Forbidden Vow

by Diana Cosby

  He forced his expression into a fierce scowl. “I am not an easy man,” he warned, lowering his voice to a hard timbre.

  She angled her jaw. “I, too, have been known to be less than traditional.”

  Aiden damned the soft challenge in her voice, the way her eyes flashed with defiance. Blast it, she and her foolish dreams weren’t his to choose.

  “I am a man of war. I know how to defend a castle and the intricacies of running a stronghold. Though I demand much from those who fight by my side, I am fair.” He paused, wanting her to ponder his comments before he continued, to believe his next words hard won. “So, I have a proposition for you.”

  “A proposition?”

  “Aye. Neither of us sought this marriage but agreed to comply with those to whom we give our fealty.”

  Gwendolyn gave a hesitant nod.

  He took a step closer. “I willna force a woman.”

  Red swept up her cheeks, but she didn’t move. “For that I thank you.”

  “But,” Aiden said, aware he could push the limit of expectations only so far, “I want an heir.”

  Her eyes flared with apprehension, but she remained silent.

  “Those beyond this chamber will believe we have consummated our marriage. Once weeks have passed and you are ready,” he said, confident such a time would never arrive, “you will join me in my bed.”

  Relief washed over Gwendolyn’s face. “I never…”

  Her blush deepened, and guilt slid through him at his duplicity. “For now, we willna speak of this further.” He turned, but she lay her hand on his arm. Aiden froze, willed away the awareness burning inside him. “What?” he demanded without looking back.

  “I misjudged you.”

  He shrugged away her hand. “Then we are even.” Mouth tight, Aiden strode to the window, needing distance, needing air, needing to blasted be out of this chamber. Nurturing their friendship played into his strategy, but he hadn’t expected to like her or, worse, have to speak of when he would bed her to complete his damnable plans.

  Blast it, he refused to think of Gwendolyn’s slender body, curves that would make a man beg, or her full lips that he could too easily imagine crushed beneath his. He must focus on the fact that he’d found a way to gain her trust.

  The air, ripe with the scent of the sea, filled the chamber as the rays of the rising sun spilled into the pinkish-blue sky.

  Aiden closed his eyes, relished this time of morning when, if only for a little while, peace descended upon the madness that had become his world. The habit a fragment of survival from his childhood that he’d hoarded over the years.

  With a grimace, he rubbed the back of his neck and scoured the swells far below, watched as the gulls soared on the air currents, their lonesome cries entwining within the rumble of incoming waves.

  Near the shore, sea fog clung to the surface, thick and unyielding. How many times had he and his men damned the thick swath of white that could shroud the enemy or offer their foe a safe haven?

  “’Tis my favorite view.”

  He stiffened as Gwendolyn stepped to his side, not wanting her close enough so that he could smell the scent of woman and heather. “I enjoy the beach,” he said, forcing the roughness from his voice.

  “As I. ’Tis where I go to think, to be alone.” She slid her thumb along the sill, her tone querying, almost gentle. “There is something soothing about the roll of waves upon the shore.”

  Yet another thing they shared.

  “Mayhap we—” She gasped.

  Aiden glanced over. Surprised by the shock on her face, he followed her gaze seaward, stilled.

  The tip of a mast bearing an English flag cut through the top of the thick bank of white. A breath later, another appeared. With each moment, more masts came into view.

  God in heaven, enemy ships! The possibility of a skirmish rushed through him.

  “Why are English ships here?” she asked, her surprise confirming she hadn’t anticipated their appearance. She frowned. “Were you expecting them?”

  How should he answer? Was Lord Balfour privy to the ships’ arrival? Worse, with the numerous masts streaming into view, ’twas more than a few ships. God’s sword, ’twas a blasted fleet!

  An anchor splashed into the depths from the nearest cog. A short distance away, crewmen hurled their anchor over the side, and another shot of water erupted from the sea.

  Alarm screamed in his gut as the obvious cause for their arrival blared in his mind. With the Bruce sweeping across the Highlands with devastating ferocity, in his desperation, Comyn must have requested aid from the English king.

