The Highland Knight's Revenge Read online

  When their hands touched, energy sizzled through him. Her eyes flared as if she’d been shocked by it too. He was mesmerized by her eyes, brown irises that surrounded large, dark pupils. No, that really didn’t describe the color—the deep earthen shade was like a late night’s embrace that promised sinful pleasures.

  Her breath hitched as they slowly twirled, hands connected. Somehow, this common dance felt elicit and charged. Then they parted, but from the side of his vision, he saw her neck crane to follow his movements. Had she sensed something as well, or had he stared at her too intently?

  Being in King William’s court, he’d learned to dance well. His aunt had summoned him on many occasions to help her teach proper movements to some of the younger lasses at court. He could perform most of the courtly dances in his sleep, but no partner had ever caused his nerves to ignite in recognition.

  The dance brought them back together. “Do ye always sneak off during a feast to practice with yer bow?”

  Her eyes widened, and he knew he’d guessed correctly. It took her a moment, but when she recovered, she smiled. “Only when the guest list leads me to believe men who would spy on an innocent woman would be present.”

  He laughed, and they parted again.

  When the music aligned them again, their hands met once more, and he noticed how dainty and soft hers were. “What if that knight was only trying to see to yer safety?” Not all men of his station were as chivalrous as they ought to be, but he hoped in offering her that bit of information, she’d give him some clue as to who she was.

  “I think my skill speaks for itself. If you had come closer, you might have seen just how accurate I can be.” Her eyes twinkled.

  “Ye would no’ welcome an emissary from King William more warmly?”

  Before she could answer, a slender woman with long brown hair stumbled into them, then righted herself and apologized. Giric recognized the Scotsman who had flung the lass their way as a member of clan Ross. Nearby, one of the Sutherland twins seemed to resist the urge to reach out and pull the bonny lady into his arms.

  Why would they be here? The rivals were most likely up to mischief, a distraction Giric could not afford. He steered his partner away from the feuding pair and the lass who had captured their attentions.

  Then they separated again.

  Moments later as they glided back toward one another, the scent of the summer breeze and fresh air came with her despite the close confines and crowd in the hall.

  “I would not give my trust to anyone from Scotland before learning who they were.”

  What did she have against his home? He’d bet she’d never seen its beauty if she was so mistrustful of Scotsmen.

  Her cheeks were red from exertion, or possibly it was this English heat. Even though they were near the border, the air here was not as temperate as that of the Highlands. And he now felt obliged to defend his homeland in her eyes.

  “Then might I suggest a walk in the gardens? With yer aim, gaining yer confidence may be the only thing that saves my life.”

  She giggled, but then her brow furrowed just the slightest bit as she appeared to think over his proposal.

  “I promise ye would be safe in my company and with so many about. I would no’ do anything to dishonor you, my name, my king, or my country.”

  She remained silent. He thought she might refuse him. Perhaps she had a jealous suitor who would not take kindly to him wishing to spend time with her. Now that he’d seen her fair face, he wouldn’t blame a man for holding tightly to such a lovely lass. He was presumptuous, but he had to know more about her. She was quiet for so long that he was about to make his excuses and turn to go when she nodded.

  “I agree. But only for a short amount of time. You must rest for the jousting tomorrow. Have ye come to compete for the top honor?”

  “Nae. But if ’twould win yer favor, I might change my mind.”

  Her cheeks reddened.

  “You would be a lucky man. This is my first time attending a tourney, and I have never given anyone that honor.”

  The music paused, and they bowed.

  The lass met his regard, and she began, “Shall I lead the way? I inspected the gardens upon my arrival.”

  “I have no’ seen them yet, so I would be pleased to follow.” An unfamiliar thrill blossomed in his chest as she led the way.

  Jennet paused at a table to pick up a goblet of wine. The glass was almost as much to keep her hands busy as it was to quench her thirst. She found herself wanting to take the Highlander’s strong palm and inspect the warm calluses she’d felt as they’d danced. He was a comely man with blond hair and eyes a shade darker than the blue of forget-me-nots that bloomed in the fields near her family’s home.

  There was something comforting about the Scottish knight, but she couldn’t figure out why. In her short years of living in the Highlands, she’d never met a knight. Thinking about that time sent a shiver down her spine, so she took a large sip of the wine to banish the unwanted memories. Lord Yves had exquisite taste. The drink was bold yet smooth and left warm berry flavors lingering on her tongue.

  “This way,” she said as she ducked around another guest and toward the door.

  The knight followed. “When did ye arrive? Ye seem to ken yer way around.”

  His words were warm, like a blanket wrapping her in his soothing, lilting tone. She’d taken the chance on escorting him to the gardens because she honestly just wanted to listen to his deep voice.

  “We arrived two days ago, so I’ve had time to explore.”

  “Who’s we?” His head tilted.

  “My brother and I.” Their traveling group was larger than just the two of them, but that didn’t seem important.

  “Och, I dinnae ken yer name.”

  “You haven’t given me yours either, sir knight.” She let her regard travel to the side to meet his as she gave him an amused smile.

