by Paula Quinn
“There’s a key in the waste bucket. There is a false bottom,” the old knight told him. “The tunnel leads to the woods.”
Cain immediately dumped the waste bucket and tore apart the bottom until he had the key. Clever lass. No one she put in the dungeon would happen upon the key, or think to look in such a place. “How long ago did they leave?” he asked Richard as he unlocked the door and ran out of the cell.
“About a quarter of an hour ago. She tried to come to you but the Bruce’s men stopped her.”
Cain nodded. “Dinna fear. I will bring her back and settle this with the king.”
“Commander?” The knight stopped him before he entered the tunnel. “Do you love her?”
Cain nodded. “Aye. Aye, I do.”
“Then hurry.”
Cain smiled and disappeared through the small hole in the wall.
He hadn’t gone this far inside the last time he was in here chasing her, he thought as the walls closed around him. He closed his eyes and kept on going, breathing in the air and searching for something fresh.
Finally, he came to the end of the tunnel and made his way out into the open. He climbed into the trees, hoping to see better from the high vantage point.
What he saw surprised him. Norman knights. Was Aleysia still here? No, there were less than a dozen of them. What were they still doing here, lingering about? He watched them, following them through the trees back to the castle, where they snuck inside.
What were they up to? Why were they sneaking about?
He hurried out of the trees and sprinted back to the keep. He nearly knocked over Nicholas on his way back in.
“Brother! The men and I were planning to break you free!” Nicholas greeted him.
Cain told him what he saw and suspected and they rushed toward the stairs for the solar.
They found two of the king’s guards dead in the corridor. Cain helped himself to one of the soldier’s swords. They looked inside the solar with hesitancy. The king was not there. They practically ran into four Normans on the way to the great hall. Cain swung his sword across two of the men’s throats. The other two died just as quickly as their guts spilled out across the rushes.
“Hell, Brother,” Nicholas stood still and pale with the dead around his feet. “I heard you are savage with a weapon. I see the tales are true.”
Cainnech patted him on the back and continued back on their path.
When they entered the great hall and saw that most of the men were still there and oblivious to what was happening, Cain informed them. “Find any Normans and kill them, no questions.”
They found more dead men, some Robert’s, some Cain’s, strewn across the rushes leading toward Cain’s room.
When Cain and Nicholas approached the room, they saw shadows by the bed, where the king lay napping.
Without a thought about what the king had done to him earlier, Cain sprang forward. After a short scuffle, he emerged the victor, with the hilt of his bloody sword in his hand. He put it into Nicholas’.
“Take it. Tell the king ye killed those bastards.”
“No. I will not take the credit for saving the king’s life when ’twas you who did it.”
“I must go,” Cain argued. “I must find Aleysia. Dinna tell Robert I am gone. Vow it.”
“I vow it,” Nicholas agreed quietly and did not call him back when the king awoke and called out.
Aleysia didn’t care about alliances, or Normandy, or the damned King of Scots. She wasn’t going to England with Sir John. She would escape the Norman knight and return to rescue Cainnech from the dungeon. She had tried, but Robert’s men wouldn’t let her see him. She’d visited Richard instead and begged him to promise to go to Cainnech and show him where to find the key to the cell. He had to escape. She had to get back to him.
She’d never agree to annulling their union and marrying anyone else.
“You are even more fair by the moonlight, Aleysia,” Sir John said as they trotted along on their horses.
“Why are we going south? Are we going to England?”
He tossed her an impatient look with a sigh to go with it. “You are not going to ask questions the entire time, are you?”
He needn’t worry. He wouldn’t be alive long enough to answer them.
There were twelve men in her company. Where were the rest of them? She was sure she could take down two with her daggers. One being Sir John. But then what was she to do? The rest of them would kill her.
Her traps were useless since she was on the ground and they were leaving the forest.
“Are you going to answer me?” she asked.
“We’re not going to England, dear Aleysia,” he told her impatiently. “We do not have to. Edward will do what I want now that I have disposed of the Scottish king.”
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying, Robert the Bruce is likely dead by now.”
Aleysia’s eyes opened wider. “You are in league with King Edward.” Now it made sense that Sir John had sought out the Scottish king. He planned on killing him quietly in her castle. Cainnech would never let it happen. But he could still be in the dungeon.
Amish would stop it. But it was an ambush. Father Timothy, Nicholas—Mattie!
She reached for the dagger shoved behind her bodice. She had to get back to the castle! She looked around at Sir John’s guards. Which one looked the most daunting? She found a man who sat tall in his saddle. He looked like a mean one, with a black patch over his eye and at least four hilts that she could see sticking out of his belt.
She pulled her dagger free and flung it all in one motion, aiming for his heart. Her blade landed in his chest with a thump. She moved swiftly, pulling another dagger out of her boot. She pointed it at Sir John and addressed his men.
