The Scot's Pursuit (Highland Swords Book 3)

by Keira Montclair

Branwen said, “You may call me Branwen. No need for titles here.” Lora nodded and led her into the back chamber where three younger girls sat huddled on the floor while two lads fought off to the side. The lads she guessed to be seven and maybe five summers, while the girls were scattered around them in age.

  The youngest was quite beautiful with angelic eyes. She stared up at Branwen and said, “Are you going to be my new mama?”

  Startled, Branwen said, “Nay. I’m just visiting.”

  Lora reacted in a way that told her that wasn’t what they’d been told. She grabbed the two boys and separated them, saying, “You are to greet Lady Branwen.”

  They stopped for only a short moment before launching into an argument over something else. “Pay them no mind,” Lora said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “They always fight.”

  She sat on a nearby stool, wondering why she had been brought here. Something told her this visit was more than what her father had described it to be. Looking into Lora’s eyes, she saw something she didn’t like—pity.

  Osbert opened the door and said, “We are ready, my sweet.” His wide smile made her more uncomfortable than anything the bairns could have done or said.

  “Ready? For what?” she asked, truly puzzled by his comment.

  “Why, for our wedding, of course. Wee Coira has been very excited.”

  Coira jumped off her stool and tried to clap her hands, but she lost her balance and fell against one of her sisters. The lass quickly retaliated by hitting Coira in the face, while the other stood up to kick the poor lassie.

  “Please stop that,” Branwen said.

  She looked at Lora and Osbert to see how they reacted to the two girls’ actions, but Lora simply pulled Coira away from the other two. Was this the usual pattern to their day—lads fighting and lassies slapping?

  Coira escaped Lora’s hands and ran to Branwen to bury her face in her skirts. Branwen didn’t know what to do, so she hugged the wee lassie. Papa stuck his head in behind Osbert and said, “Please hurry, Branwen. I cannot spend all day waiting for your marriage to take place, and I must approve it.”

  “But Papa, you said ’twould happen in a fortnight.”

  “I did, but that was before I found about Alick and your visit with your uncle. I make the decision about your husband, not the Earl of Thane.”

  She followed him into the front chamber, surprised to see a priest standing there, robes flowing around him. He nodded and said, “My lady, please join me here.” He held his hand out, indicating the place for her to stand, then nodded for Osbert to take up his position.

  She refused to move. “Papa, you cannot force me to do this. I married Alick MacNicol while you were gone. I’m sorry that I did it behind your back, but you left me no choice. Mr. Ware, my apologies, but I love another. I’m already married.”

  “What?” Osbert asked, the shock evident on his face. “You never told me this, Denton. How can I marry someone who has already said her vows to another?”

  “She’s lying.” Her father clenched and unclenched his fists in a way that told her he’d like to use them on her, but she forced herself not to cringe from him. “Who married you?” he asked.

  “Father MacKenzie. We were visiting the chapel by the loch and he was there. He married us. I swear ’tis the truth.”

  “Master Denton?” the priest said. “A word, please.”

  Her father marched forward, but she could hear his words to the priest. “She’s lying. There is no Father MacKenzie. He passed over a year ago.”

  “I don’t know of a Father MacKenzie either. I’d heard of one but they said he’d died a while ago. But I must know the truth. I cannot marry a woman already wed.” The priest fussed with his robes, clearly upset by her revelation.

  “You think she has made up this wedding?” Osbert asked, looking at her with an expression she hated. Pity, if she were to guess. A look that said she was either addled or daft.

  “She has created this situation in her mind to stop this marriage. I’ll not allow her to stop it since we’ve come all this way.” That’s when her father took several coins from his coin purse and handed them to the priest. “I tell you there is no Father MacKenzie.” He stepped toward her and grabbed her upper arm, squeezing it until she wished to scream loud enough for all to hear her. “Now, you will do as you’re told.”

  The priest started the ceremony, her father’s coin the only convincing he required, and Branwen listened in a daze, knowing she only had to respond to one part. After all, she’d just been through the ceremony with a different man.

