The Knights of Christmas Page 3

  “It smells wonderful, but don’t be surprised if he can’t finish it all. He’s still recovering.” In his present state of rage, he might refuse to eat at all. She had to do something to change that. How were they to win against the MacGorys if their appointed savior refused to play his part?

  She took the tray, then hesitated. In his youth, Rolly had left Edin to ride in Border raids against the English. He’d even been to King William’s court in Edinburgh and knew much of the outside world. “Rolly, do you know what a Cru...Crusader is?”

  “Aye.” He leaned his bad hip against the worktable. “They’re knights who’ve sworn to free Jerusalem from the grip of the Infidels.”

  “Are they bad people, these Infidels?”

  “Worse than the MacGorys. They dinna believe in God.”

  “Oh.”

  “And they cut out the hearts of those who do.”

  Kara gasped. “They must be fierce, indeed. He was wounded fighting them.”

  “Duncan?”

  Kara nodded. “He’s a strange man, full of pride and anger. For all he’s weak as a new colt, he hates having us do for him. I fear I had to tie him up to keep him from injuring himself, which only made things worse. He thinks we are pagans.”

  “Some Crusaders have deep religious convictions.” Rolly told her briefly about the training a knight went through, and the vow he made before God when he was knighted. “They pledge to protect the weak and vanquish the oppressors.”

  “That is good, we are being oppressed by the MacGorys. And we did save his life.” Kara repeated that as she trudged up the narrow stairs. If the one thing didn’t convince him to help, mayhap the other would.

  She reached the second floor and found all was dark and shadowy. The torch at the near end of the corridor had burned out again. Poor Dod, Edin’s steward, was growing forgetful. When she’d finished with Duncan, she’d set one of Dod’s grandsons to replenishing the torches. Covertly, so Dod’s pride wasn’t hurt.

  She nudged the door open with her hip, took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. “Well, here we are....”

  She stopped and gaped at the empty bed.

  The savior of Edin Valley had slipped his bounds and fed.

  Chapter Three

  From his hiding place under the bed, Duncan listened with grim satisfaction to Kara Gleanedin’s gasp of dismay. The wood floor was cold on his bare chest and legs, but at least they’d left on his braies when they stripped him. He watched her stomp one foot, the ragged hem of her skirts twitching in agitation. The ripe oath that followed made him scowl. That a woman should know, much less utter such foul phrases.

  “Damn and blast.” She stalked to the bed.

  Had she seen him? Did she guess? He held his breath, wishing he’d had time to get to his sword, but her return had followed his escape by only moments.

  Wood rattled on wood as she set a tray down on the stool where she’d sat vigil the past two nights. An unwelcome reminder of the debt he owed her. With one final curse, this time in Gaelic, she bolted from the room. He waited till her angry footfalls had faded away before he gingerly crawled out.

  His shoulder throbbed, his legs were wobbly, his mind foggy, but he had no time to indulge such weaknesses. One hand on the rough, unpainted wall, he worked his way to his sword with the determination of a man pursuing the Holy Grail. Gripping the hilt made him feel better. He bent to retrieve the belt coiled neatly on the floor. The pouch was still attached to it.

  Knowing he’d not rest easy till he saw the stones, Duncan took a few precious seconds to release the intricate metal clasp and open it. Inside were his few remaining silver coins. The silk lining of the pouch was intact. Then he saw that the stitches in one corner were made with black thread, not the red he’d closed it with when he’d hidden the gems behind the lining.

  “Nay!”

  He split the threads with the tip of his sword.

  Empty!

  He swore hoarsely, then tried to suck the words back.

  Damn. Damn. Crushing the pouch in his fist, he glanced around the room. There was not much to see, an uncurtained bed with a chest at its foot, a table holding a fat candle and assorted small crocks. Crude woolen tapestries brightened the walls, but there was nothing concealed behind them. ’Twas a moment’s work to ransack the chest. It contained a few sets of woman’s clothes. Kara’s he supposed, for her scent clung to them. But she’d been smart enough not to hide her stolen loot there.

