Chapter One
Scotland 1302
"English dog." Kylee Rothirforde spat on the blood soaked ground. "I hope your soul burns forever. We will fight you for our lands—‘tis a lesson you Sassenach must learn."
She wiped the blood off the tip of her claid mor onto the sleeve of her hunter green tunic and watched the liquid seep into the material and darken the stain created by similar actions. The faint copper smell drifted to her nose that wrinkled in disgust. As a warrior, she should be accustomed to that smell, but her father had cautioned her no one should become hardened to the taking of another’s life. Looking down at the motionless enemy, she wondered if he had a daughter, wife, or mother waiting for his return. However, she felt no sorrow for him. He had taken a life dear to her, so he deserved to die. With her right foot, she rolled the Sassenach’s body over onto his back so she could see his eyes. The hate in them had not faded.
Kylee stepped over him as her gaze scanned the tree line, searching for a glimpse of his companion whom she had seen fleeing. Seeing no one approaching, she sheathed her custom-made sword and then massaged her upper arms and shoulders. Continuous fighting for the past two days played havoc on her muscles. Her training with her father’s men at Asberry Castle had built her strength and stamina, but her body sometimes protested once the battles ended. Scanning the area one more time, she removed the black hooded mask she wore to hide her female identity from the other soldiers—an identity that must remain a secret if she were to command the respect from other Scottish warriors.
A fresh breeze brushed against her skin and dried the small beads of perspiration on her forehead. She ran her fingers through her long hair to straighten out the mass of curls and then lifted it to allow the air to dry the sweat on the back of her neck. Only modesty prevented Kylee from doffing her mail, padding, tunic, and leggings to allow the breeze to cool her body.
Kylee whistled for her horse Danbury who trotted out from behind a clump of bushes where he had been munching on wild sweet grass. She reached up to rub his velvety nose, but he nodded his head expecting to find a treat in her hand. She rubbed the tuft of mane between his ears.
"Nae, you get naught before we are safe again on Scottish soil."
Kylee mounted the horse that shuddered beneath her. To calm him, she patted the neck of her black stallion that had carried her through many border skirmishes—this last between Sir Eggleton's men and the Mcclarion Clan with whom she aligned.
Riding Danbury, Kylee chased after this man who had slaughtered one of her best friends. Just as she ran her sword through him, another man approached at break-neck speed. The other equestrian halted his advance when she pulled the sword from her enemy's body and held it above her head in triumph. She laughed, envisioning the coward running back to his mother's breast.
"Let's go, Danbury. We have much to do before we can go home—including finding that coward who followed us."
She urged the stallion forward, but he failed to move. He peered over his shoulder at her and curled his lip before letting out a loud whinny.
"’Tis not the time for you to be stubborn. We need to find that other Sassenach and teach him a well-deserved lesson."
***
Seeing no need to get involved in the clash between the two men, Sir Devlin Moncreiffe reined his horse in the opposite direction after the victor raised his sword. During the recent skirmish, Devlin watched the same masked soldier and saw no one so intent upon killing the Sassenach since Wallace at Stirling Bridge. The soldier fought without fear. Probably one of Laird Mcclarion’s warriors. He fought with a strange stance and possessed a slight build, but he wielded a sword lethal to any enemy.
“Are you the one who chased my younger brother and killed him?” Devlin turned towards the man who slipped into view from behind some tall bushes and rock outcroppings. His tunic strained to cover his large stomach. Stringy hair hung down beside a large face with a ruddy complexion. Dirt covered every visible part of him and his clothes. Devlin knew if he moved closer the stench would be overwhelming.
“And if I am the one you seek?”
“Then I shall avenge my brother’s death with your blood.” A satanic smile spread across his thin lips.
“Are you that much of a coward you must slay me without a fair fight?”
“Did you give my brother one?” The angry retort hardened his features.
“He fought well.” He shrugged dismissively.