  Mayhap he was wrong, but a sinking feeling in his gut assured him ’twas the only reason that made sense. Aiden grimaced. “I must meet the captain.” Let the lass deduce his answer however she wished. He strode to the door. He must inform Cailin and Rónán. King Robert must be warned!

  Chapter 6

  Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting shades of blues, reds, and purple within the solar as Aiden hid a dirk beneath his garb. He nodded to Rónán and Cailin standing opposite him. “As lord of the castle, I will take Sir Pieres and several men with me to meet whoever leads the English force.” He secured another dagger into the side of his boot. “Once I depart, you both will leave. Rónán, once out of sight of the castle, head to the Bruce’s encampment and inform him of the situation.”

  Rónán nodded.

  “Cailin,” Aiden continued, “round back and find cover where you can keep watch over the stronghold. When you see that I have safely arrived at the keep, return, and I will share what I have learned. After, you will ride to King Robert with a report.”

  Rónán slid his thumb across the hilt of his sword. “And if anyone asks where we are going?”

  Aiden slipped a third dagger onto his belt. “Say you are off to hunt.”

  “A sound reason,” Cailin said, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “If the English are staying for any length of time, more food will be needed.”

  With a nod, Aiden tugged on his cloak. “Let us hope they willna remain. I despise the thought of being trapped inside this bloody castle playing Lord Balfour to the Sassenach.” He glanced toward Cailin. “If anything goes awry and I am taken prisoner, inform the Bruce.”

  The Templar straightened and nodded. “I pray all goes well.”

  “I assure you, I await the day we are leagues from here. A life shackled to a lass, however false, is not a part I wish to continue playing.”

  “Mayhap,” Rónán conceded, “but if you are to be constrained in marriage, ’tis fortuitous to be bound to such a beauty.”

  “Beautiful and guiltless. She didna ask to be wed, but was cast into this position, one she accepted with dignity and grace. And,” Aiden added with disgust, “Lord Comyn is a fool to exploit an intelligent and astute woman with such disregard. Obviously, he hasna met Gwendolyn; if he had…” At the surprise flickering in his men’s eyes, he paused.

  A smile brushed Cailin’s mouth. “If Lord Comyn had met Lady Gwendolyn, he would have what?”

  “At a loss for words, Aiden? Hers is a fate that, upon our arrival, seemed of little concern to you. Yet now, ’tis important?” Mirth flickered in Rónán’s eyes. “I find myself curious to learn the reason.”

  His friends broke into laughter, and Aiden shot them both a fierce glare. “Given the severity of the situation, our thoughts should be on the unexpected arrival of the English force, not tawdry banter!”

  Their laughter faded.

  Embarrassment seared his gut. He rubbed the back of his neck, shot his men a wry smile. “We are all tired and the stakes are high.”

  Rónán’s shrewd gaze held his. “Lady Gwendolyn is a lass to admire.”

  “Aye,” Cailin agreed.

  Soft voices sounded from beyond the chamber.

/>   Rónán placed his finger to his lips, crept over, cracked open the door. With a quiet push, he shut the entry, returned. “’Twas naught but knights walking past.”

  “Were you able to see how many ships are in the fleet?” Cailin asked.

  “Nay,” Aiden replied, thankful his men hadn’t pressed about his feelings toward Gwendolyn. “By the number of masts I discerned through the fog, ’tis a sizable force. If the ships are filled with soldiers, which I suspect as I saw warriors in the galleys closest to shore, there could be several thousand troops.”

  “God’s blade!” Cailin hissed. “A contingent of such enormity marching east would not only divide King Robert’s men but leave his forces without access to reinforcements.”

  Aiden grimaced. “Aye. Another reason ’tis imperative to discover the Englishmen’s intent.”

  “What will you tell the lass?” Rónán asked.

  The intensity, sincerity, and passion that had simmered within her pewter-gray eyes as they’d spoken throughout the night flickered in his mind. However unwanted, they’d forged a fragile bond. Nor could he forget how once the revelers outside her chamber had dispersed, she’d procured fresh sheets while he’d destroyed the bloodstained ones.

