The Scot's Spy (Highland Swords Book 2)

by Keira Montclair

  In her mind, she could hear her brother calling her whore.

  He reached out to touch her cheek, his eyes on hers.

  “I’m a good tracker, and I’ve proven to myself I’m still a fair swordsman. I can help you locate the camps, stay in the background, watch over you.” He paused, then added, “The truth is that when I found you on Grant land, I was running away from something. I think it might be time for me to leave home for a while. Explore the country. Find out what I want. I promise not to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but we can help each other. Please give it a chance.”

  She stared at him, taking in his intensity, his sense of purpose. The hope in his eyes. Perhaps they could make this work. After considerable thought, she said, “All right. I’d like to give it a try, but only if you agree to listen to my opinion. Don’t go all manly on me and try to think for me because you think women are simpering fools. I won’t have it.” She tried to give him her most serious look because she wouldn’t bend on this, although he’d given her no indication that he was the type of man who’d do such a thing.

  One side of his mouth tipped up. “Think you Dyna allows us to think for her? She’s been in charge of the three of us since we were wee lads.”

  She actually snorted, a most unladylike sound, but then she broke into a hardy laugh and he joined her.

  “We’ll start out with Dyna and Alasdair and the others, but we may have to part ways with them if they decide not to join forces with our king. Agreed?” she asked, intertwining her arm with his.

  “Agreed,” Els said, leaning down and kissing her cheek. “I look forward to our journey together.”

  “And you won’t be jealous and cranky when you see me teasing other men? I’m not some virginly maid, as you must have figured out by now.”

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I was hoping to hear you say that.” He waggled his brow at her, and she lightly slapped his forearm. “I’ll be able to keep still and not kill your target. I promise to have some leniency and discretion, though I’m sure ’twill prove difficult at times, especially if your target is ‘Engwish,’” he said, using his best imitation of wee John.

  Then he did something she hadn’t expected at all. He scooped her up in his arms and tipped her so her head fell backward and her mantle fell away from her body, taking the tunic with it. She couldn’t help but squeal as the cold air hit her belly, but then the heat of his mouth landed on her chemise, kissing and tickling her until she couldn’t stand it.

  “Els, stop! I’m verra ticklish,” she giggled, trying to reach for his face so she could push his cheeks away from her. She laughed so hard tears filled her eyes, but he finally stopped and set her down.

  She collapsed against his rigid body, only then noticing what had stopped him.

  “Uncle Magnus,” Els said, staring at the ground.

  “Greetings to you, Magnus,” she managed to get out between her muffled giggles, her hand trying to hide her smile.

  His uncle had a huge grin on his face. “Glad you’re enjoying our visitor, Els. You might wish to show her around a bit more. Mayhap where there are other people?” Then he left, casting a knowing glance over his shoulder. “Probably won’t be as much fun though. Don’t let your grandsire catch you.”

  She fell against him, gripping his arm as he stared after his uncle. “Do you think he’s upset with us?”

  “Nay, he’s Uncle Magnus. Always fair, and funny too. He didn’t used to be that way, but the older he gets, the more light-hearted he gets.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder and said, “You have no idea how lucky you are to have so many who love you.”

  A small part of her pushed back at her instinct to leave him, to push him away before he could hurt her. It would be so much harder to lose him if she let herself depend on him. But now she realized it was much too late for that.

  He kissed the top of her head and said, “They’ll all love you, too, once they get to know you.”

  But what if they didn’t? What if they looked at her and saw what her own brother had seen? She couldn’t think on that possibility, instead deciding to focus on this wonderful man next to her.

  She was starting to get very used to Elshander Grant, and she rather liked it.

  Chapter Eight

  The groups went their separate ways the following morning, the skies still gray but not spitting on them yet. They arrived in Glasgow before the sun was high, but there was definitely a change in the air. Spring was coming sooner rather than later.

