Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) (9 page)

Evers stepped back as Maxwell drove his knife through the man’s throat and upward into his skull, lifting him until the messenger was at eye level with him. Even in the dark, he could see the life disappear from the man’s young face, and he let the body drop into the murky water. The chain shirt pulled the body under, and only a few bubbles remained. Soon those were gone, as well.

Sir Ralph nodded his approval. “Henry and Hertford be damned, Maxwell. I’ll send word we found no treasure here.”

Time goes on crutches till Love have all his rites.

Kenna stood in the shadows next to the skin flap, dagger drawn, holding her breath. Waiting. Alexander pushed himself to one knee by the straw pallet and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the sword. Moonlight poured over him from the small window, making him the immediate target of whoever came through the door.

She’d made no fire. They’d done nothing that might bring anyone to this hut in the middle of the night. Kenna tried to remember what Jock told them about the marauders. Five or six or more in each raiding party. Too many for the two of them to handle.

Footsteps. Right outside the door.

Her heart drummed. Cold sweat prickled along her spine. She and Alexander exchanged a look. At the very least, they’d both die fighting.

The flap pulled back. A head appeared. Kenna stopped herself at the last moment from jabbing the dagger into the intruder’s neck. It was Jock.

She grabbed the back of his shirt and tossed him inside. He rolled onto the dirt floor.

“I’m alone,” he chirped. “No one else.”

She peered into the darkness, listening for any other noise. She was too tense to take the boy at his word. She let the skin flap fall back in place.

“Coming back was dangerous.” Her tone was sharp. “I could have killed you. What are you doing here?” She cringed, thinking how easily she could have hurt the boy.

He stood up and pulled a satchel of rough woven sacking off his shoulder, giving it to Alexander. “I brought you food.”

“Someone could have followed you,” Alexander told him.

Her heart still hammering in her chest, Kenna looked out the tiny window. The moon was bright, but she saw no movement except for the soft breeze through the branches of the pines.

“No one followed me,” Jock grumbled. His gaze went from one to the other, searching for an ally.

The Highlander wasn’t satisfied. “Anyone could have seen the boat from the shore. They could be out there now.”

“Nay, I landed a ways down the loch and pushed the boat out into the tide. No one will know where I came ashore. I’m not helping them to find you. But they’re coming.”

“Where are they? How many?” Alexander asked, taking a deep breath and standing.

“Their groups are getting bigger. They’re combing the loch on both shores, north and south.”

Alexander pulled his shirt on and arranged his kilt. Kenna had washed much of the blood out of his clothes after he fell sleep.

“They could be here any time.” The boy’s gaze flitted from the Highlander’s face to the wound in his side.

Kenna straightened her clothing. She tucked the dagger into her belt and went to her husband to help him strap on his sword.

“You should be with your kin,” she said. “Not here. How will you get back to them with your boat gone?”

“None’s left.” Jock’s voice lost its tough edge.

They turned to the boy.

“What do you mean?” Alexander asked.

“As I rowed past the point below here, I saw it. The village was already burning,” he said softly. “The flames was shooting high in the sky. I didn’t know what to do, so I beached and hid in the trees. When the bastards moved on, I come out, but I couldn’t find my sister and her bairnie nor none of the cousins. One of the old folks hid himself under a log in the glen and come out too while I was there. He said the others took to the boats and others to the hills, aiming to work their way north, he figured. He was too old to run, he said. Them devils killed the ones that stayed.”

“Were they Scots or English?”

Jock spat on the floor. “Mostly Scots. Maxwell men.”

“Who is this Maxwell?” Kenna asked.

“He’s the youngest son of a laird down by Loch Lomond,” Alexander answered. “Fought in France. Switched sides a few times, they say, fighting for whoever paid the most gold. Cast off by his family. Bad reputation as long as I can remember.”

She wanted to ask why Maxwell would be after her, but with the lad here, she decided to hold her questions.

“You should go after your family. You won’t be safe traveling with us,” Alexander said to the boy.

“I’m going north, same as you. And with those devils about, you canna go along the loch shore. You’ve got to go over to the hills to Oban. I know the way.” He touched the hilt of the dagger at his belt. “And with me, you’ll have an extra hand for protection.”

