by Laura Landon
“William Bolton killed your family?” Dear God.
“Not all, milady. My youngest sister, Brenna, still lives. I found her huddled in a corner on the floor where she’d been since Bolton’s men left.”
Her stomach clenched, but she refused to lower her gaze from his. Instead, she faced the icy glare of hardened steel focused on her. “Is she all right?” she asked.
“Nay. She is not aright. She was not as lucky as her sisters, Meara and Elissa. She lived. And now William Bolton has her with him in England until I give him the crown.”
For the first time since she’d met him, she sensed the building of an uncontrollable violence that smoldered just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. “He would trade your sister for the crown? But you don’t have it.”
“That matters not to Bolton. All he cares about is getting the crown.”
“But the crown doesn’t belong to him either. It’s England’s.”
Her statement, though spoken softly, had the impact of a thunderclap. His gaze, which was dangerous and foreboding in the best of circumstances, darkened even more. “Do you think, my lady, that if Bolton gets the crown he’ll give it back to England?”
She didn’t answer.
“He will not. He knows it is the verra same crown that has adorned the head of every English monarch for more than five hundred years. Its value in stones and gold alone will give Bolton more wealth than anyone in the land. It’s a symbol of England’s greatness, and Bolton believes its power will raise him to a level equal the King. Bolton will not give it back. His greed is too great.”
“How did the crown come to be in Scotland?” she asked.
“It was brought here by some verra brave Scots that died for their efforts.”
“And they gave it to your priest?”
“They gave it to my father at Lochmore for safe keeping and he sent it here when Bolton came. Because you’re English, he thought it would be safe in your keeping.” He lifted the corners of his mouth in a cynical grin. “Is it?”
She lifted her chin to match his formidable expression, and kept her gaze on the dark depths in his eyes. “Why do you want the crown, my lord? If you had it, would you return it to England?”
He didn’t try to mask the stark look of hatred on his face. “Nay, milady. I would na give it back to England.”
“But there will only be war if Scotland keeps it.”
“There will be war even if Scotland gives it back. Your Edward is amassing an army right now. Within the year the English will again cross Scotland’s border in their quest for more land and power. Our Scots took the crown to prove to your English they’re not invincible. That circle of gold and stones is to England a symbol of her greatness. Our Scots took it to prove how easily that greatness could be taken away.”
“Do you think England fears you now?”
“Nay. England will never fear Scotland. But they will never get the crown back either. My father promised to protect the crown, and he died honoring his vow. That oath is now mine. I will have the crown for Scotland just as surely as I will avenge my father’s death. Do you understand, milady?”
“I understand you’re a very proud man, my lord, but you don’t have the crown.”
“But it is na far from my grasp. I will na give up until I have it. Do na forget that, milady.”
“What about your sister? Bolton wants the crown or he won’t give Brenna back.”
He hesitated and an expression of anguish crossed his face. “Even Brenna’s life is not worth the crown. My sister understands that as well as any loyal Scot. I will get her back without forfeiting the crown.”
She let her head fall back against the pillow and sighed. “Why did you come here?”
“To warn Ian and ask his aid to fight against your Englishmen. I thought it best to come alone until I found out if Bolton had laid siege here as he had at Lochmore Castle.”
“He didn’t. There was no one to fight him here.”
“Where was Chalmers? Ian left him to guard Kilgern Castle when he sent the rest of his men to fight the English.”
“We buried him two months past. A small band of renegades attacked him while hunting. He and most of the men with him died.”
“Were the renegades English?”
“Does it matter?”
“Aye. It matters to me the same as it will to Ian.”
She looked down at the covers on the bed. “They were English.”
The look in his eyes hardened. Did he see her only as the enemy? It bothered her that he might, and knew it should not.
“Rest now, milady. I’ll send Eloise in with your tray.” With that he gave her his back and walked to the door.
“Wait.”
He halted, then turned and glared at her as if he’d taken great offense at her order. “I cannot lie in bed any longer. Even if you will not allow me to leave my room, at least let me get dressed.”
He hesitated a moment then nodded. “Verra well. If you wish.” He turned his back on her.
“Wait.”
He stopped short. If he disliked her issuing him the first order, he showed he liked it even less the second time. He turned to face her and arched his eyebrows as if it took every ounce of his willpower to hold his temper. “You have another request, milady?”
“Yes. I would like to be left alone. I don’t need Eloise or any of the other women to guard me.”
“You think of them as guards?”
“What else would you call them? They don’t leave my side for an instant and my every movement is whispered in your ear. Even Ian doesn’t feel the need to guard his English wife so closely.”
His shoulders stiffened. His angry frown deepened. “Your husband is more trusting of the English than I am, milady.”
Any false hope that she could compete with him on even footing quickly vanished. “Please. Allow me some privacy.” She pointed to the door he held open. “I promise I will not walk out that door without one of your guards with me.”
He gave her request more than a moment’s hesitation. “Verra well.”
When the door slammed behind him, she guessed he already regretted his decision.
