The thought of the brave stable hand gave her a fresh spurt of energy. She didn’t look left or right. She simply ploughed on, through the trees, sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her.
She had reached a stream.
She stopped abruptly, staring longingly at the water. She was so very thirsty. She looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone following her, and she was far enough away from the village now that she could no longer hear the screams.
Slowly, as if in a dream, she walked towards it. She bent down, scooping the water up in her hands, drinking deeply.
She had never appreciated water so much in her life.
When she was satiated, she sank down, sitting at the edge of the stream. Her legs were so sore; she felt as if she had torn every muscle in them. And she was covered in scratches from branches as she had torn through the trees.
She put her head in her hands, trying to think, and trying desperately to figure out what she was going to do now.
But her mind and her body simply rebelled. She was utterly exhausted, drained in a way that she had never felt before. The horror of it all kept pushing into her mind relentlessly.
The soldiers. The screams of the villagers. Moibeal’s death. Angdaigh’s sacrifice.
She shuddered violently. Suddenly, she was overcome with tremors. They shook her from head to toe. Her very teeth chattered with them.
Slowly, she lay down on the ground, her arms tightly around herself, hugging herself tightly.
Domhnall, she thought desperately. My love. My love.
She awoke with a start. The sun was setting over the hills, casting orange and pink rays over the stream.
Slowly, she got to her feet. She was still so sore she could barely move, but she knew that she had no choice. Somehow, someway, she must find her way back into England. She must find the courage to get to Loughton Hall.
She shivered. If she didn’t make it there, she had no idea what might happen to her parents. She had told Lady Sineag she would return home, and she simply had no idea if the woman had scouts out, making sure that she had arrived. If she didn’t, would the lady assume that she had changed her mind, and hurt her family, as she had threatened?
Her heart lurched with sorrow, thinking about the village. Thinking about Crisdean, and what had happened to it. But there was nothing she could do about that now, either. If she returned, she would surely die, and Angdaigh’s sacrifice to save her would have been for nothing.
She started walking upstream, staying close to it. She simply had no idea what direction she was heading in, but she knew that it was away from the village, and that was all that mattered right now.
She stared down at her gown. It was torn and filthy. She looked like a London street urchin. How was she going to persuade anyone that she was a well-to-do lady if she was waylaid at the border?
She sighed deeply. If she even made it to the border. She was forced to admit to herself that the chances of that happening now were remote. So remote that she was starting to wonder if she should even try. Despair overwhelmed her.
Slowly, tears started to fall down her face. She sobbed. All of the horrors of the attack upon the village and her desperate escape from it filled her mind. How could those soldiers have done that to innocent people who were simply going about their daily lives? How could they hate the Scots so much that they could even contemplate it?
The tears kept falling. She was English and had been brought up in England. She knew well the prejudice against the Scots. She had even shared it, thinking that all people north of the border were savages and barbarians. But as soon as she had met them, she knew how wrong she had been in thinking that way.
She had understood that they were just people, the same as the English. They might talk differently and have different customs and ways of doing things, but they were people. They loved their families just as much as the English did. They loved their country passionately.
She would never understand how those soldiers did what they did. She would never understand the savage hatred that spurred them on. She had looked into the heart of darkness and saw how bleak it was.
Slowly, the tears stopped. Maybe they would return later. But for now, she knew that she had no choice but to keep carrying on. One foot in front of the other, that was all that she needed to do.
Roseann glanced fearfully at the sky. She had made good ground, and the woods were surprisingly peaceful. But it was growing dark now, and she knew that she couldn’t go much further. There was simply no light in the thickness of the forest. Even the moon wouldn’t be able to light her way.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps walking through the woods. Her heart seized, and she stopped, looking around desperately.
There were voices, now—the voices of men. The wind carried the sound towards her.
Her heart started to hammer in her chest, violently. She couldn’t let them see her, whoever they were. She simply had no idea who they were. Even if they weren’t English renegades, they might still waylay her. She was still a woman alone in the forest, and she was vulnerable to anyone.
Suddenly, she saw them across the stream. Two English soldiers in grubby uniform, talking to each other as they walked.
She didn’t think. She turned, and she ran, as fast as she could, scrambling up through the woods. Dimly, she heard a shout behind her, but she ignored it, plunging deeper into the woods.
It was half-light, now, and she could barely see two steps in front of her. And now she could hear them, right behind her.
“Stop!” A man’s fierce voice. “Stop! In the name of King Edward!”
She sobbed, slowing down. There was no way that she could outrun them. They were almost upon her. The only thing she could do now was to try to talk her way out of it.