Devlin dismounted his horse and sent him away from the ensuing fray with a slap on its rump. He unsheathed his sword and drew it on the enemy.
“Prepare to die.” Devlin’s opponent rushed forward with his sword drawn.
Grunts and groans rent the air as metal clashed against metal. Devlin fought for the upper hand. His opponent raised a sword and brought it down towards Devlin’s head. With his rival’s torso exposed, Devlin drew his broad axe from his belt and sliced it across the foe’s belly. Blood gushed from the gaping wound. The Sassenach dropped his sword and grabbed his stomach. He fell to his knees and looked up into Devlin’s eyes before collapsing flat upon his face.
“When you arrive in hell, mayhap your brother will tell you I dinna slay him.”
Devlin wiped the blade of the broad axe on the ground before sliding the handle under his belt. He looked around for any others who may be lurking behind some bushes. Discovering no one, he whistled for his horse, mounted it, and headed back to the Carlisle fiord to help his compatriots. As he neared the battlefield, men approached waving their arms in the air, playing around so much he thought they would surely fall from their horses.
"Sir Devlin, nae need to return to the battles." The elder of the two yelled once he was within earshot.
The youngest man stopped along side of him, but not before the horse reared up on its legs. Watching the young warrior struggle to bring the horse under control, Devlin reached out to help, but the horse finally planted its four legs solidly on the ground.
"The English have turned back,” the young man’s voice jubilant. He clapped his companion on the back. “Argus and I chased them ‘cross the bolder with their tales ‘tween their legs.”
“’Tis good news you bring, my friends.” Devlin was relieved he could continue with his plans to return to Perth. The happiness he should have felt was overshadowed by concern for his father. Days earlier, he learned from a messenger that his father was not well.
“Aye, that ‘tis, Sir Devlin. We live another day without King Edward's men bothering us, and they live with fear in their hearts of the weapons ye wield."
Devlin smiled slightly at the comment. He understood men spoke among themselves of his bravery, but no one had spoken the words to his face.
"I do nae more than others who fight along with me.”
“But ye have been mentioned in the same breath as Wallace. He allows only the best warriors to stay his company and be in his confidence. Do ye continue to rejoin him?”
"Nae. I am bound for my home in Perth. My father’s health deteriorates, and I fear he may pass before I see him again. I also bear distressing news of the death of my father’s old friend, Aidan de Rothirforde. I dinna know him, but my father told many courageous tales about him."
"Aye, we knew the laird. He was attacked from behind. Laird Menzies’s son removed him from the battle ground to Jedburgh Castle."
"'Tis a shame, for his defense of our cause will be greatly missed.” Devlin sat a moment in silence. “My friends in battle, ‘tis best I am on my way. We shall meet another day to fight again’ the Sassenach."Devlin watched the men race away from him. Too young, they were, to be hardened by the daily battles and taking of lives in which he had partaken over his many years fighting against the English. He hoped one day peace would prevail between the two countries and he could settle on Moncrieffe holdings. He would consider marriage only with a genteel lass. One like he imagined his mother was. Sadness crept into his thoughts. His father had lived alone for so long after his mother’s accident. He did not want to live as his father had for the past years, sitting and staring towards the lake where the accident happened—pain evident in those sorrowful eyes. How could his father have lived this long without the love of his life? Devlin reined his horse towards the north and headed home.
***
The orange glow from the sun suspended above the horizon and lengthening shadows that darkened the dirt road encouraged Devlin to stop for the night. He journeyed many times on this road, but the forthcoming moonless night made the travel more difficult. He stopped near a small stream protected by a grove of trees.
He dismounted his dappled gray and headed for the stream to revive himself with a splash of water on his face and a cool drink for his parched throat. After a loud complaint from his stomach, Devlin pulled out a piece of dried venison from his leather pouch and yanked a mouthful off with his teeth.
He chewed and chewed before spitting the meat onto the ground.
“My saddle is softer than this.”
