Read Online A Highland Knight to Remember (Highland Dynasty Book 3) by Amy Jarecki - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Amy Jarecki
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shook himself off, revived at the relief of tension the quick hump had brought.
He expected good news. Hiding out on this God-forsaken island didn’t suit him. The damp made his bones ache and his temperament border on the verge of tyrannical—not that intimidation was a problem. It was a tactic he used even when he wasn’t feeling like an ogre.
Brus caught the mooring rope while the galley ran aground on the beach.
Followed by his men, Trevor hopped over the side, a daft grin spread across his face.
“Well?” Alan asked, leaving the whore in a tousled heap.
“Easier than taking a Sunday stroll with my ma,” Trevor boasted.
“Out with it, man. I want details.”
“Two bands thieved cattle. One to the west and the other to the south—exactly as you said.” He dug in his purse. “I sold the beasts to a transport headed to Glasgow—Eleven marks, one for each head, less payment for me and the men.”
Alan snatched the coin and counted it. Trevor had taken the agreed quarter. He didn’t like that his men had taken their share first—but if he challenged the brigands with coin in their pockets, their loyalty would wane. “Did you see any trouble?”
“Nay—could thieve the laird’s cattle every day, I’d reckon.”
Alan was no fool. “If you tried tomorrow, you’d be caught for certain.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The alarm’s raised by now. It will not be half as easy next time—besides how much torture could any one of your men take if caught?” Alan adjusted his crotch. “We shall lay low for a time—travel to visit our allies in the Lowlands where we do not have to hide in a cave.”
The men nodded in agreement.
“Walter,” Alan hollered over his shoulder.
The smithy stepped out from the cave’s shadows. “Aye?”
“While we’re away I want you to fashion irons for a man.”
“You mean you’re not taking me with you?”
“You heard me.”
The blacksmith knuckled his head and glanced at the woman Alan had just discarded. “You’ll leave the whore?”
“Very well.”
“All right, then, but I’ll need measurements.”
Alan gestured to his body. “My size, but a hand taller.”
Walter shook his head. “Tis nay that easy—”
“Just see it done. I’ll hear no more from naysayers.” Alan turned to Trevor and Brus. “We sail at dawn.”
***
Propped up with pillows, Gyllis closed her eyes and yielded to the monk’s gentle ministrations. She’d been in the cell at Ardchattan Priory for a month now and, though the sickness had passed, the paralysis still plagued her. Even her breathing had become shallow and labored. She closed her eyes. Dark thoughts of a life as a cripple blackened her mind. She’d be a burden to her family—or to the priory unless by some miracle, God saw fit to give her the strength to walk again.
“I’ll wager things are not as comfortable here for you as they are at Kilchurn Castle,” Brother Wesley said in his ever-soothing voice. He had a sallow complexion with grey eyes, black hair, and his front teeth were large and crooked. It was difficult not to stare at them on the rare occasion he smiled.
How different and ever so mundane things were cloistered behind the priory walls. Nothing exciting ever happened—she never heard a voice raised or the clanging of swords when the guard sparred as she’d heard daily at Kilchurn Castle. The dangers of the world seemed a hundred miles away.
Gyllis glanced at the stark walls with a single wooden cross nailed above her head—aside from the bed, the only piece of furniture was a wooden stool. Brother Wesley looked at her expectantly.
“Aye, my chamber is five times the size of this cell,” she answered. “And the bed is far softer than this cot.” Indeed, she’d prefer to be home now.
He pressed the heel of his hand into her thigh and rubbed with a circular motion. Had he not taken an oath of celibacy, Gyllis could never have permitted him to care for her. “With God’s grace, we
He expected good news. Hiding out on this God-forsaken island didn’t suit him. The damp made his bones ache and his temperament border on the verge of tyrannical—not that intimidation was a problem. It was a tactic he used even when he wasn’t feeling like an ogre.
Brus caught the mooring rope while the galley ran aground on the beach.
Followed by his men, Trevor hopped over the side, a daft grin spread across his face.
“Well?” Alan asked, leaving the whore in a tousled heap.
“Easier than taking a Sunday stroll with my ma,” Trevor boasted.
“Out with it, man. I want details.”
“Two bands thieved cattle. One to the west and the other to the south—exactly as you said.” He dug in his purse. “I sold the beasts to a transport headed to Glasgow—Eleven marks, one for each head, less payment for me and the men.”
Alan snatched the coin and counted it. Trevor had taken the agreed quarter. He didn’t like that his men had taken their share first—but if he challenged the brigands with coin in their pockets, their loyalty would wane. “Did you see any trouble?”
“Nay—could thieve the laird’s cattle every day, I’d reckon.”
Alan was no fool. “If you tried tomorrow, you’d be caught for certain.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The alarm’s raised by now. It will not be half as easy next time—besides how much torture could any one of your men take if caught?” Alan adjusted his crotch. “We shall lay low for a time—travel to visit our allies in the Lowlands where we do not have to hide in a cave.”
The men nodded in agreement.
“Walter,” Alan hollered over his shoulder.
The smithy stepped out from the cave’s shadows. “Aye?”
“While we’re away I want you to fashion irons for a man.”
“You mean you’re not taking me with you?”
“You heard me.”
The blacksmith knuckled his head and glanced at the woman Alan had just discarded. “You’ll leave the whore?”
“Very well.”
“All right, then, but I’ll need measurements.”
Alan gestured to his body. “My size, but a hand taller.”
Walter shook his head. “Tis nay that easy—”
“Just see it done. I’ll hear no more from naysayers.” Alan turned to Trevor and Brus. “We sail at dawn.”
***
Propped up with pillows, Gyllis closed her eyes and yielded to the monk’s gentle ministrations. She’d been in the cell at Ardchattan Priory for a month now and, though the sickness had passed, the paralysis still plagued her. Even her breathing had become shallow and labored. She closed her eyes. Dark thoughts of a life as a cripple blackened her mind. She’d be a burden to her family—or to the priory unless by some miracle, God saw fit to give her the strength to walk again.
“I’ll wager things are not as comfortable here for you as they are at Kilchurn Castle,” Brother Wesley said in his ever-soothing voice. He had a sallow complexion with grey eyes, black hair, and his front teeth were large and crooked. It was difficult not to stare at them on the rare occasion he smiled.
How different and ever so mundane things were cloistered behind the priory walls. Nothing exciting ever happened—she never heard a voice raised or the clanging of swords when the guard sparred as she’d heard daily at Kilchurn Castle. The dangers of the world seemed a hundred miles away.
Gyllis glanced at the stark walls with a single wooden cross nailed above her head—aside from the bed, the only piece of furniture was a wooden stool. Brother Wesley looked at her expectantly.
“Aye, my chamber is five times the size of this cell,” she answered. “And the bed is far softer than this cot.” Indeed, she’d prefer to be home now.
He pressed the heel of his hand into her thigh and rubbed with a circular motion. Had he not taken an oath of celibacy, Gyllis could never have permitted him to care for her. “With God’s grace, we
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