Chapter One
Urquhart Castle, Loch Ness, Spring 1272
“’Tis over fer now, My Lady,” her father’s bailiff said with concern. “We’ve held them off fer another spell.”
Maggie, too, watched the small army of English soldiers marching and riding away. Even from this distance, she could hear the rustling of their armor and the clomping hooves of the many horses. She, the dozen knights her father had left behind to guard the castle, and the Durward family’s loyal villagers had fought long and hard for nearly two weeks. There had been many casualties, many deaths. She detested the English, who were again invading Scotland in search of prizes to win for King Edward I. It infuriated her even more because the king had asked that her father and her two older brothers join his forces in this ninth crusade. Asked for their help and then allowed his English soldiers to attack their castle.
“Aye, we’ve held them off fer now.” She finally set the heavy crossbow down beside her on the battlement. The muscles of her arms throbbed, but the pain was worth it. She’d sent at least a half dozen of the enemy to their deaths. Her brothers would be proud, mayhap even her father. She’d always had a hard time pleasing him.
“Ye need to have Anice tend to your cheek. ‘Tisn’t bleeding much, but could use some cleaning.” Douglas stated, his brow furrowed. “Ye shouldna been up here.”
She reached up to wipe at the small cut she’d gotten when she’d had a slight mishap pulling an arrow from the quiver on her back. In a hurry, as was her nature, she’d been a tad careless. But the injury was not important in the scheme of it all. And she was weary of her father’s men trying to pamper her. She barely put up with such nonsense from her father, for which they often butted heads and for which she often experienced the flat of his hand on her bottom. Her brothers didn’t even try to overprotect her unless she was in real danger of getting hurt.
She picked up her crossbow and tossed him a withering glance. “My duty is to our people, including ye, Douglas. With my father and brothers gone, I am charged with the defense and honor of Urquhart. I canna help defend by hiding out in the keep.”
“But—“
Maggie leveled him with a fierce glower she’d learned from watching her father. “Nay ‘but’ to it, mon. Should we be attacked again, I will be up here again.”
He didn’t look happy, but he sighed in resignation. All knew of her stubbornness, which was a strong trait of the Durwards. She never backed down when she believed she was right. Not even at the promise of a sound thrashing from her da. Right now, as she thought about the knights they had lost and the villagers as well, she desperately wished her father were here. She’d still have fought with the men. If that were the situation now, she would be following her father to her bedchamber to receive a taste of the tawse for disobeying his order and worrying him. ‘Twould be worth sleeping the night on her belly, though, just to have had him here.
As if echoing her thoughts, Douglas said, “I’ve heard that many are returning now from the Crusade. The English king has already gone back to England.”
Her stomach knotted again, as it had been since she, too, had heard the rumors. Something was wrong. In her heart, she knew it. She shoved the fear aside and raised her chin. “Father, Fergus and Brodie will be back soon. We must believe in that.”
“Lord Rob MacKenzie, too, lass.”
She blinked at him, having tried not to think about her betrothed returning. She’d always found Rob a weak man in comparison to her brothers. He would be a husband that she could easily run over, get her way in all things without much effort. He had a quick smile and a rich, belly laugh. But he wouldn’t be good for her and she knew it. Besides that, he didn’t make her heart flutter with excitement the way she’d always hoped her husband would. A foolish dream, she knew. And she had no say in the matter. They had been betrothed since not long after her birth. With her mother dying giving birth to her, her father had been determined to do as right by her as he could, which meant marrying her into a strong family.
“Aye, MacKenzie, too.” For now she put thoughts of him aside. There were other matters to deal with.
She walked away, dreading going down to the bailey and learning who else they had lost in this last battle. She was strong, but there were limits. She really didn’t know how much more fighting she could take. How many more deaths she could suffer.
Near the Village of Drumnadrochit
His men were weary; far beyond weary, in truth, as they made camp for the night. Nicholas Neville, too, felt tired to his very bones from the long trek back from fighting against Baibars. This last crusade had been a failure. A great failure. He wished he’d never agreed to go fight with Edward, but you didn’t refuse your king. As a reward for his loyalty and for saving Edward’s life in one battle, Nicholas had been given an English prize: the lordship of Middleham Castle. A handsome prize indeed. Yet he already had land and the minor castle of Spennithorne, which had been good enough for him. This “prize” was certainly not worth the loyal men he’d lost.
