Highland Warlord - Amy Jarecki Page 0,76

horse’s neck a pat. “What have you found?”

“Lochmaben is crawling with English. I reckon there’s five thousand men or more.”

A tic twitched at the back of James’ jaw. “’Tis worse than I thought.”

“They’re brewing a plan to coax the king out of hiding.”

“What plan?” James asked.

“The only men privy to their scheme are the knights,” said Lachlan. “Definitely not a lowly pikeman like me.”

James nodded. In truth, he hadn’t expected the man to bring back much information about the enemy’s future plans. “And the lad. Have you seen him?”

“Sir Henry Percy has taken Lord Harris under his wing as a squire,” said Caelan, patting his horse’s shoulder.

James took a quick look at Davy. Was this destiny? “Percy, did you say?”

“Aye.”

Not only would he retrieve the boy, he’d have retribution for the attack on the Douglas crofts. “The lad is not in chains and locked in the gaol?”

“Nay. But His Lordship is never out of Percy’s sight.”

“Is he fostering the lad?”

“Aye—weapons, horsemanship, and who kens what else.”

“Fie.” James reined his horse toward the monastery and beckoned the men to follow. Most likely, the boy was enjoying his time away from the priory. His sister may have taught him his letters, numbers, and a bit of Latin, but Ailish was not a swordswoman.

“Did you ever speak to him?” he asked over his shoulder.

“His Lordship?” Lachlan snorted. “I’m a pikeman, ye ken.”

James didn’t like the odds. Thousands of men, and one of Edward’s most trusted knights had taken Lord Harris under his wing—a knight James thirsted to best. Was there a chance? “You mentioned Sir Henry is teaching the lad horsemanship?”

“I reckon so.” Lachlan’s horse tried to nip at Davy’s mount, so the young sentry maneuvered the gelding beside James. “I camped on Castle Loch for nearly a sennight and every morn they rode to the water, then continued around the shore.”

“How far around the loch did they venture? All the way?”

“Nay. Sir Henry is too savvy to risk riding too far from the fortress. I never saw them ride any farther than the copse of trees on the other side.”

“Is there an encampment over there?”

“No, sir. All the men camp either in the fortress or nearby,” said Caelan.

“What sort of horse does Percy ride?” asked James. “A warhorse?”

“A mammoth of a beast,” said Lachlan.

“And Lord Harris?”

“A pony, of course. A wee lad would not be able to handle a destrier or palfry.”

“Agreed.” James looked to Davy. “No matter how much I’d relish a fight, I reckon this is a task for one man.”

“I’ll go,” said the Douglas man, the pain on his face showing too well what he had in mind.

James picked up his reins. “Nay, you’ll return to the monastery and tell Lady Ailish I’ll return on the morrow.”

A pinch formed between Davy’s eyebrows. “Where should I tell her you’ve gone?”

“I didn’t say, did I?” James turned to the others. “Return to Selkirk. I do not want Her Ladyship to ken you’ve been here.”

Lachlan rubbed his palms together. “The men are itching for a fight, sir.”

“Believe me, they’ll have it. But for the time being, we must all stay the course.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was late afternoon when James examined the tracks on the southwest side of Castle Loch. True to Lachlan’s word, there were several sets of prints, but they had been made by only two beasts—a pony and a warhorse. And they led into a copse of trees.

Not far inside was an ancient standing stone and that’s where the tracks ended. A bit of blue thread was caught in a crag of the rock. James tugged it away and twirled it between his fingers. “Does this belong to you, Lord Harris? Or is it from the blue caparison of Sir Henry’s mount?”

The answer mattered not.

Across the loch, smoke belched from the men’s fires, the largest smokestack most likely coming from a smithy shack. Timber walls surrounded the fort, hiding what lay behind them.

James set his trap, careful to remain out of sight. He camped beneath a thicket where the ground was soggy, the midges feasting on his flesh. Before dawn, he rose, readied his horse, and waited.

And waited.

The camp across the loch had long been bustling with sentries tending their chores when two riders appeared on the far side of the loch. In the still air, a child’s laughter echoed across the water as he skirted the shore, cantering with a knight riding a destrier behind him.

James moved to a crouch, tightening his fist around the rope.

“You’d best kick harder, else