Page 21 of Kidnapped by her Highland Enemy

G azing with awe at the Royal Borough of Perth, Maisie could not find one thing to appreciate as everything around her stole her attention.

The steeple of towering churches, the cobblestone roads, the men and women strolling around in silk and furs, the caravans of precious spices, the high masts of ships bobbing in the harbor, and most off all, the Castle of the Scone perched high on a hill.

Turning to Lucas, she expected to see him happy that they had made it so far, but no, he was rigid and tense, his jaw set like stone.

He had been that way since they had crossed over from the highlands days ago and while he had not told her what was worrying him, she knew it had to be something grave.

Nights ago, after leaving the Cambell lands, and half-asleep, she had heard him whisper something to Oliver, but the only words she had could make out were, “…Double back.”

Why? Then, he had started to glance over his shoulder often and when he could find anything amiss, grew more upset. She decided that he felt someone was following them, but not once had any attacker or spy made itself known.

Now, they were at Perth, the historic seat of their kings and instead of getting relieved, Lucas had taken to wearing a dirk strapped to his side. More often than not, he had his hand on the pommel too.

“Do ye ken the King will allow us into court?” Maisie asked while brushing a hand down her new tartan dress.

He did not reply; instead, his head swiveled up and down the street then up the castle where his eyes narrowed. As she expected a confirmation from him, Lucas uttered, “Something is nay right.”

“What do—”

“I see it too,” Oliver added. “There is nay activity at the castle, and the gate is barred with irons.”

Instantly, Maisie grew worried. “If this is nay where we’re to be, then where are we?”

Lucas stopped a man and asked him about the castle. In grim tones, the man explained that the English King had come again and had gone off with the stone where every Scot king was crowned.

“Who is king now?” Lucas asked tightly.

“We have nay king,” the man replied. “The old weakling Balliol abdicated his throne and ran off. We have five Guardians, the chief of them is Sir William Wallace, sirrah, and ye can find him at Sterling Castle more oft than not. That was where the fighting stood.” With that, the man tipped his hat and went off, leaving all four of them in grim straits.

If the King was gone—which meant he could not have been the source of the meddling in their clans—and they had a Guardian that they barely knew, where did that leave them?

Lucas rubbed his face, “God’s blood…I was wrong. We came here for naught.”

Resting a hand on his arm, Maisie shook her head, “Probably nay. Even if the King is nay here, it could be another, and if our fathers are here, we might still use his court as neutral grounds to stop the feud.”

Lucas grunted. “But if the source of our main problem isnae here, we will return with it.”

Resting her hands on his arms, Maisie dropped her tone to comforting, “I ken, but if we put an end to the nonsense, we’ll go back home with enough peace that we can jointly find out who is behind this betrayal and then, he will face the fury of two lairds.”

The rigidity in Lucas’s stance began to sag. “Hopefully, there’s an inn or at least someone willing to take us in and then we can plan how to get to this Sterling place. I daenae ken about ye, but I need an hour or two of sleep and some hearty food.”

They arrived at a small inn as the sun began to set and Oliver helped dismount before Lucas followed and handed the reins off to a stable boy. With one hand resting on the small of her back, Lucas led her inside and to the main desk.

While waiting for someone to attend to them, Lucas scanned the room’s occupants and was mildly reassured that it was not full. There were a couple of drunken men in one corner, slumped over a table with tankards in their hands but they were not a threat.

“Apologies for making ye wait, sir,” a man came in, wiping his hands. “Name’s Archibald Prescott, may I help ye?”

Lucas arranged for two chambers, and feed for their horses. “Please have some food be brought up along with a tub and as much hot water as you can manage. Long horseback rides make her incredibly stiff. I’d have her soak in a tub.”

“Aye, sir.”

They followed the innkeeper up the stairs to the last room on the right, where the man opened the door, and they were greeted by a surprisingly well-appointed room. The bed was large enough to accommodate them, and a fire could easily be lit in the grate. It was clean, and the linens looked fresh.

“The bath and meal will be up shortly,” the man bowed his head as he backed out of the chamber.

As the door closed behind them, Lucas found the closest chair and slumped into it. His head lolled back and in a while, his hand lifted to massage the knots out of the back of his neck.

Sitting opposite him, Maisie said, “Are ye all right?”

“Nay,” he grunted, “I am at a loss here. I was so assured this was the King’s doin’ and now I hear that we lost the King and we have a Guardian. I suppose we should have opened that missive from the crown that I threw into a fire.”

“We’ll get through this, Lucas,” Maisie said while trying her best to keep her composure. “If we do get the feud behind us, that is a victory in me eyes.”

He peeled his hands from his neck and opened his eyes; confliction rested in his green orbs but softened to amusement. “Yer right, I just cannae believe my gut steered me wrong this time. Every time me instinct told me one thing an’ I followed it, I was never wrong. This is troubling for me.”

Moving from her place, she sat in his lap, and touched his cheek. “It’s nay yer fault, Lucas, I would have kent the same thing if I had seen such betrayal firsthand.”

While he still looked conflicted, Maisie leaned into Lucas and brushed her lips against his as the tip of her tongue darted out and swept across the seam of his mouth. When he did not pull away, she pressed her lips firmly to his but time he opened without hesitation, and their kiss slow.

They explored one another’s mouths finding each, sensual and comforting while Lucas pulled her hand over his chest to rest her palm on his heart.

Then, Lucas cupped her luscious bottom, and held her tight as his kiss grew deep, possessive, and promising.

Maisie met his passion with her own and was ready to lead him to the bed—when a knock came on the door.

With a sigh, she pulled away. “I suppose we’ll have time later on.”

