The Key by Lynsay Sands

  "Who--" Duncan began, only to be cut off by his cousin.

  "He is a messenger from Lord Rolfe."

  Duncan cursed. He had hoped this was Greenweld's man. "How was he injured?"

  "Saving my life."

  Duncan stilled at that, and Allistair grimaced, his gaze sliding past him to Laird Angus, Lady Wildwood, and Iliana as they moved to join Duncan and hear the explanation. "I thought I spied someone duck behind a tree as I was riding back with the cloth merchant."

  "Why did you not tell me?"

  Allistair shrugged. "By the time I got to the tree there was no one there, and I thought mayhap I hadn't really seen anything at all."

  "But you went back to check."

  "Aye...Well, it was bothering me. I thought if there truly had been someone there, he would have left some sign somewhere in the area."

  "And did you find any signs?" Angus asked, stepping forward now to lift and peer at the head of the man his nephew held upright.

  "Aye. The remains of a small fire. I was about to head back to call out a search party when I was jumped from behind. When I awoke, this fellow was leaning over me, bandaging me hand."

  Duncan glanced at his cousin's sword hand as he held it up. It was wrapped tight with a strip of plaid.

  "I must have broke it as I fell," Allistair admitted grimly.

  Duncan frowned at that, then glanced down when his wife slid her hand onto the crook of his arm. She smiled at him gently and he raised a hand to cover her own where it now lay on his arm, then turned as Allistair continued.

  "A second man was there as well, already dead. This fellow told me that he be a messenger from Lord Rolfe. He said he'd been sent with news of Seonaid, and that he had come along as Greenweld's man was about to cut me head off. He interfered, they fought, he was injured, and the other one died."

  Both Duncan and Angus were silent for a moment, exchanging a glance, then Angus asked, "You were not conscious when the two fought?"

  "Nay."

  "And you never saw who hit you over the head?"

  Allistair shifted uncomfortably, his gaze sliding to the man he held upright. "Nay."

  "Then you have no proof he is who he claims to be?" Angus sounded more disappointed than anything as he murmured that. Allistair was looking pretty disappointed himself; then he suddenly brightened.

  "He showed me the message."

  "The message?"

  "Aye. He was afraid he would bleed on it, so he gave it to me. 'Tis in my belt, I stuck it through there ere helping him onto me horse."

  Angus moved forward to search for the message as Duncan asked, "Where was his horse?"

  "I put the dead man on it."

  "The message must have fallen out on the way back," Angus muttered, straightening. "Where was the dead man's horse?"

  "I don't ken." He glanced at the man he held. "Mayhap he kens."

  "Ye say ye brought the other man back, too?"

  "Aye. He's hung over a horse outside."

  Angus turned and gestured to one of the men in the room. The fellow immediately moved out of the great hall.

  "Do you not think we should tend his wound?" Iliana asked at last when they all continued to stand around glaring at the unconscious man. Angus and Duncan peered at her as if she was quite mad.

  Even Allistair looked taken aback at the suggestion as he asked, "Tend to the wound of an Englishman?"

  Iliana frowned at their reaction. "He is injured."

  "He is English."

  "What has that to do with anything?"

  "Scots don't heal an Englishman's wounds, wife," Duncan explained gently. "They cause them."

  Iliana's mouth tightened and she tugged her hand off his arm. "Well, then your English wife will tend this Englishman's wounds," she snapped irritably, sure they were teasing her, but that this was really no time for it.

  "Nay." He tugged her hand back over his arm. "Yer not English."

  "I am so," she protested, tugging her hand loose again.

  "Nay," he corrected, pulling her hand firmly over his arm once more. "Yer me wife. Ye wear the plaid. Yer Scot now."

  As Iliana gaped at him, her mother spoke up. "Well, I am English, not married to a Scot or wearing a plaid, so I will tend to him. Bring him to the table." She moved determinedly forward as she spoke, fully expecting Allistair to obey. And he did, but not until he received a nod from Angus.

  Iliana paused long enough to glare at her husband for his behavior, then followed her mother.

  Duncan arched an eyebrow at his father. "Now what have I done?"