  He smothered the blistering rush of need at her remembered scent entangled in the bedsheets, how he’d crumpled the linen between his hands in a pathetic attempt to crush the desire smoldering inside.

  “When the time comes,” Aiden said, “I will deal with Lady Gwendolyn. If the Englishmen are here to join forces with Comyn, we must stall their departure.”

  Cailin grunted. “The bastards are not likely to stay put.”

  A wry smile curved Aiden’s mouth. “Mayhap they will.”

  Rónán stared at him as if he had two heads. “Are you daft? There is bloody little you can do to prevent thousands of troops from marching east to confront our king.”

  “If they are here to support Comyn, a move I believe the Earl of Balfour played a part in arranging, then there is a way.” Impatience whipped through Aiden, and he began to pace. At the hearth, he paused, turned. “I shall explain to whoever commands the English that King Robert’s troops are on the move and headed toward an unexpected position. That Lord Comyn has relayed, through me, a request for them to remain here. Once Comyn has the Bruce’s location, he will lead a force here to plan an attack against Scotland’s king.”

  Rónán grunted. “You think Lord Balfour’s arrival was a strategic maneuver?”

  “Indeed,” Aiden replied. “The marriage strengthens Comyn’s power, positions a noble skilled in the ways of battle to unite with the English.”

  “Given Lord Balfour’s fierce loyalty to Comyn,” Cailin said, “the tactic makes sense.”

  A frown lined Rónán’s brow as he glanced from one man to the other. “Except the earl didna carry a missive for the English.”

  Aiden gave a slow nod. “Easily remedied, my friend. Given the sensitivity of the mission, I will explain that Comyn ordered all plans to be passed only through word of mouth.”

  “Which blasted makes sense.” Cailin walked to the window, looked out, turned. “How long do you think you can keep them here?”

  “A fortnight, mayhap more. Long enough for the Bruce to gather his forces and make a retaliatory plan.” Aiden glanced at Rónán. “I have changed my mind. I canna risk something going wrong and our sovereign being uninformed. Leave now.”

  The Templar nodded.

  Voices in the corridor grew louder. A knock sounded at the door. “Lord Balfour, the guards you requested are ready.”

  “’Tis Sir Pieres,” Aiden whispered. “My thanks,” he called out.” He met each of his men’s gazes. “Stay alert. God help us if we fail.”

  * * * *

  Hours later, the details of his meeting with the English pouring through his mind, Aiden entered Gwendolyn’s chamber. A fire blazed in the hearth, spilling wavering shadows along the walls and the arched beams overhead, much like the anger now fracturing his calm.

  He shoved the door closed. God’s sword, the situation was worse than they’d believed. He strode to the small table, poured a glass of wine, and downed the drink in one gulp.

  Two short raps sounded at the entry.

  With a muttered curse, he shoved the goblet aside, strode over, jerked open the door.

  Cailin hurried inside. “Before you ask, the serving maid informed me you were here. As for your wife, she is in the bailey.”

  Fresh rushes swirled on the floor as Aiden closed the entry with a firm snap. “Good.”

  “Do you think anyone aboard ship recognized you?” the Templar asked.

  “After the many countries I have traveled through, I worried that might happen, but I dinna believe so, but I canna risk further contact with the English crew.” Aiden paused. “Rónán?”

  “Is safely away.” Cailin gave a dry smile. “I returned with four rabbits. Not much, but ’twill squelch any suspicions of my departure’s intent.”

  “Did anyone question Rónán’s absence?”

  His friend shook his head. “With the servants busy preparing for the incoming Englishmen, I doubt whether anyone noticed he did not return.”

  “Still, if anyone inquires,” Aiden said, refusing to take any chances, “inform them Rónán pursues a stag in the forest.”

  “I will.”

  A slow pounding throbbed in his head, and Aiden poured two goblets of wine. He handed one to his friend. “The English force is led by the Duke of Northbyrn.”

