Trouble with a Highland Bride (5 page)

Gwyn woke the next morning before dawn. She had spent a nervous night, sneaking out of her bedchamber past her sleeping sisters to check on her slumbering knight. Every time she checked, he was where he should be, unconscious and breathing. Her plan was to bring Jack and David together at first light so they could negotiate a settlement. It would work. It had to.

A quick check on Jack revealed he was still sleeping, still breathing. Yet as she approached, she could see something was wrong. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and he was hot to the touch. He had gotten the fever. His injured foot was swollen and red.

“Nay, nay, this isna right. Jack…Jack!” She shook him until his head lolled to one side and his eyes opened.

“Gwyn.” His voice was a whisper, as if it was all the energy he could muster. “Not well this morning. Give me a minute, then I’ll be ready to talk with your brother.” His eyes closed again. He was in no condition to meet with David—and may never be if she did not act fast.

Fortunately, she had recently been training with Isabelle regarding what to do with festering wounds. Gwyn ran to Isabelle’s stockpile of medicines, grabbed what was needed, and returned to Jack. Working fast, she held up his head and poured a healing draught down his throat. She then drained, washed, and redressed the wound. It was all she could do.

Would it be enough? It must be. But there was no way he could meet David today. He needed time to heal.

Her mind spinning, she went in search of her brother. He was planning to meet with the English that morning and must be warned. She took a deep breath. It was time to get creative.

She found David in his solar, being helped into his armor by his squire. “David? May I talk to ye now?”

“I need to prepare to meet wi’ the English, Gwyn. Can it wait?” David did not even look up at her, focusing his attention on the preparations of his armor.

“David. ’Tis important.”

David’s eyes met hers. He dismissed his squire with a wave of the hand. “What is it?”

“I must confess to ye that last evening, I took the key to the cistern gate and went outside.” She paused, waiting for the explosion. David did not disappoint.

“What?! Ye went outside wi’ the English on our doorstep? How could ye be so foolhardy? Do ye have any idea o’ what might have happened to ye?”

Gwyn nodded. “Aye, a good notion indeed.”

“Why? Why would ye put us all at risk?”

“There was a sick bairn. I needed an elder branch—”

“Nay, I’ll no’ listen to yer excuses. There can be no justification for doing such as ye did.” David crossed his arms and frowned at her. “Wait, why are ye telling me this? Ye’re not overly troubled wi’ confession.”

“Ye must no’ go to the meeting today wi’ the English. When I was outside, I overheard two soldiers talking. They spoke of a trap today for any who came to the parlay. Ye would go into the tent but ne’er come out.” Gwyn bit her lip at the slight fib she had told her brother.

David stilled. “Damn Sassenach,” he growled.

“Aye. I knew I must warn ye, though it would bring retribution on my head.” Gwyn breathed deep, relieved he had heeded her warning.

“Aye, it will, lass. I do appreciate yer honesty, though I expect nothing less. Ye are a Campbell. We dinna shy away from our duty.” David stood with his hands on his hips.

“Nay, indeed.”

“Considering the seriousness of yer actions, I will banish ye from the games.”

“Nay! I’ve been so looking forward to seeing the joust!” cried Gwyn, forgetting herself.

“Aye. Ye must sit alone, pray, and consider yer actions.”

Gwyn took a deep breath, remembering that this might actually work to her advantage. “Aye, David. I understand.” She walked back to the chapel tower slowly. It would be helpful to be able to spend all her time with Jack without question, but to miss the tournament games was a hard blow. She sighed, hoping that someday someone would appreciate her sacrifice.

Gwyn returned to the tower, entering the storeroom where Jack lay. He was still hot to the touch and appeared asleep or unconscious. She stroked his head, free to do so since no one—not even he—was awake to catch her. Even ill, he was an attractive man, and she hoped he would be hearty. How could she explain it if he should die?

The thought left her cold. He could not die…could he?

She propped him up once more and uncorked the bottle of medicine with her teeth. “Drink this!” she commanded through the gritted teeth.

His eyes fluttered and he obeyed. “Do anything you wish,” he mumbled.

She gave him a healthy draught and eased him back down. She went over in her head what Isabelle would do. She sighed. There was nothing else that could be done. He would either recover or he wouldn’t. Gwyn began to pace the room, unsure what to do next. She preferred action. Great feats of skill and bravery had always appealed, even if these were not particularly prized in a lass. Yet now she could do nothing but wait.

Tired of pacing back and forth, she wandered up the spiral stone steps to the floor above, entering the small chapel. With the games beginning in the courtyard, the chapel was empty, though many lit candles revealed the numerous prayers of the castle residents, most likely praying to bring a resolution to the trouble of the English army at their gate. Gwyn may have the key to the solution in her makeshift sickroom, if he survived to be of use.

Gwyn was no enemy to the church, but neither had she been a particular friend. Services were usually long and dull for an active-minded lass. The long liturgy in Latin was a particular chore. Her elders had attempted to teach her Latin, but she was a hopeless case. She had not the mind for it nor the discipline to learn. She could pick out a few words and phrases, but otherwise it was a jumbled mash of nonsense. She preferred to worship God riding through the heather on a fast horse or climbing a snowcapped peak. These expressions of faith, however, were not endorsed by her family, who corrected her catechism and chastised her for squirming in the pew.

The empty chapel was new to her. She had been in the chapel before, squashed in between her siblings on the pew, but never had she been alone. She felt oddly shy, as if being alone in the chapel allowed God to notice her for the first time. She walked up to the altar and gave her best curtsy. She lit a candle and went to her knees before the altar as she had seen her sisters do.

At this point, her sisters would close their eyes, bow their heads, and silently pray. Herein lay the problem. What was she to say? She cleared her throat, an unnecessary gesture when praying silently. She could not think of what to say. “Hello,” she finally said out loud. “I…I am sorry for no’ praying much before, for all the wrong stuff I’ve done, and that probably most of it I have’na confessed the way I should because I dinna care to pray the rosary as much as Father Thomas would make me do if he knew what I’ve done.”

Gwyn shook her head. This was a poor beginning. She wished she had been better at confession, maybe then she would have a chance at the Good Lord hearing her prayer. “I know it is my own fault that I have Sir John downstairs, but it was his fault he stepped on his own spike!” She felt the need to defend herself. She paused, but the stone walls of the chapel made no reply. “Truly, I would appreciate it if ye could heal Jack. I ken he’s English, but even so, he’s a good man. And mayhap he can help prevent a war. So please, I ask for yer mercy on him. Heal him please and help me no’ to get in the way o’ yer good healing. Thank ye kindly. Amen.”

Gwyn rose and curtsied again, for it was what her sisters always did. At this point, her sisters would leave, but Gwyn lingered, wanting to know if her prayer had been heard or if it would be answered. No sound save the faint flickering of many candles could be heard. She stepped closer to the altar and noted the wood around the sides of the altar had been inscribed with a verse in Latin. She could make out but one word.

Love
.

***

Gwyn sat beside Jack for most of the day, leaving only to bring back water, which she forced him to drink, or food, which she forced herself to eat. His status remained largely unchanged. She took some comfort that he did not appear to be getting worse, but neither did he appear to be getting better. Sometimes he called out in his febrile state, and she learned of his grief over his father’s death, his determination to protect his younger sisters, and his concerns over his uncles.

Beyond the walls of the tower, the games had commenced, archery and swordplay from the sound of it. She wanted to watch, and a little thing like being banished would never have kept her away before, but she would not, could not leave Jack. She told herself she was too concerned for the safety of the castle to leave an English knight unguarded, but it was so much more than simple duty keeping her at Jack’s side. She wanted him to live. She needed him to live.

The light grew dim and Gwyn again gave more doses of her medicine.

“Mummy?” Jack mumbled. “Stay with me.” His eyes never opened, but his hand sought hers and held it.

“Aye, my sweet. I will stay wi’ ye.” She stroked his head and sang a song she remembered her own mother singing so many years ago. Her brothers and sisters were not appreciative of her vocal attempts, generally asking her to listen quietly to the others with more adept musical talents. It rarely stopped her, however, and here was a man unable to cover his ears and run from the room, so she sang on, her heart swelling with her song.

Pleased with her musical offering, Gwyn lay down on the pallet next to him. Maybe she should not, but she could not reject such a plaintive cry from a man so bonny of face. He would be her sweet boy, and she would tend him through the night. She had been banished, so she felt safe in avoiding the ladies’ solar without anyone taking undue notice.

If his fever had not broke by morn, it would be time to call a priest. She snuggled up to him under the plaid. He was still febrile, and she found herself again sending silent supplications to her maker for his healing. She found it was not so hard to do, and her prayers became easier and more frequent until she drifted off to sleep beside her patient…her enemy…the man who stirred her heart.

Jack was having the loveliest dream. He was being tended by a golden-haired beauty with the wildest green eyes. She had the face of an angel, perfect in form, from her large eyes to her adorable, upturned nose. Her full lips were the pink of a sunrise, and when she sang…it sounded like seagulls squabbling over a piece of crab.

Jack opened his eyes to the gray light of dawn seeping through the cracks in the wooden door. He was vaguely aware of the pain in his foot and tried to piece together where he was and how he had got there. He remembered Gwyn had released him from his gated prison. Even if he had wanted to overpower her, it had been all he could do to stand upright, and only that with her help. Besides, she was likely his only friend either within the castle or without. And she was adorable.

But how had he come here, to be lying on a pallet in what appeared to be a dark storeroom? With some effort, he recalled she had brought him to the storeroom and made him drink a sleeping potion. It must have done its job because he had slept through the night. Perhaps he should not have drunk so much, but he knew he would accept anything she offered.

He struggled to sit up but was held down. A girl, Gwyn to be precise, flopped over onto his chest, snuggled up to him warm and comfortable and right. He could not remember what had brought her here. Try as he might, the last thing he remembered was drinking the medicine. What had happened after that? Why was she in his bed? If something interesting had occurred in some sleep-induced haze, could they do it again now that he’d regained his full faculties?

He rolled onto his side, his arm naturally cradling Gwyn closer. She was beautiful. So beautiful. His heart skipped and all thoughts of pain and fatigue vanished. He kissed her perfect, warm cheek. She smiled in her sleep. It was enough encouragement to plant a trail of kisses leading to her lips.

She stirred but did not open her eyes. The pink lips smiled in encouragement. He kissed those lips, reveling in their velvet smoothness. She murmured and responded, kissing him in return. He drew her closer into his arms and deepened the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer as heat surged through him. In a flash, he knew he would never be the same. This lady must be his. Nothing else mattered. He would give up anything. All he needed was her.

“Good morning,” he whispered when they finally broke the kiss.

Her eyes fluttered open, wide with surprise. “Oh!” She disentangled herself from his arms and sat up. “Ye kissed me!”

He sat up beside her. “Forgive me for saying, but you kissed me in return.”

“I was asleep!”

“I am confused.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The sleeping draught you gave me last night did a good job. I remember nothing until I woke and found you here, and I thought…”

Her eyes narrowed. “Ye thought what?”

He cleared his throat. He may not have a lot of experience with women, but he knew enough to know when he was going down with a millstone about his neck. “I thought that you were the fairest lady I had ever beheld. I wondered at first if I was being attended by angels.”

Her face softened and she fought against a smile. “Ye will get nowhere wi’ flattery. Besides, I gave ye the draught two nights ago. I was lying here beside ye because ye almost died, ye daft fool man.”

“Truly?” He was surprised. “I do not recall. I must thank you, most fervently.”

“And how will ye thank me, sir knight?” She leaned a little closer and looked up at him through long lashes. The effect was stunningly fast, and he was glad he was under a blanket so as not to be quite so obvious.

“I will thank you with…with…” He leaned forward and kissed her again. She was in his arms in a heartbeat, and they were kissing again as if nothing else mattered.

“With what?” she asked breathlessly.

“With my love.” The words were spoken before he could censure such a declaration.

She stared at him and he at her. The words were out there now, unable to be retrieved.

“Yer love?” she asked.

Jack swallowed. Perhaps it would be better to hold his tongue, but he could not. “Yes. I know we should be enemies, but you have shown me kindness, compassion, and protection in a dangerous time. I fear I have grown to adore you.” He put his hand to her soft cheek. “I should be concerned about what my uncles are doing now or what your brother might do to me, but all I can think about is being with you.”

Gwyn’s eyes shone a seductive sage green in the muted early morning light. “I fear I feel for ye in much the same way.”

Jack could not help but smile. She liked him. He held her hand, threading his fingers through hers. They sat quietly in the dim morning light, until the sounds from the tournament beyond the walls of the storeroom startled them back into awareness. “What is that?” Jack asked, alarmed that his uncles may have attacked.

“’Tis the tournament. David decided to hold it despite the English at our door.”

“A bold move,” said Jack. “It is past time that I should speak to your brother. My uncles will not wait long to put this castle under attack. I think they have only held back as long as they have because they did not know my whereabouts.”

“I shall take ye to my brother.” Gwyn sighed and did not move. Would she rather stay with him? The thought soared his heart. To find such a beautiful young girl who felt for him the way he felt for her was a miracle, plain and simple.

He hoped miracles were in great supply, for it would take one to get out of his current situation without bloodshed.

***

Gwyn led Jack up the circular staircase to the chapel. From there they could enter the keep without stepping into the courtyard, which now was thronged with people. Gwyn went first to ensure they were alone. Fortunately, the beginning of the joust was more than enough draw for the castle inhabitants, and they had the chapel to themselves.

Gwyn motioned Jack forward, and he limped into the chapel. He was much improved, but it would take more time before he could put his full weight on his injured foot without a wince.

“Would ye mind waiting a moment?” asked Gwyn. “I said a prayer last night and it was answered. I wish to say thanks.”

“What was the prayer?” asked Jack in a low tone. His dark eyes made Gwyn wish to kiss him again.

She turned away to the altar to prevent herself from the sin of lust in a holy place. “I prayed for yer healing.”

“Then I should say my thanks as well,” he said with conviction.

They lit two candles, made the sign of the cross, and knelt to pray. Gwyn prayed silently beside Jack. She breathed deeply the scent of candles and incense, and was filled with a calming sense of peace. His hand brushed up against hers, and they held hands as they prayed. This was right; she knew it at the core of her being.

They made the sign of the cross once more and stood, Jack accepting a hand of assistance.

“I like the verse carved in the altar,” said Jack in a hushed tone.

“My Latin is no’ what it should be,” confessed Gwyn. “What does it say?”

“
The
greatest
of
these
is
love
. It is from Paul’s epistle to the Corinthians where he speaks of what is truly important. He writes,
these
three
remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love
.”

“Aye,” said Gwyn softly. “’Tis true.”

Jack slowly drew her closer for a warm embrace. She relaxed into him, breathing deep of his own male scent.

“We should speak with your brother,” he said. “Though in truth I would rather go back down to the storeroom and get to know you better.”

Gwyn did not say how much she wanted to do the same. “Let us find David.”

They walked to the door leading to the main corridor of the keep. Gwyn paused, giving Jack a critical sweep of her eye. It was difficult to see beyond his handsome face, but she forced herself to see him as others might. Wrapped in the Campbell plaid, he could pass for a Campbell clansman if he did not open his mouth…and no one noticed he wore one boot and one bandage. There were many people here from many clans, hopefully he could blend in until they could find David.

They went out into the corridor and down to the Campbell solar. They passed a gillie and an elderly woman from the Douglas clan, but neither paid them any mind.

Gwyn was pleased to reach the solar but found it empty. Of course, everyone would be watching the joust. Before Gwyn could think of what to do next, Isabelle swept into the room, a babe on her hip.

“Gwyn!” cried Isabelle. “I have been wondering where you got to. David meant to punish you, not banish you forever. Who is this?”

“Isabelle, we need to speak with David. Could you get him?” asked Gwyn. She could not hide the anxiety in her voice. What were they going to say when they found out she had been harboring an English knight for the past two days?

Isabelle narrowed her eyes, staring first at Gwyn, then Jack.

“Have I met you before?” she asked.

Jack nodded his head. “Years ago. I was but a child. I am Jack Lockton, your cousin.”

Silence. If Isabelle was surprised, she held her tongue until she was able to speak in a measured tone. “Greetings, Jack, it has been a long time. I shall fetch my husband. I am sure there will be much to speak about.” She pinned Gwyn with a look so fierce, Gwyn winced. She was in for it now.