  Shaking his head, Angus slapped his son on the back, urging him to follow the women. "I believe yer wife would appreciate a bit more diplomacy." When Duncan stared at him blankly, Angus grinned and shrugged. "'Tis something I've never bothered to teach ye. But don't fash yersel' about it over much. 'Tis something ye'll gain with age. Or not. 'Tis not really important anyway, but women seem to prefer it."

  Iliana caught the dirty look her mother sent her father-in-law's way after that statement, but paid it little attention. The Scot Angus had gestured to had come back into the keep, the other man's body slung across his shoulders like a sack of vegetables. Carrying him to Angus, he pulled the man off his back, dropping him on the floor at his feet.

  Wincing as his head struck the hard stone, Iliana left her mother and Gertie tending to the man on the table and moved forward to peer curiously at the dead man's face. He was a gruesome sight. His face was as pale as a sheet, most of his blood seeming to stain his surcoat. It looked as if he had suffered a rather large, gaping wound to the stomach and chest. Judging by the grimace of pain on his face, death had been slow and painful.

  "Is he the one who attacked you in our bed?"

  Iliana swallowed thickly. "'Twas dark. I saw little but a silhouette. Still..." Peering down at him again, she frowned slightly. "He does look familiar to me."

  "Ah."

  Iliana peered at her father-in-law and raised her eyebrows at that.

  The older man shrugged. "Ye were held at Greenweld, were ye not?"

  "Aye."

  "Then ye must have seen him there," he said simply, then turned to Allistair. "Did ye spy anyone else around?"

  The younger man had just shaken his head when Iliana's mother glanced over and announced that their guest was awake. Iliana followed her husband and father-in-law back to the table, where the man was attempting to sit up, struggling against Gertie's equally determined efforts to keep him down.

  "Let 'em up, wench, I would talk to him," Angus ordered, pausing beside the table.

  Muttering that he would rip the stitches she had just put in his body, Lady Wildwood's maid stepped out of the way.

  The man sat up at once and eyed them all rather warily, relaxing only when Allistair approached to stand beside Angus.

  There was a tense silence for a moment; then Angus shifted impatiently. "My nephew tells me you saved his life."

  The man's gaze skittered to Allistair then away and he nodded. "Aye."

  "What happened?"

  His gaze slid to Allistair and back again. "I was heading for the keep when I heard a shout. When I came upon your nephew he was unconscious on the ground and a man was standing over him about to cut off his head."

  "A man?"

  "An Englishman."

  "Ye fought him?"

  "Aye."

  "He died slow," the older man commented, and the Englishman nodded solemnly.

  "Slow enough to tell me he was from Greenweld, sent to kill Lady Wildwood."

  Iliana glanced instinctively toward her mother, noting the way she paled as Angus asked, "Did he say if Greenweld had other men in the area?"

  "He said not. He said Greenweld had expected to catch her fleeing to the king's court; however he'd overheard a rumor that she'd escaped to Scotland. He'd been dispatched to learn if it was true. If he found her, he was to kill her."

  "Hmm." Angus eyed him narrowly. "And you are?"

  "Hugh. Lord Ro
lfe sent me to bring a message to you."

  "What is the message?"

  He appeared confused for a moment. "I gave it to your man. Did he not--"

  "I would have it from you," Angus interrupted. "Surely you know the contents?"

  He nodded slowly. "Aye. We traveled to St. Simmian's, but Lady Seonaid was not there. She and her companion had not arrived. They have been taken by your enemies, the Colquhouns. Sherwell and Lord Rolfe were going to follow, and asked that you send men to assist them in gaining her freedom. It seems old Colquhoun is intent on shaming her by making her bear him a child so that he may kill it before her."

  Iliana gasped in horror, then glanced worriedly toward Duncan as he whirled suddenly toward the doors, shouting instructions and orders as he went. His face was a mask of stone.

  "Wait fer me!" Allistair hurried after him, only to have the other man turn on him.

  "Nay. Ye'll stay here."

  "The hell I will!"

  "Yer injured; ye would be useless to me. Ye stay," he announced firmly.

  Allistair appeared about to argue the matter, but Angus reached him then and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "He's right. Ye stay."