  Likely she had it on her person.

  Or she’d given it to her uncle.

  Duncan spun toward the door, his hand tightening on the sword hilt. With the Gleanedins out beating the brush for him, he’d search their castle. But he needed clothes. Preferably his own. Anger fired his blood, but his skin was cold and pebbled. Snatching a blanket from the bed, he slung it around his waist and over the wounded shoulder like a toga.

  The hallway beyond the door was gloomy as a crypt, with only a single torch burning at the far end. He scanned the length with an invader’s eye, noting the archway to his left where the stairwell came up, the pair of doors farther down the corridor. To search them, or escape while he could?

  In the courtyard outside, he heard shouting and the excited trumpeting of horses. The sounds built to a wave of thunderous hoofbeats, then there was silence. They’d left.

  Duncan grinned and headed for the next room.

  Fergus Gleanedin, for this could only be his chamber, had few possessions, but what he had was well cared for. A polished claymore hung over the small hearth, where banked coals glowed. The bedside table held a candle and flask of fiery osquebae, the Scots breath of life.

  Duncan took a moderate swallow, groaning as the liquid burned down his gullet and exploded into his belly. Ah, he’d missed that. It lent strength to his flagging muscles. False strength, but he’d take what he could get. Kneeling beside the trunk, he picked the lock with the tip of his dirk. Inside lay men’s garments, homespun but well made. He set them aside and probed lower, prying into a pouch containing less silver than he had and another with more personal treasures. A bit of waxed thread attached to a steel fishing hook. A ring bearing a crudely fashioned crest. A hunk of amber on a fine gold chain. One side of the ornament was jagged, as though it had been split asunder. Likely the reason it was in here and not about Fergus’s neck.

  A private person by nature, Duncan found handling someone else’s goods put a bad taste in his mouth. But they’d stolen from him. Resolved, he lifted out the last item, a tiny casket. Inside were a few feminine bits of frippery, a small silver brooch. A set of bone hair comb. And the other half of the amber, likewise suspended on a chain. Fergus’s wife’s necklet? Was she dead, and that was why the laird no longer wore his?

  Duncan dropped the necklace. Unease crawled through his belly, and he knew it wasn’t the whiskey.

  “Enough of this sneaking about,” he muttered, replacing each item carefully despite his urgent desire to be free of them. Just because they were a dishonorable pack of thieves was no reason for him to lower his standards. He’d go below, find Fergus and demand the return of his rubies.

  Filled with new resolve, and another swig of whiskey, Duncan marched to the door, opened it and stepped into the hall. After the sunlit chamber, it seemed even darker.

  “Have you finished pawing through Fergie’s things?” drawled a familiar voice.

  Duncan spun toward it, sword up, eyes narrowed.

  A shadow moved, stepping into the spill of light from the room behind him. Kara, her chin up, her gaze scathing.

  “Why aren’t you out looking for me?”

  “Because I knew you’d never left.”

  “How?”

  “When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I recalled seeing your sword in the room. Only a fool would leave his sword behind, and you do not strike me as a fool. How did you get free?”

  “I’m good with knots.” He locked his knees to counter a sudden wave of dizziness. “Clever girl. Now what ha
ve you done with my jewels?”

  “Jewels?” Her alarmed gaze dropped to his crotch. “I didn’t know you were wounded there.”

  “Where? Oh.” Duncan felt the heat crawl up his mostly bare chest. Suddenly he was aware of how close they stood, of the faint scent of heather swirling seductively in the air. “’Tis not proper for you to speak of such things.”

  “You’re the one who brought it up.”

  The word set off an alarming reaction in the very nether parts they were discussing. Duncan shifted and cleared his throat. “Aye, well, ’tis not what I meant and you know it.”

  “I’m a witch, not a mind reader. Now my mother, Guenna, she always knew what a body was thinking. Very disconcerting.”

