The Scot's Pursuit (Highland Swords Book 3)

by Keira Montclair

  “We can do that?”

  “Aye, tie up your gown like you did to climb the tree.” Since he’d worn his plaid, he only needed to remove his boots and hose. Once he took them off, he put his feet in the water, staring into the clear loch with a sigh of contentment.

  She hurried to join him, but then hesitated. “’Tis cold?”

  “Nay, most refreshing.” He held his hand out to her, and she took it, making her way through the cool grass to the edge of the loch, stepping on a few stones before cautiously dipping one foot into the loch.

  “’Tis cold as ice in winter,” she yelled, stepping back.

  “Nay, come back. You’ll get used to it.”

  Once she finally made it in, he held onto her hand and pointed down with his other hand. “See the fish? Wee minnows. When we were bairns, we used to try to step on them or catch them with our hands. Look. Try to step on them.”

  He showed her what to do and she followed his lead, laughing hysterically at his antics—and the impossibility of what they were attempting. Suddenly he released her hand, shooting her an impetuous look, and attempted to swoop down and catch a fish in his cupped palms.

  “Did you catch them often?”

  He laughed. “Nay, never. Dyna could, but Alasdair, Els, and I always failed. It used to irritate me that she was so good at everything.”

  He led her down the loch, the two of them looking into the water as they walked hand in hand. Her heart felt full, and she never wanted the day to end. She’d like nothing better than to spend the rest of her life walking with this man, savoring in his good looks, his wide smile, and the happiness that bloomed in her belly whenever he was near. It felt as if their souls had met long ago.

  He stopped walking after a time, pointing at the end of the loch. “Is that a chapel?”

  “Aye, occasionally a priest will come to stay for a few days to be in peace. ’Tis a special retreat for them, a respite from their usual duties.”

  A man in dark robes stepped out of the building.

  “You mean that man? Is he a priest?”

  “Aye, ’tis Father MacKenzie. He’s always been my favorite. Mama and I used to pray with him whenever he was here. We would bake bread and bring it to him. He’s so kind.”

  He turned to stare at her, taking her other hand so that he held both. “Mayhap we shouldn’t wait for your uncle’s approval.”

  A lump formed in her throat. Surely her ears were guilty of trickery. “What are you saying?”

  He stared up at the clouds in the sky for a moment before looking at her again. “I’m asking you to marry me. It won’t be a normal start to a marriage since there will be no large ceremony, no gathering afterward, but it would solve our main problem.” His hand came up to tuck a few loose strands behind her ear. “I think we suit each other quite well, and I don’t wish to lose you to Osbert Ware or any man. ’Tis not ideal, but considering the alternative, mayhap we should do it now.”

  Stunned, she couldn’t find the right words. Her hand flew up to his cheek, the stubble rough, but his gaze warmed her from the inside out. Aye, there was no reason to wait. Branwen wasn’t quite sure what love was, but in her mind, love was the way she felt about Alick. She trusted him, loved the way he made her laugh, and anxiously anticipated their joining as husband and wife. Her mother had told her it could be wonderful, but only with the right person.

  Alick was her right person.

  He was the only man for her, and nothing and no one could turn her away from him.

  “Will you have me, Branwen?”

  It was the easiest question she’d ever had to answer.

  “Aye, I would be honored to be your wife. I know you’ll have to leave for a few days, but I don’t wish to wait.” She could withstand her sire for a few more days, and once he knew she’d already married, he would be unable to force her marriage to Osbert Ware.

  She could only pray the priest would marry them.

  ***

  Alick couldn’t believe he’d asked and she’d accepted. The only thing to do was move down the loch and ask the priest if he would marry them. Though his mother and father would be upset they weren’t there to observe, surely they would understand the need for haste. It wouldn’t be the first time a marriage happened on a whim to a member of Clan Grant. His feelings for Branwen were far deeper than he’d have ever believed, justification for a quick marriage in his mind.