Normally, his size would have made Kenna laugh. He was no bigger than her brothers, but she knew what the boy was capable of. Alexander was standing up straight, looking strong, but she guessed he was still hurting.

“You should eat something before we go.” She divvied up the food. Jock shook his head at the offer.

“You’re still alive,” he said finally to the Highlander. “Didn’t think you would be.”

“So now we have the truth. You came back to woo my wife.”

The boy cast a wary eye at Kenna. “You healed him?”

Kenna heard the hint of accusation in the boy’s question. She was still trying to fathom what had happened. One moment, she’d thought her husband was going to die. The next, she was able to close the wound and stop the bleeding. Her mother’s gift had to be responsible for Alexander’s recovery. But how? Kenna could come up with no logical answer.

She thought back to her childhood. To her mother. Sine was respected as the laird’s wife. She was valued as a healer like any physician. There’d been no rumors of sorcery. If the stone was the source of a healing power, Sine MacKay had shown no clue of it.

Kenna needed time to think. She had to remember what exactly had happened yesterday. Perhaps Alexander’s injury wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

Ignoring the boy’s question, she gathered up the blood-soaked rags and kicked the straw bed. It was best if no one guessed they’d spent some hours at this hut.

“How did you do it?” Jock persisted.

“My husband is a warrior. He has scars from many wounds.” She looked around the cottage.

“Did you sew it closed?” the lad asked. “It’s not bleeding no more.”

She saw Alexander reach under the shirt and touch the wound, but he said nothing.

“Finish eating. We need to go,” Kenna ordered. “We haven’t much time before dawn.”

Emily. One moment stubborn and fiery, the next docile and agreeable. She knew how to get what she was after, but James saw that she was careful of not pushing him too far. The two sides of her were contradictory. And yet, the mix of the two was so alluring. Too alluring.

She had to go, he told himself. She was about to be married. He didn’t need the complication of a hardening cock every time he looked at her. He needed to distance himself from her, but he also needed to consider her safety. He could not send her directly to Craignock with Kester. The way south could be dangerous, what with the night and the marauders lurking about.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

So she stayed with them as they moved at a snail’s pace along both sides of the river, searching for some sign of Alexander and Kenna. She kept away from him, but not so far away that James could forget for a moment her maddening presence.

At the first light of the day, they found bodies by the river and in a nearby clearing. James went from one bloody corpse to the next, relieved not to find his brother among the dead. He directed his men to spread and search the surrounding glen. If any of the raiding party remained in the woods—if Alexander or Kenna lay wounded somewhere—he didn’t want to miss them.

Kester confirmed James’s conclusion a short time later. “They were here. The two of them. Tracks of a barefoot woman and a man, in the mud by the river. One raider lying dead where he must have confronted them on the bank. Alexander cut him down before the fight moved here into the clearing. Had his hands full, it appears.”

James looked around at the dead. “They’d need more than this to kill my brother.”

“Aye. But where are they now?”

“I dinna think they took Alexander prisoner,” one of the Macpherson men said. He pointed west. “The trees give way to salt marsh not far from here. There’s a loch beyond, but there’s no cover for them and no sign they went that way.”

“They must have continued following the river,” James told them. “They’ll be heading to Oban, where Alexander believes the exchange for the ship was to take place.”

“Aye,” Kester agreed.

James noticed Emily standing at the edge of the circle. He exchanged a look with Kester.

It was time.

“Can I talk to you alone for a moment?” she asked.

James nodded and followed her until they were out of earshot of the others.

Three days on horseback, one night sleeping on the hard ground, and the next night searching along this river. Her clothes were rumpled and dirty. Her blond hair was a jumbled mass of windblown curls. Her blue eyes had dark circles under them. But she still looked beautiful. Damn it.

She had to go now.

“Kester will accompany me back to Craignock Castle. You can keep the rest of the MacDougall men.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“You’re not only searching for your brother. My cousin is missing, too.”

“She is my sister by marriage,” he said, feeling a prickle of annoyance. “I have no intention of fishing Alexander out of this river and letting Kenna drown.”

“I didn’t think you would. I meant nothing of the kind. I’m trying to help. Nothing more.”

“We can find them without MacDougall help.”

“You’re being pigheaded.”

“No more pigheaded than you forcing yourself on us at the most inconvenient time.”

“I didn’t force anything on you. We were traveling in the same direction.”

