Trouble with a Highland Bride Read online

  Loud banging noises interrupted their discussion, and both ladies looked behind them into the large courtyard of Alnsworth. Men in Highland plaids and little else were building something on one side of the field.

  “What on earth are those daft men doing?” asked Gwyn.

  “They are building the viewing stands, I believe,” said Isabelle with a bemused smile.

  “Viewing stands? Dinna tell me David is going forward wi’ the tournament?” The clans had come for the prospect of a May Day Robin Hood tournament, but even Gwyn had expected the festivities to be canceled in view of the impending crisis.

  “Yes, David has told the lairds we are proceeding even with our unwanted guests.”

  Gwyn shook her head. “Daft man.”

  “Do not judge him so harshly. Remember we are host to many proud clans who have brought their best warriors.”

  Light began to dawn for Gwyn. “So David means to distract the warriors from starting a fight before he has time to negotiate.”

  “You are a bright one!” praised Isabelle. “My only question is whether my cousin will be willing to accept a settlement.”

  ***

  Sir John Lockton, whom everyone, including his own mother, called Jack, sat at the table in the newly erected main tent. He was surrounded by his uncles as they debated strategy for reclaiming Alnsworth Castle from the Highland invaders.

  “Let us begin to dig trenches and set up caltrops along the edge of the castle,” said his uncle Herbert. “When they march out, they will be wounded before they even reach our line.”

  “But wouldn’t deploying caltrops around Alnsworth wound our own feet later when we take the castle?” asked Jack. He received the icy stare he was growing accustomed to from his four uncles. Despite the fact that when his father had departed this earth Jack had inherited—technically making Jack in command—his uncles barely tolerated him. They had sworn fealty to him in a lavish ceremony and then promptly ignored him.

  Being only twenty years of age, Jack had a long way to go before he earned the respect of his uncles. Complicating matters, none of his uncles could forget that if something happened to Jack, they would be the ones to inherit. It did not make for congenial family relations.

  “Our victory must be decisive,” said Uncle Reginald, pounding his fist on the table. “We need to send a message to the Scots we will not tolerate their incursions nor the theft of our lands.”

  “But Laird Campbell did not steal the castle. It was the inheritance of Lady Isabelle, and she brought it to the marriage,” said Jack, earning him another glare.

  “Once we have conquered Alnsworth,” continued Uncle Eustace, “we can push on into the borderlands and reclaim Ettrick Forest from the barbarians.”

  “But I thought we were simply here to reclaim the castle,” said Jack. “You want to start another war with the Scots?”

  “Perhaps you should close your lips and listen when your elders are speaking,” said Uncle Ralph in a sly, condescending tone.

  Jack bit his lip and stood up. His father would never have allowed his brothers to speak to his son in such a manner. But his father was dead now. It was up to him. “But what of the terms they sent us?” asked Jack, pulling the Scots’ parchment from his hauberk. “I have read over the proposal and they are willing to part with the castle, providing we supply remuneration. They appear ready to negotiate. I believe we can resolve this to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  “The only satisfaction I will have is when every murderous Scot lies in his grave,” growled Reginald, who would have been the eldest had Jack’s father not preceded him. It was an injury of birth order Reginald had never forgiven.

  “But why fight and risk the lives of our own men when the Scots are ready to hand over the castle?” asked Jack, attempting to bring reason into the discussion.

  “They want gold and shall have none,” growled Herbert.

  Ralph grabbed the parchment from Jack’s hand. “This is not even good enough to wipe my arse.” He flung the parchment into the fire, where the flames leaped up and consumed it.

  “But what of the negotiations tomorrow?” asked Jack.

  “When they send their knights, we will invite them into a tent and take them by force, outside of the prying eyes of the castle,” said Eustace with a malicious gleam in his eye.

  “But that is treachery,” cried Jack. “They negotiate with us under a flag of truce.”

