“Of course,” Laila whispered, moving in a hurry to refill the bowl.
“You English folk, when did ye start showing up in Scotland so often,” Lady McGowan said, lifting up the new bowl to cool it off.
“Pardon?” Laila asked, cocking her head.
“That man who showed up last night, Sir something or other.”
Just like that, the fear returned. Laila felt a cold terror creeping up the back of her spine, worming it’s way closer to the base of her brain. It could be any Englishman. Why was she worried? The knights. She could hear the guard in the tower.Knights approaching!Why would they come here? So, off the main road, so much further West than any place of major significance. The only direct route here was from Willby castle. The fear reached her brain, and she froze once more. She had to know.
“The knights that arrived yesterday?” Laila asked, probing for information.
“Yes, a whole bloody lot of them. There’s forty or so camped outside the walls.”
“Forty?” Laila breathed in disbelief. Forty mounted knights were an intensely significant fighting force, and she could think of no reason that they would be there except for her.
“Sir Simon, that was his name, ugly old brute,” Lady McGowan went on. “Seemed fine enough, save the fact he’s old enough tae have fought against us. Makes you wonder, how many Scots a man like that might have killed, don’t you think? Do you think the same about us?”
“Sir Simon Blackmarch,” Laila murmured. It was an infamous name in England. He was a known murderer, deviant, and thief, protected by Lord Hamilton’s money and interests. She had seen him once as a girl, at the same feast where she had met Lord Hamilton, and he had terrified her almost as much, no, even more than the bulbous lord.
They said his surname came from when he was a teenager, and he fought as a levyman for the Earl of Warwick against Welsh raiders and rebels. There, it was said that he performed such violent, vile, and heroic battlefield deeds that the Earl of the March wrote to the King and had him made a landless knight so that he could serve the Earl with more distinction. Such was his name given, of the Blackmarch, for that was how he became known in those lands. The last she had heard of him, though, was that he had been killed at Bannockburn, along with two-thirds of King Edward’s army. Evidently, that was untrue.
“Blackmarch, yes, that’s the one,” Lady McGowan said. “That was his name.”
The pieces finally fell into place, and Laila felt terror dominating her person. “I—I have to go,” she stuttered, turning about and searching wildly for the door.
“What’s that, dear?” Lady McGowan asked, cocking her head, but Laila didn’t listen. There was no time for anything except to run. She had to get out before Simon saw her. He was there for her; there was no doubt in her mind. She cursed herself over and over inside her head as she rushed out of the kitchen, leaving lady McGowan saying something behind her as she fled.
She had not been careful enough. She had known it. It had not even been a week, and already she had fumbled her getaway. She would be doomed if she stayed there. But she had to be careful.
She tossed all her belonging back together in a hurry, giving a few of the girls around her a bit of a stir, which they complained about with a few obscenities. She gave a hushed apology as she checked that everything was together, and when she was satisfied, she went out of the servant’s quarters into one of the service hallways.
There she stopped. She had to think. It was fast becoming daylight. Leaving now would mean she would be seen. There were forty or so men in Lord Hamilton’s service outside the walls. They would catch her. She needed a plan, and what’s more, she needed to say goodbye to Kyle. Kyle. Kyle’s chambers. She was his maid. She could hide there, at least when he wasn’t in. It might be long enough for the knights to leave, so she could slip out unnoticed.
But what would she tell Kyle?Oh, why does it matter!She scorned herself. Just like the night before, she reminded herself that she was not here for some man or for fun in any way, she was there to hide, and now she couldn’t hide there any longer.
Kyle and Gavin swung their practice swords at one another in the early morning dew, slamming the metal together and sliding from side to side, sweating out the night’s drink with each mighty stroke. Kyle had barely slept. He had been tormented the entire night by the moment with Laila and then the Englishman after that. Everything seemed jarred, and he was not used to feeling that way in the least. It was stressful and harrowing and enchanting all at once. In his groggy state, he took out all of his feelings with his practice sword.
Again and again, he hammered down, and Gavin stepped back in flustered retreat as Kyle drove onward. But in his blind attack, he took a misstep and found himself overextended. Gavin immediately seized on the moment and lunged forwards, bringing the tip of his practice blade to the core of Kyle’s chest.
“Ha!” Gavin exclaimed as their movements ceased mid-motion. “Got ye!”
“So ye did,” Kyle mumbled, stepping down from his attack stance.
“Ye’re distracted, little brother,” Gavin said. “I haven’t beaten ye in years.”
“Perhaps,” Kyle sighed, slumping down against one of the corner posts in the training yard.
“Perhaps me arse,” Gavin laughed back, taking a long drink of water and then handing the waterskin over. “Ye’re over the moon for that lass.”
“Shut up about it,” Kyle shot back, taking the waterskin.
“Oh, I will not,” Gavin laughed, taking a few deep breathes as he steadied himself after the sparring match. “I haven’t had something this good on ye in ages.”
“It’s not a joke!” Kyle snapped, feeling Laila in his arms from the night before and then watching her dash away. Never had he been troubled like this by a woman, and it troubled him immensely.
“If ye say so,” Gavin said, giving Kyle a long, somber look. Then he hunkered down beside him, crouching on his heels. “Listen, about them English.”
“What about them?” Kyle asked, his attention snapping upwards immediately. If anything could get his mind off Laila, it was his hatred for the English army.
