She saw her uncle first, with some of his men, and realized that a handful of her father’s nearby retainers were here as well.
“Bring the wine and ale,” her father called out. “This is cause for celebration.” Catching sight of her as she wound her way toward him, he beamed and opened his arms wide. “There you are, daughter! Come and hear the news.”
Seeing his happiness, Jo couldn’t help but return his smile. Thomas Dicson of Hazelside’s good-natured disposition was reflected in his appearance. Possessing the same fair coloring of Jo and her sisters, the years had grayed his hair and put a ruddy, weather-beaten stamp on his fair face, but he was still a handsome man. A thick barrel chest, sturdy build, and boisterous, larger-than-life personality made him seem taller than his handful of inches over five feet. When he enfolded her in his arms, Joanna’s head nearly aligned with his.
“What is it, Father? We heard the cheers upstairs.”
“Woke you, did we?” He smiled, tweaking her nose. “What a bunch of lazy lasses I have. How am I going to find husbands for all of you? Half the morning is gone already.”
Joanna felt a stab at the mention of the word husband, but seeing the familiar teasing glint in his eye, she managed to hide it behind a smile. “You will have to get up earlier to work harder to give us all rich tochers to have someone take us off your hands.”
He gave a sharp guffaw and kissed her on the cheek before releasing her. “They should pay me for such treasures. I already have half the men in the village vying for my eldest daughter; when Eleanor is of age, I will probably have all of them.”
Her mother stood beside her father, shaking her head as she listened to their teasing. “Are you going to tell her, Thomas, or should I?”
Joanna turned to her father expectantly, though she could already guess what he was going to say.
“Ah, lass, it’s the very best of news. Your uncle arrived this morning to tell us that our rightful lord has taken the castle and rid us of the English pigs forever.”
Joanna stilled, the air sucked from her lungs. He’d promised! “Forever?” she breathed. “What do you mean forever?”
“Young Douglas intends to raze the castle to the ground. There will be nothing left for the English to garrison. Nor do I imagine there will be English soldiers eager to defend Castle Dangerous.” He grinned. “Our young lord is making a name for himself.”
Dread washed over her. It was how he was making his name that worried her. “And Sir John?” she asked, unable to keep the worry from her voice. The English commander had always been kind to her. She knew they were the enemy, and she should hate them as James and her father did, but living with them day-to-day it was hard not to make some friends.
Her father frowned. Like James, he didn’t approve of her friendliness with their “occupiers.” He might be forced to interact with them, but she was not. “Killed, from what your uncle said. Along with most of his men.”
Her eyes filled with tears, thinking of the handsome commander eager to return to his sweetheart in England.
“This time there will be nothing left,” her father added. “Not one bloody Englishman left in Douglas.”
Joanna’s eyes shot to his in horror. The “Douglas Larder” may have happened almost three years ago, but it was still fresh in her mind. He would do it again. James had sworn he would show them mercy. He’d promised her.
CHAPTER FIVE
James stood outside the gate of the Douglas stronghold. His stronghold. The castle where he’d been born that had been built by his grandfather in the days of King Alexander III. He would rebuild, he swore, and make it even better than before. But emotion burned in his chest and throat.
The day had dawned gray and cold—fitting, he supposed, for the distasteful but necessary deed being done here today. Like William Wallace before him, Robert the Bruce had adopted the battle strategy of leaving nothing behind for the English but scorched earth, giving them nothing to eat and nowhere to hide, even if it meant destroying their own homes. The king’s castles had not escaped the swathe of destruction: Lochmaben and Turnberry Castles had both been taken and slighted.
Now it was James’s turn to watch his castle destroyed.
The long night of feasting was no longer evident in the sober faces of the men who were gathered behind him, watching the men prepare the fires. Truth be told, after what happened with De Wilton, James hadn’t felt much like celebrating last night, but he went through the motions for his men—and for his castle. It deserved a fitting send-off.
It was just timber and stone, he told himself. The memories could not be destroyed.
Boyd, who’d been looking at him all night as if he’d suddenly grown two heads, must have read something in his face. “You don’t have to do this.”
James tightened his jaw. “Aye, I do.” It was his command, his order that would see it done. The least he could do was stand witness. “Has Seton finished with the prisoners yet?”
Boyd’s mouth fell in a flat line. “He’s readying them now.” He gave him a hard stare. “Silver and a safe escort to the border? This isn’t like you.”
James shrugged. It wasn’t. He didn’t know how to explain it other than something had struck a chord in him when he’d read that letter. The thing that De Wilton had been reaching for—the thing that had cost him his life—had been a letter from a woman in England. The lady he’d hoped to marry.
Joanna had tried to tell him that De Wilton had a sweetheart back home, but James had been too jealous to believe her.
The lady had written that she would agree to marry the English commander if he could hold “Castle Dangerous” for a year. It was the kind of test the troubadours had sung about, harkening to the great age of chivalry when knights had proved their worthiness on the lists and undertaken other challenges and feats of bravery in the name of love.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Boyd said. “He moved and you acted on instinct. He had no right to ask for mercy in the first place. Were the roles reversed he would have struck you down without hesitation—and become a rich man in the process.”