Behind him, he heard the sounds of men settling down. He should be doing so as well. Tomorrow would be another trying day and one that he did not look forward to. He would much rather be leading his men straight back to their new home at Middleham. Edward had told him there were matters to straighten out, reins of command that needed tightening. Challenges were nothing new to him; neither was being a strong leader. He had confidence it wouldn’t take him long to fix whatever problems were there.
The moon was full and bright tonight as he stood overlooking Loch Ness. This part of Scotland was indeed beautiful with its tree-covered mountains, rolling hills below them and the numerous lochs. Yet he missed England. He longed to get home and was more than ready to get out of chain mail for a while. But until they rode safely into Middleham, he and his men would remain ready for battle. Although he had given into shedding at least some of the heavy wear. He’d exchanged his chauses for breeches.
His gaze shifted to the impressive, sprawling Castle Urquhart in the distance on the headland overlooking Loch Ness. His first problem lie there: Lady Maggie Durward. What he had to tell her would break tender woman’s heart. He didn’t look forward to suffering her tears and her carrying on, even though she deserved to be upset. Simpering, whimpering, childlike young women were ones he avoided. He’d been a warrior, a knight with a fierce reputation for many years. As such, he was a hard man, an impatient man at times. He preferred women who were as lusty as he was in the bed. Women who didn’t cling. Women who weren’t youthful and innocent. He had no patience for that. Lady Durward was but nine and ten. No, he did not look forward to meeting her tomorrow.
He squinted into the distance for a moment. Something appeared wrong about Urquhart, but maybe it was just a play of the moonlight…or his weariness. He yawned and turned to seek his own bed for the night. It did no good to think about the problem of Maggie Durward. He had no choice in this matter. Even worse, he had to take her with him to Middleham. After learning all that she’d lost in the Crusade: her father, both brothers, and her betrothed… Well, she’d no doubt be truly despondent and gladly go with him to a new home. At least she wouldn’t be coming with him as his intended, but only as a ward of sorts until he found her a new betrothed.
Betrothed. The word lay heavy on him. He had one of his own waiting his return to Spennithorne. He had never met Lady Elizabeth Stanhope, although they had been betrothed since youths. They were to have married nearly a year ago, but he’d been ordered off to the Crusade before she’d arrived at his castle. At nine and twenty, it was time he wed and started a family. He needed an heir, especially now that he had lands as valuable as Middleham. Still, he didn’t look forward to marrying a stranger. Marrying for love wasn’t a consideration in these times, nor did he believe in love. Lust, yes. Love, no. Unfortunately he was marrying out of duty. She was marrying out of duty and to gain higher status when she partied at Edward’s court, which he’d heard she favored. He’d become a prize for a power-seeking woman in these last years, even more so now. Yet another thought that rubbed him wrong.
******
Maggie awoke to frantic shouts of alarm. Anice, the woman who had been first her nursemaid and now her maid, burst into the bedchamber.
“The English are comin’ back! Ye must hide! Hurry, lass!” The rounded woman all but flew across the room to tug Maggie from beneath the furs.
Heart pounding, Maggie slipped from the bed in her chemise. The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet. Daylight squeezed into the large chamber through the two narrow windows. Daylight! She usually rose with the first rays of sun, but she’d been so exhausted…
Anice pulled on her arm, frowning with urgency. “’Tis time ye’re wastin’! Ye must hide now.”
Maggie dug her feet in and refused to be drug from the room. “Nay! I’ll no’ hide. I’ll fight with the men.”
The same look the older woman had given her many a time before paddling her bottom for disobedience crossed her face. “’Tisna right, ye fighting like that. Yer father would no’—“
Tears welled in Maggie’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She refused to show weakness. She couldna. “Father is no’ here! Nor my brothers. ‘Tis my place to help defend the castle and our people.” Now she shoved Anice toward the door she’d flung open. “Round up the other maids and kitchen staff. Take them to the cellars beneath the kitchens. Stay with them.”
