by Lily Baldwin
She smiled. “Mayhap ye’re right. The abbot is always full of surprises.”
She leaned back in the wagon and watched the stars shining beyond the canopy of leaves. “I love Luthmore, but when I leave home I...I do not ken. It is hard to describe how I feel. ‘Tis like a need I didn’t even know I had is being satiated.”
“I believe I ken what ye mean. Well, in a way. Ye see, I was always content staying home in Berwick when it was still our great city. I had no wish to leave my family or friends. Had the city not crumbled beneath the might of King Edward’s hammer, I would still be happily laboring on the docks. But my elder brothers, Jack and Quinn had been fisherman once upon a time. They both loved home and hearth, but the sea called to them. The call was so mighty in Quinn’s heart, he even sailed on a merchant ship for several years. That is what resides in ye. Ye love yer family and ye honor yer duty, but ye’re restless. Ye crave adventure and the unknown.”
“Michael would say I’m imprudent.”
“Aye, and so am I, which is why we’re a perfect match.”
We are a perfect match, her heart screamed. We were meant to be together.
She sat up. “Duty would argue otherwise,” she whispered.
“Tonight, ye’re a rebel. And our first duty is not to home and hearth and not to each other—it’s to Scotland.”
She grabbed the reins from his hands and gave the horses a nudge forward. “Right ye are. Alba gu bràth!”
They rode on for several hours, keeping constant watch on the roadside for thieves hidden among the trees. Sunrise teased the horizon, making the sky blush a soft pink. Soon, they would be able to stop and rest their horses, for daylight would banish tinkers and highwaymen deeper into the forest.
Alex sat straighter and looked at Rory. “What was that?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. It sounded like a bird being strangled.”
“Mayhap, Robert followed us and is serenading the trees,” Alex said, unable to resist the jest.
Rory snapped the reins, urging their tired mounts into a trot. “Ye’re right,” he said.
Alex raised her brows in surprise. “Rory, I promise ye, Robert is nowhere near us.”
“Robert isn’t, but someone else is.”
Another discordant caw rent the early morning air. Alex stiffened. She scanned the forest for movement, but all was still. She reached beneath her seat and discreetly grabbed her crossbow. Holding the stirrup securely with her feet, she used both hands to pull the string back and locked it in place. Then she laid a bolt in the groove just as another call sounded from the opposite side of the road. “Hoo hoo hoo.”
She laughed out loud. “I’ve never heard a worse attempt at a bird call.”
Rory smiled but kept his eyes trained on the trees. “I’m fairly certain we are about to meet some—” he pulled back on his reins just as a man swung down from the trees and dropped to the ground in front of them, landing on his arse. “Robbers,” Rory finished, bringing their wagon to a stop.
The man scrambled to his feet, reclaiming his club that had fallen several feet away.
“Halt,” the man said when he turned to face their wagon.
Alex glanced at Rory. Then she looked back to the man. “We already have.”
He scratched his matted hair. “Oh, right,” he said, coming toward them. His threadbare tunic and hose hung from his rail-thin body. He pointed his club at them. “Stay where ye are.” Then he turned and shouted into the woods. “Come on, Rabbit.”
A moment later, a stout man with a bald head and bushy beard jumped from the bushes. He glowered at Rory and Alex, thrusting a sickle in their direction.
“What took ye so long?” the first man snapped.
“Ye didn’t give me the signal, Badger, and I told ye not to call me Rabbit. Me thievin’ name is Silver Hawk.”
Badger rolled his eyes. “All right, Silver Hawk. Now, go check the wagon.”
“’Tis only seed,” Rory said.
The stout man sneered at Rory. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Rory tensed as he watched the man circle around the wagon. Raising his sickle high, Silver Hawk slashed open one of the bags.
“Badger, he’s right,” the thief said, coming back around. But Badger didn’t answer. He stared at Alex. Rory flexed his hand. His sword lay on the seat right behind him. If he needed to, he could slay both fiends before they drew their next breath. He just hoped it didn’t come to that.
“We are but humble farmers. We have nothing that would interest ye,” Rory said.
