A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) (3 page)

Isaac chuckled, stretching the jagged scar on his right cheek. “My men will guard the slip of a girl with weapons drawn.”

The earl held up his fist. “Do not mock me.”

“Never, my lord.” Isaac held up his palms. “Where would she hide within these walls? There’s no escape.”

“Women are conniving enigmas. One never knows what their little minds are scheming. I bid you keep a tight rein on her, and
never
allow Lady Maud to see her. The last thing I need is for my wife to become involved. She might sympathize with the guttersnipe.”

Again Isaac chuckled.

Henry slid his hand over the pommel of his sword. Isaac’s grey eyes always made him uneasy. “You find me amusing?”

“Pardon, my lord, but
guttersnipe
is the last word I’d use to describe Lady Meg. She’s anything but a wastrel.”

A ping of desire shot through the tip of Henry’s cock, followed by a flame of hatred blasting in his chest. “Keep your mind out of your braies. If anyone lays a hand on the woman, it will be me. I’ll tug up her skirts, bend her over and defile her in front of Angus—and not before. I want her brother to hear the virgin scream when I tear through her maidenhead whilst he watches.”

Isaac’s jaw twitched.

“Not to worry. You’ll see it all, standing beside me while you hold a dagger to the bastard’s neck.”

Along their journey south, Duncan had two days to think about how they’d slip inside Alnwick Castle. They stopped on the bank of the River Aln, about a mile west of the village. He eyed his men, the best fighting warriors in the Highlands—in all of Scotland, truth be told. Each man had been handpicked by his father, Lord of Glenorchy, and trained since the age of four and ten.

His brother, John, had the sharpest mind but abhorred fighting. He had a daft dream to enter the priesthood.
Damned waste of a stealth warrior
.

Robert and James Robinson were cousins on his mother’s side, allied with the Struan dynasty. Archibald Campbell, a cousin, heir to the Earl of Argyll. Sean MacDougall and Eoin MacGregor were both heirs to neighboring lairdships.

Together, this band of six noble knights made up the renowned Highland Enforcers, continuing the legacy of Black Colin, Lord of Glenorchy, Duncan’s legendary father.

Robert trotted his horse toward them, returning from surveillance in the village. A frown turned down the knight’s mouth. “It isn’t going to be easy to enter. The castle gates are kept closed all hours. Word is the earl has refused to hear supplications.”

Duncan glanced at his brother. “Looks like we’ll need to pay Alnwick Abbey a visit.”

John arched a brow. “Oh? That’s not like you. Planning to pray our way through the curtain walls?”

Duncan never prayed his way through anything. “We’ll borrow some vestments.”

John ran his fingers down his brown beard. “I didn’t think there was any hope for your soul.”

“There’ll be time enough to pray for me after you take up the cowl.”

“Aye. If I should live so long.”

“You’ve nothing to worry about—especially if we can discover the name of the castle’s priest.” Duncan drew his dirk and dropped to one knee, the others following suit. “John and I will walk in through the front gate—tell the guard we’ve business with the priest.” He drew a circle in the dirt. “In the town square stands the Alnwick Market Cross. There’s enough trade going on there, you lot can blend in without causing suspicion.”

“Four knights won’t create a stir?” Archie asked.

Duncan shook his dirk at him. “You’ll hide our armor first. Then I want you milling about, learning all you can about Lord Percy without making yourselves suspicious.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” For an intelligent man, Archie asked too many questions.

Duncan flicked the tip of his dirk into the dirt. “Stay sober at the alehouse. Listen. Guaranteed, Percy’s men will be on our trail before we make it to the town’s border.” Duncan skimmed his hand through the air. “Who is Percy’s man-at-arms? How powerful is his army? Will they follow us into Scotland—or will Percy send a mob of heathens like us to sniff out our trail?”

“How do you plan to spirit Lady Meg out?” Sean asked.

“I’ll figure a way.” Duncan pointed to the MacDougall heir. “Purchase another mount for her.”

The big man spread his palms. “With what?”

Duncan flipped him a gold sovereign. “This should more than take care of it.” He then turned to Eoin. “Watch the castle gate. Keep the horses nearby, but out of sight.”

“Aye? Ye aiming to take a Sunday stroll out the barbican with Lady Meg on your arm?” Archie asked.

“Something like that. Have the horses waiting when we need them.”

Eoin smirked. “I’ll summon a bolt of lightning to strike down the bastards on your tail.”

Duncan had more faith in Eoin’s intuition than the MacGregor heir did himself. “Just have them saddled and ready to ride.” He eyed them all. “The rest of you, too. Gather what information you can and be at the edge of the tree line by dark.”

Dressed in a brown monk’s habit, cinched around his waist with a rope, John grumbled, “You should have let me wear the priest’s vestments. Did you ever even read your Bible passages?”

Duncan smoothed his hands over his black priest’s robes—hardly more lavish than John’s. “You know I did. Besides, I’m leading this charade. Put up your hood.” He walked with his brother through the wooded path linking the abbey to Alnwick Castle.

“I’ll be glad when we finish with this task.” John ran his fingers along the inside of his collar and stretched his neck. “England doesn’t agree with me.”

A tic twitched above Duncan’s eye, as it always did before he stepped into peril. “Nor me.”

It was dusk after they passed through the barbican and neared the gateway of the castle. With two octagonal towers on either side, Duncan studied the fortifications. Four guards stood at the top of the towers, armed with arrows and pikes. The curtain itself was immense. Twice the size of Kilchurn Castle, the fortress sprawled in every direction like a mountain range. Cannons lined the curtain walls—must have cost the earl a year’s worth of income. Three arrow slits loomed as dark caverns on each side of the gatehouse.

