“Mind yer tongue,” Lachlann snapped. “This monk is the only reason ye’re alive. Y’barely survived the ride from Oban.”
Donnal grumbled something Lachlann could not hear, but he allowed Brother Aldus to assist him and brace a pillow behind his back.
Lachlann gestured for the monk to leave, but Brother Aldus shook his head and busied himself over his herbs once more. Stubborn as a mule.
“How d’ye feel?” Lachlann asked.
Donnal coughed and winced. “The monk is poisonin’ me wi’these weeds.”
“I am certainly not,” the monk muttered.
Lachlann did his best not to smile. Brother Aldus had developed a sharp tongue since he had left his monastery, it was another reason why his mother kept him nearby. She liked a challenge.
“My mother has called her men from their homes. They will ride wi’us tae Inveraray. Can I count on ye tae tell Nathan McArthur what y’have seen and heard in Manus’ camp?”
“Aye,” Donnal replied firmly. “I’ll tell the laird everythin’.”
“And what d’ye want in return for this information,” Lachlann asked casually.
Donnal looked confused, but Lachlann knew better than to be fooled by such a reaction. “In return?”
“Aye. All men want something. Ye cannae tell me ye’ve betrayed yer own brother out of a crisis of conscience.”
Donnal chuckled weakly and leaned back against the pillow that held him upright. “Aye. Perhaps I do.”
“So?”
“My father’s lands and titles. I wish tae claim them as my own. They have been contested for too long, given tae men who had no love for my father.”
Lachlann nodded. A reasonable request.
“What else?”
Donnal smiled briefly. “A wife,” he said.
“Oh, aye? My mother is a fine hand at choosing brides.” Lachlann had meant the words as a joke, but Donnal’s expression was hard.
“Morag,” he said.
Lachlann almost choked on his words.
“What— MacCullach’s stolen daughter?”
“Aye. Manus took her tae punish McArthur, and yerself, but she is mine tae claim,” Donnal said firmly.
Lachlann wanted to laugh, but there was nothing humorous about what he had said. His stolen bride would belong to someone else—a better option than returning to her father’s house after what she had endured.
“Manus will bring her tae Inveraray tae be a part of his bargain... He had vowed tae marry her, but the priest wouldnae perform the ceremony—” He paused briefly and Lachlann saw his jaw tighten. “She… She’s carryin’ my child. ”
Lachlann blinked and Brother Aldus coughed discreetly.
“I— How—”
Donnal shook his head. “I love her, and I left her with that bastard.” The man’s voice was choked with anger and resentment, and Lachlann found himself full of regret and frustration that he had allowed his own wife to leave and disappear unattended into the woods. How would he feel if Cat was captured? Mackenzie would do his duty and bring her back.
“You shouldnae worry for her,” he said quickly. “Manus needs her. The laird will not bargain with a murderous traitor. She will be rescued, you have my word. Help me convince Nathan McArthur of Manus’ threat.”
Donnal nodded grimly. “Our time is running short. Manus will be on the march even now…”
“Rest now,” Lachlann said. “Take whatever nightmarish concoctions the monk gives ye. Ye’ll need all yer strength. I’ll not have ye dyin’ on the road fer lack of care.”
“Yes, yes,” Brother Aldus muttered. “I’ll bind his ribs, but you must promise me that you will keep him out of the fighting.”
“Shut yer mouth,” Donnal snapped. “I’ll die wi’a sword in my hand, not lyin’ in a bed like an old man.”
Lachlann laughed and retreated from the room. “Watch yer hands, Brother Aldus, this one may bite if yer not mindful of it.”
“What have I told you about bringing stray dogs into your mother’s house,” the monk grumbled.
Lachlann smiled, but the monk was too busy with his poultice to see it. The man grumbled unceasingly, but he would do his duty, and Lachlann had other things to worry about. Cat had gone purposefully into a den of wolves, and there was nothing he could do to protect her. He had to hope that Mackenzie had found her, and that they were on the road to Inveraray. He would deal with whatever anger his wife had for him when she was safe in his arms. Until then, he had preparations to make for the journey to the laird’s keep, and time was running short.
