Chapter One #2
“If ye kill him, he’ll only be replaced by another.” Siegfried shrugged expansively. He had seen more than fifty summers, but his shoulders were as broad and muscular as any younger warrior’s.
“What would you have me do then? Kill the King of England?” Hamish was only half joking. His back ached and the fur of his cloak had been damp for days.
Beside him, Brianne tossed back her hair and declared that, at last, things were getting interesting.
But Siegfried was less easily swayed by hyperbole. “Ye need something over him.” He put down his bowl and gazed into the orange flames. “What do ye know of the man? This Lord Gaunt?”
“Naught.” Hamish shrugged. “Save he is short and weak. He looks hardly able to lift his own broadsword.”
“He has nay need to. He commands an army,” Siegfried reminded him.
Hamish spat into the fire. His mother had raised him as a gentleman, but at that moment he cared little for the fine manners she had instilled in him. “A man who canna fight his own battles is not worthy to be called Laird of Greenock.”
“Nor is a man who canna think before he acts.”
Hamish bristled at the reprimand. Siegfried had taught him much, aye, but that didna give the man the right to speak to him as if he was a green youngling.
“He has taken Elena,” he growled, clenching the wooden spoon so tight he thought it might splinter.
“I have nay forgotten that.” Siegfried’s eyes were calm.
“I canna bide here whilst a weakling takes my castle and holds my sister hostage.” Hamish’s voice shook with the rage he had been holding inside since the fateful siege.
“She is of noble blood. He will treat her as such.”
“Are ye certain of that?” Hamish rose to his feet and loomed over his companion, straightening up when he saw a flicker of apprehension in his blue eyes. “Forgive me, Siegfried. None of this is yer fault. But heaven knows I must take my revenge.”
Siegfried lifted his chin so he could meet Hamish’s gaze. “Then ye risk losing another sister.”
His words carried a note of finality. For a while, the only sound was the crackling of logs in the fire and the incessant rushing of the rain. Hamish looked for Brianne, to see what she made of this, but she had gone.
She was never really here in the first place. Except in his memory and heart and very soul.
A wave of loss made his knees buckle. He fought for breath as if he was winded.
“Brianne’s death was not yer fault,” Siegfried said softly.
“Dinna speak of it.” Hamish held up a warning hand. He wanted to sit back down on the log but could not find his way for the tears that momentarily blinded him.
When his elderly father insisted on fighting beside him during the battle to retake Greenock from Donald, Hamish had no choice but to comply.
The fighting was hard and bloody, with both sides suffering heavy losses.
Compelled to keep one eye on his father, Hamish had lost sight of Brianne.
He’d told himself that she would be okay; that she was a warrior as fierce as any other.
Aye, Brianne had fought like a warrior. In the end, she died like a warrior. But that knowledge brought him no comfort. His spirited sister haunted his every thought and Hamish knew that however long he lived, he would never forgive himself for leaving her side on that fateful day.
“Elena lives still. All this is but temporary.” Siegfried gestured behind him at the comfortless cave. “But ye must choose yer next move with care.”
Hamish stumbled back to the log, breathing deeply to dispel the despair rising within his breast. His hands gripped the rough bark, rooting him in the here and now.
He had prevailed once, against those who would take his family home away from him and spill the blood of the innocent.
Ye Gods, he would prevail again.
But how?
Siegfried quirked a bushy eyebrow. “Ye dinna fancy strumming a tune on yon lute?”
Hamish guffawed with unexpected laughter, not even glancing toward the rocky shelf in the back of the cave where he had stowed his beloved instrument. “Now is not the time, but I thank ye for lightening the mood.”
Siegfried sat up straighter, one hand going to the hilt of the sword at his hip. “Someone is coming.”
Hamish held out a palm for silence. He crept around to stand beside Siegfried and liberated his hunting knife from its hidden pocket. He heard the snap of a twig and a muffled curse, perchance caused by the sharp holly.
Hamish raised his eyebrows toward Siegfried. If this was an enemy, he had no skills in subterfuge.
A throat was cleared, then a familiar voice rang through the clearing. “’Tis I, Alaric.”
Siegfried visibly relaxed, but Hamish felt a new wave of anxiety. Why was he back so soon?
“We were not expecting ye until nightfall,” he said in greeting, sheathing his knife as the tall, dark-haired warrior strode toward them.