Isabelle spun and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Gwyn slid onto a bench before an oak table. “David might truly banish me this time.”

Jack sat beside her. “Wherever you go, I will go too.” His eyes were honest and true.

Gwyn smiled. The calm she had felt in the chapel had melted away, but in Jack’s eyes it was restored. “Faith, hope, and love,” she whispered.

“I hope love will rule the day,” Jack whispered back.

David Campbell stormed into the room, his eyes blazing. He was a large man, tall and broad. His eyes swept from Gwyn to Jack, his jaw clenched. He slammed the door shut behind him. Gwyn and Jack stood in his presence. No one spoke and the silence seemed to stretch on forever.

“Gwyn,” David finally said through gritted teeth. “Isabelle told me ye wish to introduce me to someone.”

“Aye.” Gwyn wished her voice had not come out as a squeak. “May I present Isabelle’s cousin, Sir John Lockton.”

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of ye visiting us today?” asked David with false politeness. He advanced on Jack with a look of death.

“I have come to visit my fair cousin,” said Jack with remarkable poise for a lad about to be slaughtered. “And to negotiate with you regarding the return of this castle to English control.”

“Admirable. And how have ye come to visit me today?” David’s voice rose.

“’Twas my fault,” began Gwyn, but Jack cut her off.

“I confess I came to this castle with the intent to breach the side gate and take it by force. Instead, I was met by your sister, who single-handedly captured me and convinced me to see the wisdom of negotiations. I am indebted to her.”

David stood before them and crossed his massive arms across his chest. Gwyn was glad a table stood between them.

“I swear, Gwyn, I dinna ken what to do wi’ ye. How could ye let in an Englishman? Are ye daft? Is he the only one?” David spoke to her in Gaelic.

“Aye, only one. I dinna mean any harm,” Gwyn answered in kind.

“Ye ne’er do. But ye ne’er think about what ye do. Ye’re always where ye ought no’ to be. Do ye have any idea what he could have done? He could have killed ye and then murdered the rest of us in our sleep!” David gestured wildly with his hands.

“The fault is mine,” repeated Jack in English. “You will not harm her.”

Gwyn realized that since Jack could not understand their words, he must have mistaken David’s gestures for threats, a plausible conclusion given David’s anger and size. Of course, her brother, though tempted to strangle her, would never actually harm her, but Jack did not know that. And he would risk himself to defend her.

David noted it too and stopped yelling at her to stare at Jack. He cocked his head a bit to the side as if seeing him in a new light.

“Sit down, Sir John.” David returned to speaking English. “I will hear yer proposal. Gywn, ye may return to the ladies’ solar.”

“With your permission, I would like her to stay,” said Jack. His voice was strained but determined. “What I have to propose affects her.”

Gwyn’s heart fluttered. What could he mean? She glanced at David, and he motioned for them to sit.

“I understand that my cousin Isabelle inherited this castle,” began Jack, taking a seat beside her. “My father was the next in line to inherit after her, and with his death, now me. I will speak plainly and tell you King Edward does not take kindly to his lands in the hands of a Highlander.”

“I care not for the fancies o’ yer king,” said David.

“King Edward has decreed the castle is mine and has ordered me to take it back by whatever means possible,” continued Jack. “If I fail, another army of knights will be sent. And another. And another. Until this castle, or whatever is left of it, returns to English hands.”

“If that is so, we have little to discuss,” said David coldly.

“You offered to discuss terms for the surrender of the castle—”

“I suggested terms for a settlement regarding my castle,” corrected David.

Jack inclined his head with a slight smile. “As you wish. I would like to negotiate a peaceful solution. If you are willing to leave the castle, I am willing to send you back to the Highlands richer than you came.”

“And what is to prevent ye from attacking us as we leave wi’ that army on our door?”

“I give you my word.”

David snorted.

“And I propose an accord of peace be drafted between us and sealed in a union between us.” Jack paused and swallowed hard. “In truth, I wish to ask for your sister Gwyn’s hand in marriage.

“Och!” gasped Gwyn, her heart flooded with emotion. “Ye wish to marry me?”

“Yes, more than anything,” Jack turned to her and dropped to one knee. “Will you be my wife?”