Highland Grace (34 page)

Maryn jumped to her feet. “Nay! I will not
listen to such talk! ‘Tis bad luck, I know it is.” Now
she
twisted her fingers together. Turning, she walked a few paces away.
After a moment, she straightened her spine and threw her shoulders
back. “Nay, we must believe that all will be well, that is the only
way we will make it through this without losing our wits, I’m sure
of it.”

Jesslyn nodded and forced her panic back down
deep once more. “Aye, you are right. For our own soundness of mind,
we must not think on the worst.”

* * *

A moon passed without word from the Maclean
holding, so Laird Donald sent one of his men to scout out the
situation, in stealth, and report back to him.

The man arrived back in the late afternoon,
winded and distressed. With horror in his voice, he gasped out the
news. “The enemy army is legion, Laird. More men than I’ve seen
assembled in my lifetime. And they are well equipped. They’ve war
machines positioned on the north and south side of the barbican and
bombard it mercilessly. “There were many lying dead along the
battlements.”

Laird Donald rose to his feet and began to
pace with his head bent and his hands clasped behind his back. “And
the Macleans? Do they hold steady?”

“Aye, so far. But I know not for how much
longer they can do so. For the numbers against them are vast, as I
said.”

“Have the MacGregors or the MacLaurins
arrived?”

The man shook his head. “Nay, Laird. I saw no
other warriors outside the fortress other than the enemy’s.”

“I wonder what is taking them so long to
arrive?” Laird Donald mumbled to himself before looking up at his
man and saying, “I need you to gather three others and journey to
the MacGregors’ land. Hopefully, you will meet up with them along
the way, but if not, you must carry the message to Laird MacGregor
that he and his men are needed forthwith to aid in this war against
their allies, the Macleans. Mayhap, the missive did not make it to
them. If that is the case, you will travel to the MacLaurins as
well. Understood?”

“Aye, Laird.”

* * *

Branwenn scurried into the shadows of the
stairwell when the scout walked out of the great hall into the
antechamber. She’d heard everything. The Maclean allies had not
arrived yet. And Bao and Daniel were outnumbered by thousands of
men. Men with war machines capable of tumbling the Maclean
fortress! She should not have left her fate in the hands of her
loving brothers. For her, they may be killed. For her, they may
leave two widows and their bairns. For her, they may watch their
clansmen, and those of their allies, perish. It had finally become
clear to her that she was being selfish, that she had willingly
fallen back into her youthful habit of allowing Bao to solve her
problems for her. Of
relying
on him to solve her problems
for her. But she was a woman grown now. She must stand on her own
and do what she must, do what was best, do what would engender the
least amount of grief and destruction to those for whom she cared
most. Do what she had sworn to herself she
would
do if the
prince laid siege to her family’s holding. She straightened her
spine and threw back her shoulders, a new purpose in her stance.
She must surrender herself to the prince and wed with whomever he
had contracted for her hand. It wouldn’t be so horrid to do so, she
was sure of it. After all, Reys had never mentioned her future
husband in any disparaging manner. He must be as fine a man as any
her grandmother had in mind, surely. ‘Twas settled then. She nodded
once for good measure. She would give herself over to the prince.
She plucked her thumbnail against her front tooth. But first, she
must plan a way out of here and figure out how she would get to
this prince before anyone found out what she was about.

* * *

“I cannot understand why none of our allies
have shown up yet. Do you think it possible all of our missives
were intercepted?” Daniel shouted to Bao over the din of battle.
They stood in the curve of the south tower stair, watching the
battle progress through the arrow slit. This was one of several of
the quieter regions of the fortress where they could meet to make
battle plans and give each other news of what was happening in
their area of the fortress where they each battled to keep the
enemy from breaking through.

“Aye, ‘tis the only explanation,” Bao shouted
back. He shrugged and winced from the sting it caused the injury
he’d received this morn from a stray arrow. It had gone into his
chest, just below the collarbone. He’d yet to get the arrowhead
out, instead simply breaking off the wooden shaft and occasionally
dousing the wound with
uisge beatha
, as Daniel had
recommended. “The man has more wit than I suspected. That was a
grave mistake on my part. ‘Twill not happen again, I assure
you.”

