The Knight's Broken Promise

‘We’ll need food,’ he said.

The timbre of his voice was clipped, abrupt, the tenor still too pleasing.

Stray curls swept across her face, blinding and stinging her eyes, but she did not push them away. ‘I’ve set some traps.’ She waved her hand in the direction of the trees. ‘We haven’t had much luck. Our baits have been—’

He interrupted her and gestured with his tied arms. ‘I can get food if you untie me.’

Arrogant. She looked at his hands, which she had tied in the front so he could relieve himself. He must think her small bit of kindness meant weakness. He would soon learn otherwise.

‘You need to eat,’ he continued.

She took several steps closer to him. He continued to sit and was forced to look up at her. He should have looked diminished to her. But his eyes remained too steady and the tilt of his chin too proud.

Who was he? An English solider—a nobleman, too, she suspected.

His clothes were fine, rich, but he wore all black. Not a bit of ornamentation or colour. Except for a gold ring, he dressed plainly as if he had no money. But he travelled with a jewelled dagger, two swords and a pouch weighted with coins. Such costly items spoke of great wealth. She had never known a wealthy man to go without ornamentation on his clothing. Even her brothers wore a bit of this, a bit of that.

‘You think me gluttonous enough to risk our lives by releasing you?’ she retorted.

‘Your taking my weapons and tying my hands is but a false sense of security,’ he answered. ‘If I wanted to harm any of you, I would have.’

‘I haven’t given you the chance, Englishman.’ She pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘And I won’t. Ever.’

‘Aye?’ he answered, his voice gone softer. ‘And the times you closed your eyes last night? Those moments weren’t enough for me to strike?’

Oh, aye, he was arrogant and just a bit too frightening. He was sitting, he was tied and yet he was still intimidating. Worse, she feared, he also spoke the truth. She had fallen asleep a time or two last night.

She was these children’s only guardian and she was all too aware of how little protection she was. Even more so for bringing this man to their camp. He might not have slaughtered their kin, but she knew he’d killed others. There was no other reason an Englishman would be here. It was not safe to release him.

‘You need to eat, Gaira,’ he continued. ‘And so do the children.’

The fight, if there was any, went out of her. They did need to eat. Desperately and in great quantity. Their traps did not work and the fires had scared most of the animals away.

He seemed to sense the change in her and stood.

‘What promise do I have?’ she asked.

‘None that you’d believe,’ he said, his lips curling at the corners. ‘But I have to eat, too, and maybe that is enough.’

She searched every nuance of his face. What she saw wasn’t quite a smile, but it wanted to be. ‘Maybe that is enough.’ She untied his knots. ‘But the moment you take your sword and dagger, leave this camp. I won’t let the children see a weapon in your hands.’

She didn’t wait to see him go, but grabbed the kindling to rearrange the fire. She sensed his departure and she let out the breath she’d been holding.

He was gone and there was no reason he should return. She trusted him, which made her all the more nervous because he had done nothing to deserve that trust.

He was a nobleman that kept his hair like a peasant and hid the wealth from his clothes. He was an enigma, obscure, as if trying to hide something of himself and personify another.

There was something he hid just under the surface like a river. She pushed her hair behind her ear again. And one she had no time to contemplate. Maisie would need feeding, changing, and the leather skein would need filling for water to boil.

And she would have to explain to the children that they were on their own again.

* * *

Busby threw together the few supplies needed and walked down the narrow stone stairs of his keep.

The rushes in his hall squished under him and even in the dim lighting the grease-splattered walls and thrown bones from previous meals were visible. He breathed in the smell of damp wood and rotting meat and couldn’t wait to get outside. But his three youngest were crawling on the ground and prodding the rushes with sticks.

‘What do you three do inside on a fine day as this? You should be outside.’

Delight widened their eyes before they rushed to their feet and surrounded his arms and legs. Wiping away his impatience for the delay, he roared, ‘What do we have here?’ They giggled and gripped him even tighter.

Familiar with this game, he crouched down and they immediately climbed on top of him. He lifted all three and clumsily walked outside, where he shook them off.

‘What were you doing on your hands and knees?’ he asked.

