Tamed by a Laird by Amanda Scott

cold, and uncertain whether the man in her dream or someone nearby had made the last comment,
     Jenny opened her eyes.
    The dim glow of torchlight over the courtyard revealed several pairs of men moving about. Most looked like menat-arms.
    Deciding she had dreamed the whole thing and had wakened because of the cold, she pulled up her blanket, snuggled closer to
     Peg, and went back to sleep.

Chapter 5
    S unday morning, Hugh and Lucas arrived at Lochmaben just as the sun’s first rays peeked through the space between low rose-colored
     clouds and the hills to the east. They had left Castle Moss well before dawn and had made good time.
    An hour later, they were waiting with their two sumpter baskets for a boat to come and take them across the last ditch into
     the castle. In the intervening time, they had arranged to leave their horses with lads watching the minstrels’ animals and
     Hugh had talked their way past the sentries at each of the three drawbridges.
    The air had grown colder overnight, making the gentle breeze icy. Thinking wistfully of the hooded wool cloak in his gear,
     Hugh drew his long purple silk cape more closely around him and wished his plumed cap came lower over his ears.
    The smell of snow in the air was stronger today, and clouds gathered over hills to the east and south as they had each day
     for a week. But whether they would do more than thicken and threaten as they had before or dissipate again during the night
     would be important only if Lochmaben denied them entry.
    Lucas was muttering, but Hugh ignored him, because the castle gates had begun to swing open. Aside from men manning the drawbridges
     from secure stone towers on the castle side of each of three previous ditches, he had seen no guards outside the castle wall.
     They’d had to shout to men on the wall.
    Hugh knew that harassment from Scots in the dale had made the precautions necessary. The life of English soldiers occupying
     a Scottish castle miles from the border must be unpleasant. Yet the English had controlled Lochmaben for decades.
    His private opinion was that the Scots could rout them if a strong leader had the stomach for it. David Bruce, the previous
     King, had not been such a leader. That he could carry his famous father’s blood in his veins and refuse to fight for freedom
     from English occupation had mystified many Scots. But David was dead, succeeded by Robert the Steward, a man reputed to have
     been a fine warrior.
    And so he had been—in his youth.
    The third anniversary of the Steward’s coronation was nearly upon them, and so far, he had done nothing to justify his warrior
     reputation. He was in his sixth decade; his eyes were always bloodshot, and men said he seemed only half awake most of the
     time. Those who knew him best called him Old Bleary.
    His sons were no prizes either. But Robert the Bruce had decreed that the King’s eldest son must succeed him, thus ending
     the ancient practice of Scotland’s most powerful nobles’ choosing the worthiest man among them to be King of Scots. But Bruce’s
     method had clearly weakened the Scottish Crown and, in Hugh’s opinion, even threatened Scotland’s future as a nation.
    A boat now appeared in the open gateway, with two men rowing a third. They did not seem to be in any hurry.
    “D’ye honestly think they’ll let us in?” Lucas muttered.
    “I believe they’ll let me in. I’m hoping they’ll keep you out.”
    Lucas’s bushy dark eyebrows shot upward. “Ye’re hopin’?” He looked toward the sky. “Behear the man! Have I offended ye then
     by tellin’ ye flat that ye be daft as muck to be walkin’ into t’ English lion’s mouth like ye’re a-doin’?”
    “Nowt o’ the sort, and you know it,” Hugh said. “We ken fine that the English have spies everywhere, including a number of
     Scots, may the devil seize them. ’Tis likely that someone from this lot has seen us traveling together.”
    “Aye, that be true.”
    “It is, and for