His horse shook his head up in down at the sound of his master’s voice. Devlin stuffed the remainder of the venison into his pouch and tied it back on the horse’s saddle.
"Permit me a few hours of sleep, and then we will be on our way."
After sitting down, he leaned against a tree to relieve the ache between his shoulders. He closed his eyes and envisioned his bed, but that did little to soften the ground. Shifting for the third time to get comfortable, he heard a noise in the dense woods behind him.
His horse whinnied and pranced about where Devlin had tied him to a low-hanging tree branch. Devlin rose from the ground and approached the steed.
"'Tis naught, Kavan."
He rubbed its soft muzzle in an effort to quiet him. The only noise he now heard was his breathing which kept time with his rapidly beating heart. Steadying his left hand upon the dirk at his side and grabbing the broad axe with his right, he eased his way through the dense growth, careful of the protruding tree roots. Shadows seemed to move in front of him. His ears alerted him to the silence of nature, a harbinger of a nearby intruder.
He turned at another noise behind him and took a step towards it before hearing a distinct thump and feeling the ensuing sharp pain on the back of his head. His vision blurred, and all went black.
***
“I should kill you right now.” His captor’s voice possessed a strange softness.
Maybe it was all a bad dream. Devlin’s head thumped as he attempted to remember what had happened. His pain proved it was no nightmare. He blinked his eyes a few times to help them focus. Peering in the direction of the voice, he saw through the dim firelight a slight figure holding a claid mor. The sword’s point rested on the ground. He remembered stepping into the clearing where he now found himself captive. Beyond his captor, he saw the outline of two horses. He tried to rub his pounding head but found his hands bound in front of him.
“Who are you?” His voice, barely audible, reverberated in his head when he spoke.
“You should know.”
He felt the captor’s eyes focused upon him. The voice now possessed a cold edge.
“You ran scared when you saw me kill your friend.”
Devlin tried to remember when a friend had been killed, and then he recalled the fray far from the battlefield.
“He was naught to me. I was coming to help.”
“Help me? I dinna need your assistance.”
“My aching head knows you speak words of truth.”
“Who are you?” The voice softened again.
“A highlander from Perth who fights with the Clan Mcclarion.”“I dinna remember you.”
“Aye, but I remember you. Warriors call you the Dark Knight” Devlin recounted what he had seen on the battlefield. “When I found you, your sword was raised above his body. There was nae reason for me to stay. I mean you nae harm. Mayhap you can find it within yourself to believe me.”
“Perchance you tell the truth. I will think about what you said and decide your fate on the morrow. Until then, you will remain tied.”
***
Kylee stared at her sleeping prisoner, focusing on what he had told her. He spoke the truth about the battle, but a Sassenach at the skirmish would know this. She looked at the embroidered silver lion on his black tunic. She had heard of a brave man wearing this tunic—a warrior who had killed many for Scotland’s freedom.
She shifted her gaze to his face. Illuminated by the firelight, his silhouette revealed strength, but shadows prevented a good look at him. Even as he sat slumped over sleeping, he looked powerful. His chest broad and muscular and his long, chiseled legs, covered by his trews, emphasized the force of his thighs. She looked away from him as an unaccustomed heat rose to her face.
Removing her mask to use as a pillow, she leaned her head against the rock outcropping. Trying to stay awake, she gave into fatigue and slumped over in a deep sleep.
***
Awaking in the wee hours before dawn’s light, Devlin had forgotten where he was until the bindings reminded him. He had to get loose. Bringing his hands up to his mouth, he pulled at the rope with his teeth. As he worked on the knots, he kept an eye on the sleeping figure across from the dying fire. He could smell the wood smoke that filled the air.
Finally free, he rubbed his wrists and felt the lump on the back of his head. Despite his head’s tenderness, the headache had subsided. He should try to escape, but curiosity nagged him to stay. He reached for the broad axe he kept at his right side but, feeling nothing, realized his captor probably kept it. He needed a plan, but whatever that may be, he could do nothing until he could see. He leaned his back against the tree and waited for his chance to get away.
