A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) (42 page)

Duncan crouched, ready for another bout.

Above, the ram’s horn blared.
What in Christ’s name?
Duncan kept his eyes on his opponent and circled.

“Stop!”

He would never mistake Meg’s voice. But taking his eyes off the warrior now would be a deadly mistake.

“Stand down,” a man bellowed.

The Englishman backed away and lowered his weapon.

Duncan’s gaze shot to Meg. A scar-faced man in Highland dress had his sword angled up at Meg’s throat. Duncan’s chest tightened. He looked to Eoin, then to Sean. They each gave a nod. The first mistake this bastard made would be his last.

“We’ve captured her!” the scar-faced man shouted with an English accent.

“I am unharmed, Duncan,” Meg said in a steady voice.

Flanked by a dozen cavalrymen, the Lord of Northumberland rode a black steed into the inner bailey. “Well, well. The wayward priest and his crippled accomplice.” He snickered. “How charming. Lady Meg fell in love with the knight who rescued her from my clutches.”

Duncan’s gaze shot from Northumberland to Meg and her villainous captor. “Do you think you can win by doing this? You’d risk breaking the truce to pursue your own feud?”

“
Your
king has all but ruined the fragile little truce.” Lord Percy ran his reins through his gauntleted fingers. “I couldn’t resist, knowing I’ve got you both in one place. I shall kill two at once.”

The Englishman with Meg moved closer. Duncan gripped his sword and nodded to Eoin, but before he could make a move, an arrow flew from the battlements.

Lord Percy grunted, his face blanched and his torso fell against his horse’s neck. An arrow lodged at the junction of his armband and his breastplate.

“Release my sister at once,” Arthur shouted from above.

The Englishman winked at Duncan. “Ever so happy to oblige.” He pushed Meg into Duncan and advanced toward the earl, brandishing his sword.

“Retreat!” Percy commanded, spinning his horse in place. Behind the thunder of hoofbeats, the remaining pikemen raced from the courtyard.

Duncan pointed to the plaid-wearing Englishman, now chasing after Northumberland and swinging his sword over his head. “Seize him!”

Eoin and Robert made quick work of disarming the scarred man.

Duncan pulled Meg in a tight embrace. “Are you all right, my love?”

She smiled—how could she appear so calm when she’d just been held captive? “Aye, but you must release Isaac. ’Twas his plan to trick Lord Percy into the inner bailey and have Arthur shoot him.”

Duncan regarded the Englishman wearing a plaid belted beneath a breastplate, standing perfectly still in Robert’s grasp. Sauntering toward them, a hint of recognition tickled Duncan’s mind. “Was it now?”

Isaac offered a sheepish grin. “Aye. Lord Percy wouldn’t have stopped until he saw both you and Arthur dead.”

Duncan stroked his chin. “You’re the one who followed us from Alnwick, are you not?”

“Yes, but when Lord Percy commanded me to kill the Earl of Mar, I’d had enough.”

Meg gaped. “That was you?”

“Acting upon my master’s orders.” Isaac bowed his head. “I vow I will never stoop so low again.”

Meg grasped Duncan’s hands. “Please, my love. You are alive because of Isaac’s assistance.”

“Release him.” Duncan pointed toward the stables. “Highland Enforcers, after Northumberland! No one wages war on the Campbells and rides away.”

Arthur dashed from the tower. “But what of the truce?”

Duncan sheathed his sword. “Are you satisfied he will leave you alone?”

“I will petition the king.” He gestured to Isaac. “With this man’s confession that Lord Percy ordered Mar’s death, we can ruin the man with a direct complaint to King Edward in England. The bloody earl was Edward’s emissary to Scotland. He’s a traitor of the worst sort.” Arthur spat on the ground. “I’d love to see his title stripped for good.”

“I daresay that would be more painful to him than death,” Isaac said.

Duncan nodded, weighing Arthur’s words carefully.

Meg clamped her fingers atop the armor on his arm. “We do have a feast to resume.”

“And a wedding on the morrow.” Lady Margaret stepped into the courtyard.

Duncan looked to Arthur. “You shall ride for Edinburgh immediately following the wedding?”

The earl nodded. “Bloody oath I will.”

Duncan eyed Isaac. “What are we to do with you?”

The Englishman removed his helm. “After I returned to Alnwick, I moved my family to Carlisle. I would like leave to fetch them, and pledge my fealty to you, m’lord.”

Duncan frowned. Could he trust this man? He’d murdered the Earl of Mar—but then couldn’t rest when Duncan had been blamed. “That is a bold request.”

Meg stepped forward. “I believe Sir Isaac has shown his true loyalty. He risked his life to make amends for his evil deeds.”

Duncan gave the Englishman a once-over. The sturdily built man could be of use, especially on missions that took them south of the Scottish border. “Fetch your family, but you will need to prove your worth one hundred fold.”

Isaac again bowed. “Thank you, my lord. You will not be disappointed.”

“I had better not be.” Duncan faced the crowd of bedraggled warriors. “You all have fought well. Let us resume our meal and then seek our beds. For tomorrow there will be a wedding and a great gathering to celebrate our victory!”

The next morning Meg awoke to a crisp breeze blowing from the loch. Gyllis still slept beside her, snoring ever so lightly. Butterflies flitted throughout her insides. Today she would marry the man of her dreams. She slid out of bed and sat in the window embrasure. The sun reflected in an angle over the loch, making the ripples on the water shimmer as if the water were alive.

Green sprouted everywhere. Even the trees were showing their first hints of mossy green in a promise to enliven Argyllshire with the vibrant colors of spring and summer.

Meg drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. On one side she wished the ceremony would come quickly, but on the other, she wanted to savor every moment. She never again would be a bride, and this day topped her list for the most important in her two and twenty years.

