Forbidden Alliance

by Diana Cosby

  “Finnean,” a man yelled.

  A gust of wind battered the stable.

  “Bloody cold,” a man muttered.

  “Finnean,” another man called, “we know you are in there.”

  A faint scuff of the door, then a series of rough coughs sounded. “What do ye want?” Father Lamond asked, his voice weak and disguised with a coarse rasp.

  “Dinna come closer,” the first knight warned. “We are looking for a man and a woman.”

  “I—” Another round of coughs broke the silence. “I have seen nay one.”

  “Open your door wider and move away from the entry,” the second man called, “so we can see inside.”

  “My old bones are weak with cold,” the priest called out. “I dinna want to lose the heat in my home.”

  “Do it, or we will burn down the hut,” another man warned.

  A grumble sounded.

  The thud of hooves upon snow grew louder.

  “What do you think they are doing?”

  At the worry in her voice, Cailin glanced over. “They must be looking inside the hut.”

  “I see naught,” a guard said.

  “Nor I,” another said.

  “Search the stable,” the deep voice ordered.

  Hand tightening around his dagger, Cailin held his finger up to his lips.

  The door scraped open. The crunch of boots upon straw grew closer.

  “Do you see anything?” a man called from outside.

  “Naught but horses,” the knight paces away replied.

  “Fine pieces of horseflesh,” the priest said, then began coughing. “S-should bring a fair price this spring.”

  The guard grunted.

  Through the breaks in the hay, Cailin made out the man’s boots heading toward the exit. Thank God.

  The door banged shut.

  “Who are you looking for?” Father Lamond called out.

  “None of your concern, old man,” the guard replied. “Let us go.” The thud of hooves on snow faded.

  “That was too close. If they had found us…” Elspet’s hand trembled as she secured her dagger.

  He sheathed his weapon. “We are all safe, which is what matters. But with the guards nay doubt returning to check whether we have taken shelter here, ’tis unsafe to remain. With you well enough to travel, we leave at first light.” He shoved aside the shield of dried grass.

  Elspet’s hand touched his arm, and he turned. Pieces of hay stuck out from her hair, and chestnut tangles framed her face.

  His body tightened with an awareness that he’d been struggling against throughout her recuperation, and he damned his senses for being so attuned to her faint scent of heather woven within the sweet fragrance of hay. Her lips softly parted, and he found his gaze lingering on their fullness.

  “I thank you,” she said.

  “There is nay reason to thank me.” Cailin ordered himself to stand, to leave her alone, reviewed every reason why. Needing to touch her, he brushed his mouth against hers.

  “Sir Cailin, Elspet?” Father Lamond called from outside.

  Straw flew as Cailin jerked back. God’s blade, what was he thinking? “We are safe,” he called out. Blood still pounding hot, he shoved to his feet, extended his hand to help her up, then took a much-needed step back. The desire and confusion in her eyes helped little in his struggle to keep from hauling her against him. Blast it! “I…” What should he say, I did nae mean to kiss you? This was wrong?

  An understatement.

  He hadn’t meant to touch her, except with her taste lingering on his tongue, his body ached for her. Frustrated and aggravated with himself and his seemingly unstoppable reaction to her, he floundered for what to say. In the end, deciding ’twas prudent to remain silent, Cailin strode across the stable and tugged the door open.

  Relief swept the priest’s face as he shoved his cowled hood back. “Thank God. Years have passed since any of the earl’s men have dared to ride to my home.” He shook his head. “Given your uncle’s desperation since your return to Dalkirk, I should have expected his guards.”

  As should have Cailin. But ’twas too late to worry about that now. “They found naught, which is what is important. Nor will it matter if they come back for another search. Elspet and I leave at dawn.”

  Her soft steps came up behind him, and she paused at his side, brushing the dried grass from her hair.

  The priest tsked as he took her in. “You look pale, lass. I think a couple more days’ rest would be wise.”

  “There is little pain in my ankle, and I need to see my stepbrother, or at least discover his fate.”