He stroked her chin, “I hope so.”

While Maisie had her bath, rain pattered outside, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

Lucas hoped the shower would peter away, but then, the skies turned angry gray, lightning flashed, and thunder rattled the walls.

White sheets of rain fell, pounding the roof and streets, making Lucas pull away from the casements.

“I suppose we shall travel on the morrow,” he said as he went to stroke the fire higher then joined Maisie on the bed. “There’s nay traveling for a while.”

Reaching for her, he wrapped her into his side, and kissed her temple. “Once upon a time I kent ye were fragile, but I ken better than that. Yer hardly fragile, but ye are precious to me.”

Pressing a kiss to his bared collarbone, Maisie said, “And I kent ye were a one-minded brute, but I see ye for the honorable man ye are. I just wish I had kent that before I decided ye were a miscreant.”

Chuckling, Lucas shifted them, so her back was pressed to his chest and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Oh, I am a miscreant, but in the best ways.”

Laughing, Maisie replied. “Ye’ll have to show that on the morrow. Hopefully, this Guardian will give us leave to stay in his court when our faithers come along.”

“Good night lass,” he kissed the back of her neck.

“Ye too.”

The black rock on which the castle stood had an ominous feeling flitter over Maisie’s skin while the castle towered over them, but she did not voice them and followed Lucas through the main gate, under and into the outer close near the Great Hall.

High walls, topped with battlements and passageways, some still bearing the signs of war, surrounded them.

“This way, Laird Barclay,” a man bowed and gestured to a door. “Sir Wallace is in the chapel, but he will be with ye soon.”

“Thank ye,” Lucas dipped his head

The Great Hall of Sterling Castle was the most magnificent hall Maisie had seen despite visiting many castles.

She looked about and saw colorful banners and vivid tapestries hanging from the walls.

Servants lit candles, wall sconces and chandeliers dangled above while evergreen boughs were hung throughout the passageways.

The ladies that passed by wore modest gowns and the men were in full kilts. The trestle tables were out, but not yet dressed for any meal and Maisie wondered if this was where the newest head of Scotland took his visits.

Lucas seemed to mirror her thoughts. With his hand inches from his dirk, he gazed at the high windows and muttered, “With this place so open, he’d be a fool to meet with powerful men here.”

“I—”

“Ye sniveling swine I’ve finally found ye.

Tis about time I got me hands on ye.” Laird Gunn snarled as he swept into the chamber, hate and murder glittering in his eyes.

The laird, flanked by three of his most vicious men, already commanded a section of the room.

Angus’s eyes landed on Maisie, “And ye foolish gal, get ye to me carriage this instant.”

“Nae so fast, Dunn,” The elder McCormack came in, he too flanked by livered guards. “Ye are nay touching me son, but yer daughter is coming with me to answer for her crimes.”

“Crimes?” Maisie gasped. “What crimes!”

Stepping in front of her protectively, Lucas faced his father, “How in God’s name did ye get here so fast?”

“Birlinn, son,” the man said tightly. “The most sensible way. I am sure those peasants over there took to the road.”

“Me horses are the fastest in the land an’ ye ken it,” Angus spat heatedly as he edged to the other laird, the intention to brawl clear on his face. “Ye are jealous and ye ken it.”

Cinead sneered. “What do ye have to make me jealous? A lacking fighting force, tottering buildings, unkempt roads, tainted blood?”

“Tainted!” Angus roared. “Ye are the bloody mongrel here—”

The grate of the large doors behind them had both men snapping their mouths shut and turning to see a man walking in, tall and strapping with a finely tailored suit and dark eyes.

He introduced himself. “Baron John Comyn, the third of Badenoch. I apologize, our lauded leader Sir Wallace had just been called away and I stand here as his proxy. The guards have told me who you all are, so I must ask, what has bought such esteemed families to our gates?”

“We’re here to—”

“Get a mediator to help us break this feud,” Lucas said strongly, cutting Angus off. “Too much blood has spilled between us for centuries and I believe it is time for it to end.”

Ignoring the man’s blistering glare, Lucas added, “I believe it’s time for us to work as one instead of harming the other.”

The Guardian’s eyes turned to the older men, and gave both a long, assessing look, “If that is the case, I’ll have a priest with you in the antechamber. Good day to you all.”

As he left, Cinead muttered, “What is a deuced Englishman doing as a head of our people?”

“That’s nay the matter here,” Laird Gunn snapped, while jabbing a finger at Lucas. “Who told ye this feud should end with a mediator? It will have its rightful end when me men beat yers into the lice-fested bog ye came from.”

“Nay, Faither,” Maisie said as she came around from Lucas. “This has to stop. Why are we killing each other at all from what is most likely a fabricated tale?”

“How dare ye?” Cinead said coldly. “I have it on good word from my faither—”

“As do I!” Gunn inserted.

“—that Gunn’s treacherous rat of a forefather stole a lady from us,” Cinead continued unerringly. “We, unlike ye, honor our womenfolk and we will fight to the last breath to have our honor restored.”

The door pushed open again and a silver-haired older man came right through. He must have come right from mass as his dalmatic, stole, and a hooded cap were in place.

He bowed. “Greetings, I am Faither Antoni Cafell. I am told ye need an intermediary? I humbly offer my help.”

“Thank ye, Faither,” Lucas bowed. “This is a private matter, where shall we speak?”

“Please, follow me.”

He let them to a door and then to a stairwell that took them under the great hall to a room, held up by stone arches.

The lighting was dim but enough came through the fist-sized holes in the wall to let them see.

A round table sat in the middle of the room and had a smattering of wooden chairs around it.

“This is one of the many meeting rooms here, please, shall we start?”