Chapter 3
She held the flaming torch above her head as she made her way along the cold, damp stones of the secret passageway that would take her back to Castle Kilgern. Twice she stopped and leaned against the rocks to wipe the sweat from her forehead and catch her breath.
Dear God, give me the strength to get back.
She knew she shouldn’t have left her bed. She wasn’t strong enough yet. But she had to go to the cottage tonight. She had to make sure everything was all right. It was the first night the Ferguson had not ordered a maid to watch over her. The first chance she’d had to escape. Now she had to get back before anyone noticed she was gone.
She lifted her torch high again and took a few more steps. Surely it couldn’t be too much farther? It hadn’t seemed this far the other times she’d sneaked out of the castle. But that was before…
She forced herself to take another step, then staggered against the damp wall when a wave of dizziness washed over her. A sharp craggy rock scraped against her tender back and she cried out in pain. With trembling fingers she wiped the moisture from her eyes, then pressed her hand to the ache in her side as she gasped for air. The walls were beginning to close in around her.
She would make it. She had to. If she stopped here, she would never be found. No one would know where to look for her. She would lie on the cold ground until she froze to death. Or worse, her torch could go out and she would be left in the dark. An insurmountable fear wrapped its gnarled hands around her heart and she found the strength to go on.
She pushed herself away from the stone wall and, with one hand anchored against the rocks for support, she inched her way through the passageway until she reached the wooden door that would take her inside the castle. A whisper of a chuckle echoed in her throat through her ragged gasps of air. She was almost there.
She climbed the crude stairs carved from rock and reached for the latch to unlock the secret door that led into her bedroom. After she placed the torch in the holder on the wall, she pushed at the door, then stepped into the brightly lit room. She closed her eyes and leaned back with a sigh of relief.
She’d made it.
“Good evening, milady.”
“Oh!” She clamped her hand over her mouth to keep her scream from echoing in the still, quiet chamber. She swung around, her gaze focusing on the Ferguson’s broad, menacing form, lounging in the chair on the far side of the room.
The glow from one of the candles on a nearby table reflected off the medallion, giving his face a formidable look. He sat with his arms crossed over his chest. His powerful legs stretched out in front of him, one foot crossed over the other, and the furrows on his forehead sank deep to form an angry frown.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, he sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees. “I must have been mistaken when I heard you promise you would na leave your room.” His voice was soft, deadly. The sharp edge in his tone enough to slice through even the strongest chain mail.
She lifted her shoulders defiantly. “You were mistaken, my lord. I promised not to leave by that door.” She nodded to the door on the other side of the room. “I did not promise I wouldn’t leave the room.”
She heard the harsh intake of his breath.
“So you did.” He shifted in his chair, his movements slow and deliberate. When he stood, his full height towered before her.
A wave of nausea washed over her. She wrapped her hands around her arms and rubbed. Her cold, clammy flesh quivered while her face burned with heat.
“You’re shivering. You should na have left your bed.”
Her vision blurred, her head spun from remaining upright so long.
His gaze didn’t leave her for a moment. “If it would na be too much trouble, I would like to know where you went.”
“I… I…” She paused, determined not to cower before him. This was, after all, not his home. She owed him no explanation. “It’s the middle of the night, sir. How did you know I was gone?”
The room swam before her, and she reached for the edge of a table against the wall, wanting to sit before she fell to the floor. Her legs quivered beneath her and her stomach pitched like a small boat on an angry sea as she watched him come near her. He took one step and then another until his huge body loomed over her.
“I sent Eloise to make sure you were resting peacefully and when she entered your room, she found your bed empty.”
“I needed…” She squeezed her eyes shut. By the saints, she could not tell him. She’d promised. There was nothing she could do until Ian returned.
She wiped at the haze covering her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. She felt so strange. Almost as if… “Please, help me.”
Just as she finished the last word, her world went black. As if unable to support her body, her knees buckled and she slumped into his arms. He lifted her to his chest and held her close for a moment, then moved to lay her on the bed.
“No. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone in the dark.”
He grabbed a wool plaid from the bed and wrapped her in the cover, then sat in a large, wooden chair near the fire with her in his arms.
She nestled her face against his chest, waiting for the waves of imbalance to leave her. Huge, strong fingers pushed back the strands of hair that had escaped the netting covering her head. Fingers that had touched her often when she was near death.
“Milady?” His voice a whisper; his touch never ceasing. “Did you leave your chamber tonight to meet your lover?”
Her response caught in her throat. “No, my lord. I did not meet a lover.”
She lifted her gaze and stared into his eyes. Such dark, fathomless scrutiny in his midnight eyes. Such confusion; such torment. His thoughts were too obscure to be understood.
She couldn’t take his guarded watchfulness any longer, nor the searching in his gaze as he weighed the possibility that she’d lied to him. She didn’t want him to think she had.
As if her hand had a will of its own, she lifted her trembling fingers to erase the hint of mistrust she saw. To softly touch the rugged contours of his face and make the doubt go away.