  Els motioned for them to stop at an inn on the outskirts of town, and the four went inside for a meal. The hall was strangely quiet, and they exchanged confused looks as the innkeeper served them trenchers of stew. “Will you be staying the night?” he asked, his burr marking him as a fellow Scot.

  “Nay,” Alasdair replied. “We’ll not be here for long.” He paused, then asked, “How many English have you running about?”

  The man’s mouth pursed. “Bloody ingrates. Wish we could kill them all after what they’ve done.”

  Els glanced at the others around the table, wondering what the man referred to. Had something happened here? Did they dare ask? “We’ve just come from the Highlands. Can you not tell us the latest on the King of the Scots?”

  “Then you have not heard. King Robert meant to return from the Western Isles, but he has lost two more of his kin. His brothers came to Galloway, and they were both killed. No one knows where he is, but the more of his relatives the English kill, the more the Scots vow to support him. We’ll not accept those bastards’ rule.”

  Wide-eyed, Els glanced at Joya, whose face had lost all color. He squeezed her hand and looked to Alasdair. “Where do we go from here?”

  “Where are the largest English garrisons?” Alasdair asked. “Where are they holing up for the winter months?”

  “There are a few here, but most are south of Ayr, awaiting word on where the Bruce will come ashore. Eighteen galley ships his brothers had, and still they hanged them both. No one knows where he is, but the English are everywhere. Have a care.”

  The innkeeper cursed under his breath and left the room for the kitchens. “We must help him,” Joya whispered urgently. “He lost two more brothers! When will this end? Our king is a fugitive in his own country. Els, we must go to Ayr.”

  Dyna said, “A word of caution before he comes back and I must resume my silence.” She’d dressed as a lad to hide her gender, but her voice was feminine enough to give her away. Joya was posing as Els’ wife. “If the English are searching for the Bruce in February, they’ll be everywhere in March and April. I know not how he’ll get away. I suggest we learn all we can before leaving for Ayr. If the king’s brothers were killed at Galloway, then he may have changed his plans.”

  “And I do wish to search Glasgow,” Joya said. “Just to make sure my brother is not here.”

  Els nodded decisively. “Aye, I agree. We’ll search Glasgow, return to spend the night in the inn, then leave for Ayr on the morrow if we’ve learned nothing here.” The four finished their repast, brought bread and cheese out to the guards, and left the inn.

  “Which way?” Els asked.

  “I say we take the outskirts of town to see if we come upon any hidden groups of English,” Dyna said. “See what they know and what they’re planning.”

  They split into two groups and moved through town, spending the rest of the day seeking information from vendors, or anyone on the paths they traveled. Els and Joya traveled together, and it didn’t escape his attention the way she flinched each time she saw a man with golden hair. He’d love to meet the bastard who’d hurt his sister.

  When they met back at the inn that evening, they shared what little information they’d learned. They’d heard nothing beyond that they should beware the English. They hid in factions ready to attack any larger groups of Scots bearing weaponry.

  They ate their meal in near silence, all of them frustrated by their lack of progres
s, and sent the women to one chamber and the men to another. Meanwhile, the guards worked in shifts outside the inn.

  The next morn, they broke their fast, mounted their horses, and headed to the outskirts of town, looking for any new information before they made their way to Ayr. The decision had been made to leave before high sun because it was a half day trip. They met back at the inn not long after they’d left it, none of them the wiser for the morning’s mission.

  The group had just started toward the main road to Ayr when Els noticed a group of riders approaching them. The men stopped in a clearing off the road, far enough away that Els and the others would not have approached them, but Joya bellowed, “’Tis my brother.”

  She took off without another word, sending her horse into a fast gallop, aiming directly toward the group of about six men. The riders wore no plaids, but that was not uncommon this far south. They themselves had removed their plaids so they’d be less identifiable by the English.

  The men nearly mounted as Joya came toward them, followed closely by Els and the others, but a man with golden red hair held up his hand to stay them. Then he moved toward the oncoming horse, his hands on his hips.

  As they approached, the other men moved behind the one in the lead, who could only be Joya’s brother.

  Derric was tall and lanky, but the resemblance between the two siblings was apparent. When Joya was within hearing, her brother yelled, “I don’t wish to see you again.”

  Els’s hand wrapped around his horse’s reins, and he nearly spurred Thunder into a gallop, wanting to beat some sense into the man. But someone else got their first—Dyna charged ahead of Joya’s horse and stopped directly in front of the tall man. She leapt down, standing only a hand’s length away from the man, and stared at him in a way that meant danger. Her nose was nearly even with his. “What gives you the right to judge her?”

  All the others in both parties slowed, giving Els the ability to hear the two.

  “My sire,” Derric said, his cheeks slightly red. “I’m acting in his place since he’s not here. He wouldn’t approve of the way she spends her time. And neither do I.” He met Dyna’s gaze, doing his best to intimidate her, but he’d have a long wait coming if he thought his tactics would work on her.

  Dyna, bold as ever, placed both her feet on the man’s insteps, giving her the boost she needed to look him directly in the eye. Els had to hide his grin because he could tell her boots were crushing Derric’s insteps enough to cause him pain, though he hid it well.

  Dyna said, “You’ll give your sister the respect she deserves, the respect due to anyone who has helped the King of the Scots.”

  Derric gave a pained smirk, his gaze locked on Dyna’s. “Who the hell are you? And why should I listen to another foolish female, especially one who dresses like a man? Go back to your keep where you belong, woman.”

  “I’m the one who’s going to put an arrow in your bollocks and pin you to a tree if you don’t mend your ways.” The men behind Derric all grinned at this declaration, but none of them said a word. It would seem Derric was the leader of the group because no one questioned anything he was doing or saying, and although the men grinned, none had dared to laugh.

  “Dyna, never mind,” Joya said, avoiding her brother’s gaze. “He can be a fool if he wants to be.”

  But Els could hear the hurt in her words, and he could see it in the way she refused to look at any of them, not just Derric. Besides her aunt, this man was the only family she had left.

  “Nay, he cannot. Not in front of me.” Dyna never turned her head, still glaring at Derric.

  The insolent man gave a pained laugh, his jaw still clenched from the pain in his feet, though Els didn’t think Dyna could weigh that much.

  His tone quickly turned serious. “Get off me,” he said.

  “Not until you promise to talk respectfully to Joya.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You’ll have to spend the rest of your days wondering when I will strike at you, and it will happen when you least expect it.” She tipped her head, a satisfied grin on her face.

  “And what can a wee lass like you do to hurt me? You’d have to get awfully close to hurt me with that wee bow of yours.”

  “Apparently, you’ve not heard of my teacher.”

  “Who is your teacher?”

  “Gwyneth Ramsay.”

  Els had to give the man credit. He stood his ground, though his bronzed face definitely paled at the mention of the infamous woman who was the subject of almost as many tales as Alexander Grant.

  One of his friends said, “You’d better talk to your sister, Derric. I saw Gwyneth Ramsay pin a man to a tree with an arrow through his bollocks. ’Twas many years ago, but I’ll not forget it.”

  Dyna’s brows arched and she said, “You should listen to your friend. Once I became skilled, that secret shot was the first she taught me. Ask your friend if the man she hit yelled.”

  Derric still didn’t flinch, but he humored her, “Henry? Answer her question.”

  “He screamed like a bairn until his throat was raw, and he was dead a short time later. Don’t take the chance, Derric. ’Tisn’t worth it. Keep your bollocks.” The man instinctively covered his private area with his hands, as did two of his peers.

  Els had seen this threat work miracles before. Just the thought of such a punishment put the fear of God in many a man. Gwyneth Ramsay had been ruthless with her bow in her prime. Now she had taught her skills to many of the young people of Clan Ramsay and Clan Grant.

  None were as devoted to archery as Dyna.