  When that crucial part finally came, and the priest asked, “Do you take this man, Osbert…” she yelled, “Nay, I do not. They are forcing…ow!”

  Her father twisted her wrist cruelly until she replied, “Aye. Please let go. You’re breaking my arm.”

  The priest stared off into the corner, ignoring the brutality that took place directly in front of him.

  Her father let go as soon as she committed to the relationship—a false promise given she was already wed to another. Osbert finished his vows, then planted a saliva-drenched kiss onto her cheek because she had turned her face at the last moment.

  “I’ll speak with you outside, Osbert,” Branwen’s sire said, then glanced at her with withering contempt. “And Branwen, mayhap you’ll think before you go behind my back again. But I hope we’ll never see each other after this day.”

  Osbert said, “’Tis a bit harsh, my lord. She’s just a lass. ’Tis no reason to treat her cruelly. She’s of your own flesh.”

  Arnald Denton spun on his heel and left without another word.

  Guiltless.

  ***

  When Alick arrived, he came in through the back entrance of MacLintock Castle, pleased that he had seen no more Englishmen on his way to the keep. Once inside, he found his cousins and Grandsire strategizing at a trestle table in the hall. Joya, Els’s wife, and Emmalin, Alasdair’s wife, greeted him first because they were closest to the door, but the others abandoned their tasks to welcome him.

  He wished more than anything to tell them he’d finally found the woman of his dreams, that he’d married her, but he knew the time wasn’t right. The English were due to arrive soon, and he needed to tell the others everything he’d discovered about the attack. He would share his good news later, once they’d won.

  They all sat around the table, and Emmalin and a serving lass brought out fresh platters of cheese and bread for the group.

  “Many thanks,” Alick said, “I am verra hungry.” He grabbed a hunk of bread and started chewing, finishing his first bite before he gave his news. “You’re going to be attacked in the morn.”

  Alasdair bolted out of his seat. “And you waited to tell me that?”

  “Sit down, Alasdair,” Grandsire said. Then he returned his attention to Alick. “Tell us what you know, and how.”

  Alasdair reluctantly took his seat next to his wife, reaching for her hand as he settled. “My apologies. Go ahead.”

  “I came upon twenty men talking around a fire. They were awaiting the Earl of Pembroke and around three hundred of his men. The plan is to attack your castle on the morrow.” He took a bite of his bread, secretly thinking of a pair of green eyes that were the most beautiful he’d ever seen. “The group I listened to were English reivers out to gain coin from the English. The ones I saw won’t pose any threat to our warriors.”

  “How were they preparing?” Dyna asked.

  Alick couldn’t help but chuckle over what he’d seen. Grant warriors on patrol would never have carried on so. “By drinking enough ale to fall over. They’ll be in misery by morn. Everyone but their two leaders. One named Burke. ’Tis all I overheard, except they all seem to prefer the practice of thievery to skirmishes. If Pembroke’s men are anything like them, should be an easy battle.”

  “Nonetheless, we don’t wish to lose many men, so we should plan on using your spectral swords. They’ll give us the power to take care of them early an
d easily.” Grandsire’s gaze traveled from one of his grandbairns to the next, quietly seeking their approval.

  Emmalin said, “Surely ’twill work with all of you here. You can just find a spot inside the gates and hold your ground.”

  Grandsire turned to Emmalin and said, “We’ll need John.”

  All heads turned toward Emmalin for her reaction. Her face turned a deep shade of red, but she remained strong. “John is a wee bairn who toddles about the keep. He is not old enough to join in any battles.” She didn’t look at Grandsire at all.

  Alasdair rushed in to defend his wife’s decision. “We can probably do it without John, Grandpapa.”

  Persistent as ever, the old man said, “You saw it as clearly as the rest of us did. It only worked reliably around John. I’ll stand down from the fighting and hold him to the side. He can swing his wee sword.”

