A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) (21 page)

Gyllis scooted back her chair. “Will you excuse us?”

“Of course.” Meg shooed them away with a flick of her wrist. Honestly, she was glad for a bit of time to herself, especially since she’d gone two nights with little sleep. She was good company for no one.

Wandering out to the sunny courtyard, Meg stopped short.
Heaven’s stars
. Before Duncan could see her, she dashed into the shadows of an alcove. He and his men were sparring, the clangs from their swords echoing off the curtain walls.

Meg’s hand flew to her chest to steady her erratic heartbeat. Yes, when he’d rescued her, he’d fought and shown no mercy. He’d done what he must to save her life, but his form had been hidden beneath the robes of a priest.

However, today Duncan sparred naked from the waist up. Wielding his mammoth sword with crushing blows, every sinew in his back flexed and bulged. Even with a chill in the air, his skin glistened with sweat.

Mesmerized, Meg stood motionless in the shadows. Duncan’s sword clashed with Eoin’s, their blades scraping until their cross guards locked. “You’re going easy on me,” Duncan hissed through gritted teeth.

“Aye?” Eoin growled. “You’ve returned from the dead and expect to snap back in a day?”

Duncan shoved him away and crouched, both feet firmly planted apart, spreading the plaid belted low on his hips. “I’ll not be treated like a milksop.”

“You?” Eoin lunged. Their swords collided with a resounding racket. “I ought to run my blade across your other buttock so you have a matching pair.”

Duncan pushed him away and advanced with bone-jarring force. Eoin proved a worthy opponent, deflecting the onslaught of blows as he spun away. Again their swords collided and scraped until the two knights were nose to nose.

Eoin kicked around Duncan’s backside. The heir to Glenorchy howled. “That was a dirty trick.”

The MacGregor heir sauntered around him. “What? Have you not had enough of Lady Meg tending your ugly arse?”

Meg slid her hand over her mouth and tried not to laugh. Duncan’s chiseled arse was anything but ugly.

“You’re a bloody fat-kidneyed maggot.” Duncan spun, swinging his blade in an arc. Eoin met the blow with an upward thrust. Duncan’s sword flew from his hand and clattered to the cobblestones. “Ballocks, I hate miserable weakness.” He trudged over and picked it up. Then, assuming his wide stance, he beckoned with his fingers and nodded to Eoin. “Come again.”

Meg wanted to rush out into the courtyard and demand he stop. For heaven’s sake, Eoin was right. Duncan had been half dead a few days ago. But she knew enough to stay away from sparring men. Not only could she be killed, the warriors could injure each other if their attention was drawn away.

Lord Glenorchy marched through the doors and straight past Meg. “Duncan.”

Heaving, the men lowered their swords.

The lord’s countenance was undeniably grave. “Come with me. I need a word.”

Duncan grabbed his shirt and followed Da into the keep. Something in the corner of his eye moved in the alcove.
Meg
. He would have stopped, but from his father’s grim expression, this wasn’t the time. Something was afoot. Duncan’s gut twisted.

He’d seek Lady Meg out later. Besides, he needed to time to think about how best to approach her and what he’d say.

Da led him into the second-floor solar and closed the door. “’Tis good to see your strength returning.”

“Aye, but it is bloody annoying. I feel like my claymore weighs seven stone.”

Da took a seat at the head of the table—in Duncan’s chair. “Well, I reckon you’ve had long enough to convalesce.”

“True.” Duncan pulled out a seat and gingerly slid onto the hardwood. “I must escort Lady Meg back to Tantallon.”

“Indeed, she needs to be reunited with her brother, but you cannot take her.”

Duncan sat forward. “I beg your pardon?”

Da didn’t smile. “I’ve received a missive from the king. We have a new assignment.” He pulled out a folded piece of vellum and held it within an inch of his nose, reading the inscription.
Good God, Da’s eyesight grows worse by the day
.

“Bloody fantastic timing.” Duncan sat back, wincing at the jabbing pain. “This better not be royal bravado, doing some superfluous task akin to accompanying the queen to St. Andrews.”

“Nay.” Da frowned. “’Tis grave.”

Duncan spread his palms, waiting expectantly.

Da tossed the vellum on the table. “We’re to intercept the Earl of Mar and deliver him to Laird Preston at Craigmillar Castle.”

“Christ—the king’s own brother? What the bloody hell for?”

Da pointed at the missive. “What we need to know is in there. He’s been accused of practicing witchcraft against the king.”

“You’re serious?” Duncan picked up the vellum and smirked. “Seize him from Kildrummy Castle?”

Da said nothing while Duncan read. Sure enough, the missive was vague, and John Stewart, Earl of Mar, stood accused by the scrolling penmanship inscribed in the document. Duncan folded the missive and tossed it on the table. “Ye ken the fortress is near impenetrable.”

“Why else would the king request our services?”

Duncan’s gut muscles clenched. “God on the cross, this is bad timing.” His plans to win Meg’s favor would take sennights, not days.

“I recall you said the same thing when we received the order to go after Lady Douglas.” Da scratched his beard. “Seems it was a MacGregor lass, was it?”

Indiscretions always had a way of coming back to him. Duncan had behaved like a rake for so long, everyone seemed to expect it of him. He crossed his arms. “Lady Meg is different.”

“I’ll say. She’s nobility, for one.” Da eyed him. “Are you telling me you’re serious about the redheaded lassie?”

“I care for her.”

“Aye? And you’ll care for the next bonny lass who applies ointment to your arse.”

Duncan swallowed his rebuttal and looked to the window. He didn’t want his father meddling when it came to Lady Meg. Da could end any hope he might harbor of winning her favor. Besides, he wasn’t ready to marry or do anything rash like that. He was the leader of the Highland Enforcers, a responsibility that had him away from home more often than not. What? He’d been at Kilchurn for all of a sennight? And now he’d be off again for a month, possibly more.

