Quickly, she mounted the horse. It neighed softly. With one last, agonizing look back at the castle, she set off down the track.
Domhnall stirred, reaching for her. His hands clutched at empty air.
He opened his eyes. She wasn’t here.
He frowned. Usually, she slept with him, only going back to her own chambers at first light before the servants started work for the day. Sometimes, they made love again before she stole out of his bed. Usually, he tried to get her to stay as long as possible with him before he was forced to let her go.
Slowly, he got up, still so groggy with sleep he could barely think straight.
I did not speak with her. I fell asleep before we could talk.
Quickly, he dressed. He knew that she would probably be fast asleep, as drained by their passion and recent events as he was. But it would only take a moment to say what he needed to say. And he needed to hear it from her own lips that she was as committed to being with him as he was to her.
He walked down the hallway towards the staircase that would lead him up to her rooms, holding aloft a candle to light his way. The torches only burned sporadically along this section of the castle at night, and it was still as dark as a dungeon.
He reached the top of the staircase. He was almost there. His heart quickened, just a little, at the thought of stealing into her room and watching her sweet face sleeping before he roused her.
Suddenly, he saw a shadow moving quickly along the wall. It was the figure of a woman. He could clearly see the outline of the gown and the fall of her long hair swinging down her back.
His heart seized. It must be Roseann. Had she merely returned to her own chambers to get something, intending to come back to him?
He watched the figure moving towards him until it was in the full light of his candle.
He choked back a gasp of shock. It wasn’t Roseann standing there in front of him.
It was Lady Sineag gazing at him expectantly as if she had been waiting here for him. As if she had known, somehow, that he would eventually arrive.
24
Captain Eric Howard walked out of his makeshift tent and toward the campfire, where many of the men were congregating. He smelt the aroma of roasting meat, along with the smoke from the fire, as he approached.
His eyes swept over the group. There were about ten of them. Dobbins and Hart were obviously in charge of the food—Dobbins was turning the stick above the fire, which held the limp figure of a darkening hare, while Hart was poking at another round lump sitting in the fire’s embers. The rest of the group were either sitting, staring into the fire, sharpening their swords, or standing at the edge looking over the hillside.
“Sir,” said Foster, jumping to his feet as soon as he saw his commander. “You can take my spot if you like.”
Howard shook his head, gazing around the group steadily. “I have no need to sit down, Foster.” He paused, staring at him. “What is your report?”
He waited patiently. The men had been gone all day, scouting the area, doing a reconnaissance of the terrain. They had only made camp here a day ago, close to the border, and needed to get a measure of it. Howard knew how canny these Scots were, and how well they knew their own countryside.
Foster nodded. “There are three villages within ten miles either side of this camp,” he said slowly. “Two of them are so small you might well call them hamlets, but the third is bigger and prosperous with it.”
Howard frowned. “As prosperous as Keelieock?”
Foster nodded again. “Yes, sir. It is a village called Crisdean. We spied a tavern, a market place, and various other stores.” He paused. “Dobbins went into it, disguised as a Scot, to see it up close.”
Howard turned to the man, still turning the meat above the fire. “That was risky, Dobbins. What if someone had spoken to you?”
The man turned his head, grinning. “I know enough Gaelic not to rouse suspicion, sir. My own mother haled from a village near Glasgow. I’ve heard enough of it in my life.”
Howard nodded quickly. “And what were your impressions of the village?”
“Very prosperous, sir,” he replied. “The townsfolk are all as plump as wildfowl and beaming. They don’t have that haunted look that folk in villages have that are starving and don’t know where their next meal is coming from.”
“The Laird of Greum Dubh looks after his folk,” said Hart quickly. “We’ve heard it a hundred times, what a good lord he is. A good manager and he makes sure that the lands are farmed well…”
“I do not need you to give the man a character reference, Hart,” said Howard tartly. “We all know what a superlative character this MacBeathag is. God knows the folk of Keelieock used his name against us, almost like an invocation.” He stared out over the hillside.
His eyes narrowed, thinking about the Laird of Greum Dubh. His name was Domhnall MacBeathag, but he had not had the pleasure of meeting the Laird in the flesh yet. He had dealt with his father, many times, but had never met the son.
He kept staring over the hill, contemplating the man. He must know by now of the sacking of Keelieock; word would have spread like wildfire. And yet, they had not seen a single group of Scots on the attack against them, never mind a well ordered and large group of warriors. It was as if they could wander these moors and glens of Greum Dubh freely as honored guests.
Howard frowned. It was too easy. The Laird of Greum Dubh must be planning something, lying low, and gathering men in order to attack properly. His frown deepened. It showed the mind of a disciplined man, who methodically planned, rather than attacking in the heat of the moment.