  Emmalin cleared her throat, staring at the middle of the table, deliberately not making eye contact with anyone. “With all respect, my answer is still nay. A bairn his age is too young to be exposed to death and killing.”

  Stunned, but impressed with her strength, Alick looked from Alasdair to Grandsire to see how they reacted.

  Grandsire said, “Alasdair, you must convince your wife.”

  Alasdair cleared his throat and said, “I’ll not go against her wishes, Grandsire, but if we’re strong, we won’t need to rely on the power.”

  “But if we do?” Els whispered.

  “Nay.” Emmalin held both palms up to the group. “And I’ll not discuss it any longer. My son will not be a participant in your group. He’s a bairn.”

  After she left, Dyna said, “Grandsire, we can do it without John. I agree with her.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he said.

  ***

  They were all up early, pacing, looking out through the windows, going to the gates, trying to make decisions without the information necessary to do so.

  “Where are they?” Alasdair asked, chewing on a shaft of wild grass outside the gates.

  “North of here, I tell you. You’re looking south and west. They’re not coming from that direction.”

  Alick had a bad feeling, although not necessarily about the attack. He’d woken up in the middle of the night after having that same nightmare about his mother.

  “Why are you so unsettled? Another nightmare?” Alasdair asked.

  “Aye,” he answered quickly, turning away to pace. He didn’t want to tell his cousin about Branwen moments before they rode into battle. It wouldn’t be right. But he deeply regretted leaving his bride behind. Why hadn’t he just brought her with him? Worry about riding in the dark, aye, but he’d also hoped he could talk Branwen’s father around. Or that the Earl of Thane would intervene on their behalf. Now, he was full of doubt, worried something had gone wrong back at Thane Castle.

  “I don’t think they’re being sneaky.” Alasdair said, climbing up to the top of the curtain wall again. “They’re English,” he called down. “Too daft to be sneaky.”

  Grandsire came though the courtyard and said, “Ready your men. The English can be seen from the back of the wall. You and your cousins should fight near the gates and stay together, just in case.”

  “And where do you want Dyna?” Alick asked as she strolled out to join them. Els joined them from the kitchens.

  “She can shoot from the top of the wall,” Grandsire said. “Prepare as you must while I speak with Alick alone.” He waved the others on, and they moved along even though they clearly would have preferred to stay and listen.

  Alick looked at his grandfather, wondering what this was about. “What is it, Grandsire?”

  “Why were you delayed, and why were you traveling alone? Something you’ve been warned against doing multiple times since hostilities have increased with the English. You could have easily been attacked by a group of drunken reivers or English.”

  He’d expected his grandsire would catch on eventually. “I went after Branwen Denton.”

  “I don’t know the name.”

  “She’s niece to William, the Earl of Thane. They live with him at present.”

  “And why did you have a pressing need to see her?”

  The old man would not let up, that much he knew. “We met at the Grant festival. Her sire treats her cruelly, and I requested permission to court her.”

  “And?”

  “I was denied.” He noticed the small tic in his grandfather’s jaw at that comment. He’d never show his anger, but Alick knew the signs. “Grandpapa, I truly care about her.”

  “Why were you denied? Did the man give you a reason?”

  “He said she was already betrothed to Osbert Ware.” He tapped his foot, wishing this inquisition were over.

  “The old Osbert who lost his wife not long ago?”

  “The same.”

  “And yet you went to see her on Thane land. Can you explain?”

  “I wished to speak to her uncle, the Earl of Thane. My hope was that he would support my suit and convince her sire to agree to the match. You’ve always gotten along with the earl, have you not?”

  “Aye, in past years, but he doesn’t support Bruce.”

  “I know that, but they’re not enemies, correct? You’ve never feuded with him, have you?”

  “Nay, we have not. I assume you did get to speak with the man as you arrived here in a timely manner. What was his response to your request?”

  “He said he would consider my proposal.” He scratched his neck, suddenly worried how his grandfather would react to this next part. “But we found a priest near the loch, and he agreed to marry us. I made Branwen my wife because I wasn’t willing to leave it up to chance. I planned to tell you after the battle.”

