by Alisa Adams
Friseal ambled his large bulk over to them. “I dinnae know him but I believe this man,” he said, looking straight at Cenna. His voice rumbled low and quiet in the dimming twilight of the woods as he stroked his beard. “He has been staying in the shadows, following us for quite some time. He tied up some men that he shot with that old long bow he was carrying.”
Tristan and Cenna stared at the giant in surprise. Tristan was the first to speak up. “Ye saw me? Heard me?”
“Aye,” Friseal said simply.
“Stealthy assassin are ye Tristan?” Cenna said with a mocking grin. “Or should I say Stan?”
“At least I tied up my targets so they couldnae come screaming into camp and pointing fingers at me,” Tristan said back to her.
“I feel better for ye knowing this man is here,” Friseal said to Cenna. “The Munroe is not kind. In fact I think he is a vera bad man. This man here loves ye. Is he yer husband then?”
Cenna scoffed quickly but Tristan smiled at the giant, a knowing grin between the two men. Tristan’s grin grew as Cenna growled something again in dismissal of Friseal’s’ question. Tristan grinned broadly at Friseal as if to say, Not yet, but soon, she just has to accept it.
“I am Tristan, and it is an honor to meet ye Friseal.”
Friseal nodded his head, blushing slightly. “Yer womon is in danger. I heard two of the Munroe’s men say he means to keep her.” Friseal paused as one of his pockets had begun to make a peeping sound. He reached into another pocket and pulled out a piece of bread. He gently dropped a bread crumb into the pocket that was peeping. He looked up at Cenna and Tristan and smiled shyly. “The wee babies were getting hungry.” He cleared his throat and continued. “I think if ye arenae her husband the Munroe will take her to merit him.”
Cenna and Tristan looked at each other. “To get control of Fionnaghall,” they said in unison.
“Is that the white castle on the sea cliffs then?” Friseal asked them.
“Aye,” Cenna said. “Tis me home.”
Friseal nodded his head knowingly. “Tis what he wants. His men were speaking of that vera place.”
“Red Munroe is using the Clearance Act to gain land and power. King George would throw him in jail for this,” Tristan growled.
“The Black Watch Army?” Cenna prompted him.
“Aye, we have the Black Watch, tis one of the reasons they were formed.” Then he looked at Cenna and Friseal. “But where are they? They should have been here by now. I dinnae think they were far behind me.”
Friseal nodded sagely and went to sit by a tree, leaning his head back against it. He started putting bread crumbs into his pocket again.
“What is he doing?” Tristan asked Cenna quietly.
Cenna had gone back to her tree. She too had sat down to rest. “He is feeding some baby birds that are in his pocket. He found them on the road in his village and saved them from getting trampled by Munroe’s men.”
Tristan came and sat beside her, nudging her over so he too could lean against the great pine tree. She gave him a frown but he just shoved her harder. “Move over womon!” he said loudly, giving her a quick wink as he glanced at her sideways.
“I’ll be making ye pay for this ye know, Stan,” Cenna grumbled to him. “I think ye are enjoying this.”
Tristan moved back and forth, adjusting his broad shoulders against the tree. Then he moved his hips back and forth as well, ignoring her sideways disgruntled look at him as his hips bumped hers repeatedly until he got comfortable.
“Perhaps I am enjoying it. I have been ordered to stay close and keep an eye on ye after all,” he chuckled. He wiggled his hips against hers again. “Hmmm, perhaps I am not close enough?”
Cenna sighed loudly and dramatically. She would not admit that his big shoulders felt comforting against hers, and that his hips and thighs touching hers gave her that odd feeling in her stomach.
“Cenna,” Tristan said under his breath. “It looks like Friseal is putting bread crumbs in his beard now.”
Cenna looked up to see the giant gently and slowly putting bread crumbs into his bushy beard.
“Friseal? Ye never answered what is in yer beard.” Cenna added quietly, “What have ye got there?”
One of Red’s men called for silence in the camp as the men bedded down for the night.