The oldest of the three stepped forward eagerly. His heart swelled as he realised it was his daughter Fyfa. She was a brave lass.

‘Papa, we’re removing vermin, just like you wanted!’ she exclaimed.

‘Vermin?’

‘Aye, we heard you wanted to remove the vermin from Scotland, so we thought we’d help you.’

Busby snorted and blinked his eyes. ‘You’re good children, you are, and do your papa proud, but I doona want you crawling. ’Tis not becoming of your station.’

‘But, Papa—’

‘I’ll be obeyed in this. Where is Lioslath? She is to be taking care of you.’

Fyfa pulled a face. ‘She’s cleaning the stables.’

‘Hmmm,’ he growled. His wilful oldest daughter had run the keep since his second wife had died. But she never took care of the softer things, like clean rushes or good food. Always with the horses or in the fields, she was unfit for any marriage although she was of marriageable age.

If only he had a wife!

‘Get along now. I doona want to see you cleaning again.’ He shoved them all towards the fields and waited until they were away before he headed to the stables.

He kicked the rocks at his feet. Blast his betrothed for running! She acted as if she didn’t want to be wed. But wed her he must. He had made a deal with her no-good lying brothers and he would make sure she kept it.

When he had received the invitation from the Colquhouns to meet their sister for a possible betrothal, he had thought they were joking. Everyone in the region knew his second wife had died years ago and had left him with children and a poor keep. No one had ever approached him as a suitor and he had long ago stopped his own fruitless pursuits.

It all should have made him suspicious, but when he had seen their clean profitable castle, tasted well-spiced fare and had been offered twenty sheep, he was eager to get the deal done. Fool that he was.

When his intended had finally been presented to him, her face was puffy and splotched red. Despite this, he assured himself he had made a fine deal and had packed her up along with her belongings.

Now she had run away and before he could even show her the keep or his children!

His keep needed order and a wife could do it. Aye, a wife could order clean rushes and have bread made without stones.

And his children needed a mother. His children had good Scottish blood on the inside, but even to him their outsides needed some polishing. It was too late for his eldest daughter, Lioslath, to be made into a lady. Yet Fyfa, only seven, still had a chance.

And what of his clan? They expected him to return with a rich bride and twenty sheep. He had the sheep, but without the bride, he’d have to return them.

There were only two places she could be. She was only a woman, after all. Weak-hearted and a Colquhoun at that. She wouldn’t last on her own, which meant she was either on her way north and his snivelling messenger had missed her, or on her way south as her brothers had suggested.

He was confident if she returned to her brothers, they would bring her to heel. In these turbulent times, they would not want a feud between their clans.

But if she was south it would be he alone who would capture her. He allowed the pleasure of revenge to course through him.

Aye, he would catch her. At the least, the ride south would give him time to think of the punishment that would not hamper her use to him.

Chapter Six

‘Paddocks and spiders!’ Gaira exclaimed. ‘Not again!’

She grabbed at her loosening hair, but the swirling wind wreaked havoc with her attempts to replait it and she tugged at the strays until her head hurt.

‘Alec!’ she called high and sharp, her agitation growing with the pain in her head. ‘Alec! Where are you?’

She heard no reply and she could see no movement. The hills around her dipped and rose as they saw fit. All she saw were the sparse, thin trees to her right and the wide steep valley that dipped to a small lake on her left. She turned her back on the valley.

She limped towards the trees and away from the camp. It was a sparse affair meant for her lone survival. It wasn’t enough for her and four children. Especially since one of the children included a five-year-old with a penchant for stealing.

‘Alec!’ she shouted. ‘So help me, dearest God, if you doona return that leather skein, you won’t get a drop of water for a week!’

Giggles.

Gaira whirled around on her right foot and spotted a blur deeper in the trees. She limped, trying to catch the boy who ran as fast as his legs could run. She admired his spirit, even though she had to lunge to tackle him as gently as she could. The boy struggled in her arms before becoming still and looking at her solemnly.

Laughing, she grabbed the skein. ‘You’ve got to stop stealing, ’tis taking me too long to get the chores done and I still have to find food.’