  Duncan blinked. “Stop trying to change the subject. I want my rubies, and I want them—”

  “I’ve not a single clue what they are. Rubies,” she added.

  “Don’t be daft. Everyone knows what rubies are.”

  “Well, I do not.” Her chin was up again, her eyes flashing. “And I’ll wager no one else does, either. We dinna see much of the outside world here.”

  “But—”

  “Kara, lass, have you found him?” Fergus’s voice echoed hollowly in the stairwell.

  “Aye,” Kara called, looking back over her shoulder. “He’s up here—” The word ended with a squeak as Duncan snagged her and dragged her against him, one arm around her waist.

  It was a mistake, for the lower swell of her breasts rested on his forearm and those sensuous hips he’d admired pressed into his. He tried to ignore those sweet curves, but his chilled body greedily savored the heat from hers. Before he could weaken, a herd of Gleanedins clattered up the stairs and crowded into the corridor, Fergus in the forefront.

  “Stay back or I’ll run her through,” Duncan warned. He raised his sword, but kept it well clear of her slender neck, for his arm felt none too steady.

  Fergus’s battered face went purple. “If you cut her—”

  “He won’t harm me,” Kara said with absolute calm.

  “And what is to stop me?”

  “Aye, what?” Fergus asked, backed by a sea of white faces.

  “His honor. He’s a Crusader knight, you know,” she said. “Black Roily says they are bound to show kindness and mercy to women and children. He’ll not harm me.”

  Angered, Duncan spat, “Why should I show you mercy?”

  “Well, aside from your knightly vows, I did save your life.”

  Foiled by the shackles of honor. “So you could imprison me and steal from me?” Duncan watched Fergus’s face closely, but could detect no hint of guilt. One of the others, mayhap, but the crowd looked equally baffled.

  “We’ve stolen nothing.” Kara sounded earnest, and he could feel the steady beat of her heart against his forearm. Either she was the coolest liar he’d yet met, or innocent.

  “What is it you think we’ve taken?” Fergus asked.

  “Rubies. You do know what they are?” Duncan snapped.

  “Aye, and diamonds and pearls, too.”

  “What are they?” Kara demanded.

  “Wee red stones...like glass, they look.”

  Kara wriggled a bit in his arms and looked up at Duncan. “You’d kill me for a few bits of red glass?”

  Duncan shifted away from her. “They’re very valuable.”

  “More valuable than a human life?” Kara asked.

  An ugly murmur swept through the Gleanedins.

  “Of course not. You’re twisting my words.”

  “Explain it to me, then.”

  “Could we not remove to the hall and discuss this over a wee dram of whiskey?” Fergus asked silkily.

  “He’s already been into your whiskey,” Kara snapped.

  “Has he now?”

  Duncan felt that betraying flush wash over him. “I, er...”

  “No matter,” Kara interjected. “It’s back to bed with him. He’s taking a chill standing about in naught but a blanket.”

  “Don’t see why with you to warm him,” someone called out.

  Duncan set his teeth. “You will not talk about me as though I were some idiot child.....”

  “Then stop acting like one.” Kara slipped out from under his arm as slick as a wet fish.

  Duncan raised his sword and braced for the onslaught. The Gleanedins gazed back. They were a tough, hard-eyed lot, some bearing scars nearly as grisly as their laird’s. They made no move toward him, but would have if Fergus had ordered it.

  “For shame. You look like a pack of wild dogs sniffing each other out,” Kara snapped. “Now be off about your business and let me tend to mine.” Taking hold of Duncan’s left hand, she gently tugged him toward his chamber. Or rather, hers.

  Duncan wanted to resist, but his legs were wobbly, his brain fuzzy. “I won’t leave till my property has been returned.”

  He was going to stay.

  Kara’s heart soared, but she did her best to hide her elation as she straightened the bottom sheet on the bed. Not only was it impolite to gloat, he was not exactly staying of his own free will. But he was staying...at least till he could find these silly red stones. “Into bed with you.” She stood back.

  His expression was thunderous. “Turn around.”