In the quiet Cenna and Tristan could hear the rumbling thunder of Friseal’s snoring. Darkness fell over the camp quickly in the mountains. The canopy of the pine boughs above them seemed to arch protectively over the two of them.
“Come here mo chridhe, sleep,” Tristan murmured softly as he pulled Cenna against him and into his arms to sleep.
Cenna pulled back and away. “We shouldnae. What if someone sees us? Stan the guard would not be having his arms around his prisoner!” she whispered urgently.
“Hush, I will wake up at first light, no one will see us,” his deep voice stroked her like velvet as he pulled her once again, gently to him. He even placed a quick, full kiss on her lips.
Cenna sighed softly and nestled willingly against him.
Tristan sighed with contentment. It did not matter that they were in this camp, or even that they were in danger. They were together.
14
Tristan slept lightly. Wakeful to any sound or movement in the camp. He was studying the men. The condition of their horses. What weapons he could see.
He let Cenna sleep, untying her wrists and gently rubbing where they had been chaffed by the rough rope. He kept her tucked against him under his woolen plaid to keep the night’s chill off of her. It may have been the best night of his life, spent holding this woman. He was content, there in the enemy’s camp. As long as he could hold her.
As daylight was just beginning to dawn over the camp, he lightly tied her lovely wrists again and moved away from her. Her soft murmur of disappointment melted his heart, particularly when she reached out in her sleep for him.
Tristan got up and softly walked around the perimeter of the camp. Studying. When he finished and was approaching the far side of the meadow where Cenna and Friseal were, men were waking up and moving about. He stretched his arms wide and yawned as if he too had just risen.
When he walked up to Cenna he was about to ask her if she needed to see to herself. He opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head vigorously at him and waved her bound hands to shush him.
He sat down next to her.
“What is it?” Tristan asked her.
“Shhhh,” Cenna whispered very, very quietly. “Friseal is doing it again.”
“Doing what?” Tristan asked just as quietly.
Cenna motioned to Friseal and Tristan looked over. “I swear he has something in his beard. And he feeds it.”
“Maybe he has a second mouth…” Tristan said sardonically.
Cenna stopped staring at Friseal and slowly turned to Tristan. She just stared at him with her eyebrow raised. Tristan batted his eyelashes at her and shrugged innocently.
“Here,” Tristan said as he shoved a bite of dried meat into her mouth. “Ye need to eat, and here is some tea.” He pushed a flask toward her mouth where she had no choice but to drink.
Cenna gasped and coughed. “Give me a chance will ye!”
“Ye need to eat, ye havena had much food since they took ye,” he growled at her.
“Fine, but slow down, I cannae choke down that dried meat. I must chew it!” she said to him. “Why are you rushing me?”
“Cenna, hush and listen to me. I have Bluebell hidden out in the woods. I brought him in closer this morning. Ye are to say that he is yours and has followed ye,” he said with urgency.
Tristan knew that the horse would be wandering into camp at any moment. He had left him beyond their pine tree, snuffling around. At Cenna’s voice the horse had become alert and was making his way through the brush at that very moment.
When the huge draft walked into the clearing and immediately went to Cenna and Tristan to snuggle their hair and clothin
g, the men of the camp stopped what they were doing and stared.
Tristan stepped aside quickly, leaving Bluebell to Cenna’s kisses and crooning. He did not want it to seem that the horse was familiar with him.
“What is this?” Tristan said loud enough for the whole camp to hear. His voice sounded full of surprise and shock at the big horse who had wandered into camp.
“Tis me horse!” Cenna said in the same loud voice that Tristan had used. “He must have followed me—what a good boy!” she crooned for all to see and hear.
Red came slowly over, looking at the giant draft horse and the smaller woman who was petting and hugging the big animal.
“Ye can have yer horse back now, for one of yer men to ride. I can ride me own horse,” she said matter of factly.
Bluebell nickered softly and nudged Cenna, almost knocking her over, but Cenna just laughed. Red took a step back from the intimidatingly large horse.
“You, Stan, come here!” Red ordered Tristan. “You will ride with her. I dinnae trust her. That horse looks like he can carry two easily.”