Anice stood her ground for another few seconds, finally nodded and raced out of the chamber. The instant she was gone Maggie threw off her chemise and donned one of Brodie’s long-sleeved white shirts that hung nearly to her knees. Then she quickly pulled on the chainmail chauses, tucking in the shirt, which made the borrowed chauses fit better. The hauberk she’d worn only yesterday followed.
Still hearing the shouts outside and feeling a sense of panic, of doom, she hurried to slip on low boots. With a weary sigh, she grabbed her quiver with arrows and the heavy crossbow from atop the chest holding her clothes. For just a second she thought about changing into the more typical Highland dress of her chemise, skirt, and bodice to fight off the dreaded English as a true Scot. But she tossed the thought aside. ‘Twas better to hide her true identity. Some of her clan would be wearing their Highlander kilts, some clad in chainmail. She intended to blend in with her men.
With that in mind, she set the quiver and bow down to cover her startling blonde hair—fortunately still up in braids wrapped about her head—with a chainmail coif. Then she gathered her weapons to go and face the English invaders once more.
She’d no sooner joined Douglas on the battlement than he looked her way and scowled. “Ye dunna belong here, lass.”
“I belong nowhere else.” She shot a warning look at the other half dozen men spaced out along the parapet.
No one said a word, all knowing the verbal battle not worth it. Even Douglas gave up and faced the north again. “I dunna believe these are the same men as ere. And they dunna appear to be comin’ hard at us this time.”
Maggie followed his gaze and studied the couple dozen men riding toward the castle. They did look different and there were no men on foot as there had been before. Nor did they seem to be in a hurry to get here, although they rode steadily. Two men rode in front, both in chainmail hauberks and shirts, one in chainmail chauses as well. The dark-haired man, taller in the saddle than the other, wore breeches.
She raised her crossbow and drew out an arrow. “That they’re English is enough fer me. I’ve had more than enough of them trying to take our home.”
The group had nearly reached the drawbridge leading to the main gate now. Everything in her chilled, and then heated. She would not allow more of her people to die today. If she took out their leader maybe… She prepared her bow and pointed it downward.
“They arena raising their weapons, lass,” Douglas protested and reached to stop her.
Just then one of the men below called out, “There’s an archer aiming at us, My Lord!”
The obvious leader heard his men pulling weapons out and turned toward them. Maggie saw two of them preparing arrows and panicked. No one around her had bows raised. No one but her had seen this group as ready to attack her home, her people. She had to act. She had to take out the leader.
Her arrow sailed down and hit his right thigh. Yet he still managed to bellow out, “No! Do not return fire!”
Douglas had grabbed her and pulled her beside him. For some reason he held firm to refusing to fire down more arrows and ordered his men not to attack.
Maggie tried to wriggle free but he held her fast to his side. “Let me go!” she bit out, struggling harder. Her coif slipped and fell at her feet. At the same time her long braids came unwrapped and dropped down her front and to her waist.
“It’s a woman, My Lord,” the man who had been riding with the leader said in amused amazement.
“The devil it was. No woman…” But the leader’s words faded as he lifted his head and faced her.
“Why come ye here?” Douglas questioned in his deep Scottish burr. He still refused to let her go.
The wounded man clutched his thigh in obvious agony. “To speak with Lady Maggie Durward.” His gaze captured hers even from the distance. “Tell me you’re not Lady Durward.”
Odd, but his comment had sounded almost like a plea. Maggie managed to edge away from Douglas, although he grabbed her bow. “Then I’d be lyin’ to ye. ‘Tis Maggie I am.”
She couldn’t make out what he said after her admission, but, from the fierce scowl on his face, she was sure he hadn’t been pleased. Odd, that.
The other man beside him called out, “We come in peace. It is important that Lord Neville speaks with the Lady.”
“Peace. Ha!” she snapped, though only Douglas and her men nearby heard her.
Lord Neville started to sway in the saddle. No doubt he’d lost a fair amount of blood by now and Maggie felt a twinge of regret. If they’d come in peace… Nay! It mattered no’. They were the hated English, at least hated by her. Her father had a number of English friends, which had included King Edward. But, in her biased opinion, the English were not to be trusted. They had taken away her father and brothers to fight a losing battle. They had attacked her castle only yesterday.