  “What?”

  “I have to drop the blanket.”

  “I’ve already seen your drawers.”

  His tanned face turned even ruddier. “Well, I wasn’t awake when you were doing the seeing, but I am now.”

  Outlanders were certainly prudish, Kara thought, but she obligingly faced the window till she heard the ropes supporting the mattress creak. She whirled about just as his long, lean legs disappeared under the covers. “I’ve sent for a bowl of hot stew.”

  “I’m not hungry.” His belly growled in disagreement.

  Kara bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. “Well, I am. I’ll eat while you talk.”

  His scowl grew. “I don’t want you standing about my bed.”

  Now was not the time to point out it was her bed. He’d probably leap up—wrapped in a blanket—and refuse the rest he so badly needed. “I thought you wanted to talk about these bits of red glass.”

  “Rubies.”

  “Whatever. Why are they so important to you?”

  “They are worth several times their weight in gold. You do know what gold is?”

  “Aye, and silver, too. We may be a bit isolated, but we’re not completely ignorant of what goes on in the outlands.” His skeptical look sharpened her tongue. “If you’re a wealthy man, why do you not have a dozen men in your tail?”

  “I’m not rich by birth. I, er, acquired the rubies in the Holy Land.”

  “While you were saving it for God?”

  “Mmm.” He frowned again. “You needn’t make it sound as though I’m some loathsome mercenary.”

  That word she knew. “There’s nothing wrong with selling your sword to earn your way.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But if these bits, er, rubies, were so valuable, why did you not hire men to help protect them?”

  “I did not want to waste a sous on something I could do myself. Of course—” his eyes narrowed “—I did not realize I’d be set upon by a whole clan.”

  Kara snorted. “I should have left you for the MacGorys.”

  “The men dressed like wolves?”

  “They’re a bad bunch, meaner and craftier than a pack of wolves. ’Tis said they delight in torturing a man till he begs for death.” Her fists clenched at her sides. “They are responsible for Fergie’s scars. He’s the last of my line. I lost my parents when I was eleven, and he had the raising of me.”

  The stark mask dropped away, leaving his face soft and oddly compassionate. “I’m sorry. My father rode off to war when I was eight and never came back.”

  “And your mother?”

  He stiffened. “Died a less noble death two years later.”

  “Oh.” Kara wanted to know why he was so bitter
, but his shuttered expression said the topic was closed.

  “You’re the logical one to have taken them.”

  “Them?” Kara blinked. “Oh, the rubies.”

  “Who undressed me?”

  “Black Rolly did, but I was here the whole time,” she quickly added. “He laid your things in the corner, there, and they’ve remained so ever since.”

  “You were with me the whole time?”

  She nodded, momentarily baffled by his darkening expression. Then it hit her. “It does make a body feel twitchy knowing someone watched them while they slept. If it’s any consolation, I spent most of the time helping you fight the fever.”

  The lines in his face smoothed. “I must seem ungrateful.”

  “A bit.” She smiled faintly. “But I’ve never yet known a man who enjoyed being laid low.”

  A tap at the door heralded the arrival of a kitchen maid with a hot bowl of stew. Kara went to take it from her, mind awhirl with ways to maneuver Duncan into eating. When she turned toward the bed, he smiled ruefully.

  “I’d be a fool to starve myself.”

  “And we agree you’re no fool.” Kara fairly danced to the bed, placing the tray on his lap with a flourish. “Do you mind if I stay to keep you company?”

  “Nay, so long as I’m allowed to feed myself.”

  Kara plunked down on the stool and tried not to watch as he devoured the stew and bread. ’Twas obvious he was starving, yet he didn’t stuff his mouth too full, or chew with it open. Finer manners than some of her clansmen displayed. After he’d wiped the bowl with the last of the bread, she rose and took the tray. “Will you sleep, now?”

  He nodded, eyes already closing.

  “Good, you need the rest to restore your strength. Swear you won’t be so foolish as to leave till you’re healed.”