They all had high prices on their heads, but the Black Douglas’s was higher than most.
“I know.” But James couldn’t deny the guilt he’d experienced on reading the note. So instead of taking the castle by force, he’d offered the English soldiers holed up in the keep terms for surrender. Terms that had included a safe escort and enough money to see them home in exchange for the solemn vow that they would never step on Scottish ground again.
Boyd shook his head and gave him a long stare. “You and Seton with your damned chivalry. Pretty soon you’ll be spouting off knightly codes like Randolph.”
James gave a real shudder. Though the king’s nephew had come around to “fighting like a brigand” as he’d once accused Bruce, Randolph still had his moments of knightly superiority. But James couldn’t wait for him to hear about this latest victory—let him try to top this. “Bite your damned tongue.”
“Does this have something to do with the lass you went to see yesterday?”
“No,” James said flatly, turning sharply away.
But did it? Perhaps a little. He shouldn’t have made a promise to Joanna, but he had, and he would do his best to honor it. She would be distressed by De Wilton’s death, but perhaps this show of mercy would help atone for his mistake.
A moment later, Seton led the prisoners out and James gave the order to light the fires.
As they were without siegecraft weaponry like trebuchets or siege engines, they would burn everything first and assault the weakened walls later with great timber logs, iron bars, picks, and whatever else they could find.
Jaw locked, James watched as the fires scattered around the castle sparked, crackled, and roared to life, building and building with intensity. Smoke filled his lungs and burned his eyes, but still he refused to turn away. He stood and watched as his home went up in flames. As the place that he’d loved more than anywhere else w
as destroyed. He held his arms tightly at his side, as if to stop himself from reaching for something to hold on to. Joanna, he realized. He wished she were here by his side, her small hand tucked in his. She would understand what he was feeling. She knew what this place meant to him, that the castle was a connection to his father that it felt like he was severing forever. He needed her softness, her kindness, needed to feel her soothing presence by his side.
But at what cost? The sound of her ultimatum still rang through his head.
Maybe he should talk to her? But the way he was feeling right now, he feared what he would say. He feared how much he needed her.
Damn it, he couldn’t marry her—no matter how much he wanted her by his side. How could she not see that? Didn’t she know him at all? Restoring his family’s name and seeing the Douglases brought to greatness was the only thing that had mattered to him for a long time.
A harrowing cracking made him flinch. A moment later the roof of the hall came crashing down. He stared at the smoldering wreckage, unable to swallow the tight ball in his throat.
Only when embers started to fly and the wall of heat became unbearable did he allow Boyd to pull him away. “Come, the men found a barrel of whisky in the storehouse. We return to Park Castle and toast our victory. What say you?”
James hesitated. He’d been drinking all night, and it hadn’t done a damned thing to ease the ache in his chest. He knew only one thing—one person—could do that. Jo would know how to make him feel better. He needed to see her. “I—”
But Boyd cut him off. “What the hell is he doing here?”
James followed the direction of his gaze and saw the party of riders approaching. His mouth thinned. The bright crimson and gold of the riders’ arms blared the newcomers’ identity. The fact that they were making no effort to conceal them spoke of the authority, confidence, and boldness of its leader. James’s thoughts echoed Boyd’s: What the hell was Randolph doing here?
“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought he was with the King at Dunstaffnage.”
A few minutes later, Sir Thomas Randolph and his men drew up beside them in the field overlooking the still burning castle. After jumping down, Randolph drew off his helm and tucked it under his arm, raking his fingers through his crimped dark hair. His gaze met James’s with more understanding than James wished. “I see you’ve met with success.”
James regarded his compatriot and rival with an unblinking gaze. Though by right, they were natural adversaries—both vying for position in Bruce’s retinue—James and he had become friends. For all Randolph’s brash arrogance and knightly pomposity, he was a skilled warrior with a heavy streak of honor in him that might occasionally get him into trouble. They were more alike in that regard than James wanted to acknowledge.
“Aye,” James answered, and was unable to resist adding, “I believe that’s one more for me.”
Randolph bit back a smile. “I didn’t realize we were keeping tally.”
James shrugged. “Just making an observation, that’s all.”
“How did you take this one?” Before James could respond, Randolph held up his hand. “Wait—don’t tell me. I’m sure I’ll be hearing about it for a while.”
James’s smile deepened. “I think you might.”
Randolph’s brow quirked when he caught sight of the English soldiers gathered a short distance away. Seton was readying to escort them back to the border, having volunteered for the duty.
“You took prisoners?”
James didn’t know whether to be annoyed or not by the other man’s incredulity. “They surrendered.”
Randolph held his gaze, knowing there was more.
But James didn’t feel like explaining and changed the subject. “Why are you here?”
“You have a chance to add another castle to your tally. We are to attack the garrison at Linlithgow.”