Chapter Seven
She choked on her rage to watch her sister be dragged through the camp, and was barely able to stop herself from bolting out from her hiding place when Morag was pushed out of sight.
“Ye’ll be no help tae anyone if ye’re caught, too,” she muttered.
Cat knelt beside the stone house and pressed her hands into the mud. Even though she had tumbled from her horse, she was still too clean, and she didn’t want to attract any attention.
“What’re ye doin’?”
Cat froze. She had been about to smear the dark mud into her braid to cover the paleness of her hair and looked up at the incredulous face of an older woman with a basket filled with linen wrapped packages braced against one ample hip.
“I—”
“Get out of the mud, girl,” the woman snorted. “There’s work tae be done. Get back tae the wagons.”
Cat rose slowly from her position in the mud and wiped her hands against her skirt. “Where should I go?”
The woman grumbled something Cat could not hear and pointed in the direction of a small sheepfold. “Make yerself useful. We’ll be followin’ the men before long.”
“Where’re they goin’?”
The woman stared at her and then pushed the basket into Cat’s arms. “‘Tis a mercy that y’have a pretty face. Get on, now!”
Cat nodded and ducked to avoid the woman’s poorly-aimed slap as she ran by. It was a stroke of luck to be mistaken for a member of the camp, and she would have to be careful not to waste such a gift.
She hunched her shoulders and tried to stay close to the shadow of the stone houses, but the wagon that she had been directed to was out in the open, and Morag had been taken in the opposite direction.
Clutching the basket tightly, Cat turned away from the wagon and followed a group of young women carrying sacks and baskets. Their chatter was bright and cheerful, and Cat trailed as close behind them as she could without giving her presence away. She kept her head down, but tried to catch sight of her sister as they wound their way through the houses.
“I dinnae want tae go south,” one of the girls sighed. “But I cannae stomach this rain any longer.”
“It’s not rainin’ now,” another replied.
“Aye, but look at those clouds… Wait a hour, and ye’ll be standin’ in a puddle.”
A dark-haired girl pouted and shifted the weight of the sack in her arms. “Why can we not go in a cart?”
Another girl laughed. “Ye’d have tae be spreadin’ yer legs for a better man than Malcolm to get a place in a cart.”
The girl who had complained made a face at her friend, and the others laughed. “What about the new men who came tae join? D’ye fancy any of them?”
“Dirty northerners,” someone snapped. “They smell like sheep and have worse manners.”
“What d’ye think they’ll do tae Manus’ girl? I thought there would be a weddin’?”
Cat lifted her head briefly and then looked down at her basket.
“A weddin’? Have ye seen her?” a tall girl laughed. “She’s not fit tae be married tae anyone.”
Rage tightened Cat’s throat, but she bit down hard on the side of her tongue to keep from saying anything. How dare they talk about Morag this way. The daughter of Alistair MacCullach, favored by the laird himself… She could have them all flogged and sent to wander barefoot in the wilds.
“Why would Manu
s want a bride? He doesnae seem—”
The dark-haired girl lifted her chin in the air. “He doesnae seem like a man who would want a wife? Aye, it doesnae make any sense at all. Malcolm says—”
“No one cares what Malcolm says,” the tall girl snapped. “He’ll not be marryin’ ye, either.”
With a strangled cry, the dark-haired girl dropped the sack she was carrying and pushed the tall one. The tall girl dealt her attacker a stinging slap, and the other girls dropped their baskets and ran ahead to catch up. They shouted and laughed to see their friends fighting. Cat took a deep breath and darted toward the dropped baskets.
They had been carrying dried meat, fruit, and waterskins—provisions for a marching army—and Cat gathered up whatever would fit in her hands and shoved them into a small sack. Inveraray was not far, but it was far enough that supplies were as necessary as the knife she had tucked into her belt.