“You should be at Craignock Castle right now.”

“I’ve been no trouble. I didn’t complain once.”

“You slowed us down.”

“I kept up with you. You’re just being difficult. And I’m the one who should be angry about the lies you told me.”

He stared at her flushed face, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the full lips that begged to be kissed. “Enough. I have no time for this. You can complain to your father. Take your men and go. Safe journey.”

He was about to walk away, but she reached for his arm. A hesitant touch.

“Wait. I don’t want us to part ways like this.”

The other Emily was back. The soft-spoken beauty. James told himself to walk away before she tangled him completely in her net, but his arm burned beneath her touch.

“You have to go back to Craignock Castle,” he managed to mutter.

Her hand dropped. “I’ll go. Kester and his men will deliver me safely back to my father.”

Her gaze moved over his face, his neck, focused on his lips for an extra heartbeat before meeting his. Then she took two faltering steps back.

“I am eager for my marriage.” It was a lie. It came through to him clear as a bell. “And I’m keen to finally meet Sir Quentin. I’ve heard that he’s kind and generous. Absolutely the man of my dreams.”

James felt the frustration rising within him. She took another step back.

“He needs an heir. So the next time you and I meet, if that time ever comes, I’ll be holding his bairn at my breast.”

James gripped the hilt of the sword. Say nothing, he told himself.

“Farewell, James,” she whispered before running across the clearing to where Kester waited with her mount.

Just to the gate of hell I will go;

and there will the devil meet me,

like an old cuckold, with horns on his head.

Before they’d reached the top of the first hill above the loch, the ache in Alexander’s side had given over to a sharp, piercing pain. With every awkward step, a molten blade sliced through his belly, taking his breath away. Leaning on a stout stick he’d picked up, he did his best to avoid Kenna’s looks of concern. He would not slow them down.

They continued to climb steadily through the hills and valleys, traversing open meadows as quickly as they could and staying close to the heavy pine forests when possible. Past midday, a steady rain began to fall. The whirling mists that hung about were a godsend. It would be difficult for anyone to see them. At the same time, he couldn’t see what lay ahead.

The hills were steep and the waist-high gorse heavy. Before they left, Kenna cut in two the sacking that Jock brought from his village, and tied the pieces to her feet. Alexander didn’t think they could provide much protection from the sharp rocks and brambles.

As the day wore on, he found himself stopping more and more, leaning on his stick and breathing heavily. The yellow flowers and their fragrant scent reminded Alexander of the hills around Benmore Castle. The highlands around the Spey were covered with it. The gorse was just coming into bloom when he left. He brushed aside the thought that he might not see his home again.

The pain was growing fiercer with every step he took. Once, wading across a rushing stream, Alexander became dizzy, nearly losing his balance, but Kenna was beside him in an instant. Somehow, they kept moving.

Later—how much later he didn’t know—as they climbed a slippery track, he stopped to catch his breath. Trying to focus on the hill ahead, he saw Jock scramble up through some boulders at the summit. Alexander looked back across the mist-enshrouded valley. There was no sign of Maxwell’s men, but he knew they had to be coming. And he knew he was making it easier for the pursuers to overtake them. What was worse, it appeared that the rain was easing a little. The mist was dissipating.

“Do you need to rest?”

“Nay.” He started up the incline and stumbled over a rock, wincing with pain. She took hold of his arm.

“We need to stop,” she said.

“We can’t,” he replied. “They’re following us. Traveling faster. With the rain stopping, they’ll find us.” And I don’t know how much protection I can offer, he finished silently.

“Let me help you.”

“Stop fretting over me.”

“Fretting? It’ll be a cold summer in hell before I fret over you. Now put your arm on my shoulder.”

At the crest of the hill, the boy was waiting. Outcroppings of stone were visible as far as he could see in either direction along the ridge.

Alexander eased himself down onto a boulder and turned to Kenna.

“We part ways here,” he told her. “You and Jock will go on without me. You can find your way to Oban by midday tomorrow if I’m not slowing you down.”

“I’ll do as I want.” She took his hand in hers. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“Kenna, I’m telling you to go. You’ll find Macphersons in Oban—or those who know us. Send back whoever you find there. I’ll be waiting.”

“You’ve lost your senses. You might as well order these rocks to walk to Oban.”