Still gripping his leg, the English lord found the strength to yell up at her. “I’ve word of your father and brothers.”
Her father and brothers? Word of them? A tightness pulled at her heart. Why weren’t her father and brothers riding here now instead of these men? Whatever the truth, she needed to know.
“Let them in,” she said quietly to Douglas. “But have our men watch them verra carefully.”
Nicholas knew he needed to get the arrow out of his thigh, knew he had lost a lot of blood. He was having trouble staying upright in the saddle. Yet he refused to show weakness in front of the harridan that had dared to shoot him with her arrow. It was a relief when her man in charge called out the order for the men guarding the front gate to allow them entrance. He hadn’t thought he could manage another shouting match with Lady Maggie Durward. Lady? Hardly.
Each bounce of his horse beneath him was sheer torture. His hand holding the reins had balled into a fist; the other pressed hard around the wound to help staunch the bleeding. He’d nearly ground his teeth into pulp by the time he and his first in command, Gerald, led his men over the drawbridge. The fair-haired Scot—strange that—would pay for wounding him later. Oh, yes, she’d pay dearly, protecting her home or not. He’d turn her over his knee and burn her bottom until she could not sit comfortably for days.
They had just reached the raised portcullis guarded by six brawny men in the kilts of the Highlanders when Gerald turned to him. “This could be a trap.”
It could, but in Nicholas’ gut he didn’t believe so. He could go in alone, though, and order his men to drawback far enough from the castle that they’d be out of harm’s reach. He started to say just that when Gerald shook his head.
“We go with you, My Lord.”
My Lord. His long-time friend only referred to him that way when protocol called for it, or when Gerald was grimly determined and disagreed with him. The man would not back down from his stand. It was becoming a battle to keep his thoughts centered. He didn’t have the strength to argue, instead urged his horse forward so that he led the way into the bailey.
The moment all of his men had ridden into the large bailey they were immediately surrounded by a mixture of kilt-wearing and chainmail-wearing Scots bearing all manner of weapons. Beyond them was a ring of village peasants carrying weapons of sorts as well. Tension sizzled in the air around him, from these strangers and from his loyal men. The situation was volatile. God’s teeth, he didn’t want to be here.
Then the young woman he’d come to deliver terrible news to and then remove from her home strode briskly toward them. She wore chainmail from neck to foot. He couldn’t believe it. He’d never known a woman to dress in such a manner, or to join into a man’s fight. She was nothing like the “sweet lass” her brother Brodie had claimed.
She pushed through her people, closely followed by a towering red-haired, seriously frowning man. But then most everyone but the spattering of children amongst the villagers towered over her. Yet despite her diminutive height, he sensed a powerful spirit. And the closer she got, the more he was struck by her delicate beauty as well. A realization which irritated him. He didn’t need this complication, this immediate draw to a woman who was just another burden for him to bear.
“And just what be this important word you have of me father and brothers?” she asked in more of a demand than question. Clearly feeling safe surrounded by her people and not the least bit intimidated by he or his armed men, she walked right up to stand in front of his horse.
He didn’t want to blurt out such bad news in front of everyone. She would need privacy for the tearful breakdown he anticipated. “I would speak to you in private.”
Unfortunately he swayed in the saddle again and barely kept from toppling to the ground. As it was, he grabbed at his leg and ground out a string of curses.
The sea-green eyes that had glared at him in harsh challenge a second ago softened. A furrow creased her brow. Then the softness disappeared. “Bring him inside. We’ll remove the arrow and tend to his wound ere anymore is said.”
“I…” He wanted to take charge, not follow the directions of this woman who had given the order and turned to walk toward the keep. “I…” He couldn’t get out more than that before leaning forward against his horse’s neck and fighting not to pass out. “Bollocks.”
“Get him off the horse ere he falls off,” she said in disgust. She’d stopped to glance back at his mumblings.
To his humiliation, Nicholas did slide over to the side and would have fallen if Maggie’s first in command hadn’t sped over to catch him. The shifting of the arrow in his thigh made him cry out in agony. And then blessed blackness claimed him.
