by Jarecki, Amy
“I’ll say.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “He refused to listen to reason and he’s about to get himself killed.” Gyllis tried to sit up. “I must stop him.”
“You must rest.” Meg sat beside her and rubbed ointment on Gyllis’s head. It had a potent, minty smell and made her eyes water. “This should help clear the cobwebs.”
“What’s in it?”
“My own concoction. Smelling salts blended with peppermint, valerian and whale oil.”
Gyllis blinked to clear her tears. “’Tis potent.”
“Aye.” Meg wiped her fingers on a cloth. “You ken, Sir Sean is one of the most skilled knights in all of Scotland.”
“Aye.”
Meg let out a long breath. “If I were bound in irons and left to starve, I’d want justice.”
Gyllis reached for Meg’s cloth and wiped off the ointment, so foul it was clearing the cobwebs a bit too fast. “Would you seek vengeance yourself or would you allow others to do battle for you?”
“If I were a knight, there’d be no question. I would face my oppressor.”
“Even if you were weakened by hunger and had lesions all over your body?”
“Aye, even then. When a man faces battle something potent overcomes him. I even got a sense of it when I helped Duncan escape from the Edinburgh gaol. It’s as if fatigue no longer matters—as if your muscles are infused with superhuman power.” Meg brushed a wisp of Gyllis’s hair from her face. “Have you ever been stronger than you ever dreamed possible because you had no other option?”
She didn’t have to ponder that question. “Aye. Only yesterday I rowed a skiff all the way to the southern end of Kerrera because I kent Sean was there. He needed me.” Gyllis closed her eyes and swallowed. “I still do not know how I found the strength to row all that way from morning to late afternoon.”
Meg drew a hand over her heart. “You rowed for miles and did not stop because you had to save the man you love?”
Gyllis gulped. “I did.”
“Is it so different that he needs to take part in tonight’s siege?”
“But he’s not yet recovered.”
“I’ve seen him better, for certain.” Meg clasped Gyllis’s hand. “Sometimes a man needs to prove he’s a man—if not to others, to himself.”
She bit her lip. “But I’m so frightened.”
“Do you think I have no fear every time Duncan rides out with the enforcers?”
Gyllis pushed up on her elbow. “How do you face it? How can you bear to watch him leave?”
“I pray.” Meg grasped her pot and stood. “And busy myself by helping others.”
***
Sean hated upsetting Gyllis. On one hand, she was right. He’d need a few days of hearty meals before he regained all of his strength. But he doubted any woman would ever understand why he must face Alan.
At least he’d regained enough strength to overpower that scoundrel.
Sean looked at his hand. He closed his fist. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.
Angus burst through the door. “’Tis Gyllis.” He drew in a sharp inhale and pointed. “She’s fallen and hit her head. Lady Meg is tending her in Duncan’s tent.”
“My God.” Sean shoved back his chair and bounded toward the door. “What happened?”
“Wait.” Angus grasped his wrist. “You cannot be seen. Where’s your cloak?”
“Ballocks, we must make haste.” Sean snatched his mantle from the peg and threw it over his shoulders. He pulled the hood low over his head. “Is she hurt?”
“She was unconscious when we carried her from the tower.”
Sean kicked himself for allowing her to run off. He knew she was angry and those uneven tower stairs were difficult for a soldier to negotiate. He’d been so wrapped up in his desire for vengeance, he’d not thought about her paralysis or the toll it must have taken on her body whilst she rowed for miles to his rescue. No wonder she was so distressed.
He flew down the steps with Angus right behind.
So controlled by hate, Sean hadn’t thought to follow her. He just assumed she’d join Lady Meg with Duncan in the war room. He’d planned to give her time to cool off, but he should have escorted her. Christ, this was an army encampment filled with men, and he’d sat dumbly while the woman he loved fell, hit her head and lost consciousness.
His heart could have burst through his chest. His legs couldn’t run fast enough. Jesus Christ, he wouldn’t blame her if she never forgave him. He was the greatest fool who’d ever walked the shores of Dunollie.
