CAPTURED BY A LAIRD (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY) Read online

  A short time later, he reached the tavern outside the city walls where his men waited for him. His half-brothers must have been watching the door, for they ran to greet him as soon as he opened it. Will threw his arms around David’s waist, while Robbie, who was four years older, stood by looking embarrassed but relieved. David should admonish Will for his display in front of the men, but he did not have the heart. The lad, who was only ten, had lost his father and missed his mother a great deal.

  “I told ye I’d return safe,” David said. “I’ll not let any harm come to ye, and I will bring your mother home.”

  Their mother was being held at Dunbar, an impregnable castle protected by a royal garrison. While David did not yet know when or how he would obtain her release, he would do it.

  He planned his next moves on the long ride back to Hume territory. In the violent and volatile Border region, you were either feared or preyed upon. David intended to make damned sure he was so feared that no one would ever dare harm his family again.

  He would take control of the Hume lands and castles, which had been laid waste and forfeited to the Crown. And then he would take his vengeance on the Blackadders, the scheming liars. While pretending to be allies, the Blackadders had secretly assisted in his stepmother’s capture and then urged Albany to execute his father and uncle. It was a damned shame that the Laird of Blackadder Castle was beyond David’s reach in a new grave, but his rich lands and widow were ripe for the taking.

  And the widow was a Douglas, sister to the Earl of Angus himself. For a man intent on establishing a fearsome reputation, that made her an even greater prize.

  CHAPTER 2

  Alison ran up the stairs praying that her daughters had not escaped their elderly nursemaid again. Relief swept through her when she burst into their bedchamber and saw them. Both girls had inherited her black hair, dark blue eyes, and slight frame, but the similarity ended there.

  Six-year-old Margaret, whose braids and gown were in perfect order, was practicing her stitching. God only knew what her older daughter had been up to. Beatrix’s hair was a tangled mess, and the black streaks on her gown looked as if she had crawled across the hearth—which she probably had. Unfortunately, there was no time to change.

  “Come quickly,” Alison said, holding her hands out to them. “Ye mustn’t miss your uncles.”

  Alison refrained from chastising Beatrix for her filthy gown. Her husband was no longer here to criticize her for being a lax mother, one of her many failings that he had brought to her attention daily. In truth, Beatrix did get into a good deal of mischief. Yet Alison worried far more about her younger daughter. Margaret had a trusting nature and a desire to please.

  Alison had been like that once.

  “Did Uncle George bring us presents?” Beatrix asked as they started down the stairs.

  “Not this time, love.”

  As they descended, the rumble of men’s voices filled the circular stairwell and echoed off its stone walls. Alison paused at the bottom of the stairs to survey the hall, which was filled with Douglas warriors who were making quick work of the heaped platters of food that had taken the servants hours to prepare.

  A frisson of unease went up her spine when a man with familiar hard gray eyes caught her gaze as if he had been waiting for her. He elbowed the gray-haired man next to him.

  What were Patrick Blackadder and his father, the Laird of Tulliallan, doing here?

  She gripped her daughters’ hands more tightly as her husband’s two kinsmen approached. Though they were only distant cousins, Patrick looked so much like a younger version of her husband that she found it intolerable to be near him.

  “Do not stray from my side,” she told Beatrix, and gave her a hard look to let her know she meant it.

  Perhaps she was being unfair, but she mistrusted both father and son.

  “Lady Alison, as exquisite as ever,” Patrick said, giving her a thorough perusal that made sweat prickle under her arms.

  When he took her hand, she felt as if she were choking. He seemed to take an overly long time pressing his lips to it, but that was probably her imagination. As soon as she could politely do so, she tugged her hand from his grip.

  “Your grief over your husband’s untimely death must be terrible, dear lady,” his father said. After planting a wet kiss on her cheek that made her skin crawl, he shifted his beady gaze to her daughters. “How are my favorite lassies?”

  When he reached for a ringlet of Margaret’s hair, Alison grabbed his wrist. “Excuse us. My brothers are waiting to see them.”

  She hurried her daughters past the two Blackadder men and made her way to the high table.

  “Lucky lasses, ye have the Douglas good looks,” George said, and winked at her daughters as they took their places beside him. “Next time, I’ll bring ye silver combs to show off your glossy black hair.”

  “Why are Patrick Blackadder and his father here?” Alison whispered as she sat on his other side.

  “They have a large number of warriors at their command,” George said, “and we need all the support we can muster.”

  “Then take them with ye when ye leave.” The sooner they were out of her home the better.

  She glanced down the table at Archie, hoping he would notice her daughters, but he was deep in conversation with some of the men.

  “I didn’t have a chance to ask before,” she said, turning back to George. “How do our sisters fare?”

  “Sybil is full of piss and vinegar, as always,” he said with a grin. “She’s breaking hearts left and right at Court, though she makes no effort to please anyone.”

  Alison smiled. Beatrix took after Sybil, which mostly reassured her.

  “What of Maggie?” she asked, her thoughts turning to the gentle, kind-hearted sister for whom she had named her younger daughter.

  “I hear she’s with child again,” George said in a quiet voice.