The boy’s eyes widened. ‘Will that man return, Auntie Gaira?’

Frowns. Arrogance. English. But they were all still alive. She hoped she was right to trust the man. He hadn’t returned and it was already late morning.

‘I think not,’ she answered. Knowing her concerns could be read in her eyes, she poked him in the belly. ‘Now get, so I can prepare food for your fat belly.’

The boy stood. ‘Won’t there be food where we’re going?’

There should be food, but whether her back-stabbing brothers would give him any, she didn’t know. ‘Aye, child. There’s food a-plenty back at my home. Why, my brother is the biggest, strongest laird in all of Scotland, and his larder is so full he’ll be grateful for you just showing up to help him empty it.’

‘But if there’s so much food for you there, why were you fleeing down here?’

Her heart flipped. ‘Who says I was fleeing?’

‘When we were in the trees, we could see you flying up the hill on your horse. Flora said you were running away from something bad.’

‘Oh, Flora said that, did she?’

‘Aye, we figured you couldn’t be running from Doonhill because you hadn’t seen...’ He stopped. His eyes started to tear. ‘Hadna seen...’ he started to say again.

Gaira knelt down and gave him a fierce hug. ‘Aye, Flora’s right. I hadn’t seen what had happened to your home yet. But I was anxious to get to Doonhill all the same. Nae reason to think I was fleeing.’

The boy leaned into her. ‘Are we going to be safe again?’

Dear God, she didn’t know. She wasn’t sure of anything since her brother had forcefully handfasted her to the cruellest laird in all Scotland. But her brother’s land was the only safe place she knew where to take the children.

Gaira tightened her embrace. ‘Nae matter what it takes, I swear I will keep you safe.’

Quickly, she grabbed and tickled him. ‘Except from me!’ Alec squirmed and giggled again, all worry leaving his face.

‘Now get your fat belly back to the camp and doona let me be catching you stealing again.’

Laughing, he ran towards the camp.

She walked after him. His belly wasn’t as fat as it was just a few days ago. Still, if they didn’t leave Doonhill soon, they’d be in a worse predicament than starving to death.

When she reached the camp, Robert sat hunched over the fire pit. He was poking several large pieces of meat that sizzled and flared over the open flame. Her stomach growled in response.

But it wasn’t Robert’s returning or the fact he was cooking that surprised her. It was the children peaceably nibbling on oatcakes. Each sat, perfect as could be, in a semicircle around the campfire and Robert.

Except for Creighton, who sat the furthest away, his eyes never leaving the Englishman’s back. She so wanted to soothe Creighton, to help him release his anger, but despite wishing otherwise, he still would not speak.

Creighton and Flora were the ones she had most been worried about with Robert’s presence. They were the oldest and the most aware of who had killed their parents.

Robert suddenly met her gaze and she stumbled.

‘The meat will be ready soon.’

The timbre of his voice, rather than his words, broke her thoughts. She breathed air into her starved lungs and straightened herself. What was wrong with her? She felt as if nothing would be normal again and all he was doing was making them breakfast.

‘You’re here,’ she said, not hiding her confusion from her voice.

‘Aye, the food is far into the wood line. No wonder your traps weren’t working.’

She wanted to ask him why he’d returned. Why bother, when he so clearly did not belong here? But she was all too aware of the children watching her and all too worried about his answer.

And now he had brought them food, shared his own oatcakes.

‘Do you have any more oatcakes?’ she asked. Maisie would need them.

‘Plenty.’ He glanced at Flora. ‘But I’ve already promised I’d save the remainder for Maisie.’

Flora’s cheeks were rosy. No doubt, it was protective Flora who had braved asking Robert for the cakes.

‘I dinna know men cooked,’ she said.

He shrugged and poked at the meat. ‘I like to eat.’

So did her brothers, but that did not mean they had bothered to learn. She wondered what other skills he was hiding behind his appearance.

It was too much thought this early in the morning and too much thought when she had troubles of her own. She didn’t need to be wondering about the workings of one lone Englishman. She lifted Maisie from Flora’s lap.

‘She’ll be needing changing again,’ she said to no one in particular.

