A Restless Knight (Dragons of Challon Book 1)

by Deborah MacGillivray

  He smiled, yet it failed to touch his ambient eyes, as if some inner spark in his heart had died. This man had lost much, enough to cripple others. Fires of revenge now drove him. This, and the lack of fear for his own life, made him a formidable opponent.

  “Aye, likely you have heard I am a giant, wear laurel leaves around my head, and sacrifice the English in blood ritual.” He laughed.

  “Glenrogha be a wee humble fief, but I offer whatever aid you and your followers may require―provided it causes no harm to the people of this glen or my lord husband.” Her soft warning did not fail to reach all ears.

  “You have our deepest gratitude, Lady Tamlyn. ’Tis vital Sir Andrew and I meet and come to a single mind. He plans on raising hell with the English in Moray. I in the south. With the backing of the Bishop of Glasgow, between the two of us we might just be able to push the English to the other side of the Tweed when they come with the spring.”

  Tamlyn feared this talk. She had seen Edward Longshanks. Just forcing the English out of Scotland would not last. It would only provoke Edward’s wrath. She thought of the sickening images of Berwick. Did this man not understand how many would die? Men talked of freedom. It was women, who suffered for those high dreams.

  Tamlyn drew a breath and closed her mind to the horrible images. “Sir Andrew and you are welcome to use the caves of Glenrogha as sanctuary anytime you need. Food be stored here. You may help yourself. I will see clothing and blankets fetched for you before you depart. Howbeit, leave Glen Shane out of the troubles. I wish you well, and ken my lord father shall ride with you. Only, I do not want Glenrogha, Kinloch, Lochshane or Lyonglen drawn into this struggle. My lord husband provides protection for this glen and is overlord for Lyonglen. He may be Norman, but he is now lord here. He is a good man. No matter who rules Scotland I will have your word neither he nor his men shall be harried or harmed.” She glared at her father, William and Andrew in determination. “Your word on this.”

  All three nodded.

  Tamlyn felt a small measure of relief at their assent. “I thank you each. Now, I must return before I am missed.”

  As she turned to leave the storage room, William caught her arm. “May I speak frankly, my lady?”

  She nodded. “Please feel free, William Wallace.”

  “Longshanks forced you to wed Earl Challon. You had no choice. So easily, you could be made a widow.” From the hard look in his eyes, she kenned he fully meant the offer.

  Tamlyn trembled. “Aye, I had no choice. Howbeit, my lord father had already thought to wed me to the man, believing he would make me a fine lord and husband. In these times of the troubles, Glenrogha is well served with the Dragon of Challon as our earl. My Norman husband proves a great shield against Longshanks. Challon be very rich. I doubt even Edward kens how rich. Glen Shane has the lord it needs. I have the husband I want. I have bound him to this valley and our ways.”

  “Does he treat you well?” For once, a soft emotion touched the glowing eyes. “His repute as Longshanks’ hellhound leads me to fear for your safety. Hence my offer. I wouldst not wish you to end up like the Countess of Dunbar and March.”

  “Have they heard of Countess Marjorie’s fate?”

  He shook his head. “We can only speculate. Edward says she returned north to Clan Comyn. None has seen her after Dunbar was taken in the spring. Some say she was at Berwick for the signing of the roll.”

  Tamlyn shook her head. “I think that was her daughter by law, also a Marjorie.”

  She paused, so many conflicting emotions within her. “Once, he was Longshanks’ champion, but no more. Something happened to him—the death of his younger brother Christian in Wales. Berwick, I suppose, was the final straw. He only wants to build a life here. I heard my lord husband comment to his cousin, his lands in Normandy and England were taken by Edward before he was sent here. I ken not the whole story. He shall not rush to aid the English, nor will he fight Scots―unless either threaten this glen. Glen Shane only matters to him. He will protect me, our people from anyone―be they English or Scot. I could never want or trust another to do that job so well.”

  William nodded. “Interesting. Still, you have not answered my question. How does he treat you, lass?”

  “I admire him. He treats me very well. I love him. I thank you for the offer, William Wallace. If things were different, I think you would like him—and he you.” She qualified her stance. “I support my lord father and respect his right to fight for what he believes. Glen Shane is what I believe in. Same as my lord husband. He will fight to shield us, so I will do naught to hamper his efforts. I would kill anyone who tried to raise a hand to Challon.”