She turned, staring at them. Their swords were drawn, as they approached her. Desperately, she forced a smile onto her face.
“Thank the Lord!” she cried. “I see now that you are English soldiers. I have become lost in the woods and need to cross the border, back into England. Would you be able to assist me?”
The two men stared at her, clearly astounded at hearing her English accent. They turned to each other, neither speaking. Then one stepped forward.
“Lady,” he said slowly. “I hear that you are English. How is that you are here and in such a condition?” He stared pointedly at her ragged gown.
“I am lost,” she repeated. “If you could assist me…?”
The soldier scratched his head, clearly mystified. But he seemed to make up his mind quickly.
“Of course,” he said slowly. “If you would accompany us, we will escort you to our camp. It is located not far away from here.”
Roseann swallowed painfully. “Thank you. What is the name of your commanding officer?”
“Howard,” said the man, smiling slightly. “Officer Eric Howard, lady.”
29
Roseann stumbled onwards, through the darkening light, glancing fearfully at the two soldiers who were flanking her. After their claim that they would take her back to their camp—and their shocking assertion that Howard was their commanding officer—they had not spoken one word to her.
She bit her lip as she kept walking. Was it still possible to escape from them? Her eyes furtively darted left and right, seeking a possible escape route, but her mind just couldn’t fathom how she could do it. Both men were walking closely beside her as if they were guarding her, and any sudden movement from her to run would be thwarted in an instant.
She desperately tried to think of another way to get out of the situation. They knew that she was English, and a lady, by the way that she spoke. Could she claim higher authority? Demand that they release her so that she could make her own way through the woods again?
She took a deep breath. It was worth a try.
“I thank you for your assistance,” she said, in the most cut-glass accent that she could muster. “But I believe that I shall make my own way, as I was, and d
o not require any further help.”
The soldiers glanced at her. They all stopped for a moment.
“You want to make your own way through the woods in the dark?” said one of them, in an incredulous voice. “Are you mad?”
Roseann reeled back a little. “No, sir, I am not mad! I merely want to continue on my way. I must return to my family urgently, and I cannot have any delays.” She took a deep breath. “Your kindness in offering to assist me is greatly appreciated, but I must continue with my journey. Time is of the essence.”
The two soldiers gaped at her for a moment, and then slowly, as if they had agreed upon it prior, they both started to laugh. They laughed so hard that they shook with it. Roseann stared at them, dismayed.
“Lady,” said the other soldier, once the mirth had died down. “You are indeed mad if you think that we are going to let you go. For starters, we do not know who you are, and it is unusual, to say the least, to find a lady wandering these woods in a torn gown…”
“I got into some difficulties,” she said slowly. “It is no concern of yours what they were. I am a Gibson, from Loughton Hall, and you must do as I command…”
The first soldier snorted derisively. “Begging your pardon, lady, but you do not command us in any way. This isn’t a castle hall.” He gazed around the woods, pointedly. “This is our domain, and we are honor-bound to assist any English citizen who is in distress, as you clearly are. Even if you are too witless to understand the dangers that you are in.”
Roseann burned with anger. The fact that these soldiers were claiming they were helping her was a travesty. They were part of Howard’s renegade camp, and utterly complicit in what had just happened at Crisdean, and Keelieock as well. Their vows of service and duty to the crown had been long forgotten.
It was on the tip of her tongue to remind them of that, in no uncertain terms. But then she remembered that it wouldn’t do her any good if she claimed knowledge of what had happened at Crisdean, or that she had been a part of it. In fact, it would make them even more suspicious of her than they already were.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Do I have your assurance, then, that after you lead me to your camp, I might travel on unhindered?”
“I cannot give you any assurances, lady,” said the first soldier, in a clipped voice. “And now, we need to keep going.” He shrugged, clearly bored with the conversation, and impatient to keep moving.
The other soldier grabbed her by the arm, pushing her forward. Roseann ripped her arm away, glaring at him.
“You have no right to touch me,” she hissed, her eyes glittering.
The soldier’s face darkened. “Either you start walking yourself, lady, or I shall hoist you over my shoulders like a sack of potatoes and carry you. What is it to be?”
Roseann glowered but did as he commanded. They kept walking through the woods, until eventually, they came to a clearing.
She gasped. There were tents everywhere, spread out as far as the eye could see. Sparks from campfires glittered in the air like fireflies. And she could hear the loud hubbub of men talking and laughing.
A frisson of pure fear fell through her. Howard’s camp. She was in the heart of it. And it was every bit as powerful and large as Domhnall had said it was.
