Probably not, even with the dagger tucked inside her pocket, so she decided to find out what they wanted, which would give her time to review the situation.
They’d accosted her on Grant land. In the Grant keep, for heaven’s sake. Hellfire, Jamie had warned them about the dangers of opening the gