by Amy Jarecki
Meg curtsied and dipped her head toward John. “I thank you, sir, for accompanying me home. I shall always look fondly upon the House of Glenorchy.”
John bowed, as was customary. “’Twas my pleasure, m’lady. One of the more pleasant duties I’ve been assigned.”
Before she entered the stairwell, Arthur gave her a once-over with a discerning eye. Dirty from the trail, she most likely looked frightful. A bath would be heavenly—after she read Duncan’s missive. She walked with stately grace until she was positive Arthur could no longer see her. Then she ran up the three flights of stairs, skipping two steps at a time.
Pushing into her chamber, she hardly noticed the familiar trappings. She headed straight to the window embrasure and sat on the padded bench—her favorite place, hidden behind the heavy window furs.
She rarely received a missive addressed to her, and never had received one from a man.
Carefully, she examined Duncan’s seal. It presented a galley with eight oars and a large sail with a boar’s head. Around the edge was the Campbell motto, “Follow me.” She smiled when she read it. Aye, Sir Duncan, I would follow you anywhere. How quickly her pent-up ire had diffused.
Taking care not to damage the seal, she ran her finger beneath it. Her hands shook as she unfolded the vellum and read.
Dearest Lady Meg,
It is with a heavy heart that I write this missive, for you must know, if possible, I would have moved heaven and earth to accompany you back to your family. I never thanked you properly for caring for me when the fever hit. Without you, I would have been left in the gutter to rot, or worse. Perhaps a man like me deserves to be cast aside. I most certainly do not deserve your kindness.
However, now I’m off on the king’s business, a customary state of affairs. As the king’s enforcer, I find I am rarely ever home. I’d imagine that fact would not be particularly appealing to a gentlewoman such as you. You deserve so much more than I can give.
I will never forget your smile. It brought sunshine into my heart even when snowing. I shall always remember your eyes, because they could see through to my soul. I will always laugh when I think of your temper, for it makes each day so much more fascinating. But most of all, I will remember you, Lady Meg. Whether you recognize it or not, you have a kind heart, a tireless spirit and a razor-sharp wit. These are things a man never forgets.
I can only wish you the very best this short life has to offer. And truly, it would be an honor should our paths ever cross again.
Your servant in Christ,
Sir Duncan Campbell
Postscript: I have enclosed a poem I wrote this eve. I rarely apply my pen to such whimsical arts, though tonight it seemed appropriate.
Tears streaming down her face, Meg read the endearing poem over and over until the chambermaid, Cassie, pulled aside the furs. “Your bath is ready, m’lady.” She stepped in and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Whatever is wrong?”
Meg took in a stuttered breath. “I’ve been a miserable fool, as usual.” She dabbed her face in the crook of her arm.
Cassie reached for the missive. “You’ve had a terrible ordeal. Here, let me take that and we’ll set you to rights.”
Clutching Duncan’s letter for dear life, Meg shook her head. “Nay. Leave me be. I need another moment to myself.”
“Are you certain?” Cassie eyed her like a mother hen, though she was near enough to Meg’s age. “You look like you need to talk.”
“I’m sure there will be plenty of talking, just not at this moment.” Meg shooed her away. “Now begone with you. I can manage from here.”
“Very well. I’ll put the bell beside the bath if you should need anything.”
“Thank you.” Meg honestly loved Cassie, but didn’t want to share a thing about Duncan with anyone. She’d spent the past week convincing herself she hated the man, only to have the wall she’d built up to protect her broken heart smashed into tiny shards. Now what was she to do? She could no longer hate Duncan Campbell, or even feign dislike.
Blast him.
Meg stowed his missive in her keepsake box and locked it. She wouldn’t have any snooping servants finding it and handing it over to Arthur. Duncan’s words were meant for her eyes only.
She disrobed and cast her filthy garments to the floor. Lowering herself into the warm water, she sighed. Duncan hadn’t callously left her without a word. She held the soap to her nose and inhaled. Lemongrass—like Duncan. Her heart squeezed. Would everything continue to remind her of him? How much time would pass before her heart stopped aching so?
After Cassie returned to help Meg dress, she descended the stairs for dinner, hair brushed and wearing a plain black gown. She figured if she were to become a nun, she may as well dress the part.
Arthur preferred to have quiet meals in his solar when family business was afoot. Both Elizabeth and he were seated at the table as Meg entered. Arthur stood and grasped her hand. “Dear Meg, you look refreshed.”
“Aye, the bath was invigorating.” Meg crossed to Elizabeth and kissed her cheek. “What news?”
Her sister chuckled and patted Meg’s arm. “My heavens, you’ve been kidnapped and then rescued by a mob of Highlanders and you’re asking me for news?”
Meg walked to the other side of the table. “You make it sound so frightful.”
“Was it not?”
Both Arthur and Elizabeth looked at her expectantly.
Taking a deep breath, Meg sat. “True, the kidnapping part was terrifying. However, the rescue was exciting and fraught with unimaginable danger.” She waggled her eyebrows to add shocking effect.
Eyes bulging, Elizabeth patted her chest. “My heavens.” The servant came in and placed a trencher of food before her. She picked up her eating knife. “I pray Lord Percy has chosen to abandon his feud against our clan.”
Arthur frowned. “I’m sure Meg’s rescue inflamed his ire tenfold. He has spies all over Southern Scotland. ’Tis a matter of time before he strikes again.”
Meg shuddered. “Is there anything we can do to stop him? He’s completely mad.”
Arthur’s lips formed a thin line while he reached for the wine. “I have it in hand. You needn’t worry. He’ll never touch you or any of my family again.” He poured for her and then himself. “I’ve decided ’tis time for you to marry.”
Meg nearly fell off her chair. “No.”
Elizabeth reached for the bread. “Meg, darling, you cannot remain a spinster your entire life.”
“Why ever not? I’ve made the decision to give myself to God.”
Arthur placed the ewer on the table. “That is a preposterous notion.”
Elizabeth nibbled a bite of her bread. “I agree. You are distraught, and in no state to make such a decision.”
Meg clenched her fists under the table. “I strongly, most emphatically disagree. In fact, on my pilgrimage to Melrose, I was planning to gain an audience with the abbot to discuss taking up the veil.”
Arthur slammed his fist on the table. “Becoming a nun is out of the question. You are far too beautiful to hide behind the cloistered walls of a nunnery.”
Meg’s insides jumped, but with every muscle in her body taut, she maintained her composure. “You cannot stop me,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Or what? You’ll spirit away and end up in Lord Percy’s hands?” Arthur pushed back from the table and fumed.
Meg held up the claw. “Who in their right mind would want to marry a decrepit maid?”
Elizabeth gasped. “Oh please, Meg.”
Arthur leaned forward and pointed. “There a number of nobles who wish to make alliances with our house. For God’s sake, Meg, think. You are the daughter of an earl.”
She stared at her brother’s accusing finger. “I will not allow you to use me as a pawn to increase our holdings.”
Elizabeth’s gaze softened. “Let us all relax. You said yourself you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You must give it some time.”
Art
hur snatched up his goblet. “Agreed. We will make no decisions until you have a chance to recover from your fright.”
Meg stabbed a slice of lamb with her eating knife. “I thank the good Lord for small mercies.” Heaven’s stars, she’d only just arrived and Arthur was already plotting her wedding to some lofty old member of the gentry. She didn’t care what either of them said. She’d have none of it. No man in Scotland could match the allure of Sir Duncan Campbell. If she could not marry the dark knight, she would marry no one.
Arthur sipped and peered over the top of his goblet. “Perhaps we should attend court for the Easter celebration. Half the nobles will be in attendance for certain.”
Chapter Twenty
Duncan rode over the barbican drawbridge beside his father, their horses clomping a rhythm akin to a death knell. He spat at the sour taste pervading his mouth. Together they led their men through the well-guarded gatehouse under the guise that they were meeting with the Earl of Mar regarding a lucrative wool-trading venture. As planned, they’d arrived late afternoon, not long before the evening meal.