  “So soon?” Poor Maggie had not yet recovered from losing the last babe. Her husband should have waited. Men could be such selfish creatures.

  Before she could ask about their youngest sister, Archie’s voice boomed out over the noise of the hall.

  “To your horses!”

  Men rose from the tables still guzzling their ale, and some grabbed drumsticks and hunks of bread to take with them.

  “God preserve me. Can Archie not give the men time to eat?” she said under breath. She had hoped for more time to persuade him.

  With her daughters in tow, Alison crossed the hall to the arched doorway to bid goodbye to the Douglas men.

  “Lady Alison,” each Douglas warrior said, and dipped his head to her and her daughters as they filed out. Her father and grandfather had required their men to show respect to the females of the family—unlike her husband, who had ridiculed her in front of the household at every opportunity.

  Her brothers were the last of the Douglas men to leave. At her signal, her daughters curtsied to them, looking so sweet that they made Alison smile despite her worries. How could Archie look into their faces and not want to move heaven and earth to protect them?

  “Don’t forget us,” Alison said as Archie bent to kiss her cheek.

  “Next time we’ll speak more about a new husband for ye,” he said.

  Before she had a chance to tell him she was never marrying again, he swept out the door without sparing a word or a glance for her daughters.

  “If anyone troubles ye, send word to us,” George said, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “But don’t fret, Allie, the fight will be in Edinburgh. Nothing will happen here.”

  ***

  Two months later…

  David had returned to Hume Castle at dawn and crawled into bed after another successful night raid. He felt as if his head had barely hit the pillow when he was awakened by shouts from the courtyard. Judging from the sounds, this was no attack, so he was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep. Instead, he dragged himself out of bed to see what trouble wa
s brewing among his men.

  “By the saints,” he hissed when he looked out the arrow-slit window.

  As he suspected, a fight had broken out among the younger warriors. The older men knew better. What he did not expect to see was his brother Robbie at the center of the trouble, pummeling one of the others as if he meant to kill him.

  David pulled on his breeks, grabbed his sword, and headed down the stairs of the tower.

  The circle of men who were shouting encouragement went silent and stepped back when they saw David crossing the courtyard. The two combatants, however, were oblivious to his presence. At least, Robbie was. His opponent was on the ground and attempting to protect his face from Robbie’s blows.

  David grabbed the back of Robbie’s tunic and jerked him off his feet. His brother was so blind with fury he nearly made the mistake of taking a swing at David before he realized who was holding him. Once Robbie appeared to have regained a thread of sense, David let his feet rest on the ground, but he did not release him.

  At his nod, a couple of the men helped Robbie’s opponent to his feet. It was Harold, a mouthy young man three years older and thirty pounds heavier than Robbie.

  “Have one of the women see to that cut on your lip,” David told him. “I’ll speak to ye later about your part in this.”

  One of the older men should have put a stop to the fight as soon as it started, but they were hesitant to lay hands on Robbie because he was David’s brother. That was probably wise.

  “Get back to your duties,” David told the others, then he turned his brother toward the keep. “Inside. Now.”

  “But Harold was—”

  “Not in front of the men,” David ground out between his teeth.

  After the doors of the keep closed behind them, Robbie attempted to shrug him off. David gave him a shake before releasing him, then the two of them climbed the stairs and entered David’s chamber in silence.

  “I won’t have ye violate my orders,” David said, planting his hands on his hips. “We fight our enemies, not our own men.”

  “I had no choice,” Robbie said, glaring at him. “Harold was making jests about Will.”

  “What did he say?” David asked, keeping his voice calm. Anger flared in his veins, but unlike Robbie’s wild fury, his was cold and controlled. And far more dangerous.

  “Harold said we should put Will in a gown and braid his hair,” Robbie said. “I couldn’t let him say that, even if it’s true.”

  Will’s mother had coddled him, and the lad was too soft-hearted for his own good. Still, David would not tolerate anyone ridiculing his brother.

  “Just look at him!” Robbie said, pointing out the window.

  When David joined Robbie at the window, he saw their younger brother kissing and hugging a pup like a long-lost lover. Jesu.

  “Ye must do something about him,” Robbie said. “He’s humiliating.”

  David rubbed his forehead. Will was so different from him that it was difficult to know what to do. “He’s young, and he misses your mother.”

  “I miss her too,” Robbie said in a fierce voice. “’Tis no excuse for behaving like a wee lass.”

  “Will has a big heart. He’ll learn to hide it as he grows older.” David hoped for Will’s sake that it was true. “He’ll be a fine warrior one day, for he’s utterly fearless.”

  “He’s fearless because he’s blind to everything around him,” Robbie said.

  David sighed inwardly because what Robbie said was true, and such blindness was dangerous. He wished he could let Will be a child longer, but it was his duty to prepare his brother for manhood. To survive in the Borders, a man must keep his wits about him and his fighting skills sharp. And, above all, he must be respected.

  “’Tis my fault. I should have seen this sooner.” David had not asked for the responsibility of raising his brothers, but he accepted that it was his. That duty had fallen to him long before his father died, though he could not say how or exactly when it had happened.