She closed her eyes and inhaled the cool morning air. Calm spread from her chest to her limbs and out the tips of her fingers. Her mind cleared and took her to a place where she was one with nature, almost like floating as a downy feather on the wind.

After she’d reached the pinnacle of calm, the chamber door flew open and in strode Lady Margaret, carrying a voluminous red gown, followed by chambermaids with buckets of steaming water and a groom carrying a wooden tub.

“Put it in front of the hearth.” Lady Margaret pointed. “You must wake, Gyllis.”

“Already?” Gyllis asked with a sleepy voice.

The chambermaids emptied their buckets into the tub and filed in a procession out the door.

Lady Margaret smiled brilliantly. “’Tis good to see you awake, Meg. Are you excited for your wedding day?”

Meg stood and wiped her hands across her face. “Yes, thank you. I had a refreshing night’s sleep, and am ready to take my vows.” Though these were vows she’d never allowed herself to dream she’d be uttering.

“We’ve much to do before you’ll be ready to stand before the priest.” Lady Margaret flicked her wrists. “First into the bath with you, then we need to pluck your eyebrows, rouge your cheeks and lips, then file your nails.” She crossed the room and fingered a lock of Meg’s hair. “And I shall send up my own chambermaid to attend your lovely tresses.”

“Aye, with hair like that, she scarcely needs a headpiece,” Gyllis said.

“Sacrilege!” Lady Margaret strode to the bed and picked up the gown she’d brought in. The velvet overdress was the most brilliant shade of red Meg had ever seen, trimmed with sealskin. “I daresay this is still in fashion after all these years.”

Meg smoothed her hand over the velvet, woven with thread of gold. “’Tis exquisite.”

The lady’s gaze softened. “It was my very own wedding dress.”

Meg clutched her fists under her chin. “Oh my, I cannot wear such an important family heirloom.”

“And why ever not? You are marrying into the family.” Lady Margaret picked up Meg’s hand and held it to the dress. “Besides, it matches the ring Duncan gave you.”

Meg sighed. “Aye, it does.”

“Ooh,” Gyllis said. “Mother, you think of everything.”

“Yes I do, and there is no time to waste. Off with your shift. I shall call in the chambermaid at once.” The matron sounded as giddy as a wee lassie.

Meg complied and slipped into the warm water. She grinned. Soon Lady Margaret would run out of reasons to keep her from Duncan’s arms.

Wearing the ceremonial armor passed down from his father, Duncan paced at the back of the chapel. His inner circle of men all stood patiently, as if this were just another humdrum day. Duncan thumped Eoin on the shoulder. “Say something, would you?”

The knight cleared his throat. “The salmon will be running up the Orchy soon.”

Duncan should have hit him harder. “Fishing?”

“Aye.” Eoin spread his palms to his sides. “Would you rather I challenged you to a wrestling match? You might look a bit unsightly for your bride with a black eye.”

Duncan paced in a circle. “Bloody miserable hell, where is she?”

As if he’d uttered the secret password, the chapel door opened and Lady Margaret slipped inside, followed by Duncan’s sisters. “Oh good, you’re ready,” Mother said.

He looked to the rafters. “I’ve been ready since the cock crowed at first light.”

Mother smiled in her serene way and patted Duncan’s cheek. “A prize as lovely as Lady Meg is worth the wait.” She flicked her wrists toward the altar. “You’d best take your place.”

He’d bloody waited long enough. Mother led the girls to the pew at the front of the chapel. Duncan followed and stood at the rail. He stared at the door thinking it would never open, but then a sliver of sunlight spread into a glowing ray. Through that light, Meg appeared like an apparition sent from heaven. The sunshine first caught the ringlets of hair peeking from under her veil. It wasn’t until Meg stepped farther into the chapel that he could see her face. Her radiant smile ignited the embers of his heart.

Meg looked more regal than the Queen of Scotland, more beautiful than a meadow nymph, and, best of all, this day she would be his.

Arthur escorted her down the aisle of the small chapel.

Meg reached out her hands to Duncan, blessing him with such luminous beauty, his heart thrummed in his chest. “You are stunning, my love.”

Her eyes sparkled. “As are you.”

While the priest chanted the Latin mass, Duncan recalled the first time she’d unveiled her striking cobalt eyes to him. He’d done his best to act like a priest, but she’d seen right though his ruse. From the outset, Meg could gaze into his soul and find the truth. And from that blessed moment in the Alnwick chapel, this remarkable woman had won his heart forever.

Eight months later

Having recently returned from the borders, where he and his men were patrolling for English spies, Duncan paced in front of the hearth. The shrieks coming from the adjoining lady’s chamber had his wits on the ragged edge. God’s bones, he’d rather be fighting an army of MacDonald rogues than listening to Meg suffer through labor.

“I can see the head,” Alana’s matronly voice resounded through the walls. “Bear down with your next pain.”

“I cannot bear to breathe anymore, let alone withstand the pain to push him out!” Meg sounded on the brink of hysterical.

“’Tis nearly over,” Mother soothed. “You shall hold your bairn in your arms soon.”

“The pain is killing me!” After a few sharp gasps, Meg cried out in such agony, Duncan was convinced he’d lose her.

He could take no more. He marched to the door and stopped, holding his hand above the latch. He mustn’t go in there. It was bad luck . . . and work only for womenfolk. But Jesus, he needed to do
something
. Raking his fingers through his hair, he stared at the sideboard against the far wall. Aye, he could use a stiff drink.

Shrieks and gasps clawed through the walls, creeping up Duncan’s skin. His hands shook as he uncorked the flagon and filled a goblet.