Badger narrowed his eyes on Alex. He spat on the ground. “I’ll take that bit of silver she’s wearin’ around her pretty neck.”
Alex smiled. “Come closer, and I’ll give it to ye.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Badger,” Rory warned.
Badger opened his mouth full of rotted teeth and laughed as he walked up to Alex. “What are ye goin’ to do, farmer. Run me through?”
“Nay,” Rory said. “But she might.”
Alex smiled sweetly at Badger the instant before she let her cloak fall away and revealed her crossbow aimed just below his waist. “Don’t move.”
Rory winced. “Or at least yer bollocks.”
“Tell the rest of yer men to come out,” Alex said.
Eyes wide, Badger’s hand moved to cup her target. “’Tis just Rabbit and me,” he squeaked.
“Me name is Silver Hawk,” the other man snapped.
“Shut up,” Badger howled. “She’s goin’ to shoot an arrow into me coin purse.”
Alex pressed the bow closer.
Badger squealed. “Come out, lads. Come on out.”
Two more men, just as raggedy, tramped out of the woods. Alex shifted the crossbow away from Badger and pointed it at the newcomers. “All of ye, go stand over there,” she said, pointing to one side of the road. They all lined up, protectively cupping their favored appendage.
“Now drop yer hose.”
At her command, all five men pushed their hose down until the fabric gathered at their ankles. Then they stood straight, their eyes wide with fear.
She smiled. “Now, we will bid ye goodbye.”
“I did warn ye,” Rory said to Badger. Then he reached into his satchel and took out a handful of coin, which he threw at their feet. “If ye try this again, ye might lose more than yer dignity. Take that coin and find some honest work. Ye’re the worst thieves I’ve ever seen.”
~ * ~
Ramsay’s blond hair shone gold in the soft candlelight. Alex watched as he ran a smooth wet stone over the blade of a sword, eying the thin edge. “Good evening Rory, Alex,” he said without looking up at their approach.
Alex smiled and bent at the waist, pressing a kiss to Ramsay’s cheek. “’Tis a pleasure, as always.”
“How are ye, Ramsay?” Rory asked.
He rested the sword on his knee and looked up then. “I’m enjoying a beautiful summer’s eve,” Ramsay replied. Then he jerked his head toward the door. “David’s been waiting on ye.”
Alex smiled at Rory. “We were briefly detained.” Then she looked around. “Has it been quiet?”
“Aye. The village sleeps. Go on ahead. Ye know I’ll keep watch.”
“As always, ye have our thanks,” Rory said.
Alex dipped her head to the handsome blacksmith, then she turned and led the way inside. She rounded the woodpile and lifted the boards away. “After ye,” she said to Rory.
He smiled. “Nay, lass. Ye go ahead.”
“Suit yerself,” she replied, before she dropped down through the hole. Hunched over, she crossed to the blue curtain and swept it aside.
“Hello, again,” she said.
A flash of surprise widened David’s eyes when he saw her.
She smiled. “Ye weren’t expecting me.”
“Nay, but I shouldn’t be surprised to see ye.”
Rory came down the stairs and crossed to where David sat and clasped his hand in greeting. “I figured ye wouldn’t objec
t to the aid of another agent.”
“Ye figured right. We could use all the help we can on this mission.”
Alex searched the room for another agent. “There’s only David,” she said to Rory. “Who will bring the weapons the rest of the way?”
“Ramsay will do it,” Rory assured her.
Alex thought of the giant blacksmith and decided there was no one better to entrust with a wagon full of swords.
“Join me,” David said, motioning to the empty chairs.
Alex sat down while Rory crossed to the keg and poured two tankards of ale, setting one in front of her. “Thank ye,” she said quietly. Then she turned her attention to David. He sat up, looking like he was going to speak, but then he leaned back in his chair and took a long quaff of ale. Slamming down his empty cup, he said, “We’re going to rob King Edward.”
Rory chuckled into his ale. “Grand cracker, David. So, really what is our mission?”
David did not reply. He looked at Rory. Then he shifted his gaze and looked at Alex with the same challenging expression.