  “’Tis Giric de Beaumont MacDonald. And I’m pleased to make yer acquaintance, fair lass.”

  “De Beaumont? That sounds familiar.” She rolled the name over in her mind.

  “’Tis the queen consort’s birth name. She is my aunt.”

  Jennet heard the pride in his tone.

  “That explains why you are trusted by King William. He is known as William the Rough, but he bears a lion on his banner. Which is it? Is he brave or ruthless?” She teased, but she was genuinely interested because she’d learned a lot about politics to help her father and Edward manage their lands.

  “He can be a bit of both. A just and compassionate leader,” he answered.

  She knew King Richard’s father, Henry II, had taken the Scottish king prisoner at one point. But that was old history, and Scotland currently had a treaty in place with King Richard, even helping to fund the crusades. It would make sense that with Lord Yves’s connections, Sir Giric would come to learn if the king’s brother might be as cooperative with Scotland if the talk of rebellion was true.

  They stepped out into the night air. It was refreshing, almost crisp, and if they weren’t sheltered within the walls of the castle, she imagined there would be a strong breeze. It was late and the evening had grown dark, but torches lit the open space, mingling patches of light with their surroundings. The sight made her think of a childhood game where she would hop out of the shadows in an attempt to scare her father. But that was so long ago, before he became frail. Still, a lingering nostalgia inspired the magic and innocence of youth.

  “What is yer name?”

  “I still can’t be sure it’s wise to share such information with a man from Scotland.”

  She laughed, but it was only partly in humor. In addition to the scars she bore from her youth, she liked the idea of anonymity and being able to converse with another freely. After learning who she was, most men would progress the conversation to a topic she wasn’t willing to discuss. Other barons and earls had started to question her father’s absence from events. Fears of what would happen to her family should
the truth get out had plagued her for years.

  “If the king can trust me, I think ye can.” Though his tone was playful, she thought she detected a bit of hurt pride.

  “Ah, but he’s your king, not mine.”

  She guided him to the formal garden, where the music of a minstrel floated through the air. It appeared several people had sought the beauty of the flowers and a view of the stars. Under one of the torches, a group of people gathered, listening to the strains of music. She found herself not wanting to share her knight’s company with others.

  “Do ye trust Lord Yves’s judgment? He believed me safe enough to invite me into his home.”

  “I’m not sure his assessment is sound. After all, it appears half of England is present.”

  “So ’tis no’ only my country ye disparage?” He laughed. The hearty sound was pleasing, and she found herself wanting to hear it again.

  “I spread my distrust fairly. This way.” She motioned to a secluded spot where, although it was darker, she knew there was a bench. She’d sat on it yesterday and studied the design of the garden.

  She eased onto the solid wood, and he followed. “Ye have made it a challenge for me to earn yer favor.”

  “Then perhaps you might wish to rethink your participation in the jousts.”

  “Nae. I’m here for the melee.” His regard seemed to drift then as if he were trying to decide what flower was on the rose bush.

  “Then how are you to know you have earned my trust if I can’t bestow a gift upon you?” What if he had interest in a different lass? “Unless there is another lady you wish to woo?” She held her breath, waiting for a reply.

  His attention returned. “My thoughts have been on other concerns. I’ve never sought the favor of a lass, but ye are convincing me that perhaps ’tis time I change my ways.”

  She took a sip of wine and was thankful the dimness of the evening had wrapped the castle grounds in its embrace. Surely her cheeks had pinkened with the heat that crept up her neck. It wasn’t so much his words or the thought of the flirtation she’d started, but because it was not typical of her to be so bold.

  He was easy to talk to, and she found their conversation flowed as readily as the wine at the feast. Words were leaving her mouth before she could collect her typical reserve. Perhaps it was that he didn’t know her family or that he’d seen her with her bow and not judged her. The anonymity afforded her freedom she’d never had.

  “Giric.” She liked the sound of his name. “What do you think of a woman who sneaks away from the crowd to practice archery? Most men frown upon it.”

  “I find it intriguing. Ye had great form, and ye seem to have an ability with it. ’Tis a skill many men even struggle with and something ye should be proud of.”

  She thought she heard true admiration in his words.

  “You are trying very hard to earn that favor.”

  “Is it working?” His smile was genuine; his straight white teeth almost gleaming through the shadows.

  “Ye may have to take up a lance to find out,” she challenged.

  A burst of laughter from the assembled crowd broke through the air. Her gaze moved that way, finding Eddie and Ada had joined the revelry. He would put a guard on her if he found her alone like this on a secluded bench with a man. She needed to escape before he saw her. Despite connecting for the first time ever with a man in a way that made her want to linger, Jennet stood to leave.

  “I must retire for the evening.”

  He rose. “Can I escort ye back to yer… Are ye here in the caste or lodging elsewhere?”

  She left the question unanswered as she caught the movement of the crowd starting to disperse. “I must go. I know my way. Thank you for the conversation, Sir Giric.”

  His regard turned to the crowd, then to her. “At least honor me with yer name.”

  “You have made progress, sir knight, and though I have enjoyed your company, I still don’t trust so easily.”

