by Diana Cosby
Seething, Gwendolyn remained silent. Let the fools believe that trussing her up and surrounding her with a contingent of knights would squelch any thoughts of rebellion. ’Twould give her the advantage when she made her move to escape.
She narrowed her gaze as they bound Aiden’s gash, then lifted him to lean against Cailin on his mount.
Cailin shot her a frustrated glance. “You will be given dry garb once we reach camp.”
With a cool look, she angled her jaw. Like Aiden and Rónán, he’d deceived her. But however inexcusable, Aiden’s sin was worse. With his vows uttered to God, he’d crossed a sacred boundary and allowed her, along with those who’d witnessed the event, to believe they were wed. Having given his pledge using Bróccín’s name nullified their wedding, their bond of marriage naught but a myth.
She stifled the ache that ripped through her soul.
Mouth tight, Cailin waved the men forward, then kicked his steed into a canter.
Sir David’s grip on her firm, he nudged his mount forward.
Twigs snapped beneath the horse’s hooves as the men riding in company enveloped her within their protective circle as they rode through the forest.
Each knoll they crested she covertly scoured the surroundings, noted the distance of the stream to the north, the mountains, and other details that would aid her once she was free.
With stealth, Gwendolyn brushed her hand against the dagger that lay hidden beneath her clothing. How much farther until they reached King Robert’s camp? She had to escape before then.
A man’s shout sounded nearby.
“’Tis Comyn’s men,” Sir Cailin hissed to the others. “Follow me.” He cut hard toward a dense stand of fir.
Through the branches, she glimpsed several of her liege lord’s knights in the distance. Her heart slammed in her chest. They were leaving! Using her shoulder, she pushed her gag down.
Sir David grabbed her arm. “Cease!”
She started to twist away, caught sight of the warriors disappearing in the distance. Gwendolyn sagged. Even if she called out now, at this distance, Comyn’s men would never hear her. For any chance to escape before they reached the Bruce’s camp, she couldn’t raise her captors’ suspicions further.
The rich scent of pine, the scrape of needled limbs, and the soft thud of hooves filled the air as their steeds pushed between the thick boughs.
Shielded within the dense cover, Sir Cailin waved the men to halt. Face taut, he guided his mount over. “Had you succeeded in alerting Comyn’s men,” he said, his words ice, “for their gallantry in trying to rescue you, they would have died.”
The arrogant toad! “Seasoned knights or not, with you and your warriors outnumbered more than three to one, my liege lord’s men would have defeated you with ease.”
“I willna discuss the incompetence of Lord Comyn’s forces,” Cailin said, his voice raw with frustration. “You have naught to fear. I swear to you, you willna be harmed.”
She scoffed. “After the lies you have fed me, I should trust you?”
Cailin scowled. “Believe what you will.” He nodded to Sir David.
Her captor secured the cloth over her mouth.
However curious, she smothered the temptation to glance toward Aiden. After his carefully crafted lies, he did not deserve her concern.
With a nod, Cailin reined his mount forward; his men followed.
Wind slid through the trees as they wove their way through the dense boughs. Halfway down the incline, they broke free of the shielding limbs. Sir David’s hold loosened.
Cailin’s mount ahead of them stumbled, and then found firm footing. “’Tis slick with moss,” he called to his men.
As her captor’s horse stepped onto the soft ground, his mount faltered. Gwendolyn fell forward and caught the steed’s mane.
Bent low and blocked from her captor’s view, she withdrew her dagger, hid the weapon within the outer folds of her clothing. Silently cheering her success, she sagged back, as if she had succumbed to fatigue.
“Steady, lad,” Sir David said to his mount, and then guided him onto firmer ground, while the other riders surrounding them separated to avoid the slippery terrain.
Thankful for the knight’s diverted attention, her movements awkward with her hands bound, she carefully positioned the blade, edge up, beneath the knot securing the ties. With each of the horse’s steps, the rocking motion brought the rope against the dagger’s edge.
