The Knight (Highland Guard #7.5)(13)
“I’ll do a hell of a lot more than that, if I come face-to-face with the blackguard again,” Boyd said, uncharacteristically stepping back. Boyd had been born to brawl and he rarely backed off from a fight.
“If I don’t find him first,” Douglas said.
The familiar refrain immediately eased the tension between the two men. James and Boyd regularly prodded each other about who would be the first to meet their enemy on the battlefield. Clifford had earned James’s enmity by claiming his land and Boyd’s by nearly taking his life in prison.
“Aye, well, it’s the English who will be doing the catching if we aren’t careful. Too many people know of your presence in the area,” Boyd remarked. “What did you do, send out heralds?”
James smiled. “Not quite. But it can’t be helped; we’ll need the aid of some of the local men if this is to work. You need not fear they will betray me. This is not the first time they’ve been called to action.”
“Aye, but let’s hope it’s the last,” Boyd said.
James’s mouth curved. “Holding Douglas Castle is already the least popular, most feared post in the English army. When we’re done, I intend to make damn sure there is nothing left to hold or rebuild.”
Seton looked between James and Boyd, his expression lacking their intensity or eagerness for battle. Boyd and James might cross swords every now and then, but when it came to the English they were of one mind. The hatred and vengeance that drove them both, however, was distinctly lacking in Seton. His resolve as to what was needed to win this war was not as intense as the rest of the Highland Guard. He was clearly conflicted about their more “un-knightly” methods. Though when called upon he fought just as ruthlessly as the rest of them, the Englishman seemed an odd fit for the secret army of “brigands” as the English called them derisively. Even his war name of “Dragon” harkened to the tension—it was a jest on the Wyvern that was part of the Seton arms that would normally be worn on a knight’s tabard or surcoat.
“Then we should get on with it,” Seton said. “Let’s find the others and see if this plan of yours will work.”
CHAPTER FOUR
It had to work, James told himself. But by the time the men were in position, it was precariously close to dusk, and he knew that his delay with Joanna might have well cost him his chance to take the castle.
From their position in the forest east of the castle, Boyd glanced to the west where the sun had already begun to sink over the horizon. “Not much light left.” His eyes fell to James’s. “I hope to hell she was worth it.”
James clenched his jaw, biting back the angry retort. She was, but Boyd’s criticism was on the mark. Staying so long with Jo was irresponsible, and James knew it. But it wasn’t going to happen again. He wouldn’t let it. Joanna was making too many demands on him, interfering where she should not. He had to focus on what was important: restoring their honor by achieving greatness for himself and his family.
The Douglas name would never be disparaged again. By anyone.
Joanna would have to understand.
Boyd didn’t seem to expect a response, and James didn’t give him one. But every minute they waited for Seton to appear on the horizon felt like an eternity.
The English would be very wary of a trap after the two previous attacks, and luring them out from behind the safety of the castle walls even in the daylight was going to be difficult.
But James had taken the lessons of the Highland Guard and the outfoxing of the English at the Battle of Brander to heart. He had earned a reputation not only for the frenzy and surprise of his attacks, but also for the craftiness of his plans. The Black Douglas seemed to spring up out of nowhere, whether it was in the church by mingling among the English on Palm Sunday, as he’d done in the first attack against the castle, or driving off the castle cattle with a small party to encourage the English to follow, and then leading them into an ambush, as he’d done last time.
For this third attack his plan was even more subtle. Seton and a dozen of James’s men would pass to the west of the castle in peasant robes, their horses laden with bales of hay and bags of grain, as if they were making their way to the fair at Lanark tomorrow. James and Boyd, with their distinctive builds, recognizable even at a distance, and the other half of his men from their position near the castle gate would wait to close in on the English sortie from behind and, if all went according to plan, take the castle.
James just hoped the attacks he and his men had waged on the supplies making their way to the castle the past few months had done what was intended and made the garrison desperate for provisions. Desperate enough to take their bait. With the fair set for tomorrow, waiting was not an option. Every minute James stayed in the area they risked discovery. It had to be today.
“There they are,” James said. Finally the first of the “pack” horses led by Seton came into view a few furlongs to the west of the castle on the colorless, windswept moorland.
There was less than an hour of daylight left, and the figures were still discernible as peasants, but he prayed it wasn’t too late. Would the English take the chance of an attack and leaving the safety of the castle with darkness falling?
The minutes crept by. Bloody hell, was no one on duty? It seemed to take forever for a guard to notice them.
His pulse raced faster, blood pounding through his veins in anticipation and nervous energy. It was always like this waiting for the plan to unfold, the edginess and slight flaring of his nerve endings. It should be any minute now…