“She slipped at the bottom of the stairwell.” Angus panted, trying to keep up. “I h-heard her cry out. Lady Meg and I f-found her first.”
“Bloody hell,” Sean mumbled, running, clutching the damned hood low over his face.
He skidded to a stop outside the tent, grasped the flap and ducked inside. “Gyllis!” he said, running to her pallet. “Forgive me.”
He dropped to his knees beside Lady Meg. “I never should have let you leave alone. I should have insisted someone escort you.”
Thank God, she was awake and propped against the pillows. She reached for his hand. “Not to worry. I’ll be fine.”
“When Angus told me you were hurt, my heart seized.” He held her fingers to his lips and kissed. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you.”
“She has a nasty bump at the back of her head,” Lady Meg said. “But she doesn’t appear to have any latent effects—no forgetfulness, no vomiting.”
That didn’t ease Sean’s racing heart. “As I ran the short distance from the tower to this tent, I realized there is nothing in the world more important than you. There is no one in the world I want more than you and there is no vengeance more important than your love.”
A gasp caught in Gyllis’s throat. Tears welled in her eyes.
Lady Meg stood. “I must go check on an arrow wound that has been festering. If you’ll please excuse me.”
Sean rose and bowed. “My lady, allow me.” He escorted her and held the tent flap, then quickly returned to Gyllis’s side, dipping to one knee. “Are you in pain?”
She squeezed his hand. “Aside from a wee headache, I’m well. ’Tis the problem with being an invalid, everyone thinks you’re frail.”
“But you are as fragile as a dove.” She struggled to sit up and Sean pressed his hand to her shoulder. “You must rest.”
“No.” She pushed up, a crease forming between her eyebrows, those gorgeous green eyes flashing with ire. “I’ve had enough of everyone telling me what to do—treating me like I haven’t a mind because of an illness.”
Of all the things about Gyllis there were to love, he adored her spirit the most. “You’re right, mo leannan. In my observation nothing can stop you from achieving anything you set your mind to.”
She smiled and cupped his face with her palm. “You may be the only person who believes that.”
Sean leaned into her hand then turned his lips into her palm and kissed it. “I meant what I said. You mean more to me than any other person in the entire world.” His heart ached, but he had to say it. No matter what he wanted, Gyllis was more important. “If you do not wish for me to face Alan, I shall stay behind.”
Never had he seen her smile so vibrant. That gift alone made up for the disappointment of watching another act in his stead. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him onto the pallet beside her. “By the grace of God, I love you Sean MacDougall.”
“And I you, Gyllis Campbell, with all my heart, my soul, my life, my riches. I give them all to you.”
She threaded her fingers through his. “But I cannot allow you to step away from a task I know in my heart you must do.”
Sean arched his brows, sure he’d misunderstood. “Pardon me?”
“If.” She held up a finger. “If you were to face Alan MacCoul, would you promise to return to me unharmed?”
“That’s a difficult promise to make.” He scratched his head. “A
man can be injured sparring with his guard in the keep’s courtyard. Stepping in the midst of battle always bears a risk.”
“I ken.” She nodded and stared at their interlaced fingers. “If I give my consent and you join Duncan this night, will you promise to exercise every care so that you will return to my arms?”
He pulled her into his embrace and inhaled. Her hair smelled of home—exactly where his heart resided. Gyllis’s fragrance from here out would remind him of home. “You have my vow. It will make me stronger to face that demon knowing you are waiting with open arms.”
“Then you must eat and rest, for you’ll need as much strength as you can muster.”
He grinned and ran his hand up the back of her head. “Are you sure that fall didn’t do some damage?”
She gave him a playful smack to the ribs and they both laughed.
Gazing into her fathomless eyes, Sean grew serious. He’d always loved Gyllis, but in this moment, his love grew tenfold. Somehow, between when she left the tower to when she arrived in the tent, she had grown to understand him, understand what a man—a chieftain—must do to earn respect, and more so, to maintain his honor.