  “No one dares make jests about Will within your hearing,” Robbie said, “but Harold isn’t the only one who does it.”

  “I will handle this—not you,” David said, pinning him with a look. “I won’t have fighting among my men.”

  “But—”

  “I expect everyone, without exception, to follow my orders,” David said. “Disobey me again, and I’ll not go easy on ye. Understand?”

  “Aye,” Robbie said, dropping his gaze to the floor. “No more fighting our own men.”

  “I’m glad that’s settled,” David said, folding his arms. “Any other orders you’re unclear about?”

  “Nay, but if I’m saving my fighting skills for our enemies, why won’t ye take me on a raid?” Robbie asked. “You were raiding at my age.”

  God grant him patience. He understood Robbie wanting to go, but raids were dangerous and unpredictable. He would not risk his brother’s life raiding, but he was glad to have a different reason to give him.

  “The raids have served their purpose,” he said.

  David had more cattle than he knew what to do with. More importantly, men on both sides of the border feared his name, and no one dared cross Hume territory without his permission.

  “’Tis time to take a bigger prize than cattle,” David said, staring out the window at the hills beyond his walls.

  “Blackadder Castle?” Robbie asked.

  David smiled at his brother’s quickness. “Aye.”

  “We’ll make the Blackadders pay for the wrongs they’ve done to us,” Robbie said.

  “I must make my move before someone else does,” David said. “A castle in the care of a young widow is like low-hanging fruit. All the Border lairds have their eyes on it.”

  From what he’d heard, the widow was meek. She would not hold out long.

  “Before they know it,” Robbie said, “you’ll take Blackadder Castle.”

  And the widow too. David did not say the words aloud. It was not yet time to share that part of his plan with his brother.

  But the widow was the key.

  CHAPTER 3

  Alison sat alone at the high table, her bowl of stew gone cold, long after she dismissed her children to play. After ten years of marriage, she was finally free. But free to be whom? She did not know who she was anymore.

  She could barely remember the arrogant and sometimes thoughtless girl she had been at thirteen when she wed. As the granddaughter of two powerful clan chieftains, she had been raised to think rather much of herself. Yet even with her faults, Alison liked that girl far better than who she had become as Blackadder’s wife—a groveling woman with poison in her heart.

  Burning his bed had made her feel like that girl again. And she liked that feeling, however fleeting.

  When she became Blackadder’s third wife, he was forty, twenty-seven years her senior, and she was young enough for him to shape her into the sort of woman he wanted. She had heard him say it often enough to his friends.

  Women are like dogs and horses. Best to get them young when they’re easy to train.

  Blackadder constantly undermined her authority by ridiculing her in front of the household. He overruled decisions she made that were typically in the purview of the mistress of the castle, then criticized her because the household did not run smoothly.

  She intended to change all that, but it was not proving easy. The servants were long accustomed to ignoring her requests without suffering any consequence, and the Blackadder warriors were worse. They had followed her order to carry her husband’s bed into the courtyard only because they had thought her mad with grief and madness frightened them.

  The castle was hers now—or rather her daughters’—and she was determined to take charge of her household.

  She took another bite of the tasteless stew and decided there was no better time than the present. Before she lost her courage, she headed downstairs to the kitchens.

  “The meals have been lacking.” Alison confronted the cook,
a thin, hollow-cheeked man with a grizzly beard and a surly expression. “There was no meat again today except for a bit of rabbit in the soup.”

  “I can’t cook what I don’t have, m’lady,” he said. “I butchered the last of our pigs when your Douglas kin descended upon us, and we have no more.”

  She suspected that the Blackadder men who deserted the castle had robbed them of their stores. This problem, at least, was easily resolved.

  “Then we must replenish our supplies,” Alison said, folding her arms. “Until we have more pork, we shall eat beef.”

  She was proud of herself for standing up to him.

  “The Humes have raided our cattle,” the cook said. “We’ve not a one left.”

  “How could that happen?” she asked. “And why did no one tell me?”

  “We’ve even eaten the hens,” he continued, ignoring her questions, “so we’ve no eggs either.”

  “Then we’ll send one of the kitchen maids to the market in the village to buy more.”

  “I already did,” he said. “She returned empty-handed.”

  Alison was stunned. “The kitchen maid stole the coins?”

  “’Tis no what ye think, m’lady,” a young girl who was cleaning pots in the corner spoke up. “The Humes are stopping everyone on the road between here and the village and taking what they have.”

  “I thought the Hume lairds were dead,” Alison said. “My brother told me they were executed for treason.”

  “Aye, but the son of one of them is the new Laird of Wedderburn,” the cook said. “Everyone’s talking about him, saying he’s worse than his father and uncle put together.”

  “Worse? That is not possible,” she said, her voice falling to a whisper.

  There had been terrible rumors, too horrible to believe, about what the Humes had done after the Scottish defeat at the Battle of Flodden. Some claimed they saw the Hume warriors robbing from the bodies of their fellow Scots before leaving the field. The most fantastic rumor was that the king survived the battle and the Humes stole his broken body and hid him away. There were whispers that the king was still alive, albeit senseless. None of the men vying for power wished this particular tale to be true and repeating it was dangerous.