  “I so hope you and your lord husband keep this valley safe, Lady Challon.”

  “Come, daughter, I shall see you to the bailey,” Hadrian interrupted.

  “Fare thee well, William Wallace. Go with our blessings and hopes of peace.” She watched the man move back to the small fire and warm his hands.

  Her father took her and drew her into the passageway. “Thank you for the food and the shelter. We will rest here a few days, then slowly move on, heading north. Wallace will leave before dawn. You care for your Dragon, daughter?”

  She nodded. “You heard me. I love Challon. It has not been an easy choice, knowing he was the man who took you prisoner and destroyed Kinmarch.”

  “He did what Edward commanded. Had it not been him, things might have gone worse for Kinmarch’s people, for me. He treated us fairly, honorably.” He laughed, squeezing her to him. “My babe carries a bairn. Do you have any idea how old that makes me feel? You shall see me a grandfather.”

  Tamlyn reached up, stroked the handsome face, and smiled into the pale green eyes. “You are not old. Must you go with Andrew? Why can you not stay here with us? This valley can be protected against all. You would be safe here. ’Tis a mistake to fight this English king. He is shrewd, but madness is a maggot rotting in his brain. He will not accept defeat. You ken this. Why fight?”

  Tamlyn broke down and sobbed against his chest, unable to stop the fear from seeping into her heart. Fear for her father. Fear for Challon. She loved them both and wished they wouldst stay within this valley. Let the rest of the world have their politics and strife. She wanted the people she loved far away from the coming war and devastation.

  Hadrian held her, rocking her. “Hush, mo chridhe, you will make the bairn sick.” He lifted her chin and kissed her nose. “I did well in my choosing a warrior for you. Challon will protect you, Tamlyn.”

  She sniffed. “You might have told me.”

  “But you are happy with my choice?” He laughed softly.

  “Aye, I would have no other.”

  “Come, I shall see you to the entrance of the broch.” He linked arms with hers and helped her carefully climb the spiraling stone steps. Pushing open the door, Hadrian checked to see if the path to the lord’s tower was clear. “Come, you must go.”

  Tamlyn hugged her father, the tears coming again. “Do no’ go, please―”

  Suddenly, she was yanked away from Hadrian, and a sword tip was placed at her father’s throat. She stared into the hard eyes of her husband. “No, Challon!” she gasped.

  “Tamlyn, step back,” Julian commanded, his voice as cold as winter. “No man touches my lady.”

  “Challon, stop this! ’Tis my father!” she pleaded.

  Tamlyn saw her husband blink, and push past his fury to really look at the man. Finally, recognition hit. “Earl Shane, last we heard of you, you were still a guest of Edward in the Tower.”

  “Good morrow, Lord Challon. Thanks be to you, Edward had Andrew de Moray and I moved to Chester. Whilst a definite improvement over the Tower, we still had little liking for the English clime.” Hadrian flashed his white teeth in a wicked grin. He reached up and gingerly removed the blade from his throat. “Let us dispense with this. You are no’ going to run me through before Tamlyn’s eyes, Julian Challon. I know it. You know it. Tamlyn does no’. Since s
he carries your child, let us see she does not suffer undue stress, eh?”

  Julian took hold of Tamlyn’s arm and motioned with the sword for Hadrian to precede them. “Move, Laird.”

  Hadrian looked to Tamlyn, then to Julian. He shrugged and then turned to go as instructed.

  Tamlyn jerked against the hold Challon had on her upper arm, and whipped around to face her husband. “You are no’ going to take him prisoner again?”

  “Tamlyn, stop fighting me. You only make this harder. Trust me to do what is right—for all of us.” His grip was not painful, but insistent.

  Challon marched Hadrian up the steps, and the paused to point with the sword for the Earl to continue to the upper staircase. At the lord’s chambers, he nodded for Hadrian to enter, then pushed Tamlyn in while he paused to speak to Moffet. Tamlyn saw the young man dash off as his lord closed the door.

  “Laird, you will remain here for now. You will excuse Tamlyn? I have need to speak to my wife in private.” Challon gave a nod to Hadrian. He handed Tamlyn a lit candle and pulled her out the door. He closed it firmly.