Aye, he would have stayed behind for Gyllis, but now he would never forget how she cast aside her conviction and stood by him. He would spend his life repaying her favor.
He closed his eyes and claimed her mouth, showing her the depth of his love. The woman in his arms would be his throughout eternity.
Chapter Thirty
After blackening their faces with soot, Sean boarded a skiff with the most elite warriors in the Highland Enforcers and together they rowed from the pier around to the sea gate. Sean sat astern, Eoin manned the oars and Duncan sat beside his cousin, Robert Struan at the bow.
They’d left the newest member of the enforcers in charge of the army. Iain Campbell, Duncan’s youngest brother, had recently returned from his fostering with the Earl of Argyll. Better, the lad had acquired some training in the operation of the cannons Duncan’s forces had aimed to blast through Dunstaffnage’s walls.
But Sean planned to end the siege this night. Alan had been holed up, locked inside the castle for four days. Foodstuffs would be low and tempers flaring. Once MacCoul was subdued, his men would cross over, lest they all end up feeling the hangman’s noose.
Sean slid his hands up his sleeves to ensure his daggers were secure, then he did the same to the knives hidden in his hose. He didn’t have much time to slip in and find his quarry. When the chapel bell tolled the end of compline, Iain would fire a warning shot past Dunstaffnage’s walls into the Firth of Lorn. That would be the signal for all to attack. There would be no turning back this time, no volley of arrows. Ladders for scaling the walls were readied, a tree had been felled and reinforced with an iron tip. The main gate would be rammed. Five hundred MacDougalls, Campbells, Stewarts and MacGregors stood at the ready to overthrow the usurper and Sean would see an end to it once and for all.
The boat lightly tapped the stone embankment above the sea gate.
“Ready?” Duncan whispered loudly.
Sean offered a nod. This was how he wanted it. No one was more elusive. Undertaking the king’s business—the enforcer’s business—Sean had slipped inside castles from England to the Orkneys and this was no different.
He thrived on danger.
Before Robert had the boat tied, Sean jumped over the rail and crouched on the narrow wall. He didn’t look back at the others. They all knew the plan. They’d worked together so many years, there was no need to talk. If they didn’t adhere to the plan, someone would be killed—a lesson not easily forgotten. The first Lord of Glenorchy, Duncan’s father had been killed on a mission at Kildrummy Castle. They’d all followed the plan, but sometimes things happened that one couldn’t predict. Another lesson which would never be forgotten. Always expect the unexpected.
Sean pressed his ear against the wooden gate. Faint footsteps paced on the other side. He’d need to be swift and deadly.
He slid his dirk from its scabbard and held up one finger to Duncan. There was one man for certain—two if Alan had another posted at the top of the incline, but they’d know soon enough. Sean levered the pin out from the top hinge while Duncan and Eoin steadied the door.
After he’d removed the bottom pin, Duncan gave the men a nod. As they pulled the door away, Sean reached in, grabbed the guard by the chin and snapped his neck. “Sorry, you bastard. You might have lived if you’d not paid fealty to a blackguard.”
With no movement ahead, Sean pulled the MacCoul guard through the hole while Duncan and Eoin slid the gate back into place.
Once he’d donned the man’s helm and surcoat, Sean picked up the soldier’s battleax and nodded to Duncan. “Ready.”
“We’ll cover the gate until we hear the signal. You’ll not have a soul watching your back,” Duncan warned.
Sean shoved the visor over his face. Why Campbell felt he had to say something was beyond him. Even the Lord of Glenorchy had tried to talk him into staying behind. You look like shite, Duncan had said. God’s teeth. Sean had gone without food and sleep before—mayhap things had never been as bad as his last day in the cave, but he’d eaten three meals since he’d returned and he’d slept. How much fitter did Duncan expect him to be?
He had to do this alone. Not only was he the “Ghost”, more than one newcomer would cause a stir amongst MacCoul’s men. Even one was a risk, but Sean was a master at blending in. He took the torch from the wall and held it high.
