Chapter 1
Scotland, August 1308
A hawk screeched overhead as Sir Aiden MacConnell strode past several large oaks. He wiped the sweat from his brow, noted his men’s positions, and then scoured the uneven ground thick with summer dried grass, clumps of brush, and rocks that littered theforest’s edge.
Still no sign of the enemy who’d ridden into view moments before. Considering how the warrior’s eyes had widened and the way he’d whirled his mount and fled, Aiden was sure he’d identified him and his men as a threat.
Aiden cursed. All his bloody fault. Before he had waved his men into the clearing, he had double checked their surroundings and had seen naught to alert him that the enemylurked nearby.
They must stop the bastard before he could warn Lord Comyn of their presence. Their mission, to evaluate Latharn Castle’s weaknesses, discover the number of knights in residence, and uncover potential points of entry, was paramount. Given the stronghold’s treacherous cliffside location, the information he and his men provided to Robert Bruce would play a crucial role in the king’s upcoming attack.
A cool breeze rich with the scent of rain buffeted him. He glanced north, grimaced at the darkening clouds. Blast it, they had to find the lone rider before a downpour washed away his tracks.
Nor was the knight in full health. As the man had galloped away, Aiden had noted the blood-smeared armor, the way his body wove in the saddle, and the panic in the warrior’s eyes. He grimaced. No, the man hadn’t traveled far.
He scoured the rough slide of land for further signs of the enemy. With Scotland at war, only a lackwit rode without an escort.
At no sign of danger, he continued on. As he stepped past a clump of trees, his gaze narrowed on several large boulders. Red stained the jagged edge of the closest rock.
Blood.
Aiden waved his two friends over, pointed to where the land cut away. “He must be hiding down the brae,” he whispered. “Rónán, circle around to the right. Cailin, you come in from the left. Once in place, await my command.”
His men nodded and then slipped into thedense foliage.
Dagger in hand, Aiden crept through the brush. Below, between a break in the rocks, a bay munched on sun-bleached grass, his reins draggingon the ground.
A moan sounded farther downthe embankment.
Aiden motioned for his warriors to hold. Weapon readied, he edged around the shield of stone. As the bank began a steep decline, he squatted, his gaze centering onthe prone form.
Through the summer-burned shafts swaying in the breeze, the armored knight gasped for air. Blood smeared his mail, and one of his legs lay twisted in an awkward position.
Aiden caught a glimpse of his face. High browed, with blond hair now sticky with blood, and his lips thinned by pain. Nor did he miss that the bastard woreComyn’s colors.
After another meticulous scan of the clearing, confident the warrior rode alone, Aiden stood. He frowned. The dying man looked familiar. A foolish thought. Too many years had passed since he’d lived in the Highlands for him to recognize anyone now.
Eyes dark with pain focused on him, grew wary. “To whom do you swear your loyalty?”the man rasped.
“Lord Comyn,” Aiden replied, his gut tightening around the lie. With the injured man wearing the noble’s colors, he’d be a fool to state otherwise.
“Thank God. W-when I saw you, I thought you were with the Bruce.” The stranger gave a rough cough and then sagged back. “Early this morning, my c-contingent was attackedby his forces.”
“God’s sword, are they near?” Aiden spat, needing the man to believe him not a threat.
“I think I lost them, but I canna be sure.” Wracking coughs again shook his body, and a drizzle of blood slidfrom his mouth.
Aiden knelt beside him, took in the deep sword slashes along his neck. ’Twas incrediblehe still lived.
Face ashen, the stranger grabbed Aiden’s arm. “Y-you must swear to help me.”
Help him? With the knight’s allegiance to Comyn, he would rather drive a dirk into his heart and end his miserable life. Aiden took in his finely crafted armor, stilled. Few could afford mail of such quality. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t a simple knight. Mayhap the warrior held sensitive information valuableto King Robert?
“Of course I will assist you,” Aidenreplied. “How?”
Fingers trembling, the man withdrew a sealed writ, handed it to Aiden. “D-deliver this to Lady Gwendolyn Murphy of Latharn Castle. ’Tis a decree from Lord Comyn, commanding us to marry. Warn her that the enemy is near.” Grief-stricken eyes held his. “Let her know I regret having failed her.”
Aiden’s throat tightened as he glanced at the rolled parchment, the importance of the man’s disclosure pounding in his chest. He refocused on the wounded knight. “I would need your name to tell your betrothed.”