  She turned and opened her mouth, but he held up his finger and fixed her with an arched eyebrow. “Challon―”

  “Close your mouth, Tamlyn, and keep it closed.” Julian marched her back down the stairs, taking the turn for the second floor and heading to the small room that used to be hers. He opened the door, and with an upturned palm signaled, she should enter. Tamlyn did so, then watched as he closed the door. He leaned against it with his shoulder, propping his sword against the wall.

  “Get in bed, Tamlyn.” His words were uttered softly, though Tamlyn did not mistake the steel of the command.

  “What do you plan to do with my father?” She set the candle on the table by the bed.

  He exhaled. Shaking his head to the side, he moved to the small fireplace and set about lighting the peat in the hearth with his flint. “I have not decided. For the remainder of this night, he shall sleep in the lord’s chambers. I sent Moffet to fetch Rowanne and Raven. I assumed they wouldst like to see Earl Hadrian, to see him, to know he is well.”

  “I give thanks for these kindnesses, Julian. But what will you do on the morrow? Will you send him back to Edward?” Tamlyn pressed. “I fear what your king will do.”

  “He is your king, too, Tamlyn.”

  “He shall no’ be please that Hadrian escaped.” She prodded, knowing even so that she spoke the truth. “He and Andrew de Moray could not have gotten away had someone not decided to move them.”

  Challon cocked an eyebrow and looked up at her. “You, lady wife, would do well to worry more about pleasing me than fretting about Edward.”

  “You be angry with me?”

  He pursed his mouth and nodded. “That would be one way to put it.”

  “Challon, he be my father―”

  “I am no longer Julian, eh?” His green eyes narrowed. “And I am your husband, Tamlyn. Your first allegiance is to me now.”

  “Aye, Challon.”

  “Another aye, Challon? Why does that herald a meaning of just the opposite? I see your father moved, which enables Drummond to help Andrew and he be set free. And all I get is aye, Challon?” As the fire began to catch, he stood and pulled off his unbelted surcoat. Sitting on the bench, he unlaced his boots and dropped them. “Take your clothes off, Tamlyn.”

  “Challon, what are you going to do?” She backed up, unnerved by the curious mix of anger and playfulness he was displaying.

  “That depends. Since you are concerned about your father’s fate—and how I will punish you for slipping around behind my back—I shouldst think you would be a little more anxious about appeasing me.”

  His words might make someone else fearful, and in truth, Tamlyn was not entirely confident of his mood. She knew he was irate. “Challon, what are you—”

  Julian nearly sprang at her like a big cat, intent on bringing down prey. He backed her to the bed’s edge. “Take your clothes off, Tamlyn. Now. Do not push me to repeat the order.”

  She undid her mantle. He took it from her and tossed it to the floor. With trembling fingers, she worked at the lacings at one elbow, then the other. Tamlyn paused, looking up into his stormy eyes.

  His handsome face was dark with fury, but his eyes were alive with fire. “Why do you hesitate to obey, wife?”

  “I cannot reach the lacing up the back.”

  “I have played lady’s maid for you before. Turn around,” he voiced lowly.

  Tamlyn showed him her back. Lifting her hair, he dropped it over her right shoulder. His hand paused, then finally descended to smooth it. She glanced over her shoulder at him, trying to read his peculiar mood.

  He slowly undid the laces up the back, then pushed the sides away and off her shoulders. The kirtle started to fall, but Tamlyn clutched it to her breasts.

  “Tamlyn, are you trying to contrary me?” His question held a trace of a warning.

  She shook her head. “I am fat.”

  He laughed, then kissed her bare shoulder. “You are not fat. We made love earlier, so I know how you feel. You thicken from carrying my son within your body. I have wanted a son, Tamlyn. Since Christian’s death the yearning has increased. You have no idea how much.”

  A shiver spread over her. “Challon, what if I carry a daughter?”

  “’Tis doubtful. Dragons of Challon breed sons with black hair and green eyes.” He sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced his leather hose. “Get into bed. You have been up too long this day. You need your rest. Your father may make use of the lord’s chamber, since it was once his own. We will pass the night here.”