Tristan walked towards Red. Bluebell saw him and stretched his great neck out, trying to nudge him as well. Tristan made a great show of acting fearful as he backed quickly away.
Red started laughing and clapped Tristan on the back. “Get over it Stan, you will have to get on the great beast!” Red walked back towards the center of the clearing, shouting the order to mount up.
Tristan looked over at Cenna and winked. She tried to hide her smile but could not control it, particularly when she saw Friseal staring open mouthed at Bluebell.
“Dinnae let Frightful scare me horse now, Friseal. Bluebell can be easily upset,” she said with laughter in her voice, though she wore a serious expression.
“Bluebell?” Friseal croaked. He nodded to the horse and added, “Yer horse is a male miss, and unless me eyes are deceiving me, he’s a stallion as well.”
“That he is Friseal, that he is,” Cenna said and touched Bluebell’s front shoulder. The horse slowly knelt so that she could more easily get up on his back. Tristan came over and tightened the girth of the saddle and got on as well.
“Dinnae ye be frightened now Stan,” Cenna said loud enough for the whole camp to hear.
Cenna heard Tristan growl in her ear. She whispered back to him, for she sat almost in his lap. “Did ye just threaten to bite me?” she said with surprise.
“Aye, I did,” Tristan said in a rough whisper, “after I kiss every freckle on yer body,”
Tristan’s’ mouth was right at her ear, his voice was soft and deep and velvety; it sent shivers down her body. She felt the gentle nip of his teeth then, on the tip of her ear.
“Tristan…” Cenna said with a sighing tremor in her voice.
“Hush mo chridhe,” Tristan said, tightening the hold of his arms around her delectably tiny waist. “Quit yer wiggling in me lap, sweetling…” he said with a strained voice and bit her ear again, none too gently this time. When she gasped in surprise he laughed lightly and nudged Bluebell into the line of the Munroe soldiers.
As they rode down from the mountains, Tristan became edgier. He was looking left and right. The men ahead of them were talking furtively.
Cenna turned slightly towards him. “What is it? Ye are fidgeting,” she said quietly to him.
“We have turned further south, away from the coast,” Tristan answered her under his breath.
“Away from Fionnaghall?” she whispered.
“Aye,” he said against her ear.
Cenna felt Tristan turn from her. “Friseal,” he said quietly in a commanding voice to the giant, who had been riding beside them on his small horse Frightful.
“Aye, I know,” Friseal rumbled. “I will ride ahead and see why we have changed direction. I am eager to get home. I dinnae like this.”
They watched as Friseal rode ahead to the group of soldiers they were following. The soldiers behind them were deep in conversation. They too had noted the change of direction.
Friseal came riding back. “We are headed towards Inversnecki,” Friseal said as he stroked his enormous bushy beard.
“Inversnecki?” Tristan asked him.
“Inverness, Tristan. Why Inverness Friseal?” Cenna asked with dread. She thought she had a feeling where they may be going. Those committing crimes in the Highlands were taken to Inverness Prison. They were shipping a high number of Highlanders that were supposed Jacobite “criminals” to the colonies or other places from the port at Inverness. Getting them out of the country was convenient, so the jailed Highlanders could not contest the overtaking of their land. That is, if they were not hanged.
Friseal shrugged his massive shoulders. He too looked at her with dread. “I dinnae know but I dinnae want to go there. I want to go home,” he said almost plaintively.
“Stay strong Friseal, for the wee ones, and the wee one yer wife is carrying,” Cenna said. “You will be headed home soon, Tristan and I will make sure of that.”
Tristan looked at her with an eyebrow raised and a grim expression on his face.
Where are my men?
* * *
They stopped early that day at a crossroad and made camp.
Cenna and Tristan looked at each other. It was an odd place to stop. Red appeared to be looking for someone or something.
“Why have we stopped here?” Friseal asked with worry. His pocket was chirping loudly but poor Friseal was so agitated he couldn’t see to his wee ones.
“I am not sure Friseal,” Tristan said as he started to go ask one of the other soldiers.