There were shouts from nearby as others noticed the brawl. With the sack balanced in her arms, she walked away from the fighting women. She looked back briefly to see a man in leather armor pulling the dark-haired girl out from under her attacker. Malcolm to the rescue, no doubt.
She smiled quickly and turned away, she had to find Morag.
* * *
***
* * *
Manus’ army of rebels and vagabonds continued to move throughout the day, and Cat did her best to make herself look as though she were helping with the preparations. But each chore she performed was an excuse to look for her sister, an opportunity to move through the village and the nearby camp unseen. But as night approached, Cat began to feel more desperate.
“What’re ye doin’?” someone snapped as she passed by a group of men.
Cat blinked and looked down at her feet. “Takin’ supplies tae the wagons.”
The man who had spoken to her pointed toward the forest that crept along the edge of the village. “Take whatever ye’re carryin’ tae Brigad. And be quick about it.”
She tightened her arms around the sack and nodded. “Aye.”
The sky overhead was stained pink and red with the setting of the sun, and Cat made her way toward the trees. Behind a low stone wall, a man sat near a fire and poked at the embers with the end of his roughly hewn spear.
He looked up as she approached and made a face at her. “What d’ye want?”
“Are ye Brigad?”
He spat into the fire and leered at her. “Why?”
A figure was slumped against the stone wall. A woman in a torn woollen dress. Cat bit down on the inside of her cheek as she recognized the way the woman’s hair was braided. Morag.
“Ye’re wanted in the village,” she said quickly. “The men sent me tae find ye.”
The man looked at her suspiciously, but used his spear to brace himself as he stood up. “What men?”
She shrugged absently, it was easier than deepening the lie and risking being caught out. “They sent me tae find ye.”
“Someone needs to watch this one,” he said and poked at the woman with his weapon. She did not flinch away from the prodding and Cat felt her anger leap hotly in her chest.
“They sent someone tae take yer place,” she said. “He’s comin’.”
The man did not look convinced and Cat was feeling more desperate now.
“What’s in the sack?”
“Apples,” she replied quickly. “D’ye want one?”
The man stepped closer to her and Cat tried not to flinch away. His breath was terrible, and he smelled like horseshit and stale sweat. He pulled at the neck of the sack and shoved his hand inside. Cat held the sack firmly with one arm as he rummaged through the goods she carried. Her other hand stole behind her back and closed over the hilt of her knife.
She had already killed one man that day. Another would not be difficult. But there were too many people around. Too many eyes watching. She would be caught in an instant, especially if he made as much of a fuss as Mackenzie had.
“Be quick,” Cat said, “Manus doesnae like tae be kept waitin’.”
The man’s eyes widened and he pulled his hand out of the sack. “Manus… why did ye not say—”
She shrugged again and tilted her chin in the direction of the stone houses. “Ye’d better hurry. I see the man they sent tae take yer place. The others are by the sheepfold waitin’ fer ye.”
The man grimaced and gripped his spear tightly. He kicked at Morag’s huddled form and his boot connected with her thigh. She did not move or react and Cat gritted her teeth. “Go on, now. I’ll watch her until he arrives.”
Without another word, the man turned away and strode quickly through the crowd of people. Cat waited until he had disappeared around the corner of a stone house before she dropped to her knees in the dirt beside her sister.
She hooked her arm under Morag’s and tried to pull her up, but she resisted. “Leave me be,” she said softly.
“Morag, get up ye stubborn cow,” Cat hissed. “Ye’re no good tae anyone sittin’ in the mud.”
Morag looked up. Her face was dirty, her hair caked with mud, and her eyes were wide and bloodshot. She had bruises on her throat and jaw, and a cut over one eye that was only partially healed, but it was Morag.
“Cat?”
“Aye… now will ye get up?”
“We cannae— How—”
“Get up!”
Cat pulled her sister to her feet and Morag braced herself against the stone wall as her legs buckled. Her hands were still tied, and Cat pulled the knife from her belt and cut through it quickly. She looked over her shoulder, hoping that they had not been noticed yet.