“Bruce wants us to take the castle?”
Randolph nodded. “Gaveston—the Earl of Cornwall,” he corrected, referring to the new title given to Edward’s favorite, “has been sent to Perth. We’re to make sure his journey is as uncomfortable as possible. There’s an opportunity at Linlithgow—one of the local farmers thinks he can get us in. But we’ll have to move fast. How soon can you be ready to leave?”
James hesitated. Unconsciously, his gaze shifted west toward Hazelside. He’d promised to speak to her.
Randolph frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“There are a few things I need to attend to.”
“Like what?”
“When the fires cool, we’ll have to dismantle the walls—”
Randolph waved him off. “From the looks of it, the English won’t be back anytime soon. This shouldn’t take long. You can return in a week, or leave a few men behind to take care of it.”
Still James didn’t say anything. Boyd was giving him a disapproving look that told him he suspected exactly why James was delaying.
“Is there something else? If you are too busy, I can take care of it myself.”
James gritted his teeth. There was no way in hell he’d let Randolph take credit by himself. “Nay, nothing else.” Jo would have to wait. “I must return to Park Castle to leave instructions with my mother and my men, but we can be on our way within the hour.”
Joanna was too late. She stood in horror before the smoldering castle, smoke still curling from the blackened towers.
Oh God, what had happened here?
Some of the villagers had gathered around to gape at the ruins of what had been the most impressive building in Lanarkshire and the center and heart of this village. She recognized one of the men as Thomas’s father and ran up to him. “Have you seen James?”
“The young lord?” the blacksmith answered. “He’s gone.”
The blood drained from her body. “Gone? What do you mean ‘gone’?”
“He rode off in the direction of Park Castle about an hour ago with his men.”
Sighing with relief—for a moment she thought he meant gone gone—Joanna thanked him and ran past the destroyed castle toward the small tower house that James’s mother and sister had occupied since their return. Ten minutes later, she was out of breath and flushed as she crested the last small rise and the motte and bailey of Park Castle came into view.
Nestled in the trees on a small hill overlooking the burn, the old stone peel tower was not as impressive as the castle, but still exuded a formidable strength. She’d always liked Park Castle. It might be old and simply constructed, but the thick stone walls and square rooms held an air of well-lived-in comfort.
The old wooden palisade surrounding the bailey was long destroyed, enabling Joanna to see quite clearly into the bailey around the motte. The small yard flooded with at least two score warriors, including a group of a dozen or so men-at-arms wearing crimson and gold tabards.
The sight of the flurry of activity was one that was familiar to her. The men were packing up their belongings and readying the horses to leave.
She felt her first prickle of alarm and quickened her step. A few curious glances were thrown in her direction as she sped through the maze of men and horseflesh. One or two lingered appreciatively—too appreciatively, probably—but she paid them no mind, her own gaze searching for James.
She’s started toward a man she recognized who was standing near the tower stairs, when a wall of black leather and steel blocked her path. Startled, she drew back, gazing up into the steely-eyed gaze of a man—not a wall, although truth be told, there wasn’t much difference. He was solid. Rock hard. A fortress of masculine strength. Though not quite as tall as James, he was broader and thicker with muscle. His arms and shoulders were stacked with it.
The first word that came to mind when she looked at him was “strong,” and the second was “intimidating.” His features were rough and blunt, his expression unyielding. He might have been considered handsome if he wasn’t so imposing-looking.
She shivered and took a step back.
&n
bsp; He seemed not to notice her reaction—or perhaps he was just used to it.
“Do you have need of something, my lady?”
His voice was deep and strong like the rest of him. Though not exactly unfriendly, neither was it friendly.
“I…” Her pulse raced nervously. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Now is not a good time, lass. Perhaps you should return in a few hours.”
“But I—”
“Jo, what are you doing here?”
Joanna sighed with relief at the familiar sound of James’s voice. But when she looked over her shoulder to see him approach, his expression was no more welcoming than the merciless-looking warrior’s—if anything, it was far less welcoming.
“I needed to see you.” Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. “I saw the castle. What happened? You promised—”
“That will be enough, Boyd,” James said, cutting her off sharply and looking to the man who’d blocked her path. “I’ll take care of this from here.”
Boyd? Robbie Boyd? No wonder. The name of the terrifying warrior who’d once fought with William Wallace was well known around these parts. He was said to be the strongest man in Scotland. For once it seemed rumor could be believed.
“The men are ready to leave,” Boyd said.
Leave? She gasped. Her gaze shot to James, but he was looking at the other man.
“I know that,” James snapped. “This won’t take long.”
Boyd gave James a sharp nod that seemed to be some kind of silent communication. Whatever it signified, it caused James’s mouth turn white as the other man strode off.
James couldn’t be leaving, she told herself. He’d promised to speak with her.
He’d made a lot of promises, she thought, recalling his promise not to repeat the “larder” episode. Hadn’t she just seen the empty, burning shell of the castle a few minutes ago?