The twisted hemp scraped.
She held her breath, waited for her captor to try to seize her weapon.
The warrior continued guiding his destrier through the weave of trees.
Confident the thud of hooves on the rock and moss smothered the steel severing woven hemp, she pressed the rope harder against the dagger.
Several strands frayed.
The tightness on her wrists eased.
A hawk screeched, its wingspan daunting as its majestic shadow rippled across the canopy of leaves overhead.
The ground angled down, and a gust of wind laden with summer heat, the scent of earth, and fir filled the air. Patches of moss littered the slope, increasing until, near the bottom, the spongy growth covered every rock until ’twas hard to distinguish where the stones ended and the grass began. The faint rush of water sounded ahead.
They were riding back toward the river. Why? There could be only one reason. They must be nearing the Bruce’s camp.
Fighting a wave of panic, Gwendolyn pressed the rope harder against the blade’s edge. After several more slides, the tie fell apart.
Heart pounding, she shoved the binding beneath her clothing, ignored the tingles at her wrists, and kept her hands out of his sight. When they rode near a thicket, she discreetly dropped the bindings.
Gwendolyn secured her blade. Fighting back exhaustion, she scoured the land, searching for anything that could aid her escape.
“Sir Quentin,” Sir Cailin called. “Blood has started to seep from Aiden’s wound. We will halt in the firs ahead so I can stop the flow.”
Still bleeding. Irritated at herself that after his deception she’d still care, Gwendolyn smothered the thought of all he had done to keep her and her people safe. He deserved naught but her condemnation.
Beyond the rich green swath of grass, the churn of the water increased.
She clasped her dagger tight.
Sir David’s horse pushed into the thick stand of fir, separating them from the other riders.
Needled branches enveloped them, and she fisted her free hand in the horse’s mane.
A large bough loomed ahead.
Pulse racing, Gwendolyn leaned forward, as if ducking below the limb. Once enshrouded within the dense green, she dove toward the moss and needled ground.
With a curse, Sir David caught the edge of her gown. “Halt!”
She jerked back, slammed against his mount’s shoulder. Teeth clenched, she twisted, slashed her blade.
Fabric tore.
Gwendolyn tumbled back, landing hard. Ignoring the burst of pain, she scrambled beneath the dense cover and out the other side.
“She has escaped,” her captor roared from behind her.
Pine boughs scraped her face as she pushed to her feet, ran. Muttered curses and the muted thud of hooves sounded behind her as she raced toward the rush of water, her muscles screaming with each step.
“I will catch her,” Sir David shouted.
Pain cut through her chest and leaves slapped against her as she sprinted toward the water.
Hooves flashed at her side.
She veered around a rock.
Three steps until the bank.
Two.
Highland-fed water spewed around her as she stepped into the rush. She gulped a breath, dove.
Water erupted beside her. The warrior’s hand grabbed her sh
oulder and then pulled her up. Before she could whirl and fight, Sir David had torn her blade free. He cast the dagger into the river.
His brows were slammed into a fierce frown as he wheeled her to face him. “Dinna move.” After a brisk search for any other weapons, he carried her to shore, withdrew another thick hemp tie, and this time secured her hands behind her back.
Gasping for breath, she narrowed her gaze. “If you believe this will stop me from escaping, you are wrong.”
Sir David lifted her until she was nose-to-nose to him. “And would you be able to use a weapon given another chance?” he demanded. “Feel a blade slice through flesh and watch the life fade from a man’s eyes, knowing you could kill someone who may have a family, people who care?”
“For my people, I will do what I must,” she snapped, but she could not deny that his words resonated. Fortunately, she hadn’t had to make such a decision yet.
With a grunt, as if she were not more than an irritating midge, the warrior tugged her toward his mount, swung up, and then dragged her before him.
“You did not replace the gag. Are you not worried that I will scream?” she challenged.
“There is nay reason,” Sir David said with irritating calm. “The Bruce’s camp is over the ridge.”