She cupped her palm against his cheek and her world spun in dizzying obscurity as the dark stubble violated her tender flesh. A shiver racked her body as she moved her thumb along the solid cut of his cheekbone, then angled down to follow the rigid strength of his jaw. He didn’t push her hand away. She was afraid he might.
With her hands and her eyes and her fingertips, she could do nothing but concentrate on every line and sculptured detail of his countenance, could do nothing but relish the feel of his magnificent features. Her heart pounded frantically in her breast and her breathing came out in short, ragged gasps. His breathing sounded the same. Harsher.
Her finger hesitated on the obvious crease at the side of his full lips. Oh, how she had wanted to touch him there. The crease was so deep and well defined, she knew it would sink into an enchanting crevice if only he would smile. Which he was not likely to do around her. He seldom did anything other than scowl. And frown.
She lifted her fingers to the furrows on his forehead — furrows that sometimes seemed such a permanent part of his features. She worried to find a way to erase them. She traced her fingers over them again, then moved down the side of his face. To his lips. Full, warm, and firm. Lips that had touched hers once; assuaged a hunger she wasn’t aware needed to be fed. A second violent shudder wracked her body, then a third. She could not stop a soft moan that came from somewhere deep inside her.
With undeniable ferocity, he clamped his hand over hers and turned his lips into her palm and kissed her. Then, with a loud, agonizing moan, he turned away from her and dropped his head back on his shoulders. “God forgive me,” he whispered.
She couldn’t breath. Her chest heaved from his nearness, and deep inside her there was a throbbing ache that needed to be soothed. “There is no need for God’s forgiveness, laird. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
The muscles holding her stiffened. “Oh, milady. You are another man’s wife. Mayhap that’s the way of things in your England, but in Scotland, we canna turn a blind eye to God’s laws with such ease.”
She leaned her head against his chest and listened to the strong beating of his heart. It was so vibrant and alive. The medallion was there and she touched it. “Would it be a sin for you to hold me until I fell asleep?”
“Aye, milady. It would. But I will hold you.”
She snuggled between the plaid and the warmth of his body, and breathed a deep sigh. For just this once, she would dream that she’d found someone who would take care of her.
Just this once.
…
Duncan stood on the wall walk and looked out through the wall crenels to watch the dust from the riders’ horses as they approached. Ian MacIntyre led the warriors. Even though they were too far away for him to see their plaid, he recognized Ian’s large gray mount in front.
“Raise the gate. Lower the drawbridge.”
Duncan issued the order as he climbed down the stone steps and mounted his waiting stallion. On his way across the courtyard, he spotted Eloise carrying a basket to the castle and halted her. “Fetch the Lady MacIntyre and tell her that her husband is coming.”
“Yes, milord.” The maid dropped her basket and ran to the keep. Duncan watched until she disappeared and breathed a sigh. It was finally at an end. He could ride away from Kilgern Castle and forget the woman who haunted his dreams. The woman who was married to his best friend.
The loud clamor of hooves as they crossed the drawbridge echoed in Scotland’s crisp, fragrant air, drowning out the voice of guilt and regret that roared inside his head. A dozen or more Ferguson clansmen followed him across the lea, then up a slope. At the top of a rolling hill, he brought his mount to a halt and waited for the laird
of Kilgern Castle to reach him.
“Greetings, Duncan.” Ian MacIntyre pulled up his horse near enough to be able to reach across and clasp his hand around Duncan’s forearm.
Duncan placed his palm over his friend’s hand in return greeting. “I’m glad you have returned safe, Ian. You are needed.”
“I have heard.” Ian’s voice sounded tense. “Have you found signs of Bolton?”
“Nay. The coward has fled.”
“I stopped at Lochmore Castle yesterday eve and Malcolm told me the English had been there looking for the crown. I am truly sorry about your family. I pledge myself and my men to your aid whenever you choose to go after Bolton.”
Duncan nodded. “I’ve sent word to the MacAndrews, the MacLarens, and the MacGowans. They’re waiting to hear when we ride. The MacFarlands and the Sinclairs and the Camerons are standing ready. We will wait until the Kerrs return from Dumfries, then we’ll ride to England.”
“Are you well?”
“Well enough.” Duncan ignored the pain in his side that still ached when he moved or rode his steed. He leaned back in his saddle and filled his lungs with air. He couldn’t stand to think of Brenna in English hands one day more than necessary.
“Malcolm has done well in your absence. The bailey wall is almost rebuilt and at least half of the cottages have been repaired. I left what men I could spare to help.”
Duncan nodded. He’d expected no less from his neighboring laird and friend.
“Malcolm told me Bolton captured you when you crossed the border. I fear there was something more he would na tell me, but the more I pressed for answers, the further he stepped from what had happened.”
“Aye.” Duncan took a deep breath. “Bolton has taken Brenna.”
“Brenna? Dear God, why?”
“He wants the Bishop’s Crown. He will na return her until I give it to him.”
Duncan raised his gaze to the sky, unable to look at Ian. He didn’t want to imagine how frightened and alone his sister must feel. He didn’t want to remember what she had already been through and the nightmares he could never take away.
“Do you have the crown?”