  With a sigh, Father Lamond nodded. “One of the men I recommended you speak with should know where he is, or at least how he is.”

  She nodded, but Cailin saw the tension in her eyes. Nor did he miss that she kept her gaze averted from his. Regardless if he was drawn to her, it wasn’t a train of thought he could allow. Once he’d claimed his legacy, he would rejoin the Bruce until his sovereign had smothered the last of the resistance.

  “Come,” the priest said, breaking into his thoughts, “we dinna want to linger where anyone could see us.” He hurried toward the cottage, Elspet on his heels.

  Cailin grimaced. What he should have thought of. Irritated at his unsuitable thoughts, he scanned the area one last time. Thankful for no sign of the knights, he followed them into the cottage.

  * * * *

  A day later, the musty tang of damp, stale air filled the secret tunnel leading to Tiran Castle. The wash of candlelight exposed the dank, cobweb-littered walls as Cailin made his way, ever on alert. ’Twould seem a long while since anyone had used the passageway. Yet, after their near confrontation with his uncle’s men yesterday, nor would he relax his guard.

  The steady plop of water echoed overhead.

  Behind him, Elspet’s soft footfalls sounded.

  He lifted the taper higher. Droplets clung to the ceiling, wobbled, then fell with a plop upon the ground. With a grimace, he glanced behind him.

  The monk’s robe, a match to the one he wore, shielded Elspet’s face and any sign of her hair from view. As an extra precaution, he’d smeared a dusting of soot on her chin to keep any who caught sight of her from identifying her as a woman.

  A while later, as the ground began to angle upward, the faint nicker of a horse echoed down the tunnel.

  “We are nearing the stable,” he said.

  “Aye. I pray we willna have to wait long to see one of the men Father Lamond suggested we speak with.”

  At the worry in her voice, Cailin looked over. “Dinna worry, we will learn what happened to Blar.” And prayed they would discover her stepbrother was alive. She’d lost so much, and he understood how losing the last tie of family, especially through treachery, could leave one devastated.

  The scent of horse and hay filled the air as they grew closer. The clatter of hooves sounded, a moment later a whinny.

  “Steady, lad,” a deep voice soothed.

  “’Tis the stablemaster,” Elspet whispered.

  “Aye, and not one of the men we are to trust.” Cailin moved to the tunnel’s hidden exit, the entry secured with a false door hidden in a complex weave of stone. He peered through the slits crafted long ago, allowing whoever looked to survey the entire stable along with the castle grounds.

  Memories rolled through Cailin as he took in the familiar setting, from the lists where the knights practiced, the wall walk where guards patrolled, to the bailey where people moved about at their daily tasks.

  An ache built in his chest. So long ago he’d taken his family and clan for granted. He’d had a home and had felt loved and secure until, through deceit, Gaufrid had stolen it from him

  Though he despised his uncle, he was pleased to discover that he’d kept the castle in good repa
ir.

  A sharp clanging sounded from his right.

  He glanced over, watched the smithy forge a red-hot wedge of steel, and recalled, as a lad, being taught how to wield a hammer to craft a blade.

  Cailin scanned the stable. Down the generous corridor, two stalls away, a thin man was brushing a bay. The horse snorted, then backed up.

  “You will be getting your oats once I am done with you,” the man grumbled, then continued his task.

  “What do you see?” she whispered.

  “Besides the stable master,” he replied, keeping his voice low, “there are a few lads mucking out the stalls, but nay one else.” He gestured toward two nearby large flat rocks against one wall of the tunnel. “Rest while I keep watch.”

  “Is there a place where I can look as well?”

  Cailin shifted aside a degree. “We can both see through this slit.”

  She moved beside him and peered out.

  He could smell her scent, impossibly fresh despite their travel. Her closeness was one he had been avoiding since the stable. Ruthlessly, he now squashed any awareness of her. His preoccupation with her was dangerous when his thoughts must be on his surroundings.