An impressive stronghold in anyone’s eyes, yet a Scottish army had laid siege to it only sixteen years past.

Duncan and John wore only hauberks and chausses beneath their robes. His armor left tied to Archie’s saddle, Duncan felt naked without his claymore strapped to his back. He wasn’t walking into Alnwick unarmed, however. His dirk was hidden beneath his vestments, though all Duncan had to do was reach through an opening at his waist to grasp it. As always, for added protection, he and John both wore daggers lashed to their calves and arms.

As they approached the gate, the sentry lowered his pike across his body, pointing the razor-sharp lance at them.

Duncan leaned into John. “Let me do the talking.”

“Do I not always?”

The tic above his eye twitched again. “Nay.”

John emitted an exasperated cough as they stepped up to the guard.

“Stay back.” The man trained his pike between them. “State your business.”

“We’ve a meeting with Father Chamberlain,” Duncan said in a practiced English accent. He’d “borrowed” the robes while John chatted with a monk and learned the name of Alnwick’s resident priest.

The guard eyed them both from beneath his conical helm and raised his chin. “The priest didn’t notify me visitors would attend him.”

“How could he?” Duncan asked. “We’ve been sent with a message from the abbot.”

The guard hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. “Have you any weapons?”

Duncan spread his palms to his sides. “We’re men of God.”

The guard inclined his helmed head toward John. “What about you?”

Duncan made a show of speaking in Latin to ask John to hold up his hands. Only then did he obey. His younger brother couldn’t affect an English accent for his life—sounded as Scottish as the Highlands, even when he spoke Latin.

Duncan offered a thin-lipped smile. “Brother
Julius has taken a vow of silence.”

The guard upended his pike and tapped the staff on the cobblestones. “I’ll allow you to pass this once.”

“My thanks,” Duncan said. He grasped John’s elbow and pushed ahead—straight through the gates of hell.

“Slow your pace,” Duncan whispered. Without his armor, he could have floated through the castle grounds.

Entering the inner courtyard, he quickly took in their surroundings. A five-story keep to the east. The grey stone walls of the chapel loomed directly across. Once they found her, the direst part of their escape would be exiting the gateway and the long trail within the walls to the outer barbican.

“Now we’re inside, how do you plan to leave?” John asked.

Duncan headed toward the chapel. “The same way we always do.”

“Fight?”

“Brother, for a religious man, you have little faith. I aim to walk.” Duncan elbowed John’s arm. “Why are you doubting me?”

John slid his hands inside his sleeves—checking his weapons, no doubt. “I’ve never seen you in a priest’s robe or without your sword. God will strike us dead for our deception, as sure as I’m standing.”

Duncan cared not for a naysayer, even if he was blood kin. “Remember your vow of silence, Brother
Julius
.” He didn’t like dressing in holy garments either, but this was war. Besides, so far his ploy had proved brilliant. How else would they gain entry to the fortress without causing a stir?

He grasped the cold iron latch and quietly opened the heavy door—until the hinges screeched. The priest paused his Latin incantation. Duncan tugged John into the shadows of the vestibule. On his knees, a richly dressed man turned and frowned—undoubtedly Lord Percy kneeling beside his wife. Unfortunate, Duncan would have preferred to avoid the Earl of Northumberland altogether.

They waited until compline ended. With his wife on his arm, Lord Percy sauntered toward them. “What is so urgent, you intrude on my worship?”

Duncan bowed deeply. “Forgive me, my lord. We’ve a matter of the cloth to discuss with Father Chamberlain. I heard not the mass until I opened the door.”

Lord Percy sniffed, a distrustful glint in his eye. “Where do you hail from?”

“Sent from Rome,” Duncan improvised. “Meeting priests to ensure no heresy pervades Catholic walls.”

“I assure you, there is no false doctrine practiced here.”

Duncan smirked, thankful Father Chamberlain hadn’t followed Percy into the vestibule. “With all due respect, that is yet to be determined, my lord.”

The earl glared down his inordinately long nose. “State your business with Father Chamberlain and begone. I’m sure the abbot can provide you with suitable accommodations at the abbey.”

“As you wish.” Duncan bowed toward the Lady of Northumberland. “Good evening, my lady.”

Silently, John followed suit and watched them take their leave. “Now what?” he growled under his breath.

“Come.” Duncan led him to the sacristy behind the altar. “We shall ask Father Chamberlain a few questions.”

“You cannot harm a priest,” John whispered loudly.

“Did I say anything about harming him?” Duncan tapped on the door and walked inside. “Father, I bid you good eve.”

The gaunt priest quickly stood from his writing table. “Excuse me. Do I know you?”

Duncan’s eye twitched three times. “Are you a man of God?”

He gestured to his vestments. “Obviously, I am.”

“Then you follow the commandment, ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness’?”

“You best state the reason for your visit quickly.” Chamberlain’s gaze darted between John and Duncan. “I’ve another mass to give, and I’ll not be affronted by your insolence.”

“Apologies. I’ve a matter to discuss that’s rather surreptitious.” Duncan hesitated, his mind racing ahead. “Compline has ended, the lord and lady have left to dine and yet you have another mass to pray?”

“Yes. For one.”

Och aye?
“And who might that be?”

The priest hastily gestured toward the sacristy door. “You have not yet told me your name, nor have you removed your hood or bowed your head. How could I possibly take you into my confidence?”