Broderick set his sister on her feet, reluctant to ask, “Did he harm ye in any way?”
She rubbed her wrists. “The rope burned my skin and he kept gripping my arm too tightly, even pinched me sometimes.”
Relief washed over him as he kissed Lily’s chafed wrists, but…
“What about Kyla,” Darroch asked, giving voice to the question burning in Broderick’s gut.
Lily shook her head. “Nay. He was rude to her, but she was too busy sailing the boat to pay him any heed.”
Darroch chuckled. “Sounds like Kyla. The man’s an idiot if he thinks my daughter would sit idle in Gretna and not pursue him.”
Broderick hunkered down next to Lily. “Who was with her?”
She tapped her chin. “Yer captain.”
“Delft?”
“And Adrian. Lochwood gave him a dagger.”
“So he left his valet to guard the hostages?”
“Aye. But I dinna believe Adrian would follow his orders. He hates Laird Lochwood.”
A cough alerted them to the king’s presence. Engrossed in their conversation, they hadn’t noticed him approach. They bowed and Lily curtseyed.
“The wretch is still at large,” James assured them. “Did ye see the shock on his face when he set eyes on ye, Maxwell? He thought ye were a ghostie.”
“I thank ye, Sire,” was all Broderick could choke out past the lump in his throat. He ought to compliment the king on his adept handling of the subterfuge, but…
“What’s the consensus about yer daughter, MacKeegan?” James asked.
“We’re nay sure if she’s still in Gretna, or if she followed Lochwood here. ’Tis possible he waylaid her if he sensed she was following him, and if he escapes he might try to get back there.”
Broderick didn’t want to contemplate what retribution the lunatic might exact in that case. “We must get on the road to Gretna, Yer Majesty, but my sister…”
The king patted Lily’s head. “Dinna fash. She can play with our children while ye’re gone. I’ll send for Queen Anne’s ladies. They’ll find the courageous young lady a frock.”
“Companion to princes and a princess,” Broderick whispered to Lily. “A high honor.”
She kept the smile on her face, but he sensed her annoyance. He wasn’t certain if it was caused by the prospect of playing with three royal children or dressing like a lass, or she simply didn’t want to be left behind.
He hugged her fiercely, and kissed her cheek. “I hafta go.”
“I ken,” she replied with a smile. “Go rescue Kyla. She cares for ye. She was heartbroken when she thought ye’d drowned.”
They bowed their way out of the king’s presence, rushed down the staircases, and retrieved their weapons from the gatekeeper. Sprinting the length of the revetment, they whistled for the groom to saddle their mounts.
Ten minutes later they were through the main gate, galloping for Gretna.
*
Corbin fought for breath as he crouched atop a narrow parapet, clutching the rough brick. The open window on the second floor of the keep had been a godsend, and he congratulated himself on having the presence of mind to slam it shut behind him. However, he hated heights and glancing down to the cobblestones far below made him nauseous.
The sliver of masonry had obviously been designed to buttress a nearby tower—the place of Queen Mary’s imprisonment, if he recalled correctly. Merchants he’d dealt with in Carlisle had once talked about an old postern gate near the tower. It was his only hope. But if he fell…
Knees trembling, arms outstretched for balance, he got to his feet, cursing the clumsy scabbard. Not to mention Maxwell’s trews were too long. How the fyke had the man survived the tidal bore? For a moment, Corbin thought he’d seen a ghost.
Well, Maxwell would pay for scaring him out of his wits.
He was reluctant to discard the scabbard, but it was no use without a weapon, and he might trip over it. He unbuckled the sword belt and let it fall, cringing as it clattered on the cobblestones.
Gritting his teeth, he put one foot in front of the other, squealing when he was forced to flail his arms to keep his balance. Heart pounding, he nigh on ran the remaining seven paces, counting them as he went, and recounting over and over as he launched himself to the safety of the tower’s roof and clung to the tile like a limpet.
When the deafening noise in his ears receded, he glanced back to the window, satisfied he’d eluded capture. Now all he had to do was find the postern gate.