  Expression stony, the younger man whirled away and stormed out of the keep. Angus sighed, then nodded to Duncan. "Let's go."

  Duncan frowned at that. "Nay, Da. I will lead this battle."

  "She is my daughter."

  "And my sister. But someone must stay to mind the castle."

  "Allistair can--"

  "Yer the one who is forever telling me that either ye or mesel' must always stay behind to mind the keep."

  "Aye, but this is different. Seonaid needs us. 'Sides, there is no threat here now. The assassin has been killed."

  "And what if the bastard lied as he died? What if there is another? We would be leaving the women untended but fer a handful o' old men and a lame soldier."

  Angus glanced toward Iliana and her mother, taking in the concern on their faces. Sighing reluctantly, he nodded. "Go then. But bring her back to us safe."

  Turning away, Duncan left the keep, every man in the great hall following. Iliana glanced from the departing men to her mother, then hurried after her husband, unwilling to let him leave without saying good-bye. It was silly, she supposed. Duncan was a great, strong man. But then, so had her father been, and the thought was nagging at her that she had not had the chance to say good-bye to him when he had left on his last trip.

  He was halfway to the stables by the time Iliana hurried through the keep door. Grabbing at the skirt of her plaid, she hitched it up slightly and raced after him.

  Duncan was stomping toward the stall holding his horse when he heard his wife call his name. Pausing, he turned impatiently toward her, his expression softening slightly as he took in her breathless appearance. She had obviously run to catch up to him, and her brows were drawn together in a worried frown that warmed his heart.

  "What is it, wife?" he asked, trying to hide his impatience. His mind was focused on Seonaid and getting her back, and he knew he should not waste his time on marital matters.

  Iliana paused a few feet away and grasped at the nearest post, leaning on it while she tried to catch her breath. "I--I--" Sighing impatiently, she let go of the post and rushed at him, throwing herself against his chest and hugging him tight.

  Duncan gaped down at her, briefly stunned by her impulsive action. Then, realizing that Rabbie, the stablemaster, was standing not three feet away, grinning widely, he glowered and ordered him out of the stables. Once the man was gone, he raised his hands to pat her back gently.

  "Why," he murmured uncomfortably. "What is all this in aid of?"

  Embarrassed now, Iliana shook her head and closed her eyes, clutching him for a minute before pushing herself away. "Nothing," she mumbled, peering at the ground before her feet. "I just thought to see you off. Wish you godspeed, and luck, and--"

  She paused when he placed a finger beneath her chin and raised her face to meet his gaze, unable to hide the expression in her eyes.

  "Do you mean to tell me that me wee prissy wife is worried fer her great, smelly oaf o' a husband."

  Iliana flushed at that, wondering when he had heard her refer to him as that, but nodded honestly. "You do not smell now, my lord. Mayhap if you did I would feel differently, but--"

  This time he silenced her with his lips, drawing her into a kiss that took her breath away. She was quite dazed by the time he released her. Leaning her head against his chest, she closed her eyes. "I love you."

  It was the way he stilled against her that made Iliana realize what she had said. Good God! Where had that come from? she wondered in horror, then tugged free of him and fled the stables, too confused and embarrassed to look him in the eye. Iliana heard him shout after her but did not slow her step. Unfortunately, she had much shorter legs and was hampered somewhat by her skirts. She nearly groaned aloud when she felt his hand clasp her arm before she had taken more than a dozen steps from the stables. When he tugged her around, she jerked into him with a gasp, and it was the last sound she made.

  Duncan kissed her. He kissed her right there for all to see and with a passion that made her toes curl. When he finally set her away, her lips were swollen and red, her cheeks flushed, and she was swaying on her feet.

  Duncan took in her condition with satisfaction, then turned her toward the keep before bending to whisper: "We'll discuss this further when I return. Now get ye back." He released her then with a light slap on the derriere, and Iliana stumbled toward the keep, embarrassment painting her cheeks as she noticed all the grinning people about her. The courtyard seemed filled with men preparing to leave for battle, and every one of them had witnessed the shameless display.

  Shriveling inside, she forced her head up and continued on to the castle.

