A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) (5 page)

Duncan rushed to him and set Meg on her feet. “I can always count on you, MacGregor.” He stooped to give her a leg up. “Where are the others?”

“At the tree line—archers poised to give us cover.”

His men were the only thing in this world Duncan could count on. “John, ride out with Lady Meg first. Eoin and I’ll take up the rear.” Tearing off the cumbersome priest’s vestments, Duncan bellowed his war cry to alert his men.

Defensive arrows flew from the forest.

“Now!”

Meg crouched over her mount’s head, racing beside John like a well-trained cavalryman. No lad could have ridden harder or more sure-seated.

Duncan glanced at Eoin. “Ready?”

“Aye.”

With a roar ripping from his lungs, Duncan slammed his heels into his stallion’s barrel. A cold wind bit his face. Lady Meg and John disappeared into the shadows of the trees. Thank God—they were safe. Duncan slapped his reins, arrows hissing around him. His heart hammered in his throat.

Nearly there.

His horse whinnied and dipped his rear. Sliding out of control, the warhorse listed, snorting in agony. Flying through the air, Duncan released the reins and readied himself for a jarring thud. As he slammed into the earth, a rumbling grunt ripped from his throat. Something sliced open his buttock.

He craned his neck. The trees were only paces away.

Eoin rounded his horse. “Hurry!”

Duncan tried to stand—groused through his teeth at the sharp pain. He clenched his gut. The big horse lay on its side, snorting—no time to save him.

Springing to his feet, Duncan grabbed Eoin’s hand and launched himself behind the warrior’s saddle.

“You all right?” Eoin asked.

Duncan swiped his hand over his hip. Hot blood oozed through his fingers. “Ride!”

Together they sped through the darkness, deep into the shelter of the forest.

Lord Percy sat by the hearth and sipped hot mulled wine. He hated winter. The castle was always miserably cold. It didn’t seem to matter how much wood the servants piled on the fire, it was still too bloody cold.

Isaac burst into the room, his face white as the frost outside. “My lord.”

Henry set his goblet on the side table and stood. “What the devil? How dare you barge into my rooms like a blustery north wind?”

The guardsman spread his palms and opened his mouth, but uttered nothing but a glottal grunt.

“What is it, man? Out with it.”

“She’s gone.”

The warm wine roiled in Henry’s gut. “It best not be Lady Meg to whom you are referring.”

Isaac combed his fingers through his hair. “It is.”

“Imbecile!” Henry stomped in a circle, smacked the goblet from the table and sent it smashing into the hearth. “I told you to guard her at all times.” He jabbed his finger forward. “This is your fault.”

The man-at-arms blinked rapidly. “I thought she’d be safe in the chapel, blast it all. I left to eat my supper. After which I discovered the guardsman allowed a priest and a monk through the gates.”

“It gets worse.” Percy balled his fist. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted the large priest at the chapel. He’d sensed something amiss straight away. Damn it all, the man had the look of a killer. Henry should have thrown him and that bumbling monk in the pit the moment he’d seen them. “Who were these men?”

“We know not. Everyone who spoke to them is dead.”

“Scottish heathens, no doubt.” Percy paced. God, he hated the Scots. “Bloody Angus sent in a pair of holy men rather than an army? The bastard is smarter than I thought.”

“Those were no holy men. The way they took down my guards, they’re highly trained assassins. And they had help waiting on the outside. Sped away—though our arrows injured a horse.”

“You mean to tell me two men walked into my castle, abducted my hostage, and my vast army only managed to maim a horse?”

Isaac took a step toward the door. “Yes, my lord. My men are preparing to follow them now.”

Lord Percy clenched his fists. “I should strip you of your rank for this.”

A thin line formed across the soldier’s lips.

Henry sauntered up to the miserable wretch and stared him in the eye. “Send the army after the milk-livered swine. Make sure you kill them all before they cross the border—all except Lady Meg.”

“Straight away, my lord.” Isaac turned on his heel.

Percy drew his dagger with a scrape of metal. “And if you
do not
beat them to the border . . .”

The soldier stopped.

“I do not want to see your face until you can bring me dirt. Track their leader. I want to know everything about him—where he lives, what he eats, for whom he cares.” Percy stepped in and ran his dagger along Isaac’s jaw. “Because I’m going to rain fire and brimstone upon
his
family. He’ll rue the day he accepted his first farthing from the Earl of Angus. And when he’s on his knees praying for mercy, he’ll lead us straight into Arthur Douglas’s lair. If we cannot lure them into a full-out war, we’ll beat them at their own game.”

Duncan hadn’t botched a mission this badly—not ever. They were supposed to quietly walk through the gates of Alnwick Castle, mount up and ride away
before
Henry Percy’s guard raised the alarm. Now the enemy would be on their trail before they rode out of the shire.

He grunted when a sharp pain in his buttock stabbed him.

“You’re not dying, are you?” Eoin asked over his shoulder.

“Nay.” Duncan arched his back and grimaced. “Something cut my arse when I was thrown from my horse.”

Eoin slapped his reins, demanding more speed. “Better your arse than that bonny face of yours.”

