In the Bed of a Duke Read online

  “I did,” the laird answered without hesitation.

  Phillip stepped up to him. “You are not alone,” he said in a low voice that only Charlotte could hear. “I’m here now. No one will ever separate us again.”

  Instead of answering, Justin looked over to Gordon. “Did you know?”

  “I knew nothing.”

  “Then beware my tale,” Justin warned him. “This man”—he nodded to the laird—“raised me. He believes he knows me. He’s wrong. You’ve made an enemy, laird.”

  Bruce interjected himself. “We are quaking in our boots, blacksmith,” he said smugly.

  In answer, Justin raised his voice, speaking to all. “I can read,” he said. “The laird is wrong in believing I’m a stupid oaf. Perhaps that is the gift Father Nicholas gave me. And now, in my hand I hold the Sword of the MacKenna.”

  With a sweep of his arm, he used the Sword of the MacKenna to knock down the poles holding the silken canopy in place. The fabric came down over the heads of those on the dais. Lady Rowena started screaming as if she’d been attacked by banshees.

  “Run,” Justin ordered, and went racing around the platform. Neither Phillip nor Charlotte had to be told twice.

  Chapter 13

  Lady Rowena’s hysterical screaming sounded as if someone were being murdered and the confusion of the moment allowed Phillip, Charlotte, and Justin the opportunity to escape.

  Several men jumped in their paths to stop them, but both Justin and Phillip were good with fists and a sword. Justin jumped a hedge and went running across a garden. Phillip waited for Charlotte, sweeping her up in his arms and placing her on the other side. “Keep running,” he ordered, even as someone grabbed his shirt.

  He dispatched his pursuer with a jab in the nose. The man dropped, and Phillip jumped over the hedge to where Charlotte waited. “I said run,” he told her.

  “I am. Now,” she answered, as he took her hand, and they followed Justin.

  He knew his way well. There was no light save moonlight. He led them to a garden wall and stopped. Phillip had been expecting a gate.

  “What now?” he demanded.

  “We climb.” Justin lifted himself onto the wall, easily scaling its seven feet. On top, he bent over and offered a hand.

  “You’re next,” Phillip said to Charlotte, who took Justin’s hand and was easily lifted to the top. Phillip climbed the wall himself. The rim was a foot wide and overlooked roiling sea and jagged rocks.

  “Come,” Justin ordered, and started running along the wall without any apparent fear of losing his balance.

  Charlotte stood frozen in indecision, a hand holding her long skirts, which could trip her. “I can’t,” she whispered. She looked to Phillip. “I’ll fall. It’s dark.”

  Phillip didn’t hesitate. He swung her up in his arms, juggling both woman and sword. She started to panic. “What are you doing?”

  “Carrying you. You can’t do this with your skirts.”

  “And you can see where you are going better with me in your arms?”

  Phillip grinned at her. He stood at a precipice on top of the world. One misstep could mean death and yet, he had no fear. “With you in my arms, I can do anything.”

  It was the truth.

  The boredom and futility that had dogged him in London was gone. He’d rather be fully alive with an army of mad Scots on his tail than experience ever again that listless sense of being alone.

  “Come on,” Justin urged them in a hoarse whisper. He waited for them at end of the wall. Phillip didn’t weigh the outcome but began moving toward his brother. Each time he set his foot down, he expected it to be his last, but miraculously he didn’t falter.

  He handed Charlotte over to Justin, who lowered her to the ground without incident. They stood on the landing of a stairway in front of a small loft door. Justin opened the door. “This way.”

  All was pitch-black inside the room, but the air was filled with the smell of hay and horses. “Where are we?” Phillip asked.

  “The hayloft. It runs down the center of the barn above the stalls. The laird designed it himself. He likes his hay stored high. It lasts longer that way. Be careful, there are drop holes over each stall to feed the horses. You don’t want to fall through one.”

  He gave his warning just as Phillip was finding out for himself. His feet gave out from under him. He dropped his sword in surprise. Charlotte gave a cry just as he broke his fall by grabbing the edge of the loft floor. For a moment he hung there, his feet dangling in the air…his sword hit the ground. The horse in the stall startled and began dancing. His warning nicker was answered by another on down the line.

