wished I were a lad so I could take up my father’s mantle and ride with…” She wiped a hand across her mouth before she continued, “Scotland’s army.”
Pursing his lips, James put a piece of wood on the fire and resumed turning the makeshift crank. Obviously, she continually caught herself, hiding what she really wanted to say. Why didn’t she trust him? Hadn’t he proved himself worthy? Was not being knighted and appointed by the king enough?
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Coira coming into the fire’s glow. “But your bed roll is in the tent.”
He looked up, his hand continuing to spin the chicken. “Aye, and what of it?”
“I thought the shelter was for Sister Ailish and me.”
“It is.”
“Where do you plan to sleep?”
“Beneath the oilcloth.” A raindrop splashed James’ nose. “There’s ample room for the three of us.”
The woman planted her fists upon her hips. “Pardon me, but—”
“I’ll entertain no argument. The Bruce told me to escort you safely to the priory, and that is exactly what I will do.”
“Very well, then I shall be sleeping between the pair of you.”
“As you wish.” James turned the chicken faster. Wonderful. Coira most likely snored louder than a saw in a forest of hardwood.
Chapter Four
Ailish startled awake with a gasp. She wasn’t only freezing cold, several drops of water splattered her face in quick succession. But the rain wasn’t what woke her. Through the cobwebs of latent sleep, she shivered, not caused by the chill, but with a clammy dread crawling across her skin.
Something’s out there.
Sitting up, she gasped again as she realized she was staring at the immense form of Sir James crouched at the tent entrance. “What is—?”
“Sh!” He commanded in a pointed but very audible whisper.
As Ailish clamped a hand over her mouth, rain pattered upon the oilcloth above. Through the blue light of dawn, only the whites of Sir James’ eyes pierced through the shadowy tent—and the glint of the sword in his hand.
Soggy footsteps squished the wet earth beyond.
Oh, no!
Ailish’s heart hammered, thundering in her ears. She clutched her fists beneath her chin, willing herself not to move.
“This horse is a beauty,” came a low rumble from a man with an English accent.
Beside her, Coira snored and blubbered, making every muscle in Ailish’s body tense all the more. James’ gaze snapped back, his eyes now wider and far more menacing.
The air around Ailish grew charged as swelling silence beyond the safety of the oilcloth made Coira’s breathing sound like the bellows in a smithy shack. Even the rain stopped pattering.
“Quickly, let’s spirit away before they wake,” whispered another Englishman.
With Ailish’s next blink, James burst out of the tent, bellowing like a madman. “Back away from the horses or I’ll cut you down, ye worthless curs!”
Coira jolted awake, with a shocking gasp. Ailish wrapped her arms around the woman. “Wheesht!” she squeaked, unable to stop the fear from warbling her voice. “We’re under attack.”
The metallic sound of a sword being stripped from his scabbard hissed. “I’ll sever your cods and stuff them down your gullet,” growled one of the English.
Another laughed. “And we’ll take your women.”
“No!” Ailish screamed in a hushed whisper as the clang of iron meeting iron screeched in her ears.
She darted for the opening, only to be pulled back by Coira’s powerful grip. “What the blazes are ye up to?”
“He needs my help.”
“Nay! We’ve seen that man fight. He can hold his own.”
Grunts and clangs resounded outside, merely paces away. “But he’s outnumbered by Lord kens how many men!”
The dawn sky grew a tad lighter as Ailish pulled her dagger from her sleeve.
Coira tugged her elbow. “Do not go out there!”
She wrenched her arm away as a man grunted followed by a thud. “I must do something!”
Gripping the knife with both hands, Ailish ignored the pleas of her maid and lunged outside, ready to strike. “Leave us be!” she shrieked so loudly, her throat burned.
Sir James whipped around, his eyes wild as he yanked his sword from the chest of a brigand. Good Lord, another lay dead beyond. “Quickly,” he snarled. “We ride.”
She stood for a moment and clutched her dagger to her squelching stomach. So much blood spilled into the soil. Gripped by the onslaught of memories from the siege of her father’s keep, the death cries of the Maxwell men rattled in her head. The fear, the fires, the night she’d run for her life with Harris in her arms.
“Sister Ailish!” the big knight boomed.
The sound jolted her from the terrors