“The trees,” Cat hissed. “We have to hide. They’ll notice—”
“I’ve tried it before,” Morag whispered. “They caught me…”
Cat was growing more and more nervous with each passing moment. Why was Morag fighting her? “D’ye want tae stay here and be dragged tae Inveraray as a prisoner, then?”
Morag’s jaw tightened and she winced slightly. “No.”
“Then move.”
Cat snatched her sack out of the mud and pushed her sister toward the trees. Masked by a wagon that had been parked at the edge of the forest, they slipped into the woods. Cat paused only briefly to look behind them, but they had not been noticed… It would not take long before the man she had sent away would realize he had been tricked.
“We dinnae have much time,” Cat said. She hooked her arm through her Morag’s and pulled her along through the underbrush. She wanted to get as far away from the village as possible before turning to travel parallel to the road that led to Inveraray.
“Where did ye come from?” Morag choked out.
“North,” Cat replied. “Lachlann and his men are headed for Inveraray.”
“Lachlann Mackay?”
“Aye… When y’were taken, our father kept his side of the bargain…”
“I know,” Morag said softly. “It’s like father did not even care that I was gone. They didnae even look for me.”
Cat stopped their progress and placed her hands on Morag’s shoulders. “They did. I promise you they did… but Manus and his men were faster. They disappeared before anythin’ could be done. I’m sorry. I tried tae make them— But they wouldnae listen tae me. That’s why I’m here.”
Morag’s eyes were full of tears and Cat pulled her sister into her arms and embraced her tightly. “We’ll go south together. Lachlann will tell the laird about Manus’ plans— That bastard will get everythin’ he deserves…”
Morag’s arms came around her hesitantly, but then tightened and Cat felt her stomach twist. She had not acted quickly enough, she could not even imagine what her sister had been through— But her embrace felt different. Cat’s eyes widened and she pulled back from her sister.
“You’re with child,” she gasped.
Morag’s cheeks reddened as Cat pulled aside her cloak. The change in her sister’s body was evident—her stomach was rounded and the woollen dress w
as pulled tight across it. She was not far along, but enough to be noticeable.
“Manus—” she whispered.
“No,” Morag said sharply. “Not Manus. He did not lay a hand on me except to threaten or hurt me. He never…”
“Who was it then?” Cat asked the question gently. “Did he hurt ye?”
Morag shook her head and laid her hand upon her belly protectively. “It’s not important. He’s gone. Manus discovered us together. They beat him in front of me and then took him away. If he’s not dead—”
“I’m sure he’s not…”
“He promised tae take me away, but he abandoned me.”
Suddenly, Cat remembered Donnal, the man they had found, beaten and left for dead in the woods. “What was his name?”
Morag blinked at her. “What?”
“The man— The father of your child. What was his name?”
“Donnal,” she said finally and then shook her head. “It isnae important.”
Cat laughed and embraced her sister tightly. “It is. Lachlann found him. He’s alive—and he loves you. I’m certain of it.”
Morag pulled away and stared at her incredulously. “Ye cannae be serious.”
“I am. He’s alive. Lachlann will have taken him tae Inveraray. Now will ye move?”
Morag’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Aye.”
Cat wrapped her arm around her sister’s thickened waist and pulled her along through the trees. She could hear shouts behind them, but the sky was darkening quickly, and soon it would be almost impossible to see through the trees.
Morag stumbled, but Cat caught her and supported her weight as they moved through the brush. “They’re comin’ for me,” she gasped.
“They’ll not be takin’ ye back,” Cat snarled. She made a quick decision and pulled Morag to the left, the direction she hoped the road would be in. Morag groaned and stumbled again and Cat gritted her teeth. Her sister was exhausted, and darkness was closing fast—faster than the men behind them.
“Not much farther,” Cat promised. Morag nodded, but she could see how pale her sister’s face had become. She could hear water nearby, and her heart leapt in her chest just a little. If they followed the direction of the current, it would lead them out…
A Warlord's Prize: A Medieval Highland Romance (Highlander's Honor Book 3) Page 6