Confused, Alex broke the silence. “Does he have a contingent of men moving some coin?”
David stood, poured himself another ale, then turned back to her. “Actually, we’re going to break into the King’s palace in London.”
Alex looked at Rory sidelong. He shook his head, assuring her that David was not in earnest, but she wasn’t so sure. “Ye must be jesting.”
David’s humorless facade remained unaltered. “Rory can tell ye that I am not known to jest.”
Rory narrowed his gaze on his friend. “Do ye mean to tell me that we’re going to walk straight past King Edward and his court and all of his men and help ourselves to his treasury?”
David shook his head and sat back, a smile playing at his lips. He clearly enjoyed holding them in suspense. “The king, his household, and his treasury have moved to York. They are positioning themselves on the Scottish border. The truce is coming to an end.”
Rory shrugged. “The king may not be in residence, but someone is. It hasn’t been left empty.”
“Ye’re right. The palace of Westminster is far from empty. ‘Tis full to the brim with philanderers and drunks.”
“I do not understand,” Alex said.
“Apparently, some things are beyond even Edward’s control,” David began. “Ye see, he could not appoint a proper keeper. The job passed into the hands of its hereditary keeper, a man by the name of John Francis Bigge who also holds the keepership of Fleet prison through his wife, Joan. At first John took little interest in his newfound responsibility. In fact, he installed a deputy named Martin Wilkins in his stead while he and his wife maintained their residence in the city. But in the absence of real authority, Martin quickly turned the king’s palace into a den for sport.”
“What kind of sport?” Alex asked.
“The salacious kind. And do ye ken what John did when he discovered Martin’s debauchery?”
“He reprimanded him?” Alex offered
David shook his head. “He packed his trunks, bid farewell to his wife, and joined Martin and all his scandalous companions in the palace.” David leaned forward, a hungry glint in his eyes. “’Tis overrun with unsavory souls whose appetites for drink, women, and song are insatiable.”
“What of the guard?” Rory asked.
“They, too, have joined the revelry, along with several monks from the neighboring abbey.”
Rory sat back, allowing David’s news sink in. “So, the keeper is careless and seeks not to guard the King’s palace but to exploit it for what it’s worth.” He turned and smiled at Alex. “That changes everything.”
Alex spoke up then. “But ye just said that Edward took his treasury with him to York. What is there left to steal?”
“Little remains of worth in the palace itself, but the king has treasure hidden away in the adjoining abbey.”
Rory looked at David skeptically. “Surely the monks guard this treasure.”
“As I said, many of the monks have proven to be incapable of resisting the temptations offered at court. In fact, the monks’ disregard for their vows is how we came by this news. Word reached the abbot. He had no recourse but to send a man into the heart of the palace to be his eyes and ears.”
Rory narrowed his eyes on David. “Ye’re relying on only one man’s account? Are ye certain this man is reliable?”
David looked at Rory with surprise. “Have ye ever known one of Scotland’s agents to be unreliable?”
Rory shook his head. “Nay, but we’ve also never attempted anything so risky.”
David sat back, an easy smile on his face. “Then rest assured. The man the abbot entrusted to spy on the workings of the king’s palace is none other than yer older brother, Alec.”
Rory threw his head back and whooped. “So, Alec is behind all this?”
David nodded. “The heist is his idea.”
A slow smile crossed Rory’s lips. Alec’s involvement fueled his confidence. “Is he still in London?”
“Nay, he’s made his excuses to his reveling companions and is awaiting us at the Harborage.”
“What’s the Harborage?” Alex asked.
Rory smiled at her. “Ye’ve not heard of the Harborage?”
“Nay.”
“It would seem the abbot has been truly remiss,” Rory said, reaching across to take her hand. “The Harborage is…well…ye’ll see.”
Chapter Seventeen
Alex trudged through the dark woods, pulling her horse behind her. Thick underbrush obscured the ground, snagging at her tunic and cloak. Summer’s sky warded off true night, allowing her to easily follow David, keeping his cloaked figure in sight.
