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James had kissed Tosia wildly before the small entourage of men mounted their horses. Excitement sizzled on his skin, and she could smell that heat from him as he pulled her close. The possibility of a free Scotland, finally, made them feel drunk, and James’s excitement was contagious.
“I vow to ye, Tosia, I will return. We have not yet lived the fullness of our life together. Yet, we are not fully confident of the English king’s intentions. If they are laying a trap, I want to have ye safe. Shabib?” James raised his hand to his friend. Shabib stepped around James’s steed, where he stood with Tavish. “My faithful friend, I’ll assign ye here, to guard the keep, our kin, and my wife, against any possible English incursions. We dinna know if this is nothing more than a plan to remove the warriors from the keep.”
Shabib’s black eyebrows furrowed on his brow. “Milord, I do not ride with you?”
His voice was strained, disbelieving. James shook his head and clasped Shabib’s shoulder.
“Nay. We dinna trust this missive, and we dinna want to risk this stronghold. Only a small company of men will ride with the king, to keep him safe. I must have ye do the same here. Tavish, ye are to remain as well. Again, to keep your sister and the king’s stronghold secure.”
His eyes flicked to Tosia, and a surge of heat rose inside her. Once again, James’s focus was on her and her safety while he put his own life at risk, no matter how sweet his goodbye.
Tavish bobbed his head eagerly, his face shining with pride at his lord’s talks. Shabib, however, pursed his lips, but nodded tightly.
“I will guard the stronghold and those within it with my life.” He made his own vow and bowed low.
James cleared his throat and turned back to Tosia.
“We dinna meet the boy-king’s emissaries until the morrow. We are investigating the lands and locations today and preparing for the meeting. If all goes well, I should return within three days. Then we can discuss our move to Threave.”
Tosia’s chest fluttered — Threave, the stony keep that the king had promised to Douglas in return for marrying her, to replace the keep he’d decimated out of deference to Scotland. They had been waiting until the king’s goal of subduing the lowlands before they moved to Threave, and now it was happening. She grasped his hand and twined his fingers with hers.
“My heart beats only for ye and will be still until ye return to my arms,” she whispered in a tremulous voice.
Then James stole the rest of her words, and her breath, in a deep kiss that worked her lips, probed her tongue, and promised that his greatest desire was to return to her.
He released her as suddenly as he kissed her and mounted up, joining the king without a look back.
Shabib stepped up to stand right behind her.
“You have given him much to live for, milady. That is something he’d not had in years, if ever. And he will come back to claim all that ye have given him.”
Shabib’s rich voice and insightful words covered her in a cloak, warming her, and she sent up a prayer that James’s man was right.
Autumn arrived well before summer was ready to depart, chasing the warmer day away in a rush of sunburst leaves and chilly breezes. And the cusp of autumn also signaled more work in Auchinleck. The inhabitants were uncertain of how long they were to remain, especially as rumor of the potential military excursion to the Highlands if the meeting with the emissary didn’t go well.
Lady Elayne, a woman who waited for naught and left nothing to chance, dictated that the household begin to prepare for winter at Auchinleck, and with a presence and force of nature that rivaled the Bruce himself, set the house maids and the sisters, daughters, and wives who’d accompanied their men to the king’s banner, to work.
Gathering eggs, cleaning the chambers, boiling linens and clothes, scrubbing the chambers and kitchens, and preparing food for the winter sent the women scurrying to please the iron-willed Lady Elayne. Even when softened by the sweet voice of her sister-by-law, Caitrin, none dared to fall behind in their work.
To avoid mucking up the gardens and tracking mud into the clean kitchens (and invoke the wrath of the chatelaine!) Tosia dragged each heavy bucket of murky water to the far end to the gardens where the grasses waved in the breeze. It was a long, laborious process, and Tosia’s arms were beginning to ache from her exertions.
The king and his men had left that morning, and Lady Elayne had wasted no time. Tosia had toiled for hours and by late afternoon, her arms and back throbbed in agony.
She set the bucket on the ground and wiped her damp, chestnut locks from her face. Tightening her kerchief to hold the rogue strands in place, she grimaced as she bent to grasp the bucket again. A crunching sounded in the trees, and Tosia froze where she was.
Had James been correct? Were the English attacking the Bruce’s stronghold in his absence?
She opened her mouth to scream when a young man appeared at the tree line, his finger to his lips.
A very young man, a young Englishman with frightened brown eyes, and Tosia stumbled back when she realized who stood before her.
“Simon!” she squealed and shifted her gaze around the gardens to make sure no one saw the lad. “What are ye doing here? If any of the king’s men find ye, my words will no’ be enough to keep your head upon your shoulders!”
He dipped his tawny blond head, as if registering the danger he presented, then lifted his youthful face to hers. His fair eyes were shadowed, as if haunted.
“Yes, I know. But I cannot let this lie, and if it means my life, so be it.”
Tosia pursed her lips at his attempt at bravado.
“What can ye no’ let lie?” she asked, stepping closer to the trees. Better to keep this peculiar interlude hidden.