  “I never knew these tunnels existed,” she said.

  “They were created when the castle was built.”

  “Cailin.”

  “Aye?”

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  He could have groaned. He was doing his best to ignore his body’s tightening at her nearness. “Now is not the time to discuss what occurred.”

  “When will be the time?”

  “Never. ’Twas a mistake.”

  “I see,” she said after a significant pause.

  Guilt wrenched him at her subdued tone. Now she was far from the stubborn, relentless fighter he’d come to know. In his need for self-preservation, he’d hurt her. Unsure how to respond, but needing to say something, he turned.

  Elspet gasped. “’Tis the master-at-arms heading this way,” she whispered, “one of the men Father Lamond told us to seek out!”

  Thankful for the diversion, Cailin studied the large man entering the stable, his shoulder-length hair threaded with gray, and his arms defined by muscles honed from long hours of training. A younger man walked at his side.

  Though years had passed, Cailin recognized Sir Petrus Beaton. Sentiment stormed him at seeing his mentor from his youth, a man who’d taught him how to ride, hunt, and wield a sword.

  Elspet touched his arm. “How are we going to speak with him alone?”

  Cailin watched as the knights moved closer, then glanced toward the others in the stable. “I am unsure.” If he created a diversion, Sir Petrus would run out. Yet there must be a way.

  Brooms clattered as the lads working in the stable departed, leaving only Sir Petrus and the younger knight inside. The men paused before a destrier five stalls away. They began to talk. Cailin’s mentor folded his arms across his chest as the younger man became animated over whatever they debated.

  The master-at-arms scowled, then shook his head.

  “Whatever they are discussing,” Cailin said, “the younger knight isna pleased.”

  “’Tis Sir Donald Burke,” she said. “He tends to be hot headed and often earns Sir Petrus’s censure.”

  “Is he loyal to my uncle?”

  “Aye,” Elspet replied, “and not to be trusted.”

  Sir Petrus motioned for the younger man to depart.

  Eyes narrowed with disgust, the knight stormed from the stable.

  Cailin stepped back. “Stay here.”

  Her hand caught his. “What are you doing?”

  “Hopefully catching the master-at-arms’s attention before he departs.” Cailin hurried to the secret exit. With extreme care, he unlatched the door, slipped into the stable, and crept behind a towering pile of hay. He peeked through a break in the dried grass.

  His mentor halted at the next stall and rubbed the steed’s muzzle.

  Cailin whistled in two soft bursts, a signal they had used countless times in his youth.

  Sir Petrus’s hand flew to his blade as he whirled. A dark yet confused scowl marred his face as he scoured the stable. “Show yourself!”

  Pushing back the hood of his cowl, Cailin stood.

  The giant knight’s eyes riveted on him, widened with shock. “Cailin,” he rasped. “It canna be.”

  After ensuring no one approached the stable, he waved over his old friend. “Hurry.”

  Sir Petrus secured his dagger, then rushed over, his face pale with disbelief. “Why… How…”

  “I will explain. Follow me.” He entered the secret tunnel, securing the entry after his friend stepped inside. Elspet, he noted, had wisely retreated deeper into the tunnel, away from view.

  Tears had filled the master-at-arms’s eyes. Before Cailin could speak, he was enveloped in a giant hug that he returned, then the large man stepped back. “God’s teeth, I thought you were dead!”

  He struggled against the onslaught of emotion welling in his throat. “Aye, a fact Gaufrid tried to ensure.” Quickly, Cailin explained how his uncle had paid to have him killed, and his escape.

  The master-at-arms’s hand had clasped his sword by the time he finished relating the tale, his knuckles turning white. “I will cut down the bloody cur!”

  “Nay,” Cailin said with soft fierceness that silently cautioned his old friend to lower his voice. There was too much at stake to allow feelings to guide their decisions. “When that day comes, ’twill be my blade that serves justice. However much I want to confront the bastard now, he holds the fealty of those within the castle.”