“It is not time to worry yet, brother.
Remember you we made provisions for such an outcome in our
planning, that Laird Donald will send a scout here when he receives
no word from us. I’ve no doubt he’ll quickly get word to the
MacGregors and the MacLaurins once he learns of our situation. Our
task is to keep the enemy from overtaking us until that time.”

“Aye. But I think it best that we build the
second mangonel. If we can destroy more of their towers and
ballistae, ‘twill delay their advance.”

“Get the men on it at once,” Daniel replied.
“Where is Derek?” The man had been the lieutenant before Bao’s
arrival, and would be again once Bao took over his duties as Laird
of the Macleans. Derek was now serving as second lieutenant and was
an integral part of the tactical decisions regarding the siege.

“He’s overseeing the defense of the barbican.
Since he is the most skilled with the mangonel, he’s set himself
the task of destroying the tower containing the battering ram that
approaches before it reaches the gate,” Bao replied, absently
rubbing the area around his wound.

“Good,” Daniel replied. Then, noticing Bao’s
movements, asked, “Will you make it until the bombardment ceases
for the night for me to tend that wound?”

Bao nodded. “Aye. I am not losing much blood
from it.”

Daniel gave him a curt nod and moved past him
down the stairs. “I’ll see you in two hours in the north tower. And
make sure Derek is there as well.”

“Aye,” Bao replied as he followed behind his
brother.

* * *

One of Laird Donald’s scouts returned a
fortnight later. Their mission had been a success and forces were
on their way from both the MacGregor’s and the MacLaurin’s to meet
the enemy army on the field.

“I have tidings of the Macleans, as well,
Laird,” the scout said.

“Aye, speak up, man,” Laird Donald said
anxiously.

“One of the brothers has been wounded,” the
man replied.

“Wha—which one?”

“I know not,” he said. “The wound itself was
not mortal, but it must have festered before it was tended properly
and now they fear he’ll perish from the fever, Laird.”

Laird Donald turned and walked toward a bench
and then numbly collapsed upon it. “How am I to give this dreadful
report to my daughter...my guests?” he said hollowly, his eyes
fixed on some point far in the distance. He looked into the eyes of
the scout and said, “Jesslyn, Lady Maclean, only three sennights
past, brought her son into this world. What will be my words to her
if it be her husband that may perish?”

* * *

Branwenn hastened up the stairs to her
chamber and sat down hard on the bed, chewing her thumbnail. She’d
heard all, of course. She’d just begun descending the stairs,
intending to ask the cook for a chamomile tincture for her
menstrual cramping, when she saw the man go through the portal of
the great hall and immediately set about listening to the exchange.
She’d discovered that her only means of learning news of the siege
was to do thus, for Laird Donald held much from them. He was a kind
and good man, but he strove to protect them too much, revealing as
little detail as possible when he spoke of the siege.

The first sennight after hearing news of her
brothers’ fight against the Prince, she tried twice to get past the
guards, but had twice been turned back. Afterward, it had taken a
fortnight of close observation to the routines of the keep to
devise her new plan. And now, ‘twas clear, she must tarry no
longer. She would fly, and fly quickly. She would not even wait
until night fell to do so. She would wear the drab, brown tunic and
tan hose of a villein that she’d worn last summer while she and Bao
lived in the wood. The hood would cover her hair and she’d wear it
low enough to shadow her face as well. With a bit of soiling to her
cheeks and her hands, she should pass through the gate easily
enough.

But the trip would be a brutal one on foot.
If only she could acquire a cart and ox. The wheels in her mind
spun with possibilities. Aye, a cart would make the entire process
easier. And hadn’t she seen just such a conveyance filled with
horse dung sitting outside the stables this morn past? She’d borrow
the thing and make sure that it was returned to its owner within a
day of her arrival at the prince’s camp.

Rising to her feet, she then hastened to the
chest that held her clothing and rummaged through the contents,
flinging out each piece of her villein costume as she came upon it.
With a cart, she should be able to reach the prince before dusk.
And by morn, the siege on the Maclean holding would be over. But
she would insist upon seeing her brothers before she departed. She
must. Worry for their welfare was tearing at her insides. Which one
labored for his life? If it be Bao, she’d die of a broken heart
before she ever left this land. But what if it be Daniel? Oh, God.
Her heart could not stand the pain that worry gave her either.