“Dinnae ask,” Friseal put his huge hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Tis not good. I know this road. This leads to the Snecki Prison. This crossroads is where they wait for the prison wagons.”
Cenna swallowed hard. “Tristan,” she whispered. “What is the meaning of this?”
Tristan held her arm lightly. “By Snecki Prison I assume ye mean Inverness Prison, Friseal?”
“Aye,” Friseal said as he looked about. “We are waiting for the prison wagons I think. They come doon this way from the Highlands.”
“Why?” Cenna said with her eyes narrowed, staring down the road as Red was doing.
“Bi crivvens—”Tristan ground out as he stared at what was coming down the road.
Cenna shielded her eyes from the sun to see. Three wagons were trundling down the road pulled by emaciated-looking horses. Soldiers walked in front and behind. Guards. There appeared to be women walking beside the wagons. Wailing, reaching up towards the wagons. The wagons themselves were built like cages.
Cenna felt sick. There were men inside the cages.
Tristan growled low and fierce. “Those are MacDonell plaids...and Black Watch Army plaids,” he hissed furiously.
My men.
15
The lumbering wagons stopped at the crossroads. Red Munroe stood there with his hands on his hips watching them. More than thirty of Red Munroe’s men accompanied the three wagons.
“You were supposed to be here waiting for us. Not us waiting for you!” he raged at the first wagon driver.
Cenna watched carefully, her eyes scanning the men in the wagons. Then she looked up to the tree-lined hills above the road. Searching, searching. There it was. A flash of color amongst the trees. The gold of Flori and Ina’s Clydesdales, and the palest gold of Ina’s hair. Cenna watched. Yes, it was Ina, and there with her was Flori, and Loughlin. Just three. They were tucked back behind the trees. Watching. Waiting.
Cenna looked at the number of Red’s men in the camp—more than twenty, and another thirty with the prison wagons. Her heart sank. They were sorely outnumbered.
Bluebell became agitated, sensing his mares nearby. Cenna stepped closer to his side and put her bound hands around his giant head; cradling him, but also pressing his nose down into her chest so that he could only take in her scent.
When Cenna looked back up, Red and his men had surrounded Tristan. She gasped and reached for a di
rk from her leather corset belt. Tristan gave her a subtle shake of his head.
“It took me a while but I thought I recognized you,” Red snarled. “Ye bear a striking resemblance to Laird Gordon MacDonell,” he said as he narrowed his eyes at Tristan. “You are Tristan, the brother of the great, big, Highlander laird. I should have known from the size of ye. What makes ye Highlanders so big? It is annoying.” He paused. “I was told by one of my men who was at the Macallan village that ye rode a big horse; ye both did, and ye managed to stop my men from running those vile villagers over that cliff. That was very inconvenient of ye.” He sneered at them. “It didnae take me long to figure out who ye were once that huge horse wandered into camp,” he snarled. He motioned to his men, who surged forward to grab Tristan by his arms.
Tristan was able to easily shake the two men off.
Red motioned for more men.
Cenna held tightly to Bluebell. She did not like this, not one bit. If her wrists were untied she would be at Tristan’s back. Fighting. But he had signaled to her to not interfere. She understood, but she did not like it.
The Munroe men who piled on Tristan went flying in all directions.
Shouting and cheering came from the men in the wagons, but Red just ordered more men to attack the lone Highlander. Tristan fought valiantly, laying many of them flat on their backs with his punches. But there were too many.
Too many for even Cenna to launch a dirk at as Tristan was everywhere, swinging, fighting, twirling, kicking. The man was blinding in his speed and accuracy of his hits. But still, Cenna was terrified for him. She had never felt such fear. She could not bear to see them attacking him, to see the blood welling up on his face, his arms, cuts in his chest bleeding through the cream linen of his tunic. Friseal came to stand beside her. His arm pressed against hers in silent support. Her breasts were heaving in fear. She wanted to surge into the fray.
“Untie me hands Friseal, let me help him!” she whispered urgently to the big giant.
“Ye saw him, he shook his head no,” Friseal rumbled back to her. “We must stay out of this. There are too many. He has a plan, missy. Be patient.”