He scrambled around the perimeter of the roof like a crab until he came to the side closest to the exterior curtain wall. He leaned over as far as he dared, looking for any sign of a small gate. There was definitely a thick, stone jamb set into an angle in the wall, but no sign of a gateway, and no sentry.
Now he thought about it, the merchants had said something about it being bricked up years ago.
His hopes plummeted—until he heard hammering, followed by a female voice he recognized.
“This is a waste of time. We’ll ne’er get it open.”
On top of everything else that had gone wrong, Kyla MacKeegan had disobeyed him. But it appeared she was trying to breach the very gate vital to his freedom.
If he could just get to the top of the curtain wall, he’d be able to see what she was doing.
*
Each time Nicolson struck the chisel with Smith’s hammer, it bounced off the iron grill embedded into the brick.
“’Tis a waste of time,” Kyla said again. “And we’re too exposed here on the embankment. Sooner or later, someone is going to come out of the main gate and challenge us.”
The long walk from Gretna had been tiring. The tortuous scramble along the steep, overgrown embankment that flanked Carlisle’s high curtain wall had drained the last of her strength.
She crouched down in the long grass beside a pale-faced Adrian when two riders came galloping out of the gate. Nicolson dropped his tools and dove for cover.
Gathering her courage when she thought the horses had passed, she peered out from their hiding place. The breath hitched in her throat when she caught sight of the long red mane of one of the men.
Exhaustion had stolen her wits. He looked just like…but Dadaidh was in Skye. She gaped. Something about the second rider…
“I’m losing my mind,” she mumbled.
“That mon looked like yer father,” Nicolson replied. “If I didna ken…”
Always trust yer instincts, lass.
Heart racing, Kyla sprang from the grass and waved her arms over her head. “Dadaidh,” she screamed.
But it was too late.
*
Broderick heard a shout behind him. He risked a glance over his shoulder, surprised to see Darroch had reined to a halt.
He pulled his horse up abruptly, wheeled around and hurried back. “What’s amiss?”
“I’m nay sure,” Darroch replied. “I caught sight of someone hiding in the grass just after we exited the main gate.”
Impatience tugged at Broderick. “That was three miles back. Why have ye stopped now?”
“It has played on my mind. Few folks have hair as red as Kyla’s.”
Broderick tightened his grip on the reins. Kyla? In Carlisle? Hope warred with doubt. “Ye truly think ’twas her?”
“I ken she wouldna stay in Gretna, no matter what Lochwood threatened. Dinna forget, she thinks ye’re dead. She’d want to tell the king.”
“But how would she ken James is in Carlisle?”
“Because Lochwood decided to come here instead of fleeing to his own castle. She must have kent the reason. Even if she didna care about ye, she’d want Lochwood denounced for his crimes.”
They stared at each other. If they went back and Kyla wasn’t there, precious time would be wasted. But Darroch was clearly uneasy. Broderick nodded. “We’ll trust yer instinct, my laird.”
They urged their steeds to a gallop once more, this time heading for Carlisle Castle.
D
eadly Dance
Kyla stood rooted to the spot, afraid any movement might cause her to tumble down the steep embankment. She stared in the direction the riders had gone, praying they would turn, but the dust slowly settled to reveal an empty horizon.
Her emotions were in turmoil. Her father couldn’t have been one of the riders. She’d wanted to believe he had miraculously appeared at the very moment she needed him, and her mind had played tricks with her eyes. Moreover, for Broderick to be the second rider—utterly impossible. She’d seen him succumb to the rising water.
“We’d best get these tools back to Smith,” Nicolson said. “I’ll wager yer father’s heading for Gretna.”
His words barely penetrated the fog in her brain—a new dust cloud on the horizon seemed to be getting bigger. Could it be…
She turned to her navigator. Adrian was helping him gather the tools. “Do ye truly…?”
The breath whooshed from her lungs when a man leapt from the very top of the curtain wall, yelling a battle cry. He landed on Nicolson. Sledgehammer, chisel, and pincers fell to the ground as the two men bowled Adrian over, then rolled down the embankment, locked in a deadly embrace, until they reached the ditch.
Kyla’s innards clenched when she realized the assailant was Corbin Lochwood.