  His grandfather waved to Dyna to join them.

  Once she made her way over, Grandsire said, “You are correct, Dyna. The two married. Congratulate your cousin.”

  “If only I’d put a wager on it,” she said, smiling, and clapped Alick on the shoulder.

  The first sounds of the English cavalry carried to them. Alasdair, who’d been yelling instructions up to his men on the wall, turned to them. “Alick, we need you,” he called out. “Grandsire, you will head inside with John?”

  “Aye,” Grandsire said, turning to leave, but he stopped to say, “Godspeed. All of you.” Then he glanced at Alick and winked. “I know someone that has an important reason to survive this battle.”

  He knew what the old man was thinking.

  It was his wedding night.

  Chapter Ten

  Osbert took Branwen’s hand and said, “I’ll never treat you so harshly, my lady.” He kissed her cheek and whispered, “I cannot wait to have you join me in my bed this eve. Why don’t you take care of the bairns and get our supper ready while I speak with your sire outside?”

  Just like that, she had become a servant and a maid to someone else.

  She stared after him, rubbing her arm where her father had twisted it to force her compliance. How she wished Alick had stayed. Or brought her with him.

  Tears forced their way to the corners of her eyes, but she refused to feel downtrodden or defeated. She would prevail. She had to.

  Fortunately, Lora came up behind her. “My lady, what will you do now?”

  She glanced at the lass, seeing again the younger lass’s sympathy, and told her the truth. “I’ll run away. Tell me your sire’s schedule so I know when I have the best chance of leaving.”

  Lora glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was there, then whispered, “Only if you take me with you.”

  Branwen couldn’t have been more shocked. But a closer glance was revealing—the lass’s eyes were tired, her clothing threadbare, and the calluses on her hands were a testament to the hard work she did. “Are you sure?”

  She gave a swift nod. “Aye. I beg you. Someday I’ll come back for Coira, but the others are mean and spoiled by my mother and father both. They’re allowed to do whatever they want and have no
chores. I do it all.”

  “The cooking?”

  “Aye.” She nodded furiously, tears dotting her lashes.

  “Do you wash the clothing?”

  “Aye, in the stream, and I bathe the bairns, do their hair, wash the linens, clean the hut, and go to market for food. I also take care of the garden in the summer when it’s fruitful.”

  “What does your sire do?” she asked, shocked by what she was hearing. This lass was worked harder than she had been.

  “He goes to the center of the village and meets with the other men. He occasionally works the garden with me, but the older I get, the less he does. I know he’ll never allow me to marry.”

  “How may winters are you?” Lora was quite pretty, and surely someone on Grant land would consider her a suitable wife. “Do you wish to marry?”

  “Five and ten. And nay, I’ll never marry because I don’t wish to take care of bairns forever, but I’d like to get away. I’d become a nun before I would let some man tie me to this life of drudgery.”

  “Where would you go? Do you have another relative you wish to visit?”

  Lora shook her head and stared at the ground. “Mayhap you’ll think me foolish, but I have dreamed for many years about seeking out Gwyneth Ramsay. I wish to be an archer just like her. Maybe work for the Scottish Crown or just fights for the Scots.”

  Branwen couldn’t help but smile. “I know someone who was trained by Gwyneth. She’s her niece, and I’d be pleased to introduce you to her. She gave me lessons.”

  “Can you shoot an arrow?” The lass’s wide-eyed enthusiasm humbled her.

  “Aye. I’ve been practicing. Although I’ve much work still to do.”

  Lora gripped her hand in hers. “Please. Take me with you. We can help each other.”

  Branwen considered her request for a moment, but she didn’t have to think for long. Why not? The lass knew the area better than Branwen did, so she could be a great asset. She honestly was uncertain if she could find her way back to Thane land, and she would need to be close to keep watch for the return of her husband. They’d also be safer traveling together. “All right. But we must leave before this eve. When is the best time for us to slip away?”