Trouble with a Highland Bride Read online

  She edged closer to him, never taking her eyes off him. She took hold of the boot and shook her head. “The boot needs to come off.”

  He knew it. He nodded. It was going to hurt, and he gritted his teeth together to prevent him from doing something unmanly, like crying out. She tugged on the boot, and he felt like she was tearing his foot in two. Another tug and the boot came off, along with a wave of nausea and blinking lights. He held on to the grate and willed himself not to lose consciousness from the pain.

  He looked at his foot, which was a mistake. It was covered in blood and gore.

  “Sorry to pain ye,” said Gwyn in a soft voice. It was comfort, and he held on to the words like a lifeline. “I’m going to need some supplies.”

  He nodded and leaned his head back against the stone wall, closing his eyes. He listened to the swish of her skirts as she left. His foot may be lost. She was probably going now for a bone saw.

  ***

  Gwyn ran back to her quarters where she slept with the other Campbell maidens and pulled some supplies out of a trunk. Why she should be helping this knight, she could not say. Practice maybe. Or perhaps the disturbing thought that if she did not help him soon, he would be in danger of losing his foot. And a man that handsome should not be maimed, even if it was his own fault.

  She slipped across the dark courtyard back into the storeroom. Sir John was slumped against the wall next to the gate, a pool of blood growing on the ground beneath his foot. She approached cautiously, but he did not appear able to put up much of a fight. She sat on the ground next to him, the iron gate between them.

  “Whiskey?” She held out a bottle.

  He opened his eyes and shook his head. “Need to keep my wits if I have any left to keep.”

  “It is yer own stupid fault for stepping on one o’ yer own caltrops.” She chastised him to prevent herself from blurting out her concern about his foot. It truly looked bad. The spike had punctured his leather boot and gouged the ball of his foot.

  “I can only agree with you.” He winced as she poured water over the wound to clean it and better inspect the deep puncture.

  “Why were ye out there, all alone?” asked Gwyn, to get his mind off of what she was doing.

  “Thought it made sense at the time, but now I blame my uncles.”

  “Then they be no friend o’ yers.”

  “I know it—ow! What in blazes?!” Lockton tried to pull his foot back inside the gate, but Gwyn held on to his ankle as she poured straight whiskey over the wound.

  “Isabelle believes cleansing a wound with Scots whiskey helps it to heal without festering.”

  “Much obliged to her, I’m sure,” said the knight in a shaky voice through gritted teeth.

  “So ye’re Isabelle’s kinsman?” asked Gwyn.

  “Yes. Isabelle is my cousin, though I only met her once. I was very young.”

  “Ye still look a wee lad,” said Gwyn.

  “I certainly act the green ’un,” muttered Lockton. “I am twenty, but my uncles all still think of me in leading strings.”

  “I am seventeen and one o’ the youngest o’ many siblings, so I have no hope of ever being treated like an adult. I’ll be treated like a babe my whole life.”

  “I’ll be lucky to have much of a life. My uncles see me as an obstacle to get the inheritance of my father—ow! Including this castle.” Lockton took a shaky breath.

  “Bad blood wi’ yer uncles?” Gwyn tried to be as gentle as possible, but she knew what must be done pained him.

  “I inherited many lands, including this one, after my father died last year. I have no other brothers, so if something happened to me…”

  “Ye mean yer uncles are trying to kill ye?” gasped Gwyn.

  Lockton shrugged. “If they wanted to kill me, they would have done it by now. I doubt they want my blood on their hands, but they are not beyond putting me into the jaws of danger and watching to see if I am bit.”

  “That’s horrible!”

  “If I had brothers, I would not make such a tempting target, but I fear I have naught but sisters. Five of them,” Lockton said gloomily.

  “I am one o’ seven sisters.”

  “My sympathies to your brother.”

  “He also has seven brothers.”

  The knight’s eyebrows lifted. “That is a lot of siblings.”