  The Templar muttered a curse. “I have heard of him. A nasty lot.”

  “Brutal on the battlefield but a shrewd warrior, and a prudent choice to lead a force against the Bruce,” Aiden said. “Last spring he came close to routing King Robert west of here. Our sovereign willna be pleased to learn his nemesis has returned to Scottish soil, more so leading over five thousand well-armed men.”

  Cailin’s fingers whitened on his goblet. “Over five thousand. God’s blade, the Bruce will be angry.”

  “He will.” Aiden swirled the ruby liquid, took a sip. “Besides being armed with the finest weaponry, the duke bragged that they carry enough supplies to build several trebuchets.”

  His friend’s face paled. “How did he respond to the supposed instructions from Comyn to remain at the castle until he arrives?”

  “He was livid. But”—amusement lifted Aiden’s lips—“the plan we discussed earlier worked well. I was able to convince his grace that Lord Comyn must confirm the Bruce’s position, as well as investigate rumors of Welsh archers joining the king’s forces before he makes any plans to attack.”

  “Superb.” Cailin paused. “What have you told Lady Gwendolyn concerning the English?”

  “That once Comyn has completed his inquiry on the Bruce’s activities, he would travel here to meet with them.”

  “And her reaction?”

  “Surprise, as you might expect, which shifted to concern when I explained that the Duke of Northbyrn and his nobles would be residing at Latharn Castle until Comyn’s arrival.”

  Cailin lifted his goblet in a toast. “In the meantime, an attack will come, except ’twill be the Bruce storming this stronghold.” He lowered the cup. “What will happen to the lass?”

  “Before the assault, I will ensure she and those loyal to her are hidden to keep them safe.”

  Cailin grunted. “Is there such a place when a castle is under siege?”

  A twisting wrenched Aiden’s gut. In the heat of battle, even the best laid plans could go awry. “With the size of this fortress, I am confident secret passageways exist for such situations.” He prayed he was right.

  “How are you going to convince the lass to divulge such information?” Calin asked.

  The slow pounding in Aiden’s head built. “A challenge, to be sure.” He downed the remainder of his wine
, set the goblet on the table with an exasperated hiss. “Mayhap ’tis prudent to beseech the king to consider another tactic.”

  Cailin frowned. “Such as?”

  Aiden rubbed his thumb against his temple, irritated by his concern for her. Blast it, what happened to Gwendolyn was never supposed to matter. He stilled as an idea came to mind. “Our initial plan to collect information on the stronghold still stands.”

  His friend gave a slow nod.

  “However, against the duke’s sizable force, instead of allowing the English to remain here, I will wait a sennight, then craft a supposed missive from Comyn, requesting their presence. ’Twill lure the men away and prevent the English from using the stronghold as a defense, and Latharn Castle, along with her people, will be spared.”

  Calin nodded. “A logical solution.” He downed the remaining drink, set his empty goblet on the table. “I will pass your recommendations to King Robert. Once our sovereign has decided on a strategy, I will return with further direction.”

  A heavy weight settled in Aiden’s chest as he glanced toward the window. He walked there, unhinged the panes, shoved. Sunlight illuminated the land, the shimmer of golden rays glistening upon the breakers as far as he could see.

  On a sigh, he turned. “Leave now, my friend. You will need every hour of daylight.”

  “Aye,” Cailin replied.

  Aiden clasped his hand. “Godspeed.”

  The Templar strode across the chamber, pausing at the door. “Take care of the lass. She is, after all, your wife.” With a chuckle, he slipped into the corridor.

  Shouts and the clash of blades from arms practice echoed from the bailey.

  Aiden glanced at the combatants. His plans to manipulate the duke and his men was critical to King Robert’s intention to unite Scotland. Nor did he take lightly that Gwendolyn was an unknowing pawn in this deadly game.

  Hooves clattered from below.

  Astride his bay, Cailin glanced toward the tower. His gaze met Aiden’s a moment before he cantered beneath the gatehouse.