  She thought he would protest, but something stole his attention. When he stiffened, she took the opportunity to move farther into the shadows and toward the interior of the castle. “Have a good evening, Sir Giric.”

  “Where will I find ye?” he asked, only giving her half of his attention.

  “I’ll be touring the village tomorrow, and then ye will find me watching the jousts.”

  His face darkened toward whatever he was studying, but he nodded. She turned and rushed through the yard before her brother could see her. Anticipation shot through her at the thought that the comely knight might seek her out tomorrow.

  Chapter 3

  Giric restrained the need to chase after the lass, see her safely to wherever she was staying, and steal a few more moments with her. He’d never felt such ease with a woman. Her levity had given him a reprieve from the anger and anxiety that had plagued his thoughts since the start of this journey.

  If his enemy’s son hadn’t appeared across the garden, he would have insisted on escorting her, but he’d waited eleven years for this opportunity, and he couldn’t squander it because he found an English lass intriguing. After the melee, perhaps he would seek her out, but until he found justice, he couldn’t let his guard down.

  He stood and moved through the shadows to observe Edward Linton as he laughed and smiled at a lass by his side. He still couldn’t see the lady’s face because the cloth from her headdress shielded her, but her identity didn’t matter. He focused on his target. They strolled in the direction his little archer had traveled. Taking up position behind them, he followed.

  Edward had a slight limp, but it wasn’t enough to make him stand out. It might, however, be a weakness he could exploit. The Englishman was almost as tall as him but thinner, muscular. He would be a formidable foe, so Giric needed to keep in mind that his victory was not guaranteed.

  All the more reason not to get involved with the alluring, quick-witted lass who’d just sprinted away from him without giving her name. While he lurked behind the unsuspecting pair as they walked back to the castle, he banished thoughts of the bonny Sassenach and brought back the memories that would clarify his task.

  The day that his world was destroyed had been much like this one. He remembered the warmth of the brightly shining sun and relived one of the scenes that taunted him.

  When he’d come upon the inn, a young child had stood alone in the small clearing behind the aging wooden building, aiming arrows at a makeshift target on a tree. The bow had been twice the size of what a lad should have. Giric had been drawn to the child’s poise, so he’d stood at the fringe of the forest to watch the boy with chopped, dirty-brown hair. After he’d made the first few shots, Giric had become mesmerized by the lad’s form and skill.

  After a few moments, though, he’d snuck away and gone into the structure to deliver the letter his father had instructed him to give the innkeeper. The man wore a scowl and only grunted when he’d handed over the note.

  “Does he want a response straight away?”

  Giric nodded. “Aye. He told me to wait.”

  “Take a seat.” The man grunted and walked away.

  While the innkeeper was in a back room, the boy with the bow slinked in through the front door, shutting it quietly. Only it wasn’t a lad. Glancing at the wee thing, Giric saw that while she was dressed as a boy and her hair had been shorn to hide her femininity, she had gentle cheekbones and rosy cheeks.

  When the lass spotted him, she hid her face and darted for the stairs.

  Just then, the innkeeper returned and barked, “What are ye doing out here?”

  “I’m sorry,” she broke off as her wide eyes shifted toward him then back to the man before she continued uncertainly, “Father.”

  “I told you not to go out there again.” He stomped across the room, took the child’s bow, and tossed it into a corner, then his hand smacked across the girl’s cheek. She fell to the floor and began to quiver.

  Jumping up, Giric rushed to her side. He held out a hand to help the
lass, but she shied away. Taking her trembling fingers anyway, he drew her to her feet.

  “Stay out of this, boy. ’Tis none of your concern,” the innkeeper snapped.

  “Ye shouldnae be striking her like that.” He glanced at the lass, but her face was averted despite the grip of her hand clinging to his.

  “Neither you nor your father can tell me what to do in my own home,” the man spat at him.

  The fingers in his squirmed and pulled free. The wee thing stood tall but didn’t meet his gaze. “Go,” she whispered. “I’ll be all right.”

  Turning to face her, he tilted her chin up, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Here’s your father’s answer. Now get out of here, boy.” The innkeeper handed him a letter and pushed him toward the door, shoving him out. A crack sounded with the slamming of the portal, and a bolt clicked into place, then angry, jumbled words he couldn’t make out filtered from under the thick, wooden plank.

  He’d run to get his father.

  Before the rest of the memory could intrude, Giric was back in the present and nearing his bedchamber. Edward and his companion were just a few doors down. The Englishman opened one, and the pair disappeared inside. Giric furtively counted only five doors from his own. That would make it easy to keep an eye on his target.

  He slipped inside his room, then bolted the door and paced as he undressed. His original intent on this trip was to end Baron Gillingham’s life with honor on the melee field. But in addition to taking his father from him all those years ago, with his absence, the man had denied him that opportunity as well.

  He couldn’t take Edward’s life without knowing the man—after all, he was probably just a child when the baron had murdered Giric’s father. The son was not responsible for his father’s sins unless he knew about them and had done nothing to seek justice.