A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) (33 page)

Duncan shoved the hair from his face. “Och aye, she was right.”

“Can you walk?” Eoin asked.

“Bloody oath I can.” Duncan tried to stand on wobbly legs.

Sean dashed beside him and grabbed him under the arm. “Steady.”

Duncan leaned into the knight and steadied his legs. “I’m right as rain.” He looked between the two men. “What’s the plan?”

“Robert’s waiting with the horses,” Eoin said. “We’ll slip out of here and ride like hell.”

“Och.” Duncan grinned, his chapped lips splitting open. “The usual.”

“Can you run?” Sean asked.

“For freedom? I’ll beat you to the door.” Duncan swallowed against his urge to puke. Bloody Christmas, his legs wobbled.

“Make haste.” Eoin dashed to the gate and beckoned. “They’ll find the dead guards soon.”

Meg hated to trick anyone, but it had to be done. Before she’d “retired” for the night, she’d given Tormond a tot of whisky laced with valerian essence. According to Hubert, the dosage she’d administered would ensure her personal guard would sleep soundly at least until midmorning. She prayed he would not hate her for the rest of his life, but she was desperate. In no way could she return to Tantallon whilst Duncan suffered in the bowels of Edinburgh Castle’s dungeon.

She had absolutely no intention of remaining in her chamber through the night, especially after she’d overheard Duncan’s men. They knew as well as she that Duncan wouldn’t survive more torture. Meg couldn’t even think about what would happen if they broke him and he confessed. Yes, Duncan Campbell was the toughest man she’d ever met, but everyone could be broken . . . or killed.

Wearing a white wimple to ensure she would look like a chambermaid, Meg placed her ear against the door and listened for any sign of movement. All was quiet in her wing of the tower. Sliding her hand to the latch, she cracked open the door and slipped her head out.
No one
. Wishing she could have pinched a change of men’s clothing, she tiptoed through the dark passageway.

After she pattered down the stairwell, she hugged the shadows and made her way to the stables. The light was dim, though a group of soldiers stood at the near entrance. Slipping around the back, she tiptoed to her horse’s stall and quickly saddled the mare. Before leading her out, Meg listened. All was quiet.

Slipping back the way she came, she picked up Tormond’s bow and quiver of arrows, thanking the good Lord her guard left them in her path, and that Arthur had taught her to use them ever so long ago. Meg tied her mount outside of St. Margaret’s Chapel.

Once inside, Meg moved to a narrow window. If the men were planning to help Duncan escape, they might need someone watching their backs. She’d enjoyed archery as a lass, though sometimes the claw could be a bother. She’d learned to shoot left-handed, and pulled back the string with the claw. She loaded an arrow in her bow and waited.

An eerie calm hung over the courtyard. The clammy shiver coursing across Meg’s skin reinforced why midnight was called the “witching time.” Everything was so quiet, her heartbeat was like a thundering drum.

Clouds, illuminated by the moon, sailed past. A cold breeze blew her wimple back and made her entire body shudder. Had she missed them? She was sure she overheard Eoin say midnight.

Meg cast her gaze back through the dim chapel. A moonbeam reflected off the bronze cross sitting atop the altar.
Dear Lord, please watch over your servant, Duncan, this night. Keep him safe. Keep all the men safe.

Horse hooves clattered on the cobblestones. Meg snapped her head around and tightened her grip on her bow.

A deep voice echoed off the curtain walls. The hoofbeats sped. Around the bend, the first knight galloped into view, furiously slapping his reins against the black steed’s neck. Meg recognized Eoin’s helm, then Sean and Robert. Hunched over his horse’s neck, Duncan kept pace. Seeing him in such obvious misery made her stomach squelch.

Next, a foot soldier followed, running with a pike in his hand. Unable to keep pace, he climbed to the top of the bend. Up there, he’d have a clean line to all four men once they rounded the next corner. The man stopped at the top and took aim.

Meg snarled and pulled back the bowstring as far as it would go. Grinding her teeth, she let the arrow fly. Hitting the man in the leg, he dropped his weapon and fell to his knees. Meg snatched another arrow and trained it on the cobbled road leading from the gaol, sucking in stuttered breaths. The enforcers’ hoofbeats faded. No one else followed. She threw her weapons over her shoulder and raced to her horse.

Galloping faster than she’d ever ridden in her life, she headed for the gate. The shadows of the men darted through the barbican. Voices bellowed from atop the wall-walk, but with the wind rushing in her ears and the metallic beat of shod hooves, Meg couldn’t make out their words.

A wrenching groan reverberated from the gatehouse. That noise meant one thing. The guards were closing the portcullis. Determined, Meg rounded the last bend and darted straight into the darkness of the gatehouse. The dim light beyond was narrowing by the descent of the black, iron-toothed portcullis.

The downward-thrusting barbs would skewer anyone who got caught beneath them. Meg’s heart flew to her throat. If she ducked and pushed her mount hard enough, she might make it through.

Closing her eyes, she slammed her crop into the horse’s rump, hissing like a snake. The horse beneath her surged forward. The chains above creaked under the weight of the deadly gate.

Meg dared open her eyes. The cobbled road stretched endlessly into the black night. She glanced back as the portcullis slammed to the ground with an earthshaking boom.

Duncan’s gut roiled from the jostling motion. Earlier, he’d eaten his first meal in days, and now it churned in his gut. It was all he could do to sit in the saddle and spur his horse forward. With every jarring gallop, he grunted. His wounds punished him. When his eyes rolled back, he shook his head. If he lost his wits and passed out, he’d be a dead man.