She went to her satchel hanging in a small tree and grabbed the squares of cloth she’d cut.

How many days had she been here now? Two? Three? Alec thought she had been fleeing when she had raced up the hill towards Doonhill. She’d never tell him how close to the truth he spoke.

They were too close to the borderlands and too close to the skirmishes beginning there. That alone would be bad enough since she had nothing to protect herself and four very dependent children.

She laid Maisie down, unwrapped her dirty linens and quickly wrapped her in the clean ones.

No, her proximity to the borderlands and one confusing Englishman were not her trouble. Her trouble was an angry Scotsman, who thought she was his wife. And worse, far, far worse, was that she’d have to return to and beg for protection from her brother. A brother who had tricked her into marriage and leaving Colquhoun land.

If she had just herself, she’d never return to her land again, but she had the children now. She had to return to keep them safe.

Her entire plan for escape, to find sanctuary within her sister’s village, was gone. Scorched. Her only means of survival now was nothing more than burnt timbers, dead bodies and conflicting vows. All of which she meant to keep.

But her vow to bury the dead had slowed her down. And if Busby caught up with them, she’d never get the children to the safety of her clan.

Squealing, Maisie grabbed the tall grass around her and Gaira stood to scrape the dirty linen against a trunk. It would have to be washed later.

She quickly pivoted and stumbled. Gingerly, she lifted her left ankle and tried to flex it within the splint she’d made. Her ankle was still swollen and she could barely wear her boot. She sighed. There was no hope for things to be different, no chance that things weren’t worse than they were just days ago and no use wishing otherwise.

But, she reminded herself, she still had some supplies, a strong horse and she was smart enough to get them out of this mess. What she didn’t have was time. She scooped Maisie back to her hip. She wouldn’t worry over something she couldn’t control. There was simply no one to come and help her.

She gripped Maisie tight against her.

What of Robert? No. He wouldn’t want to help them.

But she couldn’t help her sudden thought. Somewhere between her clobbering him on the head and his cooking breakfast, something had changed.

He hadn’t killed them, had even cooked them breakfast.

Maybe he was the answer to her prayers. He was an English soldier, but he was here. He was here. And that’s what counted.

Sending this Englishman appeared to be God’s will or His joke. Either way, this Robert of Dent would help her bury the dead.

Shifting Maisie to her other hip, she cleared the trees. If her ankle wasn’t hurting, she’d be skipping.

‘Aye, you’re getting to be a big girl, you are.’ She snuggled her closer and snorted loudly into her neck.

‘Big!’ Maisie grabbed one of her plaits and yanked.

‘Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it?’ Gaira, limping, swung her around.

Alec bounded over. ‘Can I play?’

Alec’s face was covered in oat crumbs and charred meat. Just as it should be. She feigned resignation. ‘Ach, I suppose so.’

She dislodged Maisie and picked up Alec, who squirmed until he was safely on her back. Bracing her weight on her good foot, she swung Alec back and forth, making sure her plaits whipped along so he’d squeal louder.

Dizzy and stumbling, she dropped Alec and sprawled on the grass to look at the spinning sky.

Sighing and giggling at the same time, she closed her eyes. Suddenly, a darkness covered her. Robert was standing over her, his thick body blocking out the sun.

She couldn’t determine if she was dizzy from whipping her head around or because warm brown eyes stared at her.

‘We need to talk,’ Robert said.

Aye, they did. She patted Alec’s stomach and got up. Maisie had walked around a tree. Brushing the dirt from her little fingers, she placed her in Flora’s lap and grabbed her shawl.

She gave Flora a smile. ‘Please check the traps and set them again. See that Alec picks up some kindling sticks. We’re awfully low. I’ll be right back.’

She turned to Robert. ‘We’ll walk to the valley.’

Since her arrival, she hadn’t dared go to the valley in the full light of day. However, it would afford them some privacy and maybe in the light of the devastation he would offer his help.

* * *

Robert followed. He tried to pretend to himself it was curiosity that made him watch the way she walked or how she nervously bit her bottom lip.