  Justin squatted down at the edge of the opening. “I told you to watch yourself.”

  “I’m not a quick learner.”

  His brother snorted his agreement. “Well,” he said with resolution, “we all have used that way sooner or later. Go on, let yourself fall the rest of the way—wait, which stall is it?” He leaned over. The horse grumbled and Justin made a concerned noise.

  Phillip’s arms were starting to ache. “What is it?”

  “That’s Cyclops’s stall. A mean one. He’ll crush you with his hooves.”

  “Are you kidding?” Phillip demanded, his arms ready to fall off.

  “Yes,” Justin said, a trace of humor in his voice. He gave Phillip a shove and Phillip fell, his landing softened by a pile of hay bedding.

  The horse in the stall, a black shadow in the darkness, moved out of his way and whinnied an alarm but did not attack.

  “Catch her,” Justin said a beat before he dropped Charlotte into Phillip’s arms.

  “What about you?” Phillip asked his brother.

  “I’m going to use the ladder,” Justin’s droll voice answered.

  “Very funny,” Phillip said.

  His brother laughed. But he wasn’t joking. The sound of his footsteps moved away from them.

  “Here’s the door,” Charlotte said. She had been investigating, running her fingers lightly over the wood walls. “I’ve got the latch.” She opened it, and the horse was the first to run out, knocking Charlotte back into Phillip’s arms.

  He tightened his hold for a moment, but then his toe hit his sword. “Finally, good fortune,” he muttered, picking the weapon up.

  Justin appeared beside them, another moving shadow. “I’ve bridles in my hand. Can you ride, Miss Cameron?” he asked.

  “I will,” she said. “I’ll do anything to get out of here alive.”

  “Good, lass. Let’s see if we can tack up some of these horses. I want the one you let escape. Her name is Butter. She’s a demon but the best mare in the barn.”

  “Why not take another horse?” Phillip suggested.

  “Because she throws beautiful foals, and she’s the least the laird owes me—”

  His voice broke off just as they all noticed a crack of light by the barn’s main door. The men raised their swords. The door creaked as it opened.

  A small figure holding a candle slipped inside and closed the door before turning and discovering he was in danger of being run through. Their visitor was a boy who almost dropped his candle at the sight. “Tavis?”

  Justin recognized the lad. “Ian, what are you doing here?”

  “I thought I could help. They are coming this way for you, Tavis. They knew you would be heading here.”

  “Thank you for the warning, Ian. Now go before anyone spies you here.”

  “I want to help.”

  “No,” Justin said with more force. “Your mother needs you. I thank you for the warning, now take care of yourself.”

  The lad didn’t argue but started to turn away. Charlotte stopped him. “Please, may I have your candle?”

  Ian offered it to her. “Thank you,” she said. “Now go. Tavis is correct. Don’t let anyone know you helped us.”

  The boy turned, but before he left, Justin said, “You are a brave, brave lad, Ian. I’m proud to know you.”

  “I’m
proud to know you, Tavis,” he answered, and left.

  Charlotte faced the men. “We need to create a diversion. It’s an Indian trick. I say we set the barn on fire.”

  Justin’s jaw dropped. “You want to set my barn on fire?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes,” Charlotte said without remorse.

  Phillip could have kissed her. Was there another woman in this world with Charlotte’s ingenuity? “She’s right. It’s the only way we will escape.”

  “But the horses—” Justin protested.

  “We ride them out,” Phillip said. “Once the fire starts, they will stampede.”

  “This sounds like a good way to get our necks broken,” Justin answered.

  “It is,” Phillip said, clapping him on the back and aping his earlier cheerfulness when he’d fallen through the hayloft. “But it is the only plan we have.” He opened the nearest stall, set aside his sword, and started putting the bridle Justin had given him over the horse’s head. It was Homer. The animal nickered a greeting. “Charlotte, it is Homer. He’s coming with us.”