“The Harborage is a safe haven,” Rory said in a low voice behind her. “A place of meeting and rest for Scotland’s agents. There is no road except that which we make ourselves”
Alex heard the stream before she saw it running alongside a line of tall slim pines, which rose high above the thicket. Then the underbrush began to thin out. Lush trees, silvery in the twilight, formed a canopy overhead. As the stream widened, the earth dipped in downward swells. Oak and pine gave way to tall, slim birch trees.
“I wonder why Abbot Matthew never told me about this place? He knows I have an appreciation for wild beauty.” She scurried down the slope and through a copse of silver trees and stepped into an open glade alight with torch fire. Her mouth dropped open the instant after a man broke the surface of a glistening pool, clad in naught but his dripping wet hose. Fire and moonlight reflected off his wet muscles. She gasped, turning away, only for her gaze to settle on the shirtless form of another man seemingly asleep beneath a tree. She chuckled and turned to Rory. “It would seem the abbot sought to shield my maiden eyes.” Then she stepped toward the gorgeous, dripping wet man. “Good evening, I’m Alex MacKenzie.”
The man’s black eyes locked with hers. A chill crept up her spine. His eyes shone like dark moons amid an empty pale sea. They were cold and emotionless. She waited for him to respond, but he only stared at her, penetrating her very soul. She swallowed hard and tore her gaze free from his hold. Her eyes traveled down his slick, lean shoulders and long, sinewy chest, still glistening with rivulets of water. Her gaze paused on the defined lines that crossed diagonally from his hips then disappeared beneath his low-slung, wet hose. Whoever he was, he was intense and beautifully made. Steeling her courage, her gaze returned to his stony yet exquisite face. She held her breath, waiting for him to speak, but then without a word, he turned and walked away from her.
Rory gently grabbed her arm. “My brother is a hard man to understand. I beg ye, do not be offended. He doesn’t mean to be so callous. Wait here, please,” he said before turning and following after who she now realized was Alec MacVie.
Rory charged after Alec. His brother had better have a good excuse for his rudeness. Not that Rory had expected Alec to greet Alex with conventional niceties. In fact, Alec had never been particularly n
ice. He was one of Rory’s three older brothers. He also had one younger brother and an older sister. As siblings, they shared common traits. Each one possessed a fierce loyalty to family. They strove to live honorably, and none doubted their own self-worth, something instilled in their hearts by their parents. But beyond those deeply rooted convictions, they were all different—no one more so than Alec. He had always been quiet and reserved, even as a child, but it was not only Alec’s temperament that set him apart from his other siblings. Alec had the Sight. His dreams revealed that which had already come to pass and that which had yet to be. But more than that, he could feel truth. He could feel another’s pain.
Over the years, those who discovered Alec’s abilities had called it a gift, although Rory had never understood their thinking. He likened it more to a burden. Alec moved through life, shielding himself from other’s emotions. And his dreams seldom revealed anything other than heartbreak. Most often he saw death, destruction, or the wickedness in people’s hearts. In fact, the day King Edward invaded Berwick, Rory and his sister had left the city limits to gather herbs. Alec had refused to join them. Their elder sister, Rose, pressed him again and again to say why he wouldn’t join them. When he finally yielded, he confessed his dream from the night before. Rory could still remember the rare glimpse of feeling in Alec’s eyes when he revealed that Berwick, their beloved city, had erupted into flame. Not believing Alec’s dream contained an explicit meaning, Rose had begged him to join their walk, but Alec refused and went to the chapel to pray. That was where he was, in the chapel, when King Edward put the city under the blade and torch. Alec witnessed it all, the brutal slaughter of thousands—men, women, and children. None were spared, and only a few remained hidden. People were dragged from their homes and churches and butchered in the streets; not even the clergy was spared. Alec managed to escape the English blades, though he was, by no means, unscathed. After the massacre, he retreated further into himself, becoming quieter, harder.
Rory caught up to his brother. “Alec, explain yerself. That was rude—even for you.”
Alec stopped and turned around. A flash of emotion crossed his usual mask of indifference—just for an instant. Someone who did not know Alec as well as Rory would have missed it. Immediately, tension flooded Rory’s shoulders. It was never good when Alec lost control of his emotions.