The men sitting around the campfires stared at her curiously as the two soldiers led her through, weaving their way amongst it. Some of them even had the audacity to call out to her.
“You’ve got yourself a pretty one, Davis,” said one, eyeing her lasciviously. “Any more like that in the woods, boys?”
“Come and sit on my lap, darling,” called another. “And we shall see what comes up!” The men laughed raucously.
Roseann trembled but held her chin higher, ignoring them. She refused to acknowledge these blaggards in any way. They were all murderers, looters, and rapists, and the fact that they still wore the uniform of King Edward’s army didn’t change that fact in any way.
They were drinking deeply from mugs of ale. And sometimes, sitting alongside them like scared dogs were bedraggled women. Roseann noted their torn and dirty gowns, their disheveled hair, and blossoming bruises and cuts on their skin. They raised large, fearful eyes to her as she passed them by.
Her heart tightened. These were probably women of Crisdean, who had been dragged from the village, for the renegade soldiers’ amusement. She was suddenly filled with anger so great she could barely stop herself from screaming.
She watched as one soldier wrestled with a woman, pushing and dragging her towards a tent. The soldier grinned as the men around them called their encouragement. It was so heartbreaking she had to turn her eyes away, struggling to control her sorrow and anger.
Eventually, they arrived at a large tent, right on the edge of the clearing. The men pushed the flap aside, leading her in. She looked around in wonder. She hadn’t been expecting this at all.
The interior was neat, with a fold-out table in the center of it, which was covered in maps and other documents. An elaborate candle holder stood in the center of it, where three candles were burning brightly, illuminating it.
This must be the center of it, she thought. This must be where Howard and his men work out their strategies for trying to destroy the lands of Greum Dubh.
Her eyes took in the rest of it. There was another table to the side, which held the remnants of a meal. And on the other side was a sleeping roll.
But whoever slept and ate in this tent wasn’t around. The tent was empty. The soldiers obviously hadn’t been expecting it. They stared at each other, clearly at a loss as to what to do with her.
But then suddenly, the tent flap opened, and a man strode quickly into the space. Roseann turned around, staring at him.
He was tall and well built, with strong muscles, indicating a life of physical pursuits. His hair was dark brown, swept back from his forehead, and he had a long, angular face. He turned eyes of icy blue upon her, assessing her as if she were some kind of new insect he had never encountered before.
“Why have you brought this wench to me?” he asked in a clipped voice. Roseann recognized a well-to-do Southern English accent, perhaps from Essex or London.
“She is no wench, sir,” said one of the soldiers, clearing his throat. “And neither is she Scottish. She is an English lady, no less.”
The man’s eyes widened. He approached her slowly, walking up to her and staring down at her with those icy blue eyes. He frowned.
“What is your name?” he rapped sharply.
Roseann took a deep breath. “My name is Roseann Gibson, of Loughton Hall, in Berwick. My father is Lord Croilton.”
His eyebrows rose higher still. “You are a lady? The daughter of a baron, no less?” He gazed at her, his eyes taking in her disheveled appearance. “How is it, madam, that you are in such a state so that my men have interceded on your behalf?”
Roseann took another deep breath. “Excuse me, but before I answer your questions, I would like to know who I am addressing.”
The man bowed slightly. “Of course, madam. I am Commander Eric Howard, of His Majesty’s army.” His blue eyes gazed at her disdainfully. “At your service.”
Roseann felt a wave of hatred overcome her. She had suspected this was Howard, of course, the moment that he had walked into the tent. There was just something in the man’s bearing, that told her he was an officer. And he had an arrogance about him that almost emanated from him like an aura.
She wanted to spit in his face and scream at him until her throat was raw. With difficulty, she controlled herself. She shouldn’t antagonize the man, any more than she had to. She was fighting for survival now. And to do that, she must play a role. A role that feigned innocence of him and everything that he had done.
“Commander,” she said, her voice trembling only slightly. “Thank you for your kind assistance. I was journeying home to England and became lost in the woods. My horse threw me and bolted, hence my appearance.”
Howard gaz
ed at her speculatively. “You were journeying back to England, you say? Where have you come from on this side of the border?”
Roseann gazed at him, trembling. The game would be up if she even mentioned Coirecrag or Domhnall. Howard would know instantly that she was lying. There was simply no way she could have been in residence at the castle without hearing about him and what he had done at Keelieock.
“I have come from Glasgow,” she said quickly. “I was staying with some friends there. Unfortunately, I had an urgent summons from home and had to leave them without delay and alone, so was the haste of my journey.”
A Pledge of Passion to the Highlander Page 20