  Justin had stuck the Sword of the MacKenna in his belt while he bridled Butter. Charlotte busied herself by walking up the aisle and opening stall doors. Horses stuck their noses out, uncertain whether to leave or not. This was not their routine and they were leery.

  “I don’t want one of the horses hurt,” Justin insisted.

  “They won’t be. And the barn should do well, too, if MacKenna and his men set to work and put the fire out,” Phillip said. He had started moving hay and straw out into the aisle. “We’ll start the fire here. It will take longer to spread on the dirt floor—”

  “No, we can’t do this,” his brother objected.

  “Justin, we have no choice,” Phillip said, only to have his brother grab his arm and whirl him around.

  “Stop calling me Justin. I hate the name.”

  “And this is all madness,” Phillip agreed. He looked into his brother’s angry face. “I know it seems insane, but right now, we don’t have time to sort it out. It’s either this or the three of us end up hanging. Now let’s go.”

  Justin didn’t argue. He bridled a bay and lifted Charlotte onto its back. She sat astride and reminded Phillip of a warrior princess. He was so proud of her. He gave her hand a squeeze. There was no time for anything else.

  She handed him the candle. He took up his reins and hurried his horse and the candle to the front of the barn. Minutes were like seconds. MacKenna’s men would be upon them at any time. Justin hustled the horses out of their stalls, directing them toward the door. “Go,” he ordered.

  Phillip started to open the door. “No,” Charlotte said. “Start the fire first. We need them panicked, and we’ll ride out with them.”

  “That’s madness,” Justin objected, even as Phillip was already heading to the back of the barn.

  “Get ready,” he said, and tossed the candle into the pile of dry hay. It burst into flame. Heavy smoke filled the air. Now the horses were alarmed. They shoved against each other as they rushed to the door that Justin threw open.

  The animals charged out of the barn. Charlotte’s and Justin’s horses ran with them. Phillip had barely mounted Homer before he was on his way following the others—and almost running over MacKenna’s men in his flight.

  They were only a hand’s width away from him.

  Phillip didn’t know if they had just arrived or if the stampeding horses had scared them back. He did know he’d been seen.

  A shout went up for him to stop. A shot was fired. Phillip heard it whistle through the air. It struck the horse in front of his. The animal screamed and stumbled. Homer almost toppled but regained his footing and charged ahead, wanting to leave behind confusion at the barn.

  It was at that moment the Scots realized the barn was on fire.

  Charlotte had been right. The diversion worked. A cry went up, and MacKenna’s men had to contain the fire lest it get out of control and spread through the whole fortress.

  The horses charged down the streets. Justin broke away, bringing Charlotte’s bay with him. Phillip saw them in time and followed.

  They raced through the streets. Phillip had no idea where they were going and wondered how they would make it through the heavily guarded front gates.

  Justin took them down a side street. It was dark here and quiet. Justin stopped at the fortress wall and dismounted. Puzzled, Phillip followed suit, helping Charlotte down. Justin led them to a group of hedges. He pushed them aside to reveal a door-size hole.

  “Does MacKenna know this is here?” Phillip wondered.

  “No,” Justin answered. “He taxes every sheep and sack of wool that comes in and out of Nathraichean. We had to devise some way to save a few pennies. I doubt if even Bruce or Gordon knows of it. Go along. You first, Maddox. I’ll bring up the rear.”

  Homer started to balk about going through the doorway. Phillip wooed him with soft words, and the animal relaxed.

  On the other side were the moors along the cliff. No alarm was sounded. There weren’t even patrols scouring the countryside for them.

  For all intents and purposes, they were free.

  Charlotte had trouble getting her bay to go through the door. Justin prodded from his end, and the horse obeyed. Phillip helped her remount and climbed back on Homer.

  Justin closed the door behind him. He stabbed the Sword of the MacKenna in the ground and grabbed Butter’s mane, preparing to mount when the door opened again.

  Both men turned, ready to do battle, but it wasn’t the laird’s men who stepped out into the moonlight but Bruce’s dark-haired wife, the one who attended Lady Rowena.

  Justin paused. “Moira?”

  “Tavis, you can’t leave,” she said, coming toward him. “I don’t want you to.”

