Highland Warlord - Amy Jarecki Page 0,82
a relief for them to be together again. “My thanks.”
“And you, m’lord,” said the king, addressing Harris. “You have been most brave, have you not?”
“Aye.” The lad gave Ailish a dubious glance. “But Sir Henry made me his squire. I was learning so much. I’d hate to be locked away on this isle like I was at the priory. The nuns were kind but taught me nothing about being an earl.”
The Bruce’s brows arched. “Is that so?”
“Aye,” Harris bobbed his head emphatically. “Sir Henry said I would become a great man, but before I can take my place as Earl of Caerlaverock I must be fostered.”
Ailish and James exchanged glances. The lad had grown up so much in the time he was away. Had it been all that long ago when she’d comforted him in her arms as they fled?
“Very true,” said the king. “Sir James, you will take on His Lordship as your squire.”
The big knight’s jaw dropped, and he stood speechless for a moment before he found his tongue. “Your Grace, I’d like nothing better than to take Caerlaverock under my wing, but we are riding into battle.”
“And there is no better place for him to learn about war and strategy than in the midst of conflict.” Robert looked to Ailish. “Not to worry, m’lady. Your brother will not be taking up arms until his beard grows in, but make no bones about it, everything the wee earl just said is the brutish truth.”
She curtseyed, while her heart twisted in dozens of knots. Perhaps she knew one day Harris would no longer be her charge, but she never expected the day to come so quickly. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“I also have not forgotten your beauty or your courage,” the king continued. “I will make a match with your hand, and soon.”
Heat flared up the back of Ailish’s neck. She didn’t need to look at James to know how intensely the big knight’s dark gaze bored into her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
While Ailish took a walk with her brother to say their goodbyes, James followed the king deeper into the cave. It was rocky and damp, though there was a makeshift table, pot of ink, and quill on a table where he assumed the Bruce conducted his affairs. “Why are you staying here in this squalor rather than at Lochranza Castle with MacSween?”
“Edward’s fleet patrols these waters. There’s naught to be seen here, but they’ve spent a good deal of time watching MacSween—sail past every day or so.”
“Do they suspect you’ve taken refuge on Arran?”
“We spread word that I had fled to Ireland, but the English are nothing if not cunning.” The king sat in a wooden chair—the only seat in the cave. “’Tis why you are one of the few who truly kens where I am.”
James bowed his head as his chest swelled. For once in his life, he’d found a place where his name was respected.
“’Tis also why we will be sailing this night after the witching hour.”
“Sailing at night is dangerous, is it not?”
“Aye, and that’s why the English patrols will not see us. The bastards will be tucked in their beds dreaming about swiving their women.”
“I commend your courage, Your Grace.”
The king eyed him. “You seem quite protective of the Maxwell lass.”
“You assigned me to her care, if you do not recall.”
“Of course, I remember. But you were only charged with returning her safely to Lincluden Priory. It appears much has happened since.”
“It has, Your Grace.”
“And you’ve grown fond of her?”
“Perhaps, but do not allow any affection I may harbor against me. I ken my duty and it is by your side for as long as you need my sword.”
“Yes, it is, though you must also see to it you have heirs.”
James swiped a hand across his mouth. “Mayhap one day when we’re not riding northward to defend the queen—”
“Indeed.” The king pointed to a flagon with two cups beside it fashioned out of bulls’ horns. “Will you pour?”
James stepped forward and did as asked. “Wine, Your Grace?”
“’Tis good for the soul.” Robert took the cup and drank. “Take Her Ladyship to Duncan MacSween and tell him she and her sister will be staying on until I arrange Lady Ailish’s marriage.”
“Now?”
“Aye, now. Her Ladyship will be far more comfortable sleeping in a bed, mark me. Fewer midges to fester under her skin as well.”
The wine stuck in James’ throat, making him force it down. Did he want to marry the lass? Aye, if it weren’t likely he’d be killed