MacBeathag could have attacked him straight away after Keelieock, but he had chosen not to. Howard contemplated it. It must mean that his numbers were down, and he was gathering men. No Laird worth his salt would just let a village on his lands be pillaged in that way and not retaliate. The Scots were a hot-blooded, passionate people.
His lip curled slightly, thinking about them. Yes, they were hot-blooded like savages and barbaric into the bargain. He had been stationed in this God-forsaken part of the isle for three years now, and he knew all he wanted to know about the people who lived here. Enough to know that they were less than vermin, and he was doing King Edward a huge favor in getting rid of as many of them as possible.
Anger swept through him. He mustn’t kill all of them, as much as he would like to. If his master plan was to take effect, then he would need some of them. At least for the moment.
He turned back. The meat was done; Dobbins skilfully took the hare off the stick, breaking it apart. He looked at his commander.
“Would you like some, sir?” he asked, blinking rapidly.
Howard smiled slightly. “Eat at leisure, men. You have been gone all day and deserve it. I shall make my own arrangements.”
Dobbins didn’t need any more persuasion. Within minutes, the men had grabbed their portion, wolfing it down. Howard watched them for a moment before making his way back to his own tent.
Crisdean, he thought. Another prosperous Greum Dubh village. It might just be the next target. He smiled slightly as he walked. The Laird of Greum Dubh would not be able to ignore Crisdean, as he had Keelieock. If Domhnall MacBeathag thought what had happened at the first village was bad, it would be as nothing compared to the second.
He remembered what Hart had told him about the smiling villagers. By the time he had finished with them, the smiles would be wiped off their faces, well and truly.
Roseann slipped down slightly in the saddle. She jerked violently, rousing herself with difficulty.
That was close, she thought. If I do not rest soon, I shall fall asleep in the saddle, and end up in a ditch.
She rubbed her eyes, trying desperately to stay awake. Blearily, she looked around, trying to make sense of the terrain. But it looked strangely unfamiliar to her. Had she taken a different track in the darkness, to the one that she should have?
The sun was slowly rising over the hills now. F
irst light had come. It was the dawn of a new day. She had been riding all night, and she felt like she would surely die if she stayed in the saddle even a moment longer.
Quickly, she scouted the area. She could stop anywhere, of course. She could lead the horse down into a valley, or a ditch, and try to stay low. She could find a spot to rest her weary bones and get at least an hour’s sleep before she started riding again.
She frowned slightly. It was risky; anyone could be traveling upon this track and spot the horse. She might be attacked as she was asleep. She stopped the horse for a moment, contemplating it. Was it possible for her to keep riding, to push through her fatigue?
Desolation filled her heart as she stared out over the landscape. She felt so alone and so vulnerable. She had thought that she knew the way back to the border and onwards towards England and Loughton Hall. But she hadn’t counted on the fact that she had been traveling in the dark and might lose her bearings.
Desperately, she fought back the tears. There was no use crying; it achieved nothing, and it only weakened her further. She had done what she had to do in the circumstances. Lady Sineag had forced her hand, making her leave Coirecrag in such a sneaky manner without anyone knowing. There was simply no way she would have been able to leave the castle during daylight without someone noticing and reporting it to Domhnall.
Her heart seized, thinking of the Laird. She pictured him as she had left him, lying in bed, deeply asleep after their final lovemaking. What would he think when he discovered that she had vanished without saying a word to him? Without even saying farewell or explaining why she had no choice to do what she was about to do?
He will hate me, she thought sorrowfully. He will believe that I do not love him, to leave him in such a way. How can I bear it, knowing that he will think ill of me?
She took a deep breath, staring out over the landscape. No doubt it had been part of the Lady Sineag’s plan. It hadn’t been enough to send her away. Lady Sineag also had to discredit her in the Laird’s eyes to make him think badly of her, and she had to make him believe that Roseann didn’t want to be with him anymore.
Roseann took another deep breath. Maybe it was all for the best. Maybe it was better that he hated her, believing that she had heartlessly deserted him. He would not pine for her, as she would for him. He would be able to move on one day. Perhaps he might even find another woman to love.
The horse beneath her neighed softly, stomping its hooves. She leaned down, softly stroking its coat.
“I know,” she whispered into its ear. “I know that I have pushed you hard and that you are tired. I am sorry. We will rest soon.”
Despondently, she kept going over the mount of the hill before her, her eyes scouting for a safe place to rest—a place where no one would be able to discern them from the track.
She reached the top of the hill. The sun had risen almost fully into the sky, now, and she had to shield her eyes to see clearly.
Suddenly, she saw it. In the distance, she could clearly see a village. She discerned the high spire of a kirk and the Celtic cross like a beacon to her weary eyes.