  He helped her put her boots on before donning his own. Then he took her hand and led her down the water’s edge to the chapel at the end.

  “Greetings to you, Father MacKenzie,” Branwen said, squeezing his hand a little too hard. “May we have a moment of your time?”

  “For certes, lass. You know I always enjoy our chats.” He looked affable enough, with long brown hair, warm brown eyes, and a crooked smile, and if he were fond of Branwen, surely he would be sympathetic toward their situation.

  “Father, my name is Alick MacNicol. I’m from Clan Grant and I met Branwen when they came for the Grant festival.” He took a deep breath before he continued, cocooning her hand in both of his. “Branwen and I would like to marry. I have asked her and she has accepted. Would you do us the honor of marrying us?” He began to rub the back of her hand.

  The priest pursed his lips and folded his hands in front of his robe. “You have asked her sire and he has refused you, aye?”

  Alick sighed and nodded.

  Branwen stood up on her tiptoes in order to look the priest in the eye. “Father MacKenzie, my sire has betrothed me to Osbert Ware against my will. You know how he treats me. Please allow us to marry, or I’ll be forced to marry an old man just to care for his six bairns.”

  The priest stepped around them and strolled over to the loch, a short walk from the chapel. He stood under a large tree, its branches hanging out over the water, now lightly swaying. His lips moved as if in prayer, but he said nothing aloud.

  Alick squeezed Branwen’s hand and waited for the priest, feeling all the tension of the moment. His future happiness rested in this man’s hands.

  The priest pivoted and made his way back to them. “I will do it. In the past, I would insist on the permission of both sets of parents, and we would need a couple of witnesses, but we live in uncertain times. My vocation has brought me through the Highlands, and I see naught is the way it used to be ever since this war driven by King Edward. Come inside and I will marry you.” He turned on his heel and headed into the small chapel made of stone with a thatch roof, standing out against the green of the forests, the loch, and the distant mountains.

  Branwen smiled at Alick, a radiant smile that made him want to give her the world, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek. She took a step toward the chapel, but he stopped her.

  “Wait a moment, please.” He let go of her hand and ran off, heading toward a gully not far from them, covered with summer wildflowers, mostly a beautiful deep blue. He waded through the grasses and flowers, collecting bluebells and white flowers, and brought the bouquet back to her at the chapel.

  He held it out to her, his heart beating fast in his chest at the thought of what they were about to do, what they were about to promise. Not out of fear or reluctance, however, but excitement for what was to come. He finally knew what he wanted, who he wanted, and that made all the difference.

  “No snakes this time,” he said with a grin.

  She took them and lifted onto her toes to embrace him. “They are the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen,” she whispered into his neck. “My thanks to you.”

  Father MacKenzie called out to them, and Alick took her hand, escorting her into the chapel. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim candles inside, but they walked inside together, hands still linked, and made their way to stand in front of him.

  The priest began the ceremony in Gaelic, as he should, but Alick’s attention was on Branwen. She was smiling at him the way he’d wanted to see her smile that first night, and despite the haste wit
h which they’d married, this felt right.

  At the end of the ceremony, Alick leaned down to place a kiss on her lips. They stepped back out into the gray day, surprised to see a horse heading toward them from the keep. From such a distance, he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the stablemaster. Jep, Branwen had called him.

  They hurried to meet the rider and caught up with him near their own horses.

  “Jep, what is it?” Branwen asked, her voice hitching.

  “Your sire sent a message that they’ll return within the hour and to ready the evening meal. You better hurry back or he’ll discover what you’ve been doing. I doubt he would approve.”

  Jep cast a look behind them, at the chapel, but he clearly feared what might happen if he were discovered, too, for he turned back in the direction he’d come.

  “We must hurry,” Branwen said, gazing up into Alick’s eyes.

  “I will follow you almost back to your castle,” he said, “but then I must leave. I’ll return after I help my cousins fight off the English.”