  “They are Scots,” dismissed Reginald. “They are trespassing on our land and shall be treated like the squatting curs they are.”

  “I do appreciate all your advice,” said Jack carefully. This was his army; he was supposed to be their commander, whatever his uncles might think. “I shall consider your words carefully before I make a decision as to how to proceed.”

  His four uncles exchanged glances with each other and then stared at him, their eyes glittering in the candlelight. Jack stood up taller, determined not to show fear before his large, warlike uncles. If they attacked, he could hardly defend himself from them all. “Since you suggested the use of caltrops, I will go and see if there is a place they can be deployed that would injure our foe without risking injury to our own footmen.” Jack edged for the door, forcing himself not to run from the tent, though his heart was pounding.

  “Yes,” said Ralph, his voice like gravel. “Go.”

  Jack turned on his heel and left, trying to remember it was his idea to leave, though he felt dismissed from the presence of his uncles. He wished again that his father had lived longer, but unfortunately his sire had been killed in the most recent war with Scotland. The Scots were a barbaric people, everyone knew that, but he hated to lose English lives if there was another way to accomplish their goals. He knew all too well the pain of loss.

  He waited for darkness to claim the valley and requested his squire assist with his armor. He wished to use stealth but would not risk a stray arrow catching him unaware. He took a canvas bag full of caltrops for his mission. He held one of the spiky things in his hand with disgust. It was a twist of iron with four spikes so that however the nasty thing fell to the ground, one of the spikes would be standing straight up. It was good for wounding soldiers’ feet and hooves of destriers, but bad for times of peace, when the hidden things could continue to wound innocents long after the battle was done.

  He considered taking a few men with him but discarded the idea. It was a shame, but he felt safer alone than with the soldiers he was supposed to command. He knew some were loyal to him in respect to his father, but others, those who joined the force under his uncles, he did not trust in the least. Even with the men who had served his father, he did not know whom he could truly trust. So he went alone under cover of darkness.

  It was a dark night, but his eyes were keen, able to see well enough by the sliver of moon. Jack snuck around the side of the valley, where the foliage was greater, avoiding the eyes of watchmen standing above on the castle walls, their torches winking in the darkness. Jack smiled in spite of himself. Sneaking up on this castle was the most enjoyment he’d had since he began this ill-fated trip with his uncles. He was free, and adventure was before him.

  Jack crept forward cautiously to the left of the main gate under the cover of some trees—tall pines, large oaks, and silver birch. Smaller trees and shrubs, such as dogwood, spindle, and elder, snagged on his armor as he attempted to approach the castle without notice. He wanted to take a look at the castle for himself. It was, after all, his inheritance. Well…his inheritance after Lady Isabelle, but she had married a Highlander, so her right to hold an English castle was forfeit, at least in the eyes of the crown. Of course, Isabelle’s husband, the powerful Laird Campbell, might have a different perspective.

  In truth, Jack hardly needed another castle, but when the king asks for a favor, you do it. His father had been a great favorite, not only successful in battle but well-liked at
Court, and the king had lavished the rewards. With the passing of his father, Jack inherited several estates and an embarrassing amount of gold and riches. His uncles, on the other hand, had supported his father but had not been as richly rewarded, leaving Jack the only obstacle between them and enormous wealth.

  Jack kept to the trees, creeping closer. It was a fine castle, nicely situated. It was built on high ground, on one edge of the valley, with steep stone cliffs around it on three sides and the valley stretching out before it, making the valley the only practical point of approach. It was on defensible ground; its walls were thick and its vantage from above impressive. He did not wish to stand at the bottom of those walls during battle with all sorts of unpleasant things falling down from above. It would be good to be the master of this fortress, and all the more meaningful to claim something that he had won on his own, not just inherited from his father…if he could manage to evict the current tenants.