******
Maggie sat with her legs curled under her on the trunk in her brother Brodie’s bedchamber watching as sunlight slipped through the oiled paper covering the twin small windows. She’d been here with the big English Lord the night long, in spite of Anice’s tsking about it no’ being proper. She yawned and fought to stay awake. She couldna rest until she talked with him, until she heard what news he had to give her.
After his wound had been tended to, she’d tried to get the Lord’s first—Gerald—to tell her. Stubborn man refused. But she was a Scot, she didn’t give up easily. So she’d supped in the Great Hall with her men and his, with the hope that he’d change his mind and talk to her. He hadn’t said two words. She’d suffered the silent glowers from both quarters as long as she could stand it. Then she’d gritted out an apology of sorts to Gerald and his men.
She shifted her legs out from under her, pursing her lips in annoyance. The great gowk Douglas had nearly choked on his bread so shocked at her reluctant admission of guilt for having acted so rashly. Somehow after that the tension had eased. The men had even begun sharing ale and tales when she’d stormed out of the hall in disgust.
With a huff, she looked toward the bed. Lord Nicholas Neville had slept like the dead for far too long, in her opinion. Of course, Anice had given him a potion to put him in that state. She had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate having been put to sleep and lying here basically at the mercy of the woman who’d shot him with an arrow. But it had been a nasty wound and he’d lost much blood. He needed the recovery time.
She slid from her roost on the trunk and walked in slippered feet across the stone floor. The sunlight danced over his head, playing with the raven black hair that reached his shoulders. He’d bathed recently, probably in the loch. His hair was clean and he’d shaved as well. Although his handsomely carved face was covered in a rough growth of stubble now, which she found appealing. In truth, her body held much interest for the large, muscled man sleeping in her brother’s bed. She found herself wanting to touch him, to smooth her hand over that stubbled jaw, to run her fingers through his hair…
His midnight blue eyes snapped open and startled her into jumping back.
“Like what you see, My Lady?” he questioned boldly.
Heat flamed over her face, but she refused to cower in shame for being caught admiring him.
“I’ve seen better.” Liar. He was the most handsome devil she’d ever seen.
He raised an eyebrow. “Have you now?”
He used his powerful arms to lift up and shift backward until he sat with his back to the headboard. The color had leeched from his face, pain lines pinched his brow. She saw all of that and more. The more being his well-toned, hairless bare chest. The linen covering him had slipped low until it barely hid a man’s most intriguing part from her sight. She hadn’t known Gerald and Anice had fully stripped him of his clothing and was definitely annoyed that she’d missed them doing so. Then she realized what she’d been thinking and cursed under her breath. He was an Englishman! That very word said it all.
When she glanced up at his face, she found him studying her and he didn’t look happy either. He drew the linen higher, but not by much. Then he reached down gingerly and felt the wrapping around his leg.
“I assume you weren’t the one to undress me.” His glower warned the idea that she might have didn’t sit well with him.
She could lie, but she shook her head and wrinkled her nose to show distaste that she didn’t really feel. “I’d hardly touch my hands to an Englishman.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve done nothing to you, Lady Durward.” His hand still over his wounded leg, he added grimly, “But I plan to at a later time when I’m a bit stronger.”
Maggie’s stomach fluttered as she recognized the basic wording, the tone she’d heard many a time before her father took her in hand. The very thought of this big, far-too-handsome man even considering punishing her was distressing. She might deserve it for her hasty decision to shoot at an innocent man. But she wasn’t about to let it happen. Nor did she want to even skirt around the issue.
“Mayhap no’ you specifically, Lord Neville.” She bristled, clenched her hands into fists at the sides of her skirt. “But another group of English soldiers attacked us recently. In fact, we only run them off two days ago.”
He scowled at that admission. “I thought I noted more damage to your curtain wall than nature should have done.”
“Aye, there is a fair amount of damage, but we’ll fix it soon enough. The lives taken, though, canna be replaced.”
Bitterness seared through her and tears misted in her eyes. Furious at that, she blinked them away. “So ye understand why we werna gracious hosts upon yer arrival.”