“I’ve overheard information that does not sit well with me, not as a good Catholic or as a moral man. My mam raised me better than that. Your king, he’s had a missive to meet with the King Edward’s representative, yes?”
Tosia froze, a creeping, icy sensation reaching to her neck. How did this lad know of that meeting? What did he know?
“Aye. They left this day to prepare.”
The lad cursed under his breath. “Can you find them? Send someone to warn them?”
“Warn them?” Tosia said in hushed voice. “Of what?”
“Your king, or better, your own man, might already have an idea that the English plan to lay a trap. But ‘tis worse than you realize. The king’s advisers are willing to sacrifice their own for this ploy.”
Tosia clutched at her chest. “What do ye mean?”
Simon flicked his eyes back and forth in the trees. “They plan to burn them in the Locherbie estate house. The outside of is made mostly of clay and stone, but they have tucked wood and peat and the like around the edges and hidden it in wooden crucks of the building. Once they are all inside.”
Tosia recalled what James had said about the previous events where the English previously burned unsuspecting Scots in churches and manses. “But my husband, the king, and his men won’t enter until the emissaries are present and in the manse. They are no’ fools.”
“No,” Simon said, shaking his head sadly, “but they are more honorable, even the man with the reputation — the Black Douglas, your husband? Even his most dire actions are naught compared to what King Edward’s advisers deign to do.”
“Nay, they are taking precautions . . .”
The lad waved her protestations away. “The King Edward is willing to kill his own men. The emissary? His coterie? They are not the only English headed to Locherbie. The first group is the sacrifice, the lure. And they have no knowledge of the second group that even now preparing to lie in wait until your king’s men arrive.”
All of Tosia’s blood left her head, and she swooned. The English lad grasped her arm to hold her upright.
“How do ye know all this?” she whispered.
His eyes were haunted — sad and haunted and the windows to a soul trying to do what was right.
“I am with the party that is laying the trap,” Simon told her in a terse voice.
Tosia swallowed, trying to dislodge the tightness in her throat. Her whole body wanted to shut down in shock, and she willed herself to focus.
A chime of laughter rose from the kitchens as several young women spilled into the gardens, and Simon slipped silently back into the wood.
“I have to go. My absence will be noted, and as I don’t plan to rejoin them, I will have much to account for.”
Tosia grabbed his sleeve. “Wait! Why are you telling me this?” she asked in a rushed whisper.
The lad dropped his eyes again. “You saved me, milady, when your husband, and truly anyone else in your position, would have seen me dead. I knew it to be providence, the grace of God and your kind hand that kept me alive. I vowed that I’d do whatever I could to repay that miracle. You are too kind a woman to be caught up in this, and many of my fellow soldiers are more violent and immoral than I care to admit. This kindness, to save your husband and perchance your king from a vile ambush, ‘twas the best way I could conjure to repay what you did for me. For my family.”
Tosia’s heart went out to the lad — in this moment, he reminded her again of her brother so strongly, her chest throbbed. Oh, this poor youth, too young to be a party to such darkness.
“Ye did no’ have to pay me back,” she told him.
A slight smile played on his lips. “Perchance, but my mam would have my head if I had done anything less. Best of luck to you, milady.”
Then he turned and disappeared into the misty shadows of the woods.
Tosia stayed a moment, watching his lithe form melt into the trees, and once she was certain he was safely away, she lifted her skirts and raced for the stables.
She had no idea where Shabib or Tavish were, and someone needed to find the king and let him know.
If it needed to be her, then she’d ride as she’d never ridden a horse before.
She vowed to save James even if she had to sacrifice her own safety, her own life, to do it.
Tosia gripped her rough woolen skirt as she rounded the side of the stables. She didn’t see Tavish standing inside the door on a scattering of hay. He dropped his pitchfork and caught her as she slammed into him. He was more muscled than she’d remembered, his body showing the results of his sparring and sword practice with James.
“Tosia! What has ye so distressed?” he asked as he steadied her.
She stared at his face and gripped his tunic.
“’Tis James! And the king! ‘Tis a trap!”
Tavish clicked his tongue at her. “O’ course ‘tis a trap. They know what they are walking into and will no’ be the first in manse. If the emissary is no’ there, they will no’ go in. If the English arrive with an army, they will fight. Sir James has crafted a fine plan.”
Tosia whipped her head from side to side, panic rising in a sour ball to her throat.
“Nay! The English have learned from James’s brilliant ways! The emissary will be there! Inside. They will draw the king and his men in under a guise, but another army awaits, will come behind, enclose them all and burn it down. With their own men inside, Tavish. They plan to sacrifice their own men!”
Tavish’s face paled as his brow creased. He stiffened under her grasp. “How have ye come to learn this, Tosia?”
The sour ball in her throat was choking her.
How can I tell him? Will he believe me? She and James had never mentioned the English lad they had sent off without a mark. Now that untimely cock had come home to roost.
“’Tis of no consequence,” she said, trying to push past him. Tavish gripped her upper arms.