  Iliana watched Janna work at weeding the garden. The other woman seemed to alternate between viciously ripping the weeds from the ground and pulling them out almost absently as her gaze gained a faraway look. It seemed to her that the young woman--and most of the women of the keep--were suffering the same lack of concentration and worry that she herself was. It was the men's fault, of course. It had been one day since Duncan and his men, including Janna's husband, Sean, had marched off after Seonaid.

  Sighing, Iliana moved along the path toward Janna, her thoughts turning to her mother. Lady Wildwood seemed to be the only person within Dunbar who was unaffected by moodiness. She, Ebba, and Gertie had spent the remainder of the day after the men had left performing some mysterious task in one of the newly built rooms. Whatever it was, they had finished shortly ere sup the eve before. Today, Lady Wildwood had split her time between trying to reassure Iliana that Duncan would be all right and telling Angus that his son would bring his daughter back well and unharmed.

  Iliana was growing so sick of hearing her good-intentioned platitudes that she had abandoned Angus to the woman and spent as much time away from the two people as possible.

  "Me lady!" Janna straightened to sit back on her haunches when her mistress blocked out the sunlight with her body, making her aware of her presence. "I did not hear you approach."

  "You seemed lost in thought."

  "Aye." The other woman sighed, her gaze moving absently to the wall around the garden, as if she could see beyond it. "Think you they will be a'right?"

  "Of course," Iliana murmured, hoping her own worry was not obvious. "You do not have to do this today. Why not leave it for now?"

  Janna shook her head sadly. "'Twould just give me more time to fret."

  Understanding, Iliana nodded. "Well, I just thought to have a peek at the garden to see how it fares before joining Lord Angus and my mother to survey the wall."

  "The wall?"

  "Aye. Mother asked Lord Angus to show us the improvements Duncan has made. I believe 'tis another attempt of hers to distract us from worrying."

  Janna grinned slightly. "I am sure she means well."

  "Aye." Ilian
a smiled wryly. "'Tis the only reason I agreed to accompany them. Stop when you wish, Janna. It seems to be faring well enough on its own."

  Nodding, the other woman went back to her work and Iliana turned away, moving slowly along the rows of growing plants, back toward the kitchen.

  "'Tis a fine sturdy wall. You must be proud of your son."

  Angus's expression softened at Lady Wildwood's words. "Aye. Duncan is a good lad. A bit too stubborn for his own good at times and quick to anger, but he has a sharp mind and a good heart."

  "My daughter was fortunate to--" She paused, frowning as she realized her companion was no longer listening. He had stiffened quite suddenly, his eyes narrowing on the trees beyond the wall. "What is it?" she asked, anxiety rippling down her back.

  Angus was silent for a moment, then gave a slight shake of his head. "I thought I saw--" Cursing, he turned abruptly toward the gate. "Close the gate! Lift the bridge!" he roared. "Now! Now! Now!"

  Lady Wildwood started to peer toward the gate, then whirled back toward the man at his gasp. Reaching out instinctively, she caught him as he stumbled forward, taking a great deal of his weight and crying out as she saw the arrow protruding from his back. A second arrow whizzed past them then, and she instantly dropped to her knees, taking Angus with her.

  "Mother!" Iliana rushed forward at a crouch. She had just stepped onto the battlement when Angus had yelled for the bridge to be raised. His order had surprised and confused her until the man fell beneath an arrow a moment later. A glance over the wall had explained all. Mounted men were charging from the trees, archers following more slowly. The castle was under attack. One glimpse of the tabards of the men on horseback had been enough to tell her that their attackers were English.

  For a second, Iliana was paralyzed with fear as she saw that the drawbridge was still in place. Then it slowly began to lift. Still, she feared that at least the first two of the horsemen charging toward it might manage to leap atop the rising bridge, but they were a cautious pair. Instead they slowed and drew in their mounts, watching it rise unhampered. Greenweld, Iliana saw with dismay.

  Turning away grimly, she hurried along the wall at a crouch.

  Reaching the spot where her mother now knelt worriedly over a prone Angus, she took in his injury and pale face at a glance. There was little blood just yet, but his pain was obvious. Sweat had already formed a film across his brow. His expression as he lay on his side on the stone surface was a grimace of agony.