  Gwyn smiled. She always enjoyed her large family, except for the times when they were a trial to her. “There are a lot o’ Campbells to be sure. We are different in ways, but we do support one another. I canna believe, Sir John, that yer own kin would be so consumed wi’ greed as to wish ye dead.”

  He shrugged. “Call me Jack,” said the knight with a lopsided smile and a gasp.

  “I ken this pains ye…Jack.” To call him by his familiar name was too intimate for her enemy and prisoner, yet it felt right on her lips. “Would ye no’ like a draught o’ whiskey?”

  “No. I am well, thank you.” His words and the tremulous tone of his voice were not in concert, but Gwyn was impressed by his stoicism. She knew what she was doing to clean the gory wound must hurt him something terrible, but he pretended to be only mildly affected.

  She finally applied a salve that was Isabelle’s own creation. It burned like fire, but it was renowned for healing wounds. “This may sting a bit.”

  “Is it quite necessary to set my foot ablaze?” he gasped.

  “It will heal faster.” She wrapped the foot in a generous amount of linen.

  “I thank thee.” He drew his foot back through the gate and breathed a sigh of relief that her ministrations were complete. “So you have a large family?”

  “Aye, there are a lot of us Campbells. My mother died several years ago, so my brother and Isabelle are like parents to me, though everyone says I’ve grown up verra wild.”

  “Wild? As in wearing a man’s costume and riding out to the parlay or sneaking out the side gate to pick flowers?”

  “I was trying to save a life!”

  “And endangered many others. You should not have done it,” he criticized.

  “Och! This is the thanks I get for helping ye. If I wanted to be chastised, I would go to my brother.” She was particularly irritated because she knew he was right, but she thought it most uncharitable for him to mention it.

  “Did you go to your brother and tell him about me?” His eyes were suspicious.

  “Aye, o’ course I did. They will come when they have the time. Ye are no’ that important.”

  “You told nobody.” He was confident in the answer.

  “I will leave ye then.” Gwyn busied herself collecting her bandages and salves. She would go right now and tell David.

  “Forgive me,” he said quickly. “’Tis the pain making me uncharitable. I thank thee for your assistance. I did not expect such kindness.” He reached through the gate and touched her hand. His hand was cold, yet it sent heat radiating through her. Very odd.

  “Ye’re cold.” She placed his hand between hers. “And shaking.” His hand was trembling. A closer look revealed he was shivering beneath his hauberk.

  “I am fine,” he lied.

  “Nay, ’tis the shock. Ye need to keep warm. The evening grows cold.” Indeed it had. Thick, gray clouds had rolled in, bringing torrential rain. Though the gated passage provided shelter from the rain, the air was damp and cold.

  “Not cold.” He shivered when he said it.

  Gwyn bounded up and searched the storeroom only for a minute before she found what she was looking for and returned with her arms full of a long length of Campbell plaid. “Wrap yerself in this.”

  The knight’s eyebrows rose. “You wish for me to wrap myself in the colors of your clan?”

  Gwyn crouched beside him, for she doubted he could stand. “I offer ye the plaid to keep yerself from going into shock, ye daft
man. But do as yer pride allows.”

  The knight took the cloth. “My pride is cold.”

  “Here now, ye should remove yer armor, or ye’ll ne’er get warm.”

  “I cannot without help from my squire.”

  “I shall squire ye.” Gwyn gave him a bold smile even as her heart beat faster. Was she truly going to undress this knight?

  His eyes met hers and held them. Heat flashed up the back of her neck. His eyes were bright; his lips looked soft. She leaned a bit closer in spite of herself.

  “Forgive me, but why are you being kind?” he asked.

  “I dinna ken.” She was honest at least. “Ye did most likely save a young girl’s life. Seems right to return the favor. I hate to see any poor beast in pain when it is in my power to correct it.”

  “I am a beast then?”

  “Nay.” Though it would be so much easier if he appeared more like a gargoyle. Gwyn shrugged. “Do ye want my help or no?”