“We’ll ride hard until we reach the River Almond, then we’ll slow to a steady trot,” Eoin called over his shoulder.

“Aye? And what of the horses?” Duncan asked.

Eoin’s teeth flashed white in the darkness. “Fresh mounts await at the inn in Callander.”

Duncan’s pain eased a bit. Of course Eoin would have a solid plan to ensure a successful escape. For the first time in days, hope of freedom filled his chest. He couldn’t think about facing the king’s army until he and his men were safely behind Kilchurn’s walls.

Once home, he would figure out a way to prove his innocence and earn a pardon. He focused upon one driving thought—when he arrived home, he would regain his good name, and then he’d be free to seek Lady Meg’s hand. If she would still have him.

Duncan followed his men across the bridge, then they slowed to a trot. God on the cross, trotting jarred his wounds worse than the smooth gait of a gallop. When stars crossed his vision, Duncan shoved his heels downward to steady his body. He didn’t have enough strength to post with the horse’s movement, but he must stay the course. After they changed horses, they’d ride until they reached Kilchurn—he had all night and a whole day to endure this miserable motion. He’d best steel his mind to it now.

“A rider approaches!” Sean called over his shoulder.

Duncan stole a backward glance.
Will they not allow a tortured man a moment of respite?
The heathen was bearing down on them like a ghost in a windstorm. Something white flapped, as if he were wearing a pennant. “Did you see any others?”

“Only the one.”

Eoin pointed. “There’s a bend up ahead. Let’s ambush him there.”

Robert and Sean drew their swords. A warning tickled at the back of Duncan’s mind. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Let’s see what the bastard wants before we kill him.”

“You’re serious?” Eoin asked. “He’s likely to have a go at one of us.”

Duncan strengthened his grip on his reins. “Only one rider after the notorious Highland Enforcers? Either he’s out to get himself killed, or he could help us.”

“How?” Robert asked.

Hoofbeats pummeled the earth before Duncan could answer. Each man moved into the shadows and waited as the galloping horse approached.

Duncan watched him sail past, but it wasn’t a man. Dark skirts billowed behind, while her wimple flapped in the wind. He’d only seen one woman in his entire life who could ride like hellfire.
Lady Meg
.

Sean and Eoin took the lead, spurring their horses to a gallop beside her. Duncan clenched his teeth and took up the rear. “’Tis Lady Meg,” he bellowed, praying to God they heard him before anyone laid a hand on her.

She shrieked when Sean reached in and tugged on her reins.

“Stop, you bloody bastards!” Duncan forgot his pain and urged his horse ahead.

When he pulled beside Sean, they’d started to slow.

The whites of Sean’s eyes were as big and round as silver shillings. “We’ve caught Lady Meg.”

“That’s what I’ve been hollering about.” Duncan reined his horse to halt. Catching his breath, he leaned forward and steadied himself on his mount’s withers. Wincing as the pain returned with vengeance, he bellowed like a dying bull.

“Duncan!” Meg leapt from her horse and rushed to his side. “I’ve a tonic for your pain.”

His agonizing wounds no longer mattered. He swung his leg over his horse’s rump and slid down, pulling her into an embrace. “What are you doing out here, lass? You could have been killed.”

“Me?” She placed her hand on his cheek. “You would have been struck by a lance if I had not been in the chapel with my bow.”

Eoin stepped beside them. “Lady Meg, I told you to return to Tantallon.”

Duncan thumped MacGregor’s shoulder with a quick backhand. “Did you not hear? She covered us whilst we escaped.”

Meg gazed up at him. “I couldn’t run to home. Not with so much at stake.”

Duncan smoothed his hand over her wimple and cradled her to his chest.

“But what of your guard?” It didn’t appear Eoin would let things rest. “I gave him instructions—”

A grimacing smile stretched Meg’s face. “Methinks Tormond will be sleeping rather late. Forgive me, but I gave him a tonic that was sure to put him to sleep.”

Duncan staggered a bit while he led her to her mount. “Did you purchase a potion?”

“Nay. Ever since I returned to Tantallon, I’ve been studying healing arts with the gardener.”

“Ah, m’lady, you are always full of surprises.” He grasped her hand and bowed over it. A lovely fragrance of rose blossoms filled his senses and he pressed his lips to the back of it. If only he could cradle her in his arms throughout the duration of the night.

“We’ve no time for niceties,” Robert said. “The king’s men will be following for certain.”

Duncan nodded and gave Meg a leg up. “We’ve no choice but to take you with us.”

“’Tis what I want.”

“Your brother will be in a rage when he discovers you missing.” Duncan hobbled back to his horse and mounted, choking back his urge to bellow. “But we cannot worry about that now. Lead on, Sir Eoin.”

It was early morning when Isaac awaited Lord Percy’s retinue on the north side of the Melrose city gates. He’d arrived ahead of the king’s sentry, but not by far. The rider had given a proclamation to the town crier, who announced the Earl of Northumberland was accused of murdering the Earl of Mar and that every effort should be made to apprehend the criminal.

Thank God I moved my wife and babe to her parents’ home in Carlisle
.

Lord Percy had sent Isaac ahead on the off chance something of this nature would happen. Riders paid to deliver missives from the king could speed ahead faster than any army. They had posts established. When a horse tired, they’d pass their messages to another rider who’d proved his speed. News traveled fast in the lowlands of Scotland, just as it did in Northern England.

No man could be on the run for long without everyone the wiser.

As Lord Percy approached, he held up his hand and commanded his retinue to come to a halt.

Isaac rode up beside him. “They’ve barricaded the city gates—you’ve already been accused of murder.”