Her heart sank, but she remained silent, refused to show fear.
Her captor kicked his mount forward. Moments later, they rode into the swath of pines.
At the scrape of limbs, she saw Aiden’s gaze lift and meet hers as Cailin secured his wound.
Emotions and exhaustion warred within, weighted beneath the dreams his betrayal had crushed. She had believed in him, worse, had allowed herself to hope, to fall into the delusion that one day he would come to love her.
The bastard.
Gwendolyn lunged toward him.
Sir David’s arm jerked her back.
She glared at Aiden. “I despise you!”
Grief darkened Aiden’s gaze, and he winced as he shook his head. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Hurt? Too trivial a word to describe the pain tearing through her heart, the devastation of every foolish dream she’d allowed herself to hold dear.
Muddy water plopped onto her sodden clothes as she gulped a breath of pine-rich air, then another, damning how her body had begun to shake. She’d trusted him, believed he’d cared for her, when every step of the way, with his every kiss, with his every intimate touch, he had lied.
She lifted her jaw. “Nay doubt ’twas a boon to watch your enemy’s fields’ burn. How you must have inwardly rejoiced that we made your mission so much easier.”
“Gwendolyn—”
“How dare you speak to me with such familiarity!” she attacked, the memories of his mouth upon hers, of how he had touched her, brought her pleasure, too vivid.
Aiden gave a frustrated sigh. “Once we reach camp, we will talk.”
“Save your words for someone who might believe you,” she growled. “You have earned naught but my contempt.”
A frown deepened Cailin’s brow as he finished securing another strip of cloth around Aiden’s wound. He glanced toward the man holding her in the saddle. “David, before we go, ensure Lady Gwendolyn has nay other weapons hidden.”
“I disarmed her when I caught her.” The knight’s gaze narrowed on her. “Nor will I underestimate her again.”
Pride flickered in Aiden’s eyes, faltered to sadness. “A warning I would have given you had I been awake.”
“One,” Cailin said, “I should have passed to Sir David upon her capture.”
She scowled, far from impressed by either man’s praise. “A caution men rarely consider when dealing with women.”
With a grunt, Cailin mounted his horse.
Aiden clasped his friend’s hand and then swung up behind him. He glanced toward her.
Gwendolyn turned away.
Sir David guided his mount into the midst of the knights.
’Twas clear he wouldna risk allowing her any further chance to escape. As they rode over the moss and brush-tangled land, the churn of water grew. A shiver rattled through her as the worry she had fought to keep at bay surged inside.
What would King Robert do when he learned of her capture? Would he order her to a nunnery? Without a holding or coin, would Scotland’s monarch abandon her to fend for herself? Or, considering her loyalty to Comyn, would he have her killed?
Please God, let the Bruce think she was worthless to his cause and cast her out. Alone, she could make her way to her liege lord. Given her faithfulness to him over the years, and after her having married the noble he’d ordered…
Her bravado wilted.
Nay, she hadn’t married Bróccín MacRaith, Earl of Balfour. Her oath was naught but impious utterings against the sacrament of marriage. No marriage had taken place.
Gwendolyn concentrated on her immediate goal. Somehow, she would sneak past their defenses. More important, regardless the challenges ahead, she would find a way to reclaim Latharn Castle.
* * * *
Men’s murmurs from outside the tent mixed with the distant clash of blades of warriors training as Aiden, standing beside his Templar brothers, stared at the Bruce. The king’s words moments before left him stunned.
Though he’d considered a Templar connection to Latharn Castle, to find it true was incredible. Nor was that the only news of great import.
Aiden caught Cailin’s worried glance before shifting his gaze to the king. “Her father was loyal to you, Sire?” he asked, still working past the shock of the disclosure.”
“Aye,” the Bruce replied.
“Your Grace,” Aiden said, damning the hurt the news would bring her, “Lady Gwendolyn isna aware of her father’s fealty to you.”