  His brother shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Phillip readied his sword.

  Justin held up his hand. “It’s all right. She’s my wife.”

  “Your wife?” Phillip had not imagined his brother married. He should have. It made sense…and he’d also heard the touch of eager vulnerability in Justin’s voice. “If she is coming with us, let’s go,” he warned. “We don’t have time to waste.”

  “Is that why you are here, Moira? You want to leave with me?” Justin asked, reaching out for her.

  She caught his hands. “Tavis, I don’t know. You are in so much danger. Please, give me the Sword of the MacKenna. Let me see if I can persuade the laird to forgive you.”

  “Forgive?” Phillip repeated. “It’s MacKenna who should be asking forgiveness. He stole Justin’s birthright.”

  But she ignored him. Instead, she said, “You can’t be the duke, Tavis. Your place is here at Nathraichean. Give me the sword, and I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

  To Phillip’s amazement, Justin appeared to waver. This woman knew his brother better than he did, and it galled him. But he was not going to give up Justin without a fight. “If you love him, come with us.”

  “She loves another,” Justin said, his voice heavy.

  “I don’t really love Bruce,” she claimed. “You gave me up, too. You could have wooed me back. The laird told me it was what you wished.”

  “Moira, I begged you to stay. Have you forgotten? I was given little choice,” Justin said bitterly.

  Phillip could literally feel Justin’s pull toward this woman. He sensed their history. For a flicker of a moment, he understood her power over Justin.

  She cooed to him now, her voice more seductive than a siren’s call. “I know, I should have listened. I have been so unhappy without you. Come with me. Let us return together.” She placed her hand on the hilt of the Sword of the MacKenna.

  Justin started to speak, but Phillip wouldn’t let him. “No,” he said. “You must come with us.” He nudged Homer toward his brother but was stopped by the sound of voices from the other side of the wall. “They are coming,” he warned. “Justin, get on your horse.”

&nb
sp; “Come with me, Moira,” Justin said. “I love you—”

  His words were interrupted by Charlotte’s warning, “She has a knife.”

  Phillip turned in time to see Moira stab Justin in the shoulder. It would have been his heart save for Charlotte’s warning.

  Moira pulled the Sword of the MacKenna out of the ground. She gripped it with both hands and raised it to attack Justin again.

  A savage anger came over Phillip. He kicked Homer forward and grabbed Moira by one arm, giving her whole body a shake. The sword dropped. Phillip lifted her up. She kicked out at him. But at that moment, two men started out the secret door. Phillip bodily flung her at them. She screamed as her weight knocked them down.

  Meanwhile, Charlotte was ordering Justin not to attempt to pull out the knife. “Leave it in. It will stave off the bleeding.”

  “How do you know?” he demanded.

  “She knows,” Phillip assured him. “Let’s go. Charlotte, ride on, ride on. Justin come.”

  His brother picked up the Sword of the MacKenna. “This is mine.” He leaped onto Butter and together the twins chased after Charlotte. Within minutes, they’d left Nathraichean behind.

  Justin took the lead. They galloped their horses for a good hour. There was no sound of a chase being given. Phillip could only surmise that by scattering the horses and burning the barn, they had prevented the Scots from following.

  On Justin led them. He rode as if the hounds of hell were tearing at their heels. Finally, Phillip knew they had to stop, or else they’d ruin their mounts. Reaching the shelter of trees beside a stream, he reined Homer in. Charlotte’s followed.

  Butter moved on a ways before stopping, and Justin leaned forward, practically falling to the ground, and that’s when Phillip realized how badly his brother may have been wounded. He hurried to help him only to have Justin shove him away.

  “Leave me alone,” he ordered, staggering to keep his balance.

  “Let me pull the knife out,” Charlotte said. She’d slid off of her own horse. She began ripping the hem of her petticoat to make bandages. “It needs to be removed.”

  Justin dropped heavily onto a log to sit. His face over his beard was pale in the night, and Phillip realized it wasn’t the wound that pained him…but its source. He’d wanted to believe Moira would go with him and was ashamed to be duped by her again.