Alaric nodded his head in a gesture of submission, though his narrow eyes gleamed with triumph.
“I have news for ye, Hamish. News ye will be glad to hear.”
Hamish was winded again, this time by hope. “Is it Elena?”
“Nay.” Alaric did not appear sorry to have raised false hope.
“The news concerns a lady ye have ne’er met.
” He stood with his feet apart, his hands resting on his hips.
His sodden cloak dripped onto the earth floor, but Alaric was apparently unconcerned by either the rain or the cold. “The new Lady of Greenock.”
Hamish snorted, before tipping the remains of his stew on the fire and wrinkling his nose at the pungent smoke. “Ye will have to explain yerself further, Alaric. I canna see how this news is of interest to me.”
Instead of answering, Alaric swiveled to face Siegfried. “Is there more of that stew? I have nay eaten since sunrise.”
Wordlessly, Siegfried ladled some into a fresh wooden bowl and passed it over.
Alaric sat down and tucked in with enthusiasm.
After waiting a moment, Hamish too sat down, rubbing his hands on his damp braies.
He thought he might be prepared to sign over the rights to Greenock Castle in exchange for a hot bath and a skin of strong wine, so long as the safety of his sister was assured.
“The English soldiers are free with their chatter.” Alaric spoke through a mouth full of meat. “They changed their horses at Din Eidyn, just as ye thought they might. I put meself amongst the stable hands and none thought to question me.”
“So ye did not infiltrate the soldiers?” Hamish interrupted.
Alaric paused, his spoon midway to his mouth, and flashed him a smile. “I didna have to. I heard all I needed at Din Eidyn.”
With that, the man resumed his supper, causing Hamish to gnash his teeth with impatience. “God’s Bones, Alaric, spill yer news afore I spill yer stew.”
Alaric gulped and belched, causing Hamish to wonder if his mother had ever taken the time to teach him manners. “Lord Gaunt is thought to be a great man, now that he is Laird of Greenock. So much so that he has negotiated for the hand of a woman recently made a widow.”
Hamish gestured angrily. “What care have I for this?”
“Listen now.” Alaric was placatory. “This widow is a great prize. Young, beautiful, and wealthy to boot. They call her the Rose of England. She and Lord Gaunt are to be wed the very day she arrives in Greenock.”
Hamish leaned forward, fixing the warrior with a menacing gaze. “Is there any sort of point to yer tale?”
“This woman. The Countess of Felsham. She will be escorted to Greenock by three of Gaunt’s men.
” Alaric paused for emphasis, and Hamish sat back, finally able to see where he was headed.
Beyond the cave mouth, the rain began to slow.
Frail shafts of late afternoon sunlight permeated the heavy cloud.
“Three?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Three.” Alaric nodded sagely. “And there are three of us.” He opened his arms wide to encompass both Hamish and Siegfried, as if neither of them was capable of counting so high.
“And where will this rescue party meet our Rose of England?” Hamish’s fingers beat a tattoo on his knees as a plan began to form.
“A place called Ember Hall. ’Tis located south of the border.” Alaric scraped up his last spoonful of stew, looking well pleased with himself. “’Tis a fine plan, is it not?”
“’Tis a fool’s plan,” Siegfried scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Ember Hall belongs to the Earl of Wolvesley. There is no richer man in England. Mark my words, they will be well-defended.”
“Ye know the place?” Hamish turned to him.
“I know of it. I have ne’er been.” Siegfried shook his head. “The lands nearby are dangerous with raids.”
Hamish pursed his lips. He had never been one to run from danger.
“’Tis the beginning of a plan,” he mused.
When Siegfried appeared to contradict him, he spoke up quickly.
“You said yerself Siegfried that we need something over Gaunt. We need something that he wants, something we can bargain with.” He stretched out his legs to the warmth of the fire as a slow smile stretched across his face.
“And when all’s said and done, if this woman is to be the Lady of Greenock, then by rights she belongs to me. ”
Alaric leaned closer, so that Hamish winced at the sourness of his breath. “That is exactly what I thought.” He fished inside his cloak and produced a flask with a flourish. “Let us drink to the Lady of Greenock.”
Hamish accepted the flask and drank deeply. The wine was rich and warming. In that moment, he could have hugged Alaric, sour breath or no. “To the Lady of Greenock,” he echoed, holding the flask high. “Whomever she may be.”