“Due to the Earl of Hadington’s role as a spy against Lord Comyn, her father believed ’twas best to keep his daughter ignorant of that fact. After I had united Scotland and once Latharn Castle was safe, he had planned to inform her. Except”—the king’s eyes darkened with anger—“he died.”
Confused, Aiden frowned. “’Tis not uncommon for men to die in battle, Your Grace.”
“If the Earl of Hadington had been killed during combat,” the Bruce said, his voice hard, “I would agree!”
Aiden stilled at the revelation, the ramifications immense. “Sire, Lady Gwendolyn was informed her father was killed during a skirmish.”
The king grunted. “A lie fed to her by Comyn. Her father died at Comyn’s castle. I suspect the Earl of Hadington’s loyalty to me was discovered and he was murdered.”
God’s sword, the news of her liege lord’s betrayal would devastate Gwendolyn.
“With the Earl of Hadington’s death, after I had subdued Comyn, I had planned to seize Latharn Castle. Except—” The king poured a glass of wine, swirled the ruby liquid in the cup, and then lifted his gaze to Aiden. “I received news Comyn was sending the Earl of Balfour to wed Lady Gwendolyn. With the earl’s fierce reputation and strong alliance with Comyn, a union I couldna allow.”
“The reason why you chose Cailin, Rónán, and me to assess the castle,” Aiden said.
“Aye.” The king took a sip of wine. “With the strategic stronghold shielding Templar secrets, I couldna risk anyone but those of the Brotherhood assessing the fortress. Like Avalon Castle, now overseen by Stephan MacQuistan, Earl of Dunsmore, Latharn Castle is one of the few fortresses in Scotland that are critical to the Templars.”
Aiden remained silent.
The king took another sip, then set aside his goblet. “Before the Grand Master was arrested, he sent a secret runner with a holy relic to the Earl of Hadington to hide until I could reach the noble. Once I had defeated Comyn, I planned on having the artifact moved to Avalon Castle to be stored with the rest of the Templar valuables. God help us if the Earl of Balfour discovered the treasure b
elonging to the Brotherhood in the secret chamber.”
Curiosity teased Aiden as to exactly what was hidden, but he discarded the thought. The Templars guarded many important treasures. Now, as before, they must ensure whatever the Grand Master had concealed beneath the fortress was kept safe.
“Which brings us back to Latharn Castle.” The Bruce nodded to Aiden. “You will lead the assaulting force. Once taken, find the Earl of Hadington’s secret ledger. ’Twill hold details of where the hidden tunnels and chambers are located. I will send the Earl of Broc to move the treasure with the other holy relics beneath Avalon.”
Aiden nodded. “Aye, Your Grace.”
The king leaned back in his chair. “Lady Gwendolyn may know of the ledger’s location, which would save you great frustration.”
“With her closeness to her father, and with the confidence with which she ran the stronghold,” Aiden said, “I suspect she does.”
“Information we must discover.” The Bruce frowned. “Though I doubt, with her learning of your deception, a fact she would be willing to share with you.”
“Though furious and stubborn,” Aiden said, refusing to give up hope she would talk to him. Forgiving him was another matter. “She is rational, Sire. I am confident we can come to an agreement in which she will reveal the hidden ledger’s location.”
King Robert rubbed his jaw. “You speak highly of a woman who at this moment would rather see your head on a pike.”
“I speak naught but the truth,” Aiden said, damning that, against his intent, she had become important to him. “Lady Gwendolyn is strong-willed and speaks her mind. The lass is passionate about those she cares for, braver than most, and…”
He stilled beneath the intrigued glitter in the king’s eyes. Blast it, well he knew of the ruler’s affinity for independent women, though his point wasna to express his own interest. His sovereign needed to understand the damage served to her virtuous way of life. “She is innocent of all but trying to defend her home. I ask that you offer her your protection.”
The Bruce stared at him a long moment, then dropped his hand to his side. “I will consider your request. Return to your tent. Once I have decided what to do with the lass, I will send for her.”