Highland Warlord - Amy Jarecki Page 0,15

of her mind. With a new wave of courage, she returned her dagger to its hiding place and turned to Coira. “Roll up the bedding. I’ll tend the oilcloth.

“There’s no time.” Hefting Ailish over his shoulder, Sir James carried her to the palfry and hoisted her onto the saddle. “You’re riding with me.”

“You mustn’t treat Sister Ailish like a sack of grain!” Coira hastened toward them with her arms full of sodden woolens.

Sir James frowned yet gave her a leg up. “Your first concern is to keep pace. Ye ken? And the bedding stays.”

“I can tie these in place as we go.” Clenching her bundle tighter, the lady’s maid bobbled in the saddle. “Aye, sir?”

James grumbled under his breath as he mounted behind Ailish and kicked his heels. “Those were English scouts, mark me. We’ve no choice but to ride hard.” He steered the palfry beside the mule and pulled away Coira’s reins. “That means this fella stays at my flank.”

“But—”

“Do as he says!” shouted Ailish as James demanded a trot.

Westward.

Good Lord, they needed to travel south. But she knew better than to correct him. Instead, she closed her eyes prayed the big knight knew where in heaven’s name they were headed.

***

They’d ridden all morning through sleet and driving rain before James’ blood finally cooled. Killing men was never easy, even Englishmen. Though he refused to admit how much taking a life disturbed him. After what Edward and his bloodthirsty savages did to his father, he’d personally flay every last man in Longshanks’ army. God’s bones, he hated the English to his core.

James had been trained by the best swordsmen in Scotland. And now he was stronger than he’d ever been. Faster, smarter, and hungrier for vengeance. Moreover, in Scone, he’d proved himself to the king.

Though now he was on a mission that galled him to no end.

In front of him, the wee lass shivered. But despite the damp and cold, she sat erect and held on to the horse’s mane for balance—mighty uncomfortable posture for a day-long ride.

He closed his arms tighter around her and tilted his lips toward her ear. “Rest against me. I have enough warmth for the both of us.”

Ailish glanced back toward Sister Coira who was hunched over as if she were dozing. With a nod, she rubbed her hands and relaxed into his chest. “I’m so c-cold.”

James closed his eyes and drew in a deep inhalation. Even soaking wet, she smelled like a field of wildflowers. “With a bit of luck, the sun will dry us soon. Either that or this ghastly wind.”

“’Tis the wind that is cutting through to my bones.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You have no power over the weather.”

“Nay, but I should have insisted we ride farther last eve. I thought we’d be safe in the copse.”

“Have not Edward’s scouts infested all of Scotland?”

“All but the Highlands and the far north. Certainly, West Lothian, where I hail from, is crawling with miscreants and I’ve a duty to rid the vermin and reclaim what is mine.”

“Me as well,” she whispered.

“You’re from a highborn family, are you not?”

To his question she provided no response.

“Och, lass,” James pressed. “You do not need to hide your identity from me. I ken you’re of noble blood. And Sister Coira is your lady’s maid. ’Tis as clear as the nose on my face.”

“Aye.” Ailish groaned and looked up, her blue eyes meeting his, making his breath catch. They weren’t only blue, they were shocking like the color of the sea just before the foam rolls onto a beach. God save him, he’d never forget such eyes.

“My father was Johann Maxwell, murdered and hung from the walls of Caerlaverock Castle by Edward and my imposter of an uncle.”

Maxwell? James knew the name well. “Your da was an ally of the Douglas.”

“I remember. I’m sure your father dined at our table when I was but a wee lassie—before…”

“Before?” James asked, looking to the trail, trying not to stare into those captivating eyes.

“Before my brother was born.”

“Johann’s heir survived?”

“Aye,” she said, her voice haunted. “He’s my only care. Harris and my sister, Florrie. I traveled to Scone to pledge fealty to the king on behalf of the lad and declare his rightful place as Earl of Caerlaverock.”

James chuckled. “Well then, ’tis a good thing your uncle wasn’t present.”

“He wouldn’t dare show his face to Robert Bruce. He’s in bed with the English and enjoying my father’s wealth as well as Edward’s spoils.”

“Not unlike Clifford, the thief who is growing fat in