“The next man to move ends his life!” she warned in a loud, clear voice.
“You will never get away,” Sir John warned. He smiled and it was so unlike Cainnech’s resplendent, patient smile that she nearly wretched thinking about life with this man.
“What do you care?” she asked him, oddly calm. “You will be dead. Now, tell your men to—”
Something dropped out of the trees and took down two guards before Aleysia realized it was Cainnech. His sword flashed in the filtered sunlight. Blood splashed a nearby tree. A guard came at him on his horse but Cainnech stopped him with a brutal blow from his axe. He whirled around in a deadly dance that was both captivating and terrifying to watch. Even Sir John could not tear his eyes away from the carnage Cainnech wreaked havoc upon his men. He didn’t stop swinging and jabbing until every man save Sir John, was dead.
Aleysia thought about what he must be like on the battlefield. She shivered in her spot.
Thunder reverberated beneath her. Horses were coming.
Cainnech came toward Sir John and Aleysia, his léine pulled free from his waist and stained in blood, his eyes glittering like the northern sky. He dropped his axe and held open his arms, a dripping sword in one hand. “Come!” he roared at Sir John.
Her would-be betrothed, and possibly the Scottish king’s killer, wilted in his saddle. He held up his shaking hands and surrendered.
Cainnech still came forth. Aleysia held out her hands to stop him, forgetting the dagger she’d held on Sir John.
The Norman leaped for her, knocking them both from the saddle.
Cainnech was there instantly, lifting Sir John off the forest floor by his collar. When Cainnech had him on his knees, he pulled the Norman close, letting Sir John see her as he pressed the edge of his blade against the knight’s throat.
She met Cainnech’s cold gaze over Sir John’s shoulder. He was going to cut his throat.
The thunder beneath her grew louder. They looked toward the sound to see the king and Amish, everyone coming into view. She darted her gaze back to Cainnech. She didn’t want him to kill Sir John. His king would not forgive him.
“Let him go, my love.”
He smiled and kissed th
e top of Sir John’s head and then let him go, sending him forward on his knees before the king with a kick to his backside.
Aleysia didn’t care about what was going on around her. Her eyes were on her husband. He looked up and their eyes met. This savage, merciless bloody Highland warrior was hers. Hers.
She ran into his arms, where she ached to be, where she belonged. No damned king was going to take her from him again.
They sat with the king in the great hall as night fell. They drank and cheered Nicholas, who had saved the king’s life. Mattie was especially happy. She hadn’t stopped smiling all night.
For attempting to kill the king, Sir John was shipped off to Normandy in three separate crates as a message to Aleysia’s cousin.
Aleysia was afraid this would make them enemies, but the Bruce assured her that was not the case. He was sorry for sending her off with a killer.
He was not so forgiving to Cainnech. “How did ye get out of the dungeon?”
“Does it matter?” her husband asked him, in between sips of wine. “I told ye I wasna leavin’ withoot her.”
“Cain, I have known ye since ye were a lad. I fergive much from ye because of yer past. But yer insolence is gettin’—”
“Sire,” Nicholas interrupted, rising from his seat. “Cainnech is—”
Cainnech set his steady gaze on his brother and Nicholas sat down, saying nothing else.
This piqued the Bruce’s interest. He eyed them both. “When did ye escape that dungeon, Cain? Before or after the Normans infiltrated the castle?”
Cainnech blinked slowly, his gaze still on his brother. “After.”
“Brother,” Nicholas said and then looked at the king. “Sire, he saw the Normans coming inside.”
“Nicholas,” Cain said again.
“Nae. Let him speak,” the king commanded.
He told the king what had happened and when he was done, the Bruce commended him on his honesty. Again, he wasn’t so forgiving to Cainnech. “Ye saved my life, so I canna toss ye back into the dungeon—not that it would do any good. Instead, I will grant ye whatever ye ask. Insolence or not, I want no one else by my side in battle.”
“Thank ye, Sire,” Cain said. “But I willna be fightin’ fer awhile. I want to start a family with my wife. I also want Lismoor—”
He stopped when Aleysia leaned up and whispered in his ear.
“Are ye certain?” he asked her.
“Aye,” she told him softly and without hesitation.
He took her hand and turned back to the king. “I want Lismoor and Rothbury to be given to Nicholas. I am goin’ home to rebuild my life.”
Aleysia closed her eyes. She would be there to help him, for as long as he needed her. Images of him killing ten men to save her flashed across her mind. She would never tame him.
“Cainnech,” she whispered to him, leaning in close. “Tonight, I do not think we need to be overly concerned with being gentle.”
He looked at her and then laughed. It was a deep, rich, beautiful sound. A sound she was growing to love. She said a silent prayer and looked across the table at Father Timothy. They both smiled.
The End