Beloved Stranger (35 page)

She paused, then continued. “When I found him, I knew the English had ordered all Scots killed. I told the Charlton he was English, a man named Howard. I taught him the border speech and gave him my husband’s clothes. As he started to get better, the Charlton feared his presence here might compromise me and moved him into the tower. Then the Charlton took a liking to him and wanted him to join . . . the family.”

The Maclean sat down abruptly.

Her heart turned. The Scot had faced his brother and had not known it. No wonder Lachlan had been angry. If she had given him the brooch earlier, mayhap he would have regained his memory and might never have faced his brother. It was just lucky that he’d stayed his hand. Or brother might have killed brother.

The Maclean was staring at her as if he knew as well. “Why did you take the brooch to the priest?”

“I did not say I had.”

“Nay, but you did.”

She was weary of lying. “I wanted to find out who he was.”

“Why?” he asked abruptly.

“So he could go home.”

“Not because of ransom?”

She flushed. But she was not going to lie any longer. “Mayhap at first.”

“And then?”

“And then I just wanted him to get well.”

“How did they find out who he really was?”

She flinched. “Someone overheard us talking and realized he was a Scot. At the same time, he suddenly got his memories back. Most of them.”

He nodded. “And a ransom is being asked?”

“Aye. The Charlton is risking the king’s wrath. The English ordered all captured and wounded Scots killed, particularly the nobles. They wanted no repeat of the battle.”

“Then why . . . ?”

“Your brother saved the Charlton’s life during that battle with the Armstrongs. The Charlton also likes him. But the other Charltons would resent incurring the king’s disfavor without reward. He had heard that you were on the border, asking about . . . Lachlan.”

The Scot stood, towering over her. “I thank you for caring for him.”

The door opened then, and the Campbell came in.

“The Englishman has been taken.” He looked at her. “He has a lump on his head and will be bound, but he will live.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She listened as Rory recounted everything she had told him.

The Campbell listened intently, then grinned. “Our Lachlan an English reiver? My God.”

The derision as he said “English reiver” made her flinch inside.

Rory glanced at her, then realization dawned on the Campbell’s face.

“My apologies, mistress,” the Campbell said. “I meant no disrespect. It is just that Lachlan has never liked warfare. At one point, he wanted to be a priest.”

Her Lachlan? A priest?

“Why was he at Flodden Field?” she asked, bewildered.

“He took my place because my wife had just had a bairn,” the Maclean said, guilt in his voice.

“He does not remember what happened at Flodden,” Kimbra explained. “Nothing after the battle started.”

“He fought beside the king,” the Campbell said. “I was just a little way from him. He fought hard, then we were surrounded.”

A knock at the door interrupted. She opened it to a man in border clothing and a woman.

The man paid little attention to her. “We should go.”

The woman stared at her. Kimbra started as she recognized the woman from the battlefield.

A broad smile spread over the woman’s face. “I hoped I would see ye again to thank ye.”

The Maclean cleared his throat. “You know each other?”

Kimbra and Mary exchanged glances. Neither wanted to say why they were on the battlefield that night.

“We have met,” Kimbra explained shortly.

The Maclean obviously had more questions, but he turned to the Campbell. “We must go now. I want to be at the Armstrong tower when the demand comes.” He turned back to Kimbra. “Come, mistress, you will go with us.”

She backed up. “No. I have a daughter at the tower. There is a cow here that must be milked.”

“I am sorry,” he said in a harsh voice. “I cannot risk anyone knowing we were here. The man following you did not know who we are. You do. If one Maclean is valuable, another and a Campbell would be even more so.”

“I would not tell anyone.”

“I cannot take that chance,” he said. “You will be returned as soon as it is safe.”

“I will not go.”

“You
will
go. Mary will assure your safety.”

“My daughter . . . she is but seven . . .”

“She is safe at the Charlton tower?”