However, Duncan still preferred to see Meg safely home. “Have you considered what is to be done with her?”

Da retrieved the missive from the table and slid it back into his doublet. “John will take her to Tantallon.”

Duncan’s gut clamped harder and twisted. “John? He’s one of my best men.”

“Aye, but he’s kin, and aside from you, he’s best suited to negotiate the final payment with the Earl of Angus.”

Duncan let out a heavy sigh. Leave it to his brother to be given the pleasurable detail of the journey to North Berwick with Lady Meg. He wanted to hit something. “I’d prefer to deliver Meg to her brother and then travel north to Kildrummy.”

“I ken you’re not daft, son.” Da stood and moved to the sideboard. “The longer we postpone, the more likely the Earl will hear of this accusation and flee Scotland.” Squatting so his nose was inches away from the tray, he studiously poured two drams of whisky and handed one to Duncan. “Nay, we shall leave on the morrow. You’d best tell your men.”

Duncan accepted the tot and sipped. “We? Are you coming with us?”

“And not witness the look on the earl’s face when you tell him his brother’s accused him of witchcraft?” Da chuckled. “I wouldn’t miss that for a chest filled with silver.”

“Aye? Have you and the earl been at odds?”

“Let’s just say I doubt Lord Stewart could recite a witch’s incantation. When he was granted the title of earl, he petitioned for grant of our lands right here on Loch Awe.”

“God’s teeth, he tried to take Kilchurn?”

Da raised his cup. “Aye, bloody senseless bastard.”

Duncan stood. “I’ll say.” He adjusted his sword belt. “Well then, capturing the Earl of Mar shouldn’t be as distasteful as I initially thought.”

“Good on you, lad. We’ll make quick work of it and be back at Kilchurn for the Easter feasts.”

Duncan strode out of the solar wishing he could be half as content as his father.
Ballocks, allowing John to accompany Meg back to Tantallon? Why the hell was I the firstborn?

Isaac slipped into the inn at Glen Orchy. He stood for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the haze. A few stragglers slouched against the bar. Though it was early afternoon, they all appeared to be in their cups. He sidled up to the pot-belled innkeeper. “A brandy, if you please.”

“What?” The man leered at him beneath thick beetle brows. “Ye’re English, are ye? We’ve whisky and ale. Which will it be?”

“Whisky.” Isaac cleared his throat. “Please.”

The innkeeper pulled the stopper out of a bottle and poured. “You’ll taste none finer than that from the Glen Orchy still.”

Isaac picked up the cup and held it to his lips. “Truly.” He sipped and swirled the oaken-flavored spirit over his tongue. “I say, that is good.”

Wearing a moth-eaten plaid and a linen shirt laced with a leather cord, the innkeeper looked as if the times had taken a toll. Perhaps the man was disgruntled with the lord of the land? Isaac took another sip, appraising the odd-looking fellow. “I saw a rather large herd of cattle just west of here. Do they all belong to the Lord of Glenorchy?”

The man jammed the stopper back on the whisky bottle. “Why are ye asking?”

Suspicious, just like every other Scot in this frigid country
. Isaac sniffed. “Dunno . . . seems as if Lord Glenorchy is in the king’s favor. I’d wager he carries out the king’s business with a firm hand.”

“Now just who do ye think ye are coming in me place talking about Lord Colin as if he were a tyrant?” The innkeeper picked up Isaac’s unfinished glass. “There’s nary a soul in all of Argyllshire who wouldn’t take up his sword for Black Colin.”

The stragglers, suddenly alert, turned to watch.

Isaac held up his hands. The last thing he needed was to cause a stir. “Pardon. My mistake. With such a grand castle, I wrongly assumed there might be some resentment on the part of the locals.”

One of the men sauntered over, smoothing his hand across his dirk. “Where are ye from, Englishman? I’ll wager Lord Colin will want to know.”

“Aye.” Another stepped behind Isaac. “Mayhap we should deliver him ourselves.”

The third closed in. “Could mean a farthing or two for each of us.”

Isaac’s gaze darted to the door. Obviously he’d made a grave error. He’d discovered plenty about Sir Duncan Campbell and his father. They controlled everything in these parts, lived behind mighty fortress walls and ensured the local crofters were happy—if only things were as pleasant in Alnwick.

Surely his information was enough for Lord Percy. He bit his lip, but what about Lady Meg? Was she within Kilchurn’s walls or had she returned to Tantallon? “I understand Sir Duncan suffered quite an unpleasant injury. Who has taken on his mantle whilst he’s been recovering?”

A smelly Scot stepped within an inch of Isaac’s nose, the man’s breath as rancid as rotten meat. “I’d wager yer a bloody English spy.”

Isaac’s pulse quickened. Perhaps his last question crossed the line.

The men surrounded him. As he reached for his sword, Isaac’s fingers skimmed the pommel when a fist to the jaw sent him careening backward. He stumbled over a chair and crashed to the floorboards. While scrambling to stand, a booted foot kicked his gut. Isaac snatched his dagger from his sleeve, met with a bone-jarring heel that pinned his wrist. Fingers splaying, the weapon dropped.

Bellowing, Isaac tore his throbbing arm from under the boot and sent the man toppling to his bum. All three pounced, fists pummeling Isaac’s face.

The last thing he remembered was curling into a ball while he tried to protect his head in his cradled arms.

Returning from a turn in the castle gardens, Meg stepped into the keep. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dim light when she smacked straight into Duncan’s chest. His hands braced her arms. She didn’t need to look at his face to know it was he. His scent filled her senses—spice laced with a hint of lemongrass. She closed her eyes and inhaled again.