Adrian lay in a stupor.
She looked off into the distance. The riders—if indeed they were headed toward Carlisle—weren’t close enough to assist. Nicolson was strong, but no longer a young man, and Corbin had obviously knocked the wind out of him.
A strange calm took hold when she accepted her fate. It fell to her to defend her navigator and deal with Lochwood once and for all. She drew Broderick’s dagger and rushed headlong into the fray.
*
When the castle came in view, Broderick’s gut clenched. A struggle was going on near the main gate. A man who might be Nicolson was out cold, lying in the ditch. Kyla was locked in a deadly dance with Corbin Lochwood. She was armed with a dagger, but Lochwood held her wrist firmly in his grip. One wrong move in the muddy ditch and either one of them could be impaled. He bellowed a war cry, frustrated that he was yet too far away to help her.
Darroch spurred his horse to go faster, and Broderick kept pace.
They reined to a halt a few feet from the melee.
Broderick leapt from his horse, only to come face to face with a grinning demon who held the dagger to Kyla’s throat, his other arm clamped under her chin.
Only her eyes betrayed her terror. Now it was up to him to give her courage, just as she had strengthened him when he faced death. There was no need for words. He looked her in the eye and hoped she understood his determination to thwart the maniac’s plans.
“Stay back,” Lochwood shouted, his face muddied, his hair an ungodly tangle. “Laird MacKeegan, what a surprise. Dismount and throw down your weapons.”
Jaw clenched, Darroch obeyed, but walked slowly to Broderick’s side. “If ye take my daughter’s life, I’ll hunt ye to the four corners o’ the earth,” he growled.
Lochwood sniggered, still gasping for breath. “Why should I kill her, when I have more pleasurable pursuits in mind?” he replied, stroking the point of the dagger down Kyla’s upper arm. “A little pain, perhaps,” he taunted as a trickle of blood stained her sleeve.
Broderick gritted his teeth. Adrian lay motionless in the grass at the top of the embankment. If Lochwood’s departure could be delayed long enough, the valet might regain his wits, though what a mere lad could do… “And how do ye hope to escape? The whole garrison is hunting ye.”
“Aha! They think I’m inside the keep, but as you see…Now, step away from your horses. My plaything and I have need of them.”
“I’ll nay go with ye willingly,” Kyla rasped, her eyes still locked with Broderick’s.
She clutched at Lochwood’s arm as he tightened his grip around her neck.
“Stop behaving like a strumpet,” he hissed.
Growling, Darroch took a step forward.
Broderick’s throat constricted when he risked another quick glance to the top of the embankment.
Adrian had disappeared.
Lochwood brandished the dagger at Darroch. “Step aside, lest you wish…”
His next words emerged as garbled drivel. His eyes lost their focus. His knees buckled. Darroch lunged to grab the dagger. With a startled cry, Kyla rushed into Broderick’s arms when her abductor pitched head first into the muck.
Swaying unsteadily, Adrian stood triumphant, sledgehammer in hand. “Teck that, ye miserable excuse for a laird,” he crowed before his legs gave way. He sat down on the slope and retched.
Broderick cooed words of comfort, stroking her back as Kyla trembled in his arms. “Ye’re safe now. I’ll ne’er let him hurt ye again.”
Darroch planted a foot on Lochwood’s back and chuckled. “I’d say my daughter does, indeed, love ye, Laird Maxwell.”
*
The realization her father had followed her from Skye confirmed what Kyla had always known. He loved her. She would throw her arms around him and weep—later.
She couldn’t yet let go of Broderick. The darling man she’d thought lost forever had been found, but she had to keep her body pressed to his, feel the strength in his embrace and inhale his unique scent in order to truly believe it.
It was his melodious voice murmuring reassurances, his teeth nibbling her ear, his fingers entwined in her hair, his male hardness tucked against her mons. Still she clung to him, lest he disappear and her trembling legs fail if she let go.
“Are ye a dream?” she whispered.
“Nay,” he replied with a chuckle. “’Tis Broderick Maxwell in the flesh.”