  “Yes. I will admit to needing some help.” He gazed at her through the bars, his eyes sweeping down the length of her.

  Her treacherous body responded without even the merest touch. She should run from such danger, but instead, she leaned forward. He slowly slipped off his red-and-gold surcoat with his English family crest of a lion embroidered on the front. Her pulse quickened to watch him undress, though in truth he still wore several layers of clothing, let alone armor, so he was hardly indecent.

  He lifted an arm without a word, and she reached through the bars to untie the leather laces that held his shoulder plates of armor in place. She was undressing this man. Undressing! She wondered how far she dared to go.

  Her hands became clumsy, and it took longer than it should to remove the shoulder and elbow plates. He struggled out of his hauberk of fine chain mail and placed it on the ground beside him with a chink of the armor. He should be warmer now. Seeing him in his arming doublet was certainly sending waves of heat down Gwyn’s spine.

  Jack and Gwyn stared down at his legs. They were still armored. He focused on untying the chain mail chausses from his arming doublet. He stilled and looked up at her, his eyes searching hers. “The rest are tied in the back.”

  “I can do it.” Gwyn’s hands were itching to undress him.

  “I doubt I can stand at the moment.”

  “Roll over.”

  “It would not be chivalrous to give a lady my back.”

  “It would’na be chivalrous to force a lady to watch ye freeze to death.”

  He reclined onto the ground and lay on his side, his back to her. She got to work untying the back side of the chausses. When they fell away, she was graced by a glorious view of his backside in nothing but snug-fitting woolen hose. She forced herself to move on to untie the padded cuisses of his thighs. Her hands unavoidably touched his thigh, and she swore he shuddered in response. The poleyn steel plates on his knees were all that was left, and she took a long look at his backside and muscular legs before informing him that he was free.

  Jack rolled back and grabbed the large plaid to draw it around him, ending her shameful gawking at the well-built knight.

  “Thank you. I am greatly indebted to you.” His eyes met hers, soft and true. He stuck his hand through the bar and Gwyn took it. Her heart skipped a beat at his touch. He then casually slipped his hand in the pocket of her kirtle.

  “I left the key over there on the barrel,” said Gwyn, smiling at his brazen attempt.

  Jack gave her a guilty smile and snatched his hand back through the bars. “I hope you do not blame me for trying. Is there any way I could tempt you to release me?”

  “I dinna ken a way to do it wi’out endangering the castle. I canna give ye the key.”

  Jack nodded and looked down, dejected. “I understand.”

  “David isna like yer murderous uncles. He winna hurt an unarmed man,” she reassured him.

  “So he would let me go?”

  “After ye were ransomed.”

  Jack slumped back on the wall. “Could he kill me instead and be done with it?

  “Ye dinna ken yer uncles would ransom ye?”

  Jack shook his head. “Not likely. They would not waste an ounce of gold on me.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the stone wall. “They would mock me something horrible to know I was caught by a maiden.”

  “In truth, ye shut the gate, so ye actually trapped yerself.”

  Jack eyes snapped open and he groaned. “I beg you would tell none that. I shall contend I was apprehended by at least two dozen, killed several, and injured many others before finally being taken down by a treacherous blow to the back of the head.”

  Gwyn smiled in spite of herself. “Ye have quite the fanciful imagination.”

  Jack smiled in return. “I do what I must. Since I will be here awhile during the siege, I shall tell myself this story until I believe it.”

  “What do ye mean, siege? I thought both sides were going to meet tomorrow to talk terms.”

  Jack shifted on the floor and inspected the bandage on his foot, never meeting her gaze. “I was the one who wished to parlay. My uncles are here to wait it out. They came purposely before the harvest, so you would be at your lowest ebb of supplies.”

  “I am starting to take a dislike to yer uncles.”

  Jack smiled again. “I agree with the sentiment.”

  They were silent for a moment, Gwyn not knowing what to say. “It grows late. My sisters will be wondering about me,” she murmured.