She stared at him hopelessly. There was no sympathy there, no mercy. He was not like his brother. Or perhaps he was. She had seen glimpses of that hardness in Lachlan.

“’Tis your choice,” he said impatiently.

“I will go with you. But only because you are forcing it. You are a barbarian.”

“So I have been told,” he said. “Gather what you want to take. We will leave shortly.”

T
HE journey seemed interminable. Kimbra could not stop worrying about Audra and what her daughter’s reaction would be when she did not return to the tower, as promised.

The Maclean set a hard pace, traveling through the afternoon and twilight and now night. He stopped only long enough to rest and water the horses.

It was approaching dawn when they finally reached the Armstrong tower. She was exhausted, but pride and anger had not allowed her to show it. She could be as strong as they.

The Armstrong with them had ridden ahead to tell the chief of their pending arrival.

The tower was much like the Charltons’ tower, built more for defense than for beauty or comfort.

She refused proffered assistance from Rory Maclean and slid down on her own. She stood there in the courtyard of the clan that had killed her husband and raided, killed, and thieved from the Charltons for decades. Several men came up to the Maclean and the Armstrong reiver who had accompanied them.

They made way for a man who strode toward him. She did not need anyone to tell her he was chief of the Armstrongs. Alexander Armstrong. Chief. Laird. Thief and murderer.

He reached the Maclean. “There has been a message about your brother. A demand for ransom. Come inside, and ye can read it.”

He looked curiously at Kimbra. “And who is this?”

“Kimbra Charlton. She assisted my brother after the battle,” the Maclean said, adding with a warning tone, “and she is under my protection.”

“A bonny lass is always welcome here,” the Armstrong said. “And protected.”

“I do not think the widow you raided last week believes that,” she retorted sharply.

“Ah, a spirited lass. What do ye plan to do with her?”

“Return her. I just could not allow her to run to the Charltons. Mayhap the person who brought the message can return her.”

“He is sleeping now. Ye can read the demand and get your answer ready.”

The Armstrong gave orders to take and feed the horses, stopping to admire Magnus. He had his hand on the rein. “A fine hobbler,” he said. “He reminds me of one I had years ago.”

The Maclean moved between them. “The horse is under my protection as well,” he said. “The lass will not suffer for assisting my brother.”

“Aye,” the Armstrong said, though his eyes glittered with avarice.

They went inside then, and the Armstrong ordered a servant to show her a room and provide food and drink.

She had little choice but to follow.

 
 
R
ORY had not liked taking the woman.

He simply had not seen any other choice. If he became a prisoner as well, the ransom could well be more than the Macleans could pay.

He was not quite sure of the woman, either. He had seen the looks between Mary and Kimbra Charlton. He knew from talk that both clans had been part of the looting of bodies after the battle. The thought repelled him.

But the woman, regardless of motive, had evidently saved Lachlan’s life. He would not see her incur a loss because of it.

He followed the Armstrong into a small drawing room. He picked up a piece of parchment and read.

The Charltons demanded ten thousand pounds within a week, or his brother would be turned over to the English.

He had nearly that amount but not quite enough. He had not really believed that Lachlan was being held for ransom, or the demand would have been sent directly to Inverleith.

He would just have to offer what he had.

He exchanged looks with Jamie.

“We can offer to send what we have now and promise the other in a fortnight.”

The Armstrong spoke up. “If the English learn that the Charlton is holding a Scot, particularly a Maclean, they will send soldiers for him. Rumors spread quickly. ’Tis best to get him back as soon as possible.”

Rory wished he had taken more time to raise funds, but he had been in a hurry, and hard money had been difficult to obtain, especially in the days following Flodden. He had spent most of his available funds on a new ship and had little on hand. Nor had he been able to borrow any on short notice. The government had been in confusion. He had not wanted to wait.

“Would they take a note?”

“From a Scot?” The Armstrong grimaced. “Ye jest. I would not take one from the English.”