Her shawl was a deep hue of green and it highlighted her colouring, framed the length of her curves. Her hair was not a dark brown as he had supposed, but a flaming red. Not the soft red of English beauties, but a deep poppy-coloured hair, almost unreal in its intensity. Her eyes were the colour of whisky in bright sunlight. Her skin was covered by so many freckles they darkened her skin. Her mouth was wide and her lips were the colour of peaches.

Her limping was more pronounced the further they walked and he slowed his pace to walk beside her.

In all his years, he had never seen a woman look as she did. It was as if she were sent down from the sun. Her colouring alone would have made her unusual, her height something to gawk at. She was not beautiful. Indeed, her nose was almost crooked and her chin too pointed. But it didn’t matter.

He wanted her. He was too experienced not to recognise the first talons of lust. But that, too, did not matter. There were other matters needing his attention.

‘When you came here, you didn’t come with four children, did you?’ he asked.

‘Nae. They are the only ones who survived.’

‘Is the boy mute?’

Her brow furrowed and she gave a quick shake to her head. ‘Creighton refuses to speak.’

He suspected as much. All morning, the boy had glared with silent unflinching hatred. Fortunately, Alec’s chatter had filled any awkward silences.

There had been plenty of awkward silences, too. He did not know what to do with the children. So he had fixed breakfast for himself and for them. He was glad he wouldn’t have to worry about their care much longer.

They reached the crest of the hill and Gaira turned around to begin her descent.

‘Here, let me help you.’ He moved closer and gestured with his arms.

She waved him away. ‘I’ve been doing it fine.’

He pointed to her ankle. ‘Is it broken?’

‘I doona think so.’

She didn’t say any more, though the ankle was swollen. What woman didn’t complain about an ailment?

‘You said you were travelling to Doonhill when it occurred?’ he asked. They passed the valley’s curve and he could see the lake.

‘Aye, I think I arrived only a few hours later. I was coming to visit my kin.’

‘Alone?’

‘Of course alone.’ Wariness entered her eyes. ‘What does it matter?’

It didn’t. He didn’t know why he asked. But he didn’t know why he was here, either.

‘What woman travels alone and dressed in a man’s clothes?’ he asked.

She stumbled, but he pretended not to notice.

‘What kind of English soldier travels alone in Scottish lands to inspect a village his men massacred?’ she retorted.

He didn’t have an answer for that. What would she think when she knew that he was no mere solider, but ‘Black Robert’, the most feared of English knights?

His squire had started the rumours and songs of Black Robert. The more deeds he did, the more the rumours and songs spread. He couldn’t enter a new camp or battlefield without the name being whispered. He was lucky she did not recognise him. If she had, his sword would be through his own gut.

They reached the bottom of the hill and walked to where she’d been digging. As they neared the bodies, she made a clearing sound in her throat.

He waited. Although it was he who had wanted to talk, he knew why she wanted the conversation here. In the light of day, there were unflinching views of the horror. Children with their plump arms ripped off, women sliced and men face down were all lined up. Waiting to be buried with the potatoes.

‘Will you help me?’ she asked.

After battles, dead bodies had simply been landscapes of war. He and his soldiers had buried many. But she was no hardened soldier. She could not have seen such atrocities before. Why would she endure such hardship?

‘Why do you not just leave?’

‘I won’t.’ She paused. ‘So, will you do it? I need to bury them and quickly.’

‘It would be more expedient if you burned them on a pyre,’ he said.

She gasped. ‘They’ve seen too much fire.’

He was not prepared for the weight of grief hovering over him. He was not prepared for any feelings. But this woman, bringing him here, was causing all the emotions of the world to stab and slice at him.

There was no logical reason for him to be here. He had had a bad dream and suddenly he was making the journey. He massaged the back of his neck and tried to distance himself from the gnawing gripping his chest.

But it hadn’t been a bad dream compelling him to come here. It had been a memory and one he had tried to forget.

It had been a long time since he’d felt anger and even longer than that since he had thought of the fire. But he had done both. It was the village that troubled him.

An entire village destroyed and his fellow Englishmen had done it. He could not shake the feeling he was responsible. If he had not been fighting a battle so near Doonhill, then all those people would be alive. They were innocent and shouldn’t have died.