Her heart leaped. A village. A village would have an inn, where she might be able to secure a room. She had enough coin. She would only have to rest for a few hours there before continuing on. And she could ask someone for directions.
“That’s it, boy,” she whispered excitedly to the horse. “We will be able to rest safely!”
She spurred the horse on, down the track, towards the village. Her weariness seemed to have vanished, at least for the moment, with the anticipation of safe rest. She would be able to eat a good meal, too, and keep up her strength for the rest of the journey.
The village was just awakening for the day as she entered it. She saw people walking along. All of them gazed at her curiously, but they did not hail her.
She spotted an inn. Quickly, she dismounted, leading the horse towards it. She tethered the beast, before entering the building, blinking rapidly to accustom her eyes to the darkness.
A man approached her, frowning.
“Can I help ye?” His voice was almost a growl. And his eyes were suspicious as they rested on her.
She took a deep breath. “Yes. I hope so. I am seeking a room to rest a little on my journey.” She smiled tentatively. “I have been traveling all night. What village is this?”
His face darkened imperceptibly. She felt a small frisson of fear.
“Ye have entered Crisdean,” he said slowly. “And ye are not from around these parts. Are ye English?”
“Yes,” she replied warily, stepping back a little.
His face darkened further. Suddenly, he lunged, grabbing her.
“Ye are not welcome here,” he spat into her ear. “We ken what happened at Keelieock, and ye are one of the murderers, as surely as if ye had wielded a sword yerself.”
25
Domhnall cursed under his breath, striding into the courtyard. His guards had alerted him, just ten minutes ago, that a large group of riders were approaching the castle gates. And that they wore the pattern of the Lios clan.
At last, he thought wearily. At last, the Laird of Lios has come.
He adjusted his scabbard, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He had slept in, after falling into the deepest slumber, once he had finally returned to his bed last night, and it had been difficult to rouse himself.
He stared at the castle gates awaiting the riders.
He yawned, trying to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. His mind drifted back to the previous night when Lady Sineag had stopped him on his way to Roseann’s chambers.
He had stared at her, mystified. “Lady? Why are ye still awake, and why are ye here?”
She had smiled. “Laird. I couldnae sleep, and often walking tires me out. I was so excited, ye see, and if the hour were nae so late, I would have knocked on yer chamber door, to tell ye…”
He gazed at her. “To tell me what?”
Her smile widened. “I had word, very late, that my father is due first thing tomorrow. He is to arrive at Coirecrag, just as he has promised.” She paused. “Is it not grand news, Laird?”
A swift exaltation had consumed him on hearing her words. He gazed at her, his eyes glittering fiercely.
“Are ye sure?” he had breathed. “The Laird of Lios is due to arrive tomorrow with the men he has promised?”
She had nodded. “I am sure, Laird!” She took a deep breath, gazing at him steadily. “Did I not tell ye, that as soon as our betrothal was formally announced, that he would come?”
He nodded. “Ye did. And I am very grateful for it.” His eyes flickered towards Roseann’s chamber door, just behind her. “It seems that it was lucky, indeed, that we were both awake and restless, that ye could tell me. Do ye think ye are able to rest, now, and return to yer chambers to sleep?”
She laughed softly. “I find I cannae, Laird. It will be hours before I can sleep, I fear.” She gazed at him. “I might sit a while in this window seat. I find that staring out at the night sometimes tires me. Would ye care to join me, if ye are still restless yerself?”
He shook his head, his eyes flickering to the door behind her again. Roseann was just behind it, lying in her bed. The desire to see her and talk to her was so strong. But the lady who stood in front of him was not planning on moving from this area for a long time yet, and there was simply no way he could force her to, without arousing suspicion as to why he was here.
He sighed. It seemed that events had conspired, yet again, to delay their conversation about what their future held together. He would find time tomorrow, even if it was only briefly, to speak with her. And besides which, she needed her rest just the same as he did.
“I will leave ye, lady,” he said, bowing slightly. “I shall try to rest, now, to be up early to greet the Laird and his men when they arrive. Thank ye for telling me. It warms my heart…” He blinked back sudden tears, overcome with emotion.
She had nodded. “Very well, Laird.
Rest well. Tomorrow shall be a busy day, ye ken.” She had walked to the window seat, settling herself, staring out at the courtyard below.
He had gazed at her for a minute. She was his future wife. His eyes traveled over her long auburn hair, and the clean lines of her profile, as she stared down at the courtyard. There was no denying she was a beautiful woman, but all he could see was another. A woman with long, dark hair and amber eyes.
He thought about Roseann, now, as he stared at the gates, awaiting the Lios men. He had not seen her this morning, either, but that was nothing unusual. His loins stirred a little, remembering their most unexpected lovemaking.
A Pledge of Passion to the Highlander Page 17