He looked directly at the Armstrong. “Would you take a note from me?”

“I would, but I have not that kind of wealth. Ours are in horses and cattle, and I can spare neither.”

“Then I will try to trade myself.”

“What would that accomplish?”

“Lachlan took my place. I can do no less. He fought in the battle. I did not.”

“Why do we not try the offer first?” Jamie said. “Offer what we have, promise the rest, and see what happens. Mayhap he will accept. The woman said the Charlton was fond of Lachlan. Blazes, ’tis hard not to be fond of Lachlan, but to charm an English reiver into . . .” His voice trailed off as he glanced at Rory.

“What do ye mean?” the Armstrong chief said.

Rory wanted to kick Jamie. It would do their case no good if the Armstrongs knew that Lachlan had fought them, loss of memory or not.

“He is likable,” Rory interceded. “That is all.”

The Armstrong searched his face, then shrugged. “I will send for the Charlton messenger,” the Armstrong said. “In the meantime, ye can write out the offer.” He pushed over a quill and parchment.

They were offered a cup of ale. Jamie accepted. Rory did not. He wanted to be clearheaded as he wrote his reply and spoke to the messenger. Lachlan’s life was at stake.

In several moments the messenger arrived at the doorway. He was a compact man with dark features and a scowl on his face. His face was red, as if he had been drinking.

“I have a reply for Thomas Charlton,” Rory said.

“He will want some of the ransom in gold coins,” the messenger said. “Not promises from a Scot. I cannot go back without, and if I do not . . .” He left the threat hanging in the air.

Rory did not like the man. He did not look directly at him, and there was something in his eyes. But he had little choice.

“How much?”

“A thousand pounds.”

“How do we know we can trust you?”

“I have the Charlton’s own letter.”

Rory did not like it. He liked nothing about this. He thought about asking him to take the Charlton lass with him, but there was something about this man . . .

He nodded. “I have the money. You can leave shortly after I pen my reply.”

The messenger nodded.

It was done.

 
 
KIMBRA had not returned!

Lachlan stared out the window as pale streaks of gold announced the approaching dawn.

Jock had told him late last night that she had not returned. There were suspicions that he might know something, that she might have confided in him.

He knew she would never willingly leave Audra alone. He also knew he could no longer sit here and wait.

Her face haunted him.

Had the Armstrongs intercepted her? Cedric? The thought curdled his soul.

Audra must be scared. More than scared. Terrified. And lonely.

He pounded on the door.

No one answered.

He pounded again.

It opened. It wasn’t Jock but a very resentful Charlton. He’d apparently been sleeping, because he wiped his eyes with his hand. “What are ye hammering about?”

“I want to see Thomas Charlton.”

“He may not want to see ye.”

Lachlan was out of patience. “Ask him.”

The guard slammed the door, and Lachlan did not know whether he had made himself clear. He wished now he’d just hit him.

He had a moment of chagrin. For someone who once loved peace, life seemed to be carrying him to an entirely different place.

Lachlan was ready to try to tear down the walls when the Charlton entered the room. His face was drawn, and he looked older. “I’d sent someone to watch over her. My men found him bound and gagged. He said he was attacked and knocked out.”

“Were they Armstrongs?”

“He believes so.”

Icy fear twisted around his heart.

“Audra?”

“She’s sleeping. She does not know yet.”

“Let me go,” Lachlan pleaded. “I can find Kimbra. You said my brother is across the border with the Armstrongs. If she is there, he will help me secure her release. If not, he will help me find her.”

“I cannot do that.” The Charlton sighed. “My Charltons would not have it. Why could ye not be what I thought ye were?”

“I could have stayed here, and happily,” Lachlan said. “But I would no’ be accepted now. We know that. ’Tis Kimbra and the wee lass I worry about. She said she did not wish to go with me, but she is not safe here. Not with the raids, and not with Cedric prowling around.”