  As he snuck closer to the castle, he noted a small gate to the side. Silently, he crept up to it. It appeared unguarded. It would not do to have soldiers sneaking in or out for food, armaments, or supplies. He slung down his bag of caltrops and tossed a few on the forest floor a few feet beyond the door. A slight movement had him scurrying back behind a large tree.

  The iron door cracked open.

  Three

  “Lady Isabelle!” a breathless gillie gasped as he reached the top of the ramparts where Isabelle and Gwyn stood. “Come quick, the cook’s young daughter is dreadful sick.”

  Isabelle followed the gillie down to the kitchens with Gwyn at her heels. Isabelle’s renown as a healer had spread, and now anytime anyone was sick or injured, she was called for. In a hut next to the kitchens, where the extended family for the kitchen staff lived, a little girl lay on a pallet.

  The girl could not have been more than three years old, with blond hair and blue eyes to match her blue lips. She coughed and wheezed and coughed some more, her little body racked with the effort. Isabelle knelt beside the child, put a hand to her forehead, and checked her mouth and nose.

  “What can we do, milady?” asked the girl’s mother, her eyes wide and desperate as the child gasped for breath.

  “Gwyn, fetch me some elder bark tincture,” said Isabelle with soothing confidence. “I believe she has the croup.”

  Gwyn hiked up her skirts and ran for the ladies’ solar, where Isabelle kept the medicines. She grabbed a small brown bottle with a little cork and ran back down. She arrived breathless but pleased that she had taken very little time.

  Isabelle shook the bottle with a frown. Gwyn had noticed it too. It was almost empty. Isabelle administered the dose while the mother, father, brothers, sisters, and a host of extended family looked on. Their eyes all asked the same question. Will she live?

  “Boil some water and bring a bowl of it here for the steam,” said Isabelle. “Gwyn, could you pick more of the elder? We need young shoots, still green. There should be plenty this time of year.”

  “Where is the elder bush?” asked Gwyn, ready to make another run.

  “Oh, no!” said Isabelle, standing up. “All the bushes are outside the gate, and we cannot leave the castle now.”

  “Surely there is at least one inside the gates,” pressed Gwyn.

  “No, I fear there is not.” Isabelle had lived in the castle most of her life. She knew every plant, every shrub the castle walls housed. “But no matter,” she continued reassuringly to the mother. “We have given her one dose, and we shall provide some steam, then take her outside for the cold night air.”

  Gwyn closed her eyes a moment but could not erase the picture of the limp little girl. “I shall look around the castle courtyard. Mayhap there is a new bush that has been overlooked.”

  “Be safe,” whispered Isabelle, leaving Gwyn to wonder if she guessed what she was about to do.

  Gwyn nodded and strode out of the hut with long strides. None of the Campbells were of short stature, and despite being one of the youngest sisters of fifteen siblings, she was taller than any of her older sisters. She knew that she shouldn’t do what she was about to do, but she also knew she had to try. She snuck into David’s private chamber, where he kept the ring of keys. She prayed she was in luck and was relieved to find the ring hanging on a peg behind a tapestry, where she had seen Isabelle put it once.

  She walked sedately across the courtyard to avoid suspicion. The side gate was rarely used since the main gate was all that anyone needed. Mostly concealed from view, the side gate led nowhere, except to precisely where Gwyn wanted to go—an area of trees and brush…and elder bushes.

  First, she had to unlock a heavy wooden door which opened into a little-used storage room, the dust indicating it had not been occupied in years. On the far side was an iron gate with a thick metal lattice, forming metal squares through which she could see a dark expanse—the black corridor to the outside. She had to try several keys before she found the one that turned the lock. She muscled the heavy gate open while it protested the movement with a loud squawk. She put the torch she was carrying on a wall mount; she did not want to take a light into the forest to alert anyone of her whereabouts. She needed to rely on stealth and speed to get what was needed and return to the castle before anyone discovered she was attempting such a thing.