She lay her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart—proof he was alive. “Dinna let me go.”
“Never,” he declared.
*
Broderick supposed he should be paying more attention to the dozens of soldiers who suddenly rushed out of the main gate and swarmed over the embankment. He was relieved Darroch had taken charge. Nicolson and Adrian were being tended to. Lochwood’s hands were manacled behind his back. He’d been hoisted to his feet, but appeared to be in a stupor, held up by two burly guards.
All that mattered was the trembling lass he held in his arms, a woman who’d become more important to him than life itself. He didn’t want to contemplate what might have happened had he and Darroch not turned around, or if Adrian hadn’t revived. His own knees went weak with relief when the tremors subsided and color returned to her cheeks.
The way ahead was clear. He was laird of a proud clan and it was past time he took charge of his own life and accepted responsibility for the wellbeing of his clan-folk. There was no one better suited to be Lady of Caerlochnaven than Kyla. He ought to ask her father’s permission but, in a way, Darroch had already given his blessing.
“I love ye, Mistress MacKeegan,” he rasped in her ear. “Will ye wed with me?”
Trial
The Court’s departure for Edinburgh was postponed so that a speedy trial could be convened the day after Lochwood’s arrest. The king exercised his right as sovereign to act as sole judge in the case. A murmur of agreement with the pronouncement rose from the crowd packed into the Great Hall.
Broderick was more than relieved the matter would be dealt with quickly. He was in a hurry to get back to Caerlochnaven and begin his new life with Kyla. He doubted the outcome of the trial would be any different if a jury of Lochwood’s peers was assembled. The evidence against him was overwhelming.
The accused might argue the king was not an impartial judge. His attempt at escape from under the royal nose had infuriated the monarch above and beyond his dismay at the crimes committed. However, if Lochwood hoped for a quick and painless death, he’d be wiser not to challenge the king.
Kyla and Lily were not allowed to be present for the proceedings. Broderick was glad his sister would be spared the ordeal, but soothing Kyla’s ruffled feathers hadn’t b
een easy. She’d eventually allowed her father to persuade her it would be better not to be there.
“Besides,” Broderick told her softly, “I’ll testify to Lochwood’s actions when he forced me into the tidal bore, but I’ll nay be sharing what passed between us.”
She blushed. “I hope I wasna too brazen, but ye’re a bonnie man.”
It was exhilarating that his male endowments impressed her but recognized there was a more profound reason for what had transpired at the Nith. “Ye gave me courage when my own deserted me.”
“Ye did the same for me when Lochwood had me by the throat.”
He mulled over their whispered exchange as the trial began, marveling at the alchemy he shared with a lass he’d know only a short while. A sudden hush drew his attention as Lochwood was dragged in and shackled to a metal ring in the wall.
The wretch was almost unrecognizable, clad in soiled pantaloons and a linen over-shirt. He resembled a hedgehog with his once elegantly coiffured hair cropped short. He gazed around in a daze, seemingly puzzled by what was afoot.
Broderick had no notion what had happened to the clothing stolen from him, nor did he care. He’d retrieved his sword from the gatehouse, and the missing scabbard could be replaced.
James sat ramrod straight during the reading of the charges by some elegantly garbed functionary who probably hadn’t expected to be playing an important role in such momentous proceedings—a prominent Scottish laird, on trial for his life. It brought back too many bitter memories for Broderick. The sooner it was over, the better he’d feel, and he grieved for the Lochwood Clan’s humiliation. At least his father had a son to assume the mantle of Caerlochnaven and the lairdship of Clan Maxwell. Corbin had no issue.
Asked how he pleaded to the charges, Lochwood mumbled something unintelligible. When the official looked to the throne for guidance, the king ordered him to proceed with a careless wave of the hand.
Called to testify first, Darroch MacKeegan gave an account of the trading agreement he’d made with Corbin Lochwood, admitting his misgivings about the man’s character and intentions—the reason he’d followed his daughter to the Solway. “I’ll ne’er forgive myself for putting my bairn’s life in jeopardy,” he said, choking back his emotion.
Kilty Pleasures (Clash of the Tartans Book 3) Page 16