It was impossible to imagine her more disheveled or more beautiful. This was the way he’d always remember her. Temper bringing color to her cheeks. She was ready for battle. A knot tightened in his throat. His wife.

“These last days,” he said, “in spite of anger, injury, or danger, you’ve stayed beside me. You’ve done your duty. But now you need to be reasonable. For both of our sakes.”

She snorted.

“We can’t fight them here if . . .
when
they catch up to us. You need to go and get help.”

“We both know that I can’t get back here quickly enough. We stay together.”

“Listen to me, Kenna. Any fool can see that you care for me, but—”

“You’re a fool if you think I care a straw about you.”

Her eyes and her actions contradicted the words. And her response to him in the fishing hut before Jock arrived and interrupted them told him all he needed to know. They were together, and they had to learn how to maneuver the rough waters. But she needed to listen to him now.

“If you don’t care, why are you still here?” He brushed a streak of dirt from her cheek.

“Why?” Kenna pushed his hand away. “Because you carry a sword. And you’ve shown that you’re worth having around in a fight.”

“You’re not too bad yourself. Lethal, with that dagger of yours.”

“A good thing to keep in mind. I may still use it on you.”

“Too late. I know you won’t make me bleed. Not after saving my life.”

“You’re a greater simpleton than I thought,” she said. “And you must be too muddleheaded to remember. I warned you yesterday and I’m warning you today. I’ll not have some Lowland dog wearing English fancy pants killing you. I’m the only one to do it.”

“Do you think I could forget such sweet talk?” He smiled, respecting her hardiness. “It’s time you followed your husband’s orders.”

“You must take me for the mother of fools.”

“Not yet. But if that’s what we’re blessed with, so be it.”

“Now you listen, Alexander Macpherson. I decided yesterday that I’m staying with you until we reach Oban, no matter what comes of it. So stop giving orders. You’re not in charge here. I am.”

“Is that so? Has the world turned upside down? And do you have a satchel with you to carry my balls in?”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“You’re going to Oban.”

“Aye, with you.”

Kenna walked away and waved to the boy, who had been keeping his distance.

Alexander wasn’t done arguing with her. But he couldn’t keep up the pretense of strength. He felt hollow, exhausted. His body was giving out. He had no open wounds now that he was aware of, but his gut felt like it had been ripped asunder and stuffed with hot, writhing eels. And each time he moved, it was getting worse. He realized that his mind was wandering. Perhaps he was finally dying.

He heard Kenna’s voice, but he wasn’t sure if any time had passed. She sounded distant. Or maybe she was inside his head. He couldn’t tell the difference.

“Jock, do you know where we can get out of this weather?”

“No hut that I know of. Wait—there is a place. Over that way. But I don’t think . . .” The boy’s voice faltered as if he had misgivings about what he’d admitted.

“Tell us,” Kenna ordered. “Where? How do we get there? How far?”

“A cave, of sorts. It’s in the dark wood not far from here. But no one goes there.”

“Even better. Take us to it.”

“It’s not a good place. Ghosts and fairy folk live there. It’s where they bring stolen bairns and lost children and roast ’em over a pit. The cave has bones piled high as the moon. They say the witches gather there on . . .” He stopped.

“Take us there now, Jock,” she ordered quietly.

Alexander twisted at the waist as a searing bolt tore through his belly. He wanted to stay here. He wanted them to go. He wanted Kenna safe and far away.

“Come and help me.” Kenna’s voice rang in his ear. “
Now
.”

He looked up into her eyes. She looped his arm over her shoulder. Jock was at his other side, trying to lift him off the rock.

“I know you’re in pain. But you need to help us.”

“Go to Oban,” he ordered.

She touched his cheek and looked into his eyes. Her words were a whisper, intended only for him. “I need to help you heal. But we’re too exposed here in the open. The fog can lift any moment. We will be seen from below. So if you’re worried about me, if you care for me at all, stand up. Help us however you can.”

Alexander cared for her . . . far more than he’d ever shown. Holding onto them both, he pushed to his feet. He didn’t know where he summoned the strength. The hills around him were a distorted haze that wavered with every movement of his head. He forced himself to move his feet where Kenna and Jock guided him. As they went, she continued to whisper words of encouragement.