  Tamlyn dropped the kirtle and scooted under the covers, shivering from the chill of the bed. She was tired, fretful of what he would do about her father. Julian lifted the blanket and slid under. Leaning over, he blew out the candle. He stretched, then rolled over on top of her, keeping his weight off her body and on his elbows.

  “I thought I needed my rest,” Tamlyn said, staring up into his beautiful face.

  “You shall find it...presently. First, you need to ease my mind, Tamlyn. I saw you embracing another man―”

  “I embraced my father―”

  “Aye, you did. But I did not know that when I caught you. I misliked the feelings that evoked before my thoughts told me otherwise, Tamlyn. Make me forget.”

  She wiggled under him until her hand could close around the rigid length of hot male flesh.

  “Owww…God’s teeth, you and your icy hands.” He laughed, then nipped her ear.

  “I do not think my hand will be cold for long.” She skimmed the velvet skin over steel down his erection, and then brought it snaking back to the tip. His body throbbed to his pulse within her grasp. “Is this helping you forget?”

  She leaned up and brushed a kiss over his soft lips.

  “It makes me remember how cold your hands get when you are scared.” He cradled his arms around her hips, then he shifted so he was sitting in the bed. His hands positioned her knees to either side of his thighs. With a sure flex of his hips, he slid into her. “Ah, warmth again.” His white teeth flashed in the shadows. With a strong thrust, he moved within her tight body. “Here is where you say, aye, Challon.”

  She used her internal muscles to squeeze hard his hot length. “Aye, Challon. Oh, aye, Challon.”

  “Oh, aye, Tamlyn!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ged bheir thu bean o Ifrinn, bheir i dhachaigh thu.

  (Though you should take a wife from Hell,

  yet she will bring you home.)

  — Auld Scots Adage

  Julian thought the great festivals marked the passage of time at Glenrogha. He had come in the spring and experienced the joys of Beltaine, and married Tamlyn. Since then, he had celebrated Midsummer’s Eve, Lughnasadh, Samhaine and Yuletide. The Wheel was coming full circle, as her people sayeth.

  Where in deep summer Scotland remained light for most of the day, the opposite proved true for the cold winter
. Days were too short to finish chores, and drifting snows encouraged all to stay indoors, hovering near fireside. After Yuletide, the days slowly begin to creep back from the long darkness.

  He had spent the long nights holding Tamlyn, learning to open himself to her, to speak of the loss of Christian, the brutalities of war, his hopes, his desires. More importantly, how much he needed his life here with her. Each tear he shed, the soothing strokes of her hand, Tamlyn healed the pain inside him with her pagan craft. She made him live again.

  Now, another festival was upon them―St. Bride’s Day or Imbolg. As a Christian, he called it Candlemas. To his surprise, he found in both religions the day bespoke of fire and purification. The Scots took torches of heather and ran with them held high through the meadows and orchards at dawn to awaken them. Near dusk, Glenrogha’s people returned to purify the fields and apple trees. Each carrying a fat woad candle, they formed a long line and paraded around them, chanting and singing.

  The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. Tamlyn was not taking part in either ceremony. His wife was otherwise occupied.

  Needing a breath of fresh air, Julian climbed to the top of the lord’s tower and watched the flickering lights snaking across the fields below. The site was beautiful, like faeries twinkling in the night. Oh, what he would not give to have his arms around his Tamlyn and share the beauty of the pagan ceremony with her. Next year. Next year he could stand here with Tamlyn and their son and watch. Growing impatient, Julian turned and went back inside, heading to the Great Hall. He glanced to the redheaded man standing by the fireplace—Tamlyn’s father. Hadrian seemed as restless as he was and no more adept at hiding it.

  “Any word?” Julian asked, but the reply was clear on the countenance of his father-by-marriage.

  Hadrian exhaled and shook his head no.

  The Earl had left two days after Samhaine, heading north with Andrew de Moray to the Moray strongholds. Before Yule, Tamlyn’s father had returned late one night, wishing to see his daughters.

  While Hadrian was still a vital, active man, Julian thought he would fare better at Glenrogha, rather than on the move, hiding during this harsh winter. The land and people suffered because of the summer-long drought. He finally talked the laird into spending the wintry season in Glen Shane. Since Tamlyn was in her final months of carrying their child, she had been able to entreat her father to remain at least until the birth of the babe.