He slipped up the incline from the sea gate, into a dark cavern, praying it led directly under the inner bailey and into the catacombs of the donjon. The dank tunnel dripped with water. A clammy sweat crawled down Sean’s back as he was reminded of his recent hospitality on Kerrera. The lesions throbbed beneath his hauberk and infused his ire. He sped his pace.
Stopping at the door, he held his breath and listened. Once sure he would be met with no nasty surprises, he tugged the door open. The hinges screeched as if they’d been sealed shut for three hundred years. He slipped inside and palmed his dirk, ready for a fight. But no one came.
At the far side of the room, rats scurried away. Sean sniffed. It reeked of sewage. He strode across the dirt floor to the passageway. Dark in both directions, he continued to his left. If his bearings served him right, the tower stairwell was ahead.
He crept against the wall. At any moment, some unsuspecting bastard could venture down to the catacombs—though he doubted it. The bowels of a castle were akin to the path to Hades. And if Sean had them pegged right, this mob of outlaws would be a suspicious lot.
After he rounded the corner, dim light glowed from the stairwell. He’d chosen correctly. He doused his torch and snuck forward. Rumbles of voices from the great hall grew louder as he neared. He closed the visor of his helm. He’d need to cross through the great hall to get to the donjon—and Sean had no doubt MacCoul was biding his time in the second floor solar. It was where the king held court the infrequent times he was in residence—also where the Lord of Lorn had run his affairs. MacCoul would believe he was due such a chamber of opulence with its rich tapestries from France.
Sean’s feet made not a sound as he ascended. Before the stairwell opened upon the great hall, he froze, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. Conversation rumbling from the pillagers was gruff.
“Even more Campbell supporters have arrived—and still no missive from the king,” a voice said. “Soon every army in Scotland will be here to drive us out.”
“I think we should fight now—show them MacCoul’s army is one to be reckoned with.”
“Aye? If our leader doesn’t move soon, we’ll be the ones they’re calling traitors.”
Sean smirked. The lot of them were already traitors—and MacCoul would receive his missive from the king—in hell.
He slipped through the entrance and moved at a meandering pace, as if he’d just been relieved of guard duty. His breath turned to mist against the helm, the eye slits barely giving h
im the range of sight he needed to see if there were any eyes watching him with suspicion. But he resisted the urge to glance from side to side and kept his face forward.
Ten paces to the donjon stairwell, a man stepped in his path. “Why are you still wearing your helm?”
Sean rubbed his neck. “Just returned from duty.”
Before he could stop him, the man flipped up Sean’s visor and squinted. “I haven’t seen you before.”
Sean snapped his head back and the visor dropped. Thank God the fool hadn’t recognized him. “I’ve been keeping to myself—guarding the rear.” He didn’t want to mention the sea gate. If this man put the pieces together, Duncan and the others could end up in a nasty fight. Sean tried to push past.
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
Christ, the bastard couldn’t leave it alone. “I’ve a message for MacCoul.”
The man grabbed his arm. “Have you a missive from the king?” he asked excitedly.
If Sean said yes, the entire hall would follow him above stairs. “Nay.”
“Then what is it?” His pickled breath oozed through the helm’s eye slits.
Sean wrenched his arm away. “’Tis of a sensitive nature.” Jesus, the smelly varlet wouldn’t let it be. “Follow me and I’ll tell you.”
That seemed to placate the cur because he chuckled and motioned toward the stairwell.
“After you.” Sean bowed. “I take it MacCoul’s in the solar as usual?”
Moving forward, at least the man wasn’t smart enough to stay at Sean’s rear. “Aye.”
Good, that’s all the information Sean needed from this maggot. At the first landing, he slipped one hand over the man’s mouth, pulled him into the servant’s closet and ran his dirk across the bastard’s neck. He leaned the battleax against the wall. Sean preferred to fight with a sword and a dirk, not the clumsy axe of a novice.
He wiped his dirk on the man’s chausses and then shoved it in his scabbard. “If you’d left me be, you’d still be alive.” Then Sean dashed up to the next landing, not stopping until he heard voices coming from inside the king’s solar.