A LASS OF HIS OWN- BOOK 6
Gurstelle Castle, Scotland, May 1301
“Goddammit, Ranulf, you nearly got us killed.”
Unrepentant, the man dragged the skiff ashore with Boyd and their other two companions. They’d been in this very spot
months earlier, the stakes just as high then as they were now. All four men knew it, none more so than he.
It was Boyd’s mission, and one he did not intend to fail.
“You wanted to avoid the English patrols,” Ranulf said with a tug. “We take it in three, two, one . . .”
The men dragged the skiff ashore and into the same cave where they’d rendezvoused with the French that winter.
Thankfully, Boyd knew Gurstelle Cove well. He’d come here as a boy—his father, Reid, had met once with the late earl.
Now, the earl of Gurstelle was dead. His wife and son, also dead. Only the countess remained, and without Boyd’s
assistance, she would meet her family’s fate. But he wasn’t here because his father willed it. Or even because the countess had
asked for aid.
He was here because Wallace needed more men. Her men.
“I’m with Boyd,” Robert, the youngest of them, said. “Those rocks were perilously close.”
The skiff fully hidden, each of the men secured their bags and followed Boyd toward the path that would take them to a
secret entranceway into the castle. Or to their deaths.
Gurstelle Castle was naturally fortified on three sides by massive cliffs that dropped into the North Sea. They would make
their way to the headland under cover of darkness, to a single red rock wall accessible only by a secret entrance at its base at
which none would expect four men to appear outside. To get there, they would navigate terrain that was treacherous at low tide.
During the daylight hours. Now? It would be a miracle for all four of them to survive.
But Wallace needed more men. Freeing the countess from this siege would provide them.
“Since we speak of perilously close rocks destined to kill us,” David, the other of the men, said over the sound of waves
crashing against those very rocks, “you propose we climb . . . that?”
The moonlight clearly revealed their path to the headland, the small swath of land, their salvation.
“I do,” Boyd said. Knowing a misstep could mean death, he stopped walking. Though he’d proposed it before, none of the
men had taken his offer, which still stood.
“You’ve done your duty, gotten me here,” he began. “Stay, wait for my return.”
As always, the men scoffed at his proposal. “We go with you,” Ranulf said without pause. He and Wallace had become
close friends for a reason. Boyd had never met a man as loyal and fearless outside his own family before. Ranulf had been the
first to volunteer for this mission.
“I alone am needed in there.” Boyd gestured to the castle. “Why do you insist,” he said to the men, “on risking yourselves
unnecessarily?”
“I’d not face your father, or my chief, having abandoned you,” David said. He was a Kerr clansman, one of a handful in
Wallace’s camp. And since no Kerr would leave another’s side in battle, and David was the most loyal of men, Boyd should have
expected his response.
“I go because they do.” Robert smiled. Unbearded, like Boyd, his face was easy to see in the moonlight. Grinning, either
unworried or uncaring about the danger they faced, Wallace’s cousin was equally unmoved as the others.
“Besides,” Ranulf added. “What if the Englishman accepts the terms and you lose? Who else’ll look after your dead
body?”
Now the men, having successfully navigated one dangerous passage to get to this spot and preparing for another, were
having a bit of sport.
“Boyd Kerr?” Robert laughed. “Lose a swordfight. Are you mad?”
“I don’t expect it,” Ranulf said, “but if the Englishman is as skilled as they say . . .” He shrugged.
It had been Ranulf who first proposed the idea to Wallace.
To free Gurstelle’s men to fight alongside them, what if they appealed to the baron’s notorious skill as a swordsman? The
siege of Gurstelle had lasted for more than three months. Rumors of desertion, English men at arms fleeing back across the
border, had reached Wallace’s camp.
“They say”—Richard took Ranulf’s torch—“he was as skilled as Holt in the tourney, even as a young squire.”
Boyd’s cousin, Holt Waryn, was known throughout the isle, and beyond, for his prowess in the tourney.
“Was,” Boyd said. “His time has come and gone. I’ve not heard of him entering one for some time.” Though unusual to
end a siege with a single duel, there was precedent. And if any circumstance was conducive for it, this was the one.
“If he takes up the sword against you, he will not win.”
“And if he does not take up the sword,” Boyd forged ahead once again, acknowledging his companions would not remain
behind, though he’d been compelled to try one last time. “We can do little for the countess she’s not already done for herself.”
They’d discussed her situation at length, of course. Some were not convinced the stories they’d heard were true, that she
held Gurstelle Castle alone. Most assumed that, with no husband or father to guide her, Lady Galia’s marshal was truly in charge.
Stories of her wiping the ramparts with her handkerchief after Lord Halton catapulted huge rocks against them were,
undoubtedly, exaggerated.
And yet, Boyd had no doubt the woman herself led her castle’s siege. He’d never met her. But when Wallace had realized
he would be outmanned when Edward led this rumored attack against them, every one of his closest allies was tasked with one
thing . . . securing more men. Unfortunately, Boyd’s task was more difficult than most. The only approach to Castle Gurstelle
was during a siege; one that risked their very lives.
Most assumed it had been because of their plan to challenge the baron to combat as a way to send the English bastards
home, thus freeing Gurstelle’s men for the coming battle, that Boyd had been chosen for the mission. But he knew it was not the
only reason.
Boyd was not one of the men who questioned the countess’s skill or reputation. How could he, with a sister who served as
a spy for Scotland? Nay, he’d not question the capabilities of any woman, certainly not one who had staved off a man like Lord
Halton, and Wallace knew Boyd was one of only a few men who could convince her to accept aid.
He would not fully trust her, nor any woman outside his own family.
But admire them? That he could, and would, do. Which was, aside from his skill with the sword, another reason Wallace
chose him for this mission. Unlike Boyd, William had met the countess. And though he refused to offer much more than, “You
shall see,” when Boyd attempted to question William any further, he told him only to “come back with those men. Gurstelle is
better positioned to aid this attack from Edward than any other, but they cannot do so held within their own castle’s walls.”
“If we do not survive this trek,” David began. But Boyd stopped him.
“We will,” he said as he looked out over the partially submerged rocks that lay ahead. He smiled at the men, daring the
waves that crashed to shore to take them. “We must.” ...
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