Within moments she had gathered her villein
attire into a basket and covered it with a cloth. To any who might
see her, ‘twould look as if she carried bread or some other
foodstuff. There would be no suspicion raised, which meant it would
be several hours before the alarm would be sounded that she was
missing.

She’d leave a note, of course. Here, in her
chamber. She looked around for a prominent spot where the missive
would be seen immediately upon entering. The top of her chest. Aye,
that would do nicely.

She quickly scribbled out her tale; where she
was headed, and with what purpose. Surely, by the morrow they would
all be reunited in peace once more. And then they could spend all
their energies on making her brother well again. Before she left
them all to meet her destiny.

* * *

“My son is so big, I cannot believe he sprang
so easily from my loins!” Jesslyn whispered, awestruck and happy as
she held the sleeping babe in her arms and gazed upon him. It was
well past noon now and she’d just awakened from her nap. She looked
up, into the eyes of Lady Maclean. “But, thanks be to heaven, he
did. For I believed I would labor to give him birth at least until
the curfew bells that day.”

“I as well,” Lady Maclean replied. She leaned
forward and placed her hand on the back of the babe’s head. “He’s a
handsome lad, this Bao Li,” she murmured. “He’s the look of his
father, with that black hair and the slight slant to the eyes. But
I can see you in him as well. He has your chin and brow, it looks
to me.”

Jesslyn glanced down once more at her new son
and said, “Aye, he’s lovely. Bao will be so amazed! He was sure
he’d have a wee
daughter
come
Bealltainn
.”

“Aye, that he will be,” Lady Maclean agreed
softly. Settling back on her perch on the mattress next to Jesslyn,
she said, “I should go and check on Branwenn and see how she fares.
‘Tis not like her to lay abed this long, even while she
flowers.”

Jesslyn nodded. “Where is Maryn?”

“She’s in her chamber, I suppose,” Lady
Maclean replied, not ready to speak with Jesslyn about the
possibility that Bao may have been injured, that he may now lie
fevered inside the battle-torn Maclean fortress. Earlier in the
day, while Jesslyn still rested, Laird Donald had given the news to
both her and his daughter that one of her grandsons had been
wounded. Even now, the memory of the tortured cry that Maryn had
emitted before collapsing to the floor sent chills down her spine.
She feared that Jesslyn would have a similar reaction and thought
it best to allow the new mother a bit more rest before revealing
the dreadful message to her that they had received.

“Give her my thanks when you see her. I don’t
know how I would have gotten through these past sennights without
her strength, her courage, and her friendship.”

“Aye, she’s a brave lass.” Lady Maclean rose
from the bed and leaned down, kissing her granddaughter-in-law on
the cheek.

Jesslyn grasped the older woman’s hand in her
own. “And I thank you as well. You’ve now brought
two
lovely, healthy, great-grandbairns into this world.”

Lady Maclean squeezed Jesslyn’s hand before
releasing it. “Would you like me to put the babe in his cradle
before I leave?”

Jesslyn shook her head and gazed once more at
her slumbering son. “Nay. I shall place him there a bit later. I
want to enjoy the feel of him in my arms a while longer.”

Lady Maclean nodded and quietly departed,
leaving the mother and son to enjoy their peaceful and innocent
time together. For it would be so no longer once Jesslyn learned of
the possibly fatal wounding.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Branwenn
abandoned the ox-drawn cart along the southern banks of the loch.
All had gone as planned and she’d managed to depart the Donald
holding soon after she’d devised her escape.

With some apprehension, now that she was so
close to her goal, she steadily walked in the direction of the
wood, knowing only that the prince camped somewhere on its
outskirts. The camp would be mostly deserted at this time of day
while the battle raged, but there would be guards manning the outer
perimeter, and her greatest fear was that they might strike her
down before she had proffered her surrender. Even with that dread
chance, she pushed herself onward. For the prospect of ending the
siege and preventing any further bloodshed was worth the risk.