He nodded and shifted again, wincing. The linen slid lower and tempted her with more than she was interested in seeing at the moment.
Maggie strode closer, jerked the fur shoved down to the foot of the bed, and tugged it up to toss it over his chest. Then she stepped quickly back once more.
Amusement flashed in his eyes for just a second and then he turned grim again. “We need to talk, Lady Durward. Perhaps you should sit down.”
She thrust her chin up. “I will stand. Now, what ‘tis the news ye have brung me.”
“I won’t tell you until you sit down.”
They had a visual sparring match, but she finally blew out a breath of irritation and flounced back to the trunk and plopped down. “Happy now?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “We’re going to have trouble getting along, I see. It won’t bode well for you.”
“I have nay need to get along with ye. Now, stop yer stalling and tell me the news.” Her stomach was clenching with unease. Whatever it was he needed to tell her wasn’t good. She knew it in her heart.
He was quiet a minute and then looked steadily at her. “I’m sorry, My Lady, but your father and Fergus were killed in battle.” He hesitated and appeared even more distressed. “I fear Brodie is dead as well by now.”
She couldn’t breathe, could only stare at him in horror. “Nay, it canna be. No’ da. No’ Fergus.”
“Take a breath, Maggie,” he ordered. He had somehow managed to get out of bed, hold the fur in front of him, and walk over to her. He held her gaze. “Breathe. Now.”
She gasped for air, coming out of the trance. “Brodie? Ye arena sure about his death?” She latched onto the faint hope that her beloved brother could still be alive.
He reached for her face and used a calloused thumb to smooth away tears streaming down her cheeks. “No. I’m not certain. He was badly hurt in the last battle.” He swallowed hard and glanced away. “I tried to save him. He was in my arms while I tried to drag him away. He made me remember a promise I had made to him only a day before. A vow to him and your father, as well as to Kind Edward.”
“I care no’ about yer promises or yer vows.” She shoved his hand away. “Why isna Brodie with ye?”
He moved back, the look of guilt appearing to weigh heavily on him. “Someone hit me from behind and I was knocked unconscious. When I awoke much later, tied down over my horse, Gerald and my men were riding us away from the battlefield. No one knew what had happened to Brodie. He was gone by the time they found me.”
“He could be alive then,” she whispered the words, caught them to her heart.
“It’s doubtful.”
“I’ll no’ believe otherwise.” She could tell there was more news and she had no patience for waiting. “There’s more, isna there? Spill it.”
“Your betrothed, Rob MacKenzie, went down as well in the battles. An earlier battle, though.”
She saw him watching her, clearly waiting for her to fall apart. She was silently crying, yes, but he wouldn’t be a witness to her collapse. She would do so in private. Later.
She got to her feet, felt shaky, but quickly regained her shattered composure. “I thank ye fer coming out of yer way to tell me. I ken ye dinna have to.”
“Brodie had become a friend, Fergus as well. And I respected your father. He was a good warrior.” He stepped in front of her when she attempted to move by him. “I’m not finished, Maggie.”
She blinked at him. What more could there possibly be? He’d destroyed her world with the news of her father’s and Fergus’ deaths. After the two-week long attack to her hone and this devastating news, how much more could she take? Still, she raised her chin and nodded. “Then finish it.”
At first he looked reluctant, and then determination seemed to fill every inch of his large body. “You are coming with me to Middleham. Your father and brothers made me vow to come get you and take you to my new castle is something happened to them. I’m to find you a new betrothed.” He must have noted her defiant look. “King Edward approved your temporary wardship to me.”
She spat at his feet. “That is how I feel about yer English king.”
His nostrils flared in his anger. “I obey my king. Your father and brothers chose to obey him.”
She stiffened her shoulders and clamped a hand over her trembling stomach. “He ordered my father and brothers to fight in a battle all knew they couldna win. He cost the lives of my father and Fergus…and Rob, too. I dunna care fer his wishes, his orders. I willna go with ye!”
“Brodie’s dying words were to remind me of my promise to him and your father. I won’t go against it. You will come with me, even if I have to take you away from here tied to your horse.”
She shoved at him. “Brodie isna dead! And I willna go with ye!” With that she ran from the room.
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