Early dawn changed everything from black to gray. Devlin finally got a look at his captor. He stared open-mouthed at the one who had expertly captured him. The embarrassment he should feel was replaced by admiration for a spirited lass – fiery, no doubt, in all aspects of her being.
His gaze roved and lazily appraised her. Long wavy tresses hung over her shoulders, and a few loose tendrils covered a face exhibiting both delicacy and strength. Her silhouette revealed curves barely hidden by the man’s clothing she wore. Why had he not noticed before? A slim waist flared into rounded hips and shapely thighs. A delightful shiver of wanting ran though him.
But who was she? When he moved to make himself more comfortable, she opened her eyes and boldly met his gaze. He made no attempt to hide the fact he had been watching her.
“Why are you staring at me?” Sitting up straight, she flexed the muscles in her legs.
“I cannot believe you are a young lass. My eyes play tricks on me.”
“Believe what you see.” She flashed him a grin and crossed her arms across her chest. “A lass who was able to capture you.”
“’Tis true, but she cannot tie her bindings as well as she fights.” The grin disappeared from her face when he held up his hands. The rope fell uselessly to the ground. He winked and then pulled the corner of his mouth into a slight grin. His captor jumped up, grabbed her sword, and held it within inches of his chest.
“Do not move, or else I shall have an excuse to run you through.” She shifted her weight to her right foot and blew at the loose tendrils that covered her face. Her eyes met his. ”Why dinna you leave when you had the chance?”
He shrugged. “You have my weapons, and I had to sleep somewhere, why not here? I have nae designs to hurt you. But I would like to know your plans for me.”
“I have neither the patience to keep you as my prisoner nor the time to determine if you speak the truth.” She lowered her sword and sheathed it. “Hie yourself from my sight before I change my mind.”
“And to whom am I to give my thanks?”
“My name will remain a secret.”
“As you wish. I shall take my leave upon the breaking of the fast.”
Still watching her out of the corner of his eyes, he got up from his spot and walked towards Kavan to get some food from his leather pouch. “Would you care for something to eat?”
He yanked off a piece of the dried meat and offered it to her. He regretted taking that bite. He chewed for what seemed an eternity before he swallowed. She watched him, and her slight grin proved she enjoyed the fact he was having difficulty with the food.
“Nae, I do not have the time if it is that difficult to eat. I should be returning home, for I have not seen my family in months.”
“In what direction will you go?”
“West. And you?”
“I shall be traveling north.” He inclined his head forward to listen carefully to her response to the next question. “And your husband, does he not desire you to be home? My wife would not be allowed to roam the countryside fighting. She would be home with our babes.”
“Nae husband will tell me what to do or burden me with young bairns while he travels the countryside to wherever his desires lead him.” There was defiance in her tone as well as a subtle challenge. “My younger brother will become laird of our lands, and I shall continue to do what I enjoy—killing the Sassenach.” Her stance conveyed the fury within her towards their common foe. “Does your wife miss you?”
“If I had one, I would hope she would, but I have spent years fighting our enemy in the company of Wallace. But ‘tis time I returned home. My father is ill, and I must see him.”
“I bid you a safe journey. Your weapons are there by the tree. If you do speak the truth, mayhap I shall fight along side you again to defend our beloved homeland.”
“My tongue tells you nae lies.” He then frowned in exasperation. “Goodbye, my masked warrior. I shall keep your identity a secret. May your trip home be a safe one, also.”
***
Kylee’s family messenger intercepted her within miles of where she had stayed the night. She stared at her stepmother’s neat handwriting on the outside of the letter he handed her. Breaking the wax seal, she opened the letter. Gulping hard, hot tears slipped down her cheeks. She could not speak as anger briefly clogged her throat. Pulling her mask back down over her face, she headed Danbury home.