  If possible, the knight’s face further darkened with fury. “Loyalty based on a lie and fear of his brutal ways.”

  “Aye, ’tis what I have been told.” Cailin paused. “I have spoken with Father Lamond. In addition to your name to speak with, as well as others I can trust, he drew a map of the castle, of changes, and secret passages that have been added since I left.”

  Sir Petrus’s brows raised as he glanced down the dark tunnel. “Father Lamond is with you?”

  “Nay,” Cailin replied. “After I arrived on Dalkirk lands, we stayed with him for several days.”

  “We?”

  Aware she was watching, Cailin turned and waved Elspet forward.

  Sir Petrus’s gaze narrowed as her hooded form moved into the candlelight. “Who are you?”

  “A woman who has risked her life to aid me,” Cailin stated, “and one whom I will protect with my life.”

  She shoved her hood back and angled her chin with pride. “Elspet McReynolds.”

  “Sir Angus’s stepdaughter,” Sir Petrus breathed. His eyes shifted to Cailin’s, shimmering with understanding. “Now Lord Dalkirk’s order makes sense.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “My men and I were ordered to find you and whoever you traveled with.”

  Cailin glanced her way before meeting his mentor’s gaze. “You never knew it was me?”

  “Nay. We were given a rough description, told that you had abducted Elspet and were dangerous. Once captured, you were to be killed and your body disposed of.”

  Cailin grunted. “With no one the wiser that I was alive or had returned.”

  “So it would seem,” Sir Petrus replied with disgust. “You are here to reclaim what is rightfully yours, I take it?”

  Cailin nodded. “I am, but I need your help.”

  Face solemn, the master-at-arms nodded. “Whatever you need, I am at your service.”

  “Though I trust you, before I say more, you will swear your fealty to me.”

  Without hesitation, Sir Petrus knelt, pledged his fealty, then stood.

  “What I am about to tell you,” Cailin said, “you willna repeat until I tell you.”<
br />
  “I swear it.”

  “The charges my uncle pressed against Sir Angus McReynolds were lies,” Cailin said,

  A muscle worked in the knight’s jaw. “That I can believe. I have known Sir Angus my entire life. He was a fine and honest man.” Sadness filled his gaze as he looked at Elspet. “After the deed was done, I learned of the earl’s order, and that your stepfather and mother were dead.” He shook his head. “A terrible loss.” He exhaled a rough breath. “I am sorry, lass.”

  She gave a shaky nod. “I thank you.”

  Sir Petrus frowned. “What I do not understand is why Lord Dalkirk would falsely accuse such an honorable man of a crime.”

  “Because,” Cailin said, “Gaufrid discovered that Sir Angus’s true loyalty was to King Robert Bruce.”

  The master-at-arms’s face paled. “Scotland’s king?”

  Hand clasping his dagger, Cailin drew himself to his full height. “Aye, a fealty I share. I would know if you feel the same.”

  His mentor’s face relaxed, as if a burden lifted. “I always believed the Bruce to be Scotland’s rightful ruler. As with you, I swear my fealty to him.”

  Cailin nodded. “Father Lamond gave me a list of men who are trustworthy within the stronghold and will swear their fealty to me.” Parchment scraped as he handed the roll to the knight. “I need you to speak to each one, swear them to secrecy, then explain the situation.”

  “I will.” Sir Petrus unrolled, then scanned the document. He frowned. “There are several men not on the list who I trust and am confident will pledge their oath to you as well.”

  “Excellent. I will meet you here tomorrow. Once we learn how many men will shift their loyalty to me, we will begin plans to seize Tiran Castle.”

  “Aye,” he replied.

  “One last thing.” Cailin’s gaze moved to Elspet before returning to his mentor. “I need to know if her stepbrother, Blar, is alive.”

  Disgust clouded the master-at-arms’s eyes. “He is, but—” He frowned at Elspet. Taking a deep breath, he said, “’Tis with great regret that I must inform you that your stepbrother isna a good man, nor one I would trust.”