They descended from the crest a short distance and then followed the ridge until they entered the darkness of a forest. The scent of pine filled his head and the bed of needles beneath his feet was soft and inviting. How long they traveled, he had no idea, but suddenly the boy stopped dead.

“Come on,” Kenna said.

“This is as far as I go. I’ll not go closer.”

“I can’t hold him up on my own.”

“I’m sorry. That’s the place. There. At the edge of the clearing, where the ground drops off, you’ll see the entrance.”

Alexander focused. Just below them, huge slabs of rock stood in a circle. He’d seen other places like this. From the old religion. Through a break in the trees beyond it, the vista opened onto another rugged valley below.

“Then wait here and keep watch,” Kenna ordered.

Jock shrugged and backed away. “There’s danger here. Souls of the dead, fairies, ghouls.”

“You need to be a man now,” she told the boy. “Those curs following us are the real danger. Understand me?”

Alexander did all he could to help her, and somehow he and Kenna lurched across the circle. Suddenly, the misty rain gave way to the cold dampness of a cave. The smell of the grave invaded his senses. They pushed deeper into the half-darkness. Never in his life had he felt less prepared or less capable of dealing with whatever lay ahead.

“This is far enough away from the entry,” she whispered.

She helped him sit, and Alexander leaned back against the damp rock wall. He wanted to close his eyes, but the thought occurred to him that he might never open them again.

“You got your way,” he murmured. “You brought me here. Now go to Oban and send someone back.”

“Hush.” She knelt beside him and caressed his brow. She pulled his tartan off his shoulder and moved the shirt away from the wound. Her fingers touched his skin. Warmth instantly replaced pain. As she prodded the flesh below the wound, he felt a stirring in his loins.

“Would you tease me like this when I’m not ready for you? Go to Oban. I’ll be waiting for you here when you come back with help. Ready and rested.”

“Close your eyes. Let me do what I must.”

He wanted to watch her. But his body was spent. He drifted off, vaguely aware of the feathery touch of her hand and how the pain dissolved wherever she stroked.

Hovering somewhere between reality and dreams, Alexander saw the two of them together in an open meadow. Kenna’s hair was a cascade of curls on the green grass, her eyes shining with desire. He kissed her lips, and her arms encircled him, drawing him deeper into the embrace.

He wanted her. He wanted to make love to her. He touched her face and ran his hand down her neck and breast, along her stomach and legs until he reached the hem of her skirt. He slid it up.

“Is it time, lass?”

“It’s time, Alexander.”

“We’ve waited so long. Too long.”

“Wake up, Alexander.”

He blinked a few times, and the cool darkness of the cave returned, replacing the warm sun of the meadow. He turned his head in the direction of her voice. Kenna’s face came into focus. She was crouching beside him.

“We need to go. I just went out to check on Jock. The boy’s gone.”

How does a king conquer a country? He raises an army.

And how does a king raise an army?
thought
Evers.
He calls on his dukes and his earls, who call on their barons and knights, who drag their peasants from their plo
w
s and their scythes and their flocks and their herds. They put a lance or a bow or a sword in their hands and tell them,
“
Do your duty, for God and King Henry.
”

But how long will duty keep them at their killing task?

And how do I raise an army? I start with duty. I tell them,
“
For God and country, and good Sir Ralph.
”

And how do I keep them when duty grows old and the harvest at home is ready to take in?

Gold.

The fields and the flocks will wait while I have gold to share. And share it I will, with Englishman and Scot, if they will fight for me.

Gold. I know now it is only a means to the end.

Aye, before I am finished, I will be king of Scotland.

Then perhaps greater still.

And in the meantime, we will enjoy this hun
t
a’ force.
We have good game in this woman who carries the healing stone. She is no doe, but a hart
of
ten, and the antlers are sharp. That is what makes the game worth playing: the risk of loss elevates the stakes
. . .
and the gain. And how is a kingdom won without the hunter’s skill?

I will take that stone, as the chess player takes the queen. For then I am master of the game. I will have that piece. Even now, I drive her into the corner where she will fall.

I have heard the horn
calls from my hunters in the west, and I know I have flushed out the hart. The chase was good, and the prey is now cornered. At bay. The hounds close in on all sides. There will be no escape.

My arrows will find their mark, and I will break the body of the slain hart. The choicest meat will go on the stick.

And the second stone will be mine.