The Knight(20)

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.