The burly master-at-arms met them while they dismounted in Kildrummy Castle’s expansive courtyard. “You’re in luck. The earl has agreed to see you.” The man didn’t smile.
Da handed his reins to the groom. “If I know Lord John Stewart, he won’t want to pass up a chance to swindle the English.”
“I’ll leave such dealings to his lordship.” The henchman gestured to Duncan’s men. “Are you planning to stay the night?”
“Aye,” Duncan said. “We’ve been a sennight on the trail. My men would appreciate a pallet with fresh straw.”
“Very well. They can bed down in the southwest tower.” The big man waved his hand over his head and pointed.
Duncan bowed his head. “My thanks.” Being met with cordiality made a distasteful task all the more difficult. However, the Earl of Mar stood accused. If he was indeed innocent, he could provide evidence to disprove the charges in Edinburgh. Duncan need only bring the man in, and he doubted the earl would go willingly. No one ever took kindly of being taken into custody.
He walked beside Da as the guard led them into the tower at the southeast corner. Of course the main keep had to be the furthest building from the gate, making a quick escape dubious.
Da leaned into him. “Can ye see the postern?” he whispered.
Duncan scanned the back of the courtyard. Lined with buildings, if there was a back gate, it would most likely be a part of the catacombs below. “Nay.”
“Blast.”
“At least we’ve earned an invitation to meet the earl.” Duncan nudged Da’s shoulder. “I only wish you would have stayed at the camp. Your eyesight grows worse by the day.”
“My eyes are fine. Besides, I’m still Lord of Glenorchy, and best to negotiate with the earl.”
“Very well.” Duncan cupped his hand over his mouth to ensure he wouldn’t be heard. “Make him an offer he cannot refuse and we’ll see he’s filled with whisky before he retires this night.”
They climbed the winding stairwell to the second floor, where they were ushered into the solar. Smiling, the earl rose. Duncan estimated the man could be no more than five and twenty.
Da stepped forward and offered his hand. “’Tis good to see you, m’lord.”
“Glenorchy.” The earl accepted the hand and turned his attention to Duncan. “And who might this be?”
“Sir Duncan Campbell, m’lord.”
Colin grinned. “My heir.”
“Welcome. Sit.” The earl gestured to the big wooden table filling the room and moved to the sideboard. “You must be parched after your travels.”
“Aye.” Colin sat. “A tankard of ale would go down nicely.”
“Ale?” The earl lifted a glass ewer. “The brewmaster has just brought up a new flagon of whisky.”
“Then whisky it is,” Colin said.
Duncan sauntered to the window before he sat. Pulling aside the furs, he looked out over the back of the estate. The property sloped down a steep ravine to a river. A man carried two pails of water up the incline, along a path leading to the east tower.
“Sir Duncan, would you care for a tot?” the earl asked.
He dropped the fur curtain back across the window. “Thank you. I see you have an ample supply of fresh water from the river.”
“Aye, the Snow Tower here receives fresh water on all seven floors—brought by a pulley system.” The earl served the whisky with his own hand, looking pleased with himself. “Quite a work of ingenuity, I’ll say.”
Da sipped. “Kildrummy Castle has always been one of the better-equipped fortresses in the realm.”
“Aye, and I’ve plans to make it even better.”
Duncan hated brainless babble. His mind wandered while Da continued to stroke the earl’s ego. Indeed, there was a rear gate, which he’d inspect at his first opportunity. He wanted to avoid a skirmish, especially with Da in tow. With its row of shiny black cannons, the Kildrummy gatehouse was one of the most fortified he’d ever seen. If Duncan and his men erred they’d be slaughtered, a bloodbath neatly contained within the walls.
“What is this my henchman tells me about selling wool to the English?” the earl asked.
Lord Glenorchy grinned. “Aye, last season the flies severely hurt the southern flocks.”
“I can fetch four crowns per pound in Aberdeen.”
“I can guarantee you six,” Da lied.
“Six?” The earl licked his lips. “But transport would consume the added profits.”