“’Tis of consequence. I want to know how my sister came to know of these devious English plans. Plans that no’ even the king’s most staunch adviser knows.”
His eyes leveled against her, and his shoulders squared. He’d become the king’s man, James’s man, and was now ready to guard them with everything he had.
“Tell me,” his voice was inflexible. “How have ye come to know this?”
She swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge that sour ball.
“A while ago,” she began in a low voice, averting her eyes, “James and I came upon a scouting party of English soldiers in the woods. He slayed two of them right away, before I could blink. But the third . . .” She stopped and looked up at Tavish, cupping his face. “He was a lad, as young as you. He reminded me of ye so much, too much, and I begged James to give the lad mercy. James sent him off blindly into the woods.”
Tavish hissed out a deep breath, blowing the loose strands of her russet hair from her face.
“Whilst I can see ye doing so foolish an act, I canna bring myself to envision James permitting an English soldier to leave alive. No’ from what I have learned of him, what I know of him.”
She dropped her head, her hair hampering her view of her brother. What she had asked of James seemed much more innocent than how Tavish was making is sound. The lad was just that, a scared boy fighting in a battle that wasn’t his and was so much larger than himself.
At least, ‘twas how it appeared to Tosia.
Tavish’s tone, however, showed her something much larger was at stake, that she had asked much, perchance too much of James. Why had he done something so dangerous when she had asked?
A warm sensation of realization washed over her, dislodging the sour ball sticking in her throat.
He’d done it because she had asked.
“We have to go! Now, Tavish!” she screamed, pushing to move past him. “He’s set to burn if we dinna leave now!”
“Tosia!” Tavish shook her, hard enough to make her neck ache. “Why do ye believe this Englishman? Ye could be walking into a trap! It could be to use ye against James!”
“Nay!” She screamed, stamping her foot. Frustration, worry, anger welled up in her, eking out as despondent tears. “He said ‘twas to pay it back for his life. That he did no’ agree with the English entanglements in Scotland and wanted to go home. And I trust him, Tav. As I would trust ye if ye said the same. And if ‘tis a trap for me, then by God I’m willing to take that chance it ‘twill save James!”
Tavish stilled his hands, the hard lines on his face softening. Stepping away, he nodded slowly with understanding.
“What if I dinna want to take that chance? Nor would James.” His voice was flat, but his gaze roved over Tosia’s face, and her determination won out.
“Och aye. Well, then we will need horses. These here are ready —”
“Ready for what, young Tavish?”
A resonating voice boomed from the door, and they whirled around to find James’s Moorish companion standing in the doorway. Back lit and in his rich blue robes, he loomed even larger.
“Shabib!” Tosia cried out and grasped the neckline of her tunic. She probably appeared as guilty as she felt, sneaking out on the horses with Tavish.
“What did ye hear, Shabib?” Tavish asked.
Shabib’s ability to overhear the most secret of conversations was a well-rumored trait. Tavish shared a look with Tosia. They had no doubt he’d overheard much, if not all, of their heated discussion.
“That there’s a trap, and our dear Tosia desires to stop it to save Sir James?” Shabib moved, nay, glided into the stables.
Tavish moved in front of Tosia. “Aye. She’s had information from a rogue English lad with questionable loyalties that the English army is laying a vile trap. Something Sir James himself might construe. I’d ride to alert Sir James of such a possibility.”
“With the lass?” Shabib flicked his chin at Tosia. Tavish returned it with a half-hearted shrug.
“I prefer to leave the lass here, but she would no’ agree and would follow me regardless. I erred on the side of no’ wasting time in a fight with my sister.”
“Then saddle three mounts. For I’d no sooner have James’s wife enter the mouth of the beast than I would lead James there myself. You and I, young Tavish, have quite a task ahead of us, keeping Sir James’s wife safe as we find the king and share this development with him. If we do not succeed in keeping her from harm, then we will fall under James’s heavy hand. Two will accomplish the task better than one, aye?” Shabib ended his question with an eyebrow high on his forehead.
Tavish pursed his lips and nodded. Tosia’s entire body sagged at Shabib’s offer. Truly, they’d be more successful, and more secure, with a riding party of three. Strength in numbers.
The men check their weapons, then Tavish boosted her onto the horse. “Are ye sure ye want to ride with us? Shabib and I can do this for ye.”
“James will listen to me. I was there with the lad when we found him. He’ll know that I speak the truth. Certainty or pride in the Scots’ cause and his own planning might cloud his mind otherwise. I will keep up with ye and Shabib, this I vow.”
Tavish nodded at the unmistakable conviction in her voice. Shabib swept his robes to the side and mounted his horse in a smooth, practiced movement. He settled in and checked his own weapons — his knives and his curved scimitar which had traveled with him from northern Spain. Tavish grunted as he settled into his saddle and shook his shoulders to settle his broadsword on his back.
Then they galloped from the yard, Shabib in the lead and Tavish guarding the rear, each praying to God that they reached the king’s army in time.