  “Can I not go with you?” she asked. She sounded alarmed, and he hated that he’d made her to feel that way. But he couldn’t back down. No matter how much he wanted her with him.

  “Branwen, there is nothing I would love more than to take you away from here, to find a place away from everyone to make you mine and hold you in my arms all night and make love to you. But if my sire and grandsire found out I traveled through the dark with you in the middle of a war with no guards, they’d tie me to a tree and leave me there for a fortnight. And they’d be right to do so. If it were still light, perhaps I could consider it, but dark is upon us, there is a garrison of English outside my cousin’s castle, and I have no guards with me.” He ran his finger down her jawline and then kissed her, a sweet kiss that made her whimper in a way that almost made him reconsider.

  “I promise I’ll return in less than three days, and I will bring guards or companions to help protect you. It would be foolish for us to travel alone. Do you trust me?”

  “Aye,” she said, leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder. “Please be careful. I will anxiously await your safe return.”

  “And then we will carry on as husband and wife, I promise.”

  They sealed their promise with a kiss, and then Branwen rode back toward Thane Castle, Alick watching her until she reached the safety of the curtain wall. It felt strange and wrong to watch her ride away from him, but as much as Alick hated her sire, she would be safer there, among her uncle’s guards, than she would be riding with him.

  Once he knew she’d made it to safety, Alick headed off to MacLintock land, intent on arriving in time to help his cousins fight off the English. Just to entertain himself, he spat off to the side as he galloped across a meadow, copying his wee cousin John.

  The lad had yet to see two summers, but he hated the “Engwish,” as he called them, and every time someone spoke of them, he’d spit into a bowl by the door or outside. The lad did everything his father, Alasdair, did, including swinging about his wee wooden weapons.

  The “Engwish” had kidnapped John and set up an exchange: the laddie for Alexander Grant. But their plan had failed thanks to the efforts of the Grants, and both the laddie and Grandsire were free.

  He had to believe that they would defeat the English again, and this time his heart was a little lighter because he had Branwen to return to when everything was over. His wife.

  He rode well past dark, taking a less direct route to MacLintock land, knowing if he was not cautious he could be accosted by an English garrison and strung up by his bollocks from the nearest tree. Shadow, who’d always been adept at sensing strangers, alerted him to the English soldiers before he saw them. A small group of them, well into their cups, sat talking about their plan to attack first thing on the morrow. He didn’t recognize any of them.

  Was there a leader or were they reivers intent on wreaking havoc wherever they traveled?

  They numbered around twenty, so he stayed out of sight and listened. Then he heard what he needed to hear.

  “When Pembroke arrives with his three hundred, we’ll take over the castle with no problem.” The man who’d said that was definitely English, and from the way he and another man spoke apart from the rest, he suspected they were in charge.

  “Burke, I don’t know why you insist on making us join all these ventures,” said the second man, who was fair-haired and taller than Burke.

  “Because the English pay us good coin. We show up, we battle for a bit, then run like the devil back toward England before the savage Scots catch any of us. You know it’s easy coin for us.”

  “Mayhap you’re right,” the blond man said, “but if we continue on this way, it’ll cost us. Some of us will get caught by the Scots and impaled on their huge Highland swords. Reiving is safer. Steal cattle and sell it.”

  “They say Edward’s near dead. We have to take several castles to make him happy in his dying days. They’re paying us extra to go after MacLintock Castle.”

  “True, but the other attacks against this one have been unsuccessful. This is a dangerous proposition, Burke, and you know it. I say we skip this one and move on to stealing some cattle.”

  “As long as we get our coin, I don’t care. We can get out early.” He pointed to the other group of men. “Make sure those fools don’t drink all our ale.” Burke turned away while the blond man made his way over to the small group of reivers.

  He grabbed one by the arm. “I think you’ve had enough. You need to be able to fight on the morrow.”