  “I do thank you, Gwyn Campbell.” Jack’s voice was soft and low. “You have shown me kindness I did not deserve or expect. I have no right to say this, but as this may be my last chance, I will have you know that you are the fairest lady I have ever beheld.”

  “Thank ye,” Gwyn whispered, a shiver of joy rippling through her.

  “If only I could show you my gratitude. Here, wait, I wish for you to have this.” He rolled over to where he had placed his weapons and rolled back with the golden knife in his hand.

  Gwyn leaned back, but Jack merely stuck his arm out of the gate and dropped the knife on the sandy floor.

  “For you. To thank you. And as a remembrance of me if you should wish it.” He looked away and cleared his throat.

  “I will ne’er forget ye,” Gwyn whispered. She accepted the knife and held it tight in her hand.

  He met her eyes and somehow without realizing it, their hands reached for each other and grasped between the bars of the iron gate.

  “I do need to go,” said Gwyn with an odd hitch to her voice. She reluctantly pulled her hand away. “They will be wondering about me. My, but am I going to catch it when they find ye here.”

  “They shall not hear of your involvement through my lips.”

  “Ye would keep my secret?” Hope raised in Gwyn’s chest.

  “You have given me a service, and I shall not reveal my benefactor. It is the least I can do to repay.”

  “Thank ye.” Gwyn paused, turning over the impossible situation once more in her head. “If there was a way to set ye free…”

  Jack gave her a winning smile. “I thank you for the thought. I have brought this on myself and I shall face the consequences like a man. Good day, milady.”

  “Good-bye, Sir John.” Gwyn stood and backed away slowly. She wished she could keep him somehow, but how could it be done? She searched his handsome face to commit it to memory. She doubted she would ever see him again.

  She turned, straightened her shoulders, and walked away.

  Six

  Gwyn dashed across the dark courtyard, pelted by angry rain. She pulled open the door to the main keep and shut it behind her, hoping to slink to her solar quickly, without raising attention.

  “Gwyn!” Isabelle walked to her directly, her eyes flashing, a chubby babe on her hip. “Where are the keys to the cister
n gate?”

  “The keys?” asked Gwyn weakly. She was painfully aware of the heavy iron keys in the pocket of her kirtle.

  “Yes, Gwyn, the keys. David is looking to post guard and the keys are not where I left them, where you know I keep them.”

  “They were there earlier,” hedged Gwyn.

  “I am well aware of that; as I am well aware that the only elder bushes around here are outside the gates.” Isabelle’s eyes bored into Gwyn’s, reading her secrets. “I need to feed this little one, then I will check again for the keys. Mayhap I was mistaken before.”

  “I am sure they will be there,” said Gwyn with a gulp.

  “Yes, I am certain they will too.”

  Gwyn exhaled deeply and leaned against the wall, watching Isabelle walk away. She could put back the key, walk away, pretend ignorance, and no one would ever know her involvement. She did not know why, but she trusted implicitly that Jack would not reveal her. Why she trusted him, she could not say. He was, after all, English. And more than that hardly needed to be said.

  Yet for all the many reasons she should not trust him, she did believe that he would be chivalrous enough not to reveal her. She knew in her heart he was a good man, or he would never have given her the elder twig or his golden knife. She put her hand in her pocket and held on to it.

  She should walk away and never think of him again. And for that reason, Gwyn did not go directly to return the keys, but instead found herself once more entering the storeroom that led to the cistern gate. She needed to return the knife. It was not hers to keep.

  He struggled to stand when she entered, emotions flashing across his face before he greeted her with a half smile. “I was expecting the guards.”

  “They will be here soon. I need to return the key. I…I need to return yer gift. I should’na have taken it. Here, this belongs to ye. I’ll no’ have yer uncles mock ye for its loss.” Gwyn reached her hand through the bars, offering Jack the return of the golden knife.

  The smile drained from Jack’s face and a frown etched lines in his forehead. He slowly removed the offered knife and slipped it into a pocket. “Thank you.” His words were barely above a whisper.