by Barbara Bard
“Your Grace,” Sir Alban said, his tone uneasy, worried. “Perhaps we should construct a litter for you.”
Henry’s eyes opened. “No, my friend, I will be all right. Let us return to the castle.”
Vaulting into his own saddle, Sir Alban rode at his liege’s side, his horse, already tired, was happy to make a slower pace. Henry felt his eyes on him, his hand ready to steady the Duke as they rode should he need it. The soldiers rode in a long line behind them, their usual chatter quiet and subdued.
“Are you going to execute those men, Your Grace?” Sir Alban asked.
Henry eyed him sidelong, breathing hard, sweating. “Should I not?”
“They were outnumbered, at least fifteen to two,” Sir Alban said. “Had they rushed into battle for Lady Catrin, they would have died, she still would have been kidnapped, and you would not now know what happened to her.”
“So, you are asking me to spare them? They ran like cowards.”
“So would any sensible man when faced with such odds stacked against them.”
“Would you?”
Sir Alban grinned. “Faster than they did.”
Henry grunted. “You have never run from a fight in your life.”
“All I am saying is that they do not deserve to be executed for this,” Sir Alban went on. “Demote them, punish them, but do not kill them. I know those two, they are loyal to their bones. And if I know Lady Catrin, she commanded they ride at a distance from her.”
Henry cursed under his breath. “I have told her hundreds of times to stop that idiotic behavior. The men are there to protect her, and if they are not, they cannot do their jobs.”
“Precisely my point, Your Grace,” Sir Alban said.
“So, you are diverting my rage so I do not execute them, is that it?”
“Is it working?”
“Bloody hell, yes. Consider me diverted. You dole out whatever suitable punishment you believe they deserve.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Full night had fallen by the time Henry, Sir Alban and the soldiers returned to his castle, Castle Linfield. Dogs barked from their kennels as they trotted into the bailey, grooms and pages rushing out to take horses from Henry and Sir Alban. Henry kept the groan behind his clenched teeth as he slid down from his saddle. He held onto Sir Alban with a tight grip even as the knight shouted for Henry’s personal physician.
“Your Grace, perhaps we can carry you.”
Shaking his head, Henry grimly limped across the rush and straw strewn bailey toward the postern doors, his men unsaddling their mounts and leading them into the stables to care for them. Servants in plain homespun wool bowed him through into the castle, waiting to serve him his supper, or pour his wine. Torches flared in sconces as he carefully made his way up the stairs to his chambers, leaning heavily on Sir Alban’s arm.
His personal manservant, James Irwin, helped him to undress and slide under the covers of his bed. Henry sighed, his eyes shut, wondering if he had strength enough to eat. As his physician hurried in and Sir Alban bowed, planning to leave, Henry grasped the knight’s arm, restraining him.
Opening his eyes, he looked up. “In the town of Linfield, there is a tavern. It is called The Lucky Hog. Dreadful sort of place.”
“And?”
“Find a man who goes by the name of Black Charlie,” Henry said, his voice trembling with exhaustion and pain. “He frequents there. Come morning, I want to see him.”
Sir Alban frowned. “I think I know what you are planning, Your Grace. Are you sure asking the help of brigands is a wise thing to do? There are other ways we can get Lady Catrin back rather than use those black hearts.”
“They can cross into Scotland,” Henry replied wearily. He closed his eyes. “I cannot. They can kill Thorburn and bring Catrin back to me.”
Do you want to know how the story continues?
Just Click on the link below
http://barbarabard.com/amb004
Also by Barbara Bard
● Book 1: Highlander’s Honor
● Book 2: Highlander’s Savior
● Book 3: Her Highland Devil
● Book 4: Her Highland Protector
● Book 5: Highlander's Captive
● Book 6: Highlander's Revenge