  The man stumbled a little as he turned around. “Don’t worry. I love killing Scotsmen. A little ale won’t stop me.” He cackled in a way that made Alick want to kick him in the shins—and then stab him. “Soon as we finish here, we can go after the Bruce.”

  “I’ll not go with you for that one. I’m staying close to England,” another drunken fool said, wobbling on his feet as he took another swig from his skin.

  “There’ll be no chasing after Bruce,” the blond man said. “We go back to reiving and the simple life.”

  “Fine by me,” the first drunk said, sitting on a log and falling off the back of it, hitting his head on a tree trunk.

  Alick had heard all he needed to hear. He was off to warn his cousins to prepare for an early morning attack. Three hundred made the battle about equal. Two hundred Grant warriors plus Alasdair’s men would make this an easy battle, in fact, because any good Highlander could take out three Englishmen.

  These fools would be easy to beat because they’d carry the pain of the ale, though he suspected he’d never see any of them. The one named Burke planned to grab the coin and run.

  Well, the Grant warriors would have them all running on the morrow. A quick battle and back to his sweet Branwen so he could take her to Grant Castle, where they could live as husband and wife. He’d never looked forward to anything as much as he did the prospect of bringing his wife home.

  Chapter Nine

  Branwen followed her wee brother outside, something she did every day after they broke their fast. Nab was always busy and it was her duty to follow him and see to his safety.

  They’d been outside for nearly an hour, playing in the courtyard, when her sire came in from the stables. Branwen wasn’t sure where he’d been—he’d gone off this morn without a word, and he hadn’t spoken to her last eve either. She still didn’t know whether her uncle had told him about Alick’s request for her hand.

  “Nab, go inside,” Papa said. “Branwen, you will come with me.”

  The look on his face told her not to argue, and to her surprise, Roy came to get Nab and ushered him into the keep. Roy never helped with Nab, or with anything. The smug look on his face did not bode well for her. Once they were outside the gates, her father pointed to her horse and said, “Mount up. I had the maid pack your things. You will follow me to Osbert’s village.”

  “But Papa, did Uncle William speak with you?”

  He
r father turned to her and actually smiled, something she rarely saw. “He did, but I just wish for you to meet Osbert’s bairns before you make any hasty decisions. A quick journey there and back.”

  She sighed, giving in to the inevitable. She knew her sire well enough to know it was impossible to talk him out of something. Besides which, he could not force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. She was already married—although if she told him now, she feared how he might react. If he’d slapped her for dancing with Alick, what would he do if he found out she’d married him?

  Mounting the horse, she glanced at the sack that hung from the saddle, surprised to see the size of it.

  What had Fia packed for her? A sick feeling in her belly told her she might need some protection. She hoped her new dagger was in the bag.

  The trip took two hours, but they rode in silence the whole way. The village consisted of about twenty huts clustered around a well and a small courtyard, a river not far away. A few people worked the land off to the side. She scanned the area for a keep or a castle, but the village was off the regular path, so she guessed they lived there without a laird.

  They stopped at one of the larger huts, and Osbert came out to greet them, hastening to her side and grabbing her by the waist to help her dismount. She didn’t even like the feel of his hands on her clothing. He looked as if he’d cleaned up for her, wearing a leine shirt and breeches. His hair was neatly combed, and she realized he wasn’t a homely man.

  Nowhere near as handsome as Alick MacNicol, but he appeared pleasant enough this morn.

  “Branwen, go inside,” her sire said. “We’ll be directly behind you.”

  Osbert said, “My eldest daughter, Lora, awaits you inside. She’ll introduce you to the others.”

  Her stomach clenched, simply because she didn’t want to know his bairns, but she did as she was told. The lass inside couldn’t be more than a few years younger than her. Her straight red hair, nearly brown, was plaited back away from her face, and she had a lovely smile and dimples. “This way, my lady.”