  “Fine. I’ll talk with my sister,” Derric seethed. “Now get off.”

  Dyna stepped back, her gaze still locked on the man. “You can trust I’ll remember you.”

  Derric smiled and said, “And I’ll remember you, lass. You should worry about what will happen to you when you set your bow down.”

  Dyna moved so fast none of the men could help their leader. She stuck one of her long legs across the backs of his knees from the side, shoving as hard as she could against his chest. The maneuver sent him tumbling to the ground with his arse high up in the air, and he landed so hard it knocked the breath out of him.

  She was on him in a flash, sitting on his chest, her dagger pressed to his throat. “Do not dare to threaten me, you bastard, or you will regret it.” He chuckled enough that his throat moved against her dagger, and the blade cut him, blood trickling down his neck.

  Els hopped off his horse in a trice. Although he was proud of his cousin’s resolve, he didn’t want to rob Joya of the opportunity to speak to her brother, bastard or not. Her face was a mask of conflicting emotions, and each one reached out and grabbed him.

  He moved forward and reached under Dyna’s arms. “Cousin, give him the chance to speak to Joya. Then you may do as you wish.”

  Two of Derric’s companions whistled when Dyna finally stepped away from him. “Hellfire, ’tis quite a lass you tangled with,” one said. Els could see Dyna had impressed the two of them. He hoped they had no other intentions, not in front of him and Alasdair.

  Another whispered, “If I were him, I’d find something to wear inside my breeches as protection.”

  Derric motioned to Joya, who’d also dismounted and stood to the side of the clearing, still looking worried and conflicted. “Come. We’ll talk in private.”

  She followed her brother over to an area behind some trees. And while Els intended to give them privacy, he wouldn’t do so until he’d said his piece. He followed them.

  “Els,” she said, stopping to put her hand on his forearm as they reached the trees. “You don’t have to come along. I’ll be fine.”

  “I have something to say to him, then I’ll leave you be.”

  Derric turned to look at him, his expression full of contempt. “Aye. And what is it you want?”

  “The name is Elshander Grant,” Els said. “Please treat your sister with the respect she deserves. She’s been searching for you for
a while.”

  Derric said, “Is she whoring for you, too?”

  That did it. Els hauled his fist back and punched him in the face, sending him sprawling on the ground. He had to admit, it felt pretty good after listening to the arrogant bastard verbally spar with Dyna. Joya stared at him in shock. He reached down and offered a hand to Derric to help him up, and after the man wiped the trickle of blood from his cracked lip, he took the proffered hand.

  “She’s not a whore,” Els said, “and you’ll not call her that in front of me.” Then he made a slow pivot on his boots, all the while locking his gaze on Derric. Once he was certain the man would not hurt his own sister, he left the two together.

  ***

  “All of them are Grants?” Derric asked, spitting a stream of blood off to the side.

  “Aye, three are from the family and the rest are guards. Derric, I’m not whoring, but I am helping King Robert.”

  “You should go home. ’Tis where you belong.” Derric was dressed all in black, a stark contrast to his light-colored hair. Joya had always wished her bright red hair to be more the color of her brother’s, but there was no way to change one’s hair color to her knowledge. His skin darkened in the sun more than hers did, too, turning a golden bronze that matched the color of his hair. She was prone to burn if ever out during the heat of the day, especially her nose.

  Els’s coloring was something like hers, and she couldn’t prevent the errant thought of what their children would look like.

  “I can’t go home,” she said. “We don’t have a home. You’ve forgotten already?”

  “You should have stayed with Auntie.” His hand moved his bruised jaw back and forth.

  “Derric, she didn’t want me, and I’ll not stay where I’m not wanted. When I met Robert the Bruce, he asked for my help and I gave it. I was able to obtain information that helped him. I could move in and out of English camps easily because I can speak like them. I know you have work to do for our cause, too, but please stop insulting me for my contributions. ’Tis all I ask. Can you please be courteous on occasion?”