  She pulled the gate shut behind her and locked it. It would not do to leave it unlocked during a siege. She may be foolhardy, but she certainly wasn’t a fool. She continued down a long passage, the light growing dim as she reached the second locked gate, this one solid iron. She tried a few keys and again got lucky as this lock turned also.

  Opening the door a crack, she scanned the dark forest in the dim light of the sliver moon. An elder bush was not twenty feet from the gate. This should be a simple, quick job. She would grab the plant and run back to the castle. No one would ever know.

  She pushed the heavy door and it swung open without a noise. She set the lock so that when she ran back to the castle all she had to do was close the door and it would lock automatically. She sprinted up a small hill, toward the elder bush. She reached the bush and cut off several branches with her dirk. She had done it. She smiled with her success. The little girl would be saved.

  She turned to run back to the castle, but the sharp snap of a breaking twig made her freeze. She spun around and a tall man stood before her, his face concealed by a silver helm. His armor marked him a knight—his surcoat marked him an Englishman.

  ***

  Jack flattened himself behind a tree trunk and took a hesitant peek. A young woman opened the small iron door and crept stealthily into the forest. He could not believe his luck. What would his uncles say when he delivered the castle to them? All he had to do was capture her, secure the key to the castle, and return with his soldiers to take the castle by surprise. If done well, they could capture the castle with a minimum of bloodshed and that would be the end of it.

  He smiled at how his uncles would have to acknowledge his worth—and then leave him alone. And not kill him. All of which would be a decided benefit.

  He crept closer, careful to avoid the sharp spikes he had left on the ground. He realized the woman was rather young, probably a few years younger than himself. He stopped for a moment to watch her. She had long, straight blond hair, a pert nose, and pink lips, twisted into a determined expression. She was undeniably attractive. He indulged himself, watching her hips sway and letting his eyes roam over her figure. He would most likely have to take her as a temporary captive, just until things were sorted with the castle. Jack smiled. Of all the things he did out of loyalty and duty, this was one he was going to enjoy.

  The girl cut a sprig off one of the elders, an odd thing to do, and turned to return to the gate. He could not let her reach the door, and he quickened his pace. He almost had her when he stepped on a twig and it snapped. He lunged, but she spun, a long dirk in her hand, ready to attack.

&n
bsp; Jack skittered to a stop. Where did she learn to use a knife? Were all Highland ladies skilled fighters? His sword was strapped to his side, but he did not draw. He did not wish to fight the girl. He wanted to capture her. Take her to his tent. Tame the wild Highland lass.

  “Put down the knife,” he said in his most commanding voice. “You need to come with me.”

  She raised one eyebrow at him as if to say she thought him touched in the head. She turned and ran for the gate. He ran after her; it should have been a simple thing to run her down—if she weren’t so fast. Increasing his speed, he caught her around the waist, slamming them both to the ground. He thought he had her, but she was made of sterner stuff and instead of struggling to get free, she twisted to attack. She turned on him quickly, knife in hand, stabbing at his neck for the gap in his armor.

  He parried the attack with some difficulty. He was not unfamiliar with warfare—he had been taught since he was old enough to hold a stick—but he was caught off guard by this young thing. Who would have guessed within this adorable, young package beat the heart of warrior? Under normal circumstances, he would have fought back, striking at his opponent’s face, but he stayed his hand. She was simply too fair of face to hit.

  Seizing on his hesitation, she broke free and again ran for the gate. He cursed himself for his charity and rolled up to his feet, chasing after her. He caught her again, just as he stepped on one of his own caltrops. He hollered in pain and frustration as the nasty spike went through the leather of his boot and into his foot.

  “Let me go!” she cried.

  He was angry now and held on, taking her to the ground once more. This time he was prepared for her dirk and grabbed her wrist as she slashed, wrenching the weapon from her hand. He thought the fight was over, but once again she surprised him by drawing his own golden-handled knife from the sheath that hung around his waist and attempting to thrust it under his hauberk. He had to release her to avoid the blow, and she scrambled up again.