“Nay.” Da shook his head. “If you can transfer the wool to a transport in Aberdeen, my galleys will take it from there.”
Och, Da could spin a string of drivel and make it sound tempting. He’d go to hell for certain, and Duncan would be right behind him.
After the two noblemen shook hands to close the deal, Duncan and his father were escorted to their rooms to prepare for supper. Duncan thanked the groom. “Are we on the top floor?”
“Nay. The donjon has seven floors. You’re on the fifth.”
“My, that is impressive. I imagine his lordship gets a great deal of exercise climbing seven floors to his apartments.”
“Aye, ’tis why his rooms are on the second floor.”
“Indeed?” Duncan said. “I suppose that makes sense, given the secure location along the back bailey wall.”
“Yes, sir. Kildrummy’s walls are impenetrable.”
Duncan arched his brow and made a mental note not to be quite so accommodating in the future. Kilchurn chamber locks must be inspected for sturdiness, and the grooms would be instructed not to be so free with their tongues.
Once the man left, Duncan slipped into his father’s chamber. “You had quite a yarn with the earl.”
“Aye, young men are easy to impress, and the earl’s no different.”
Duncan crossed to the window and pulled aside the furs. Da had a view of the courtyard. “Why, do you suppose?”
“They’re all eager to build upon their wealth, make their mark in the world.”
“I’d wager that’s why so many of them fall into ruin.”
Da grasped Duncan’s arm. “’Tis good ye see it now, for one day you’ll be Lord of Glenorchy, and I’d turn in my grave if you were gullible enough to believe the lies I spewed today. No man in their right mind from here to Spain would agree to six crowns a pound of wool.”
“Aye.” Duncan nodded thoughtfully. “I’d best be off to find the postern gate.”
“My guess is ’tis near the kitchens.”
“Mine as well—then I’m considering asking the men to ride out on sentry duty. They’ll be safer outside the walls.”
Da walked toward the door with him. “But we’ll need some fighting men inside.”
Duncan stopped. “You think it necessary?”
“Have you learned nothing in all your years of fostering? Expect the unexpected and you’ll not end up with your throat cut.”
Duncan
should have kept his mouth shut. He knew something could—would—go wrong. No plan was ironclad, but they would also raise suspicion if too many Glenorchy guards loitered near the rear gate.
Once in the passageway, he listened for footsteps in the stairwell. When certain he could slip away without drawing attention, he quietly descended the Snow Tower stairs. On the first floor, servants bustled about, preparing for the evening meal. Duncan chose to walk outside and continue on toward the northeast tower. Just as he’d predicted, there was an alleyway to the gate right alongside the kitchen. He slipped through and inspected the portcullis with its iron spikes pointing downward—designed to impale an enemy. They probably close the blasted thing after the meal is served. He didn’t like it. The gate was two feet thick and reinforced with iron.
Scratching his chin, Duncan turned.
“Just what do you think you’re doing snooping around the kitchen doors?” A giant of a man with a missing front tooth confronted him, fists on his hips.
Duncan glanced toward the kitchen entry, could smell the bread baking within. “Ah, I spent the day in the saddle. Thought I’d see if I could pinch a wee morsel of bread.”
“I ought to chop off your finger for stealing.”
Duncan slid his palm over his dirk. He didn’t want to cause a stir, but the big oaf ought to know who the earl’s guests were before he started threatening to amputate digits. Instead, Duncan held up his palms in surrender. “No harm done. I shall wait and take my meal with the earl.”
The big man took a step in and grasped the collar of Duncan’s surcoat, rubbing the fine leather between his fingers. “Are ye Lord Campbell?”
“Sir Campbell, Lord Glenorchy’s heir.” He batted the man’s hand away. “And you, sir, have overstepped your station.”
The man’s jaw dropped, making him look rather dumb. “Apologies, m’lord. I thought ye were one of the guards milling about.”
“Aye?” Duncan couldn’t resist. “Every one of my men is a knight as well.”
“Truth?”
“Would I dare lie to a fellow as large as you?”
“Uh.”