“Wheesht and keep pace. We’re lagging behind the others.” Duncan needed to be up ahead leading the knights, not riding double, bringing up the rear, for Christ’s sake.

“My mount is a warhorse, but he’ll not last long carrying the both of us.”

“We need to put some distance between us and Northumberland.” Duncan peered through the darkness and raised his voice loud enough for all to hear. “Pull up atop the outcropping ahead.”

John and Meg were the first to arrive. She spun her mount to face them, the whites of her eyes glowing through the darkness. “Why are we stopping? They’re after us for certain. We must ride.”

Duncan would not be taking any quip from a wee lassie. “I’ll be riding with
you
.”

She was a feisty one. He’d seen it in her eyes in the chapel when she’d looked at him. He slid down from Eoin’s horse; the stabbing pain made his knees buckle. Stumbling forward, he bellowed like a bull. “Bloody oath, that hurts.”

Meg sat erect. “If you’ll be sharing my mount, I’d appreciate it if you’d curb your tongue.”

Curb my tongue?
No one besides him issued the orders, especially not a half-pint, outspoken, spoilt Lowland lass. “Let me set this straight—”

“God’s teeth, Duncan, you’re bleeding like a stuck pig,” Archie said.

“What happened?” Robert asked.

“Would you all stop acting like a gaggle of old women?” Duncan straightened and strode to Meg’s mount. “Scoot forward, m’lady. I’ll return your reins as soon as we find another horse.”

“This is untoward,” she clipped, moving forward as asked. “I’ll be requiring a fresh horse to myself at the very first opportunity.”

“Aye, lady, that’s the plan.” Duncan mounted the gelding, grinding his teeth against his bellow this time. He reached around her and gathered the reins. “Sean, circle back and scout out what’s behind us. I want not a mob of English soldiers taking a shortcut and cutting us off.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

By God, Sean was a good man. Duncan could count on him for anything—count on all of them, really.

Her teeth chattering, Meg wriggled against him. “How far are we going?”

Duncan shoved his feet in the stirrups and cued the horse to a fast trot. “As far as we can manage until dawn—with any luck we’ll make it across the border.”

She adjusted again. Holy Mother, her bottom settled against his cock like that of an alehouse tart begging to lose her maidenhead. Duncan grimaced and tried to push his hips further back in the saddle, only to slide forward, right between those two soft cheeks. He groaned. With a throbbing wound in his backside combined with a growing ache in his crotch, this was going to be a long night.

Sir Duncan nearly touched her claw when he took the reins from Meg’s grasp. Thank heavens it was dark. Something about the big man unsettled her. Of course he swore like a heathen. Nearly every sentence he uttered was laced with something blasphemous.

Yet it didn’t bother her. Not really—though she’d never admit it. Meg couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about his air, his powerful presence, made her trust him . . . and fear him. In the chapel, all it took to twist her stomach in a knot was a glance from his lignite eyes and a slight smile, which produced two boyish dimples. No, from his striking black hair framing his chiseled features, Duncan looked nothing like a lad, but if Meg must trust anyone outside her own kin, it would be he. In the blink of an eye, he’d come to her rescue and killed two men to protect her.

When he announced he was going to share her mount, she should have put up more of a fuss. Surely it wasn’t proper. But the butterflies in her stomach were too busy flitting about as if she’d never seen a warrior before. Even if she was the smallest in their party, Meg needed to regain her senses and be assertive. Sir Duncan Campbell was a Highlander—a man bred of rugged stock, fabled to beat their wives and survive the winters chest deep in snow.

She’d simply become overly excited at the prospect of being rescued.
My stars, watching Sir Duncan and Sir John fight those men, ’tis a wonder I’ve not completely lost my faculties for the shock of it
. Soon she’d be back behind the walls of Tantallon Castle. She’d be bolder with Arthur when she faced him. He’d see the need for her to take the veil. She had been kidnapped because he wouldn’t listen to her reason. Arthur would pay attention to her now, she was certain of it.

Meg let out a long sigh. Her back accidentally pressed against Duncan’s chest. She quickly sat forward. “Pardon me.”

“You may as well relax, lass. Besides, you’ll be a mite warmer if you do.”

Heaven help her, the deep bass of his voice rumbled through her whole body and made her insides quaver. Meg nervously adjusted her hips. Did Duncan have a weapon hidden in his braies? Something solid rubbed between her buttocks. Oddly, it made her tingle when she moved. She did it again.

“I meant you might want to rest against my chest, not tempt me with your taut little arse.” The devil himself could have recited those words.

Meg jolted upright.

“Aye, that’s what I’m talking about. You keep squirming around like that and I’ll be itching to lead you off into the glade and have my way with you.”

She knew enough of men to realize there was no weapon lodged between her buttocks. The brute was a flesh-and-blood stallion. Her mind blanked. What should she do? There was no other horse to ride. She glanced at John. He seemed a tad more genteel. Meg tapped her pointer finger to the thumb of her claw—something she did when nervous. She’d further hold them up if she demanded to ride with another.