Duncan had to be the worst. She stomped up to him and glared. “When will you realize I am no longer a child?”

  His eyes flashed with ire like they always did when she challenged him. “But ’tis my duty to protect you.”

  Though he could shoot daggers with his black-eyed glare, Gyllis wasn’t about to back down. He always recited his duty as if it were more important than anything. “Mayhap, but ’tis not your burden to hogtie me and dismiss my every word as that of a daft cripple.”

  Blinking, Duncan stepped back. She’d caught him there. “I would never—”

  “Oh no? And where would Sir Sean MacDougall be now if I had gone back to Kilchurn with my tail tucked between my legs? Tell me? Would you rather have his death on your hands?”

  His face turned bright red. “But think of your reputation.”

  “My God, Duncan, is that all that consumes your mind?”

  He pulled out his chair and plopped down, rapping his fist on the table. “Damn it all, you test me.” He raked his fingers through his thick black hair. God, he looked like a dragon-fighter if there ever was one. “I’ve been friends with MacDougall since we were lads. We…we did things that young men do. I abhor the thought of my own sister—”

  “Stop.” Gyllis placed her hands on the back of a chair and leaned forward. “Do you think I have not heard the rumors? As I recall, you were considered as much a rogue as Sir Sean. Mayhap more so.”

  “That is different.” Blinking rapidly, he swatted a dismissive hand through the air. “Lady Meg made me realize the error of my ways. Since s
he came into my life, I have put the single man’s lifestyle behind me.”

  “And Sir Sean is incapable of changing as you did? Have you even discussed it with him, or did you draw your thick-headed line in the sand and make a decree that he would never be worthy of a Campbell lass?” Gyllis shoved the chair against the table with a clatter. “That’s it, isn’t it? Ever since the time of the Bruce, Campbells have deemed themselves superior, especially over the MacDougalls. After all, Sean’s archaic ancestors supported the reprehensible King Edward of England. Sean and all MacDougalls should be punished throughout eternity for their ancestor’s treachery and lack of vision.”

  Duncan stood. “Gyllis, you push me too far.”

  “Aye?” She straightened and folded her arms. “I did not come here to argue with you.”

  He swiped his hand across his mouth and looked away as if he were conjuring yet another dispute to dissuade her from loving Sean.

  Whatever absurdity was about to spew from his mouth, Gyllis didn’t want to hear it. “Where is he? When I found him yesterday, he was on the very precipice of death—so weak and pale. He shouldn’t be here. He should be abed.”

  “Sir Sean is young and resilient. Besides, he’s hell-bent on revenge. There’ll be no stopping him.”

  Gyllis pursed her lips. “I ken, but I’ll see him before he takes on Alan and his army, and you’ll not stop me.”

  After a long stare, Duncan pointed toward the ceiling. “One floor up. Meg is tending his wounds. And the next time I see you, you had better be dressed as a proper noblewoman.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Gyllis slipped into the chamber the next floor up. The guard tower wasn’t built for comfort. The stairwell was extremely narrow and the stairs had been worn over years of use. Still sore and tired, she stumbled twice on her way up.

  Fortunately, at each landing there was only one pie-shaped chamber. She caught her breath and pushed inside. Naked from the waist up, Sean sat in a wooden chair beside the hearth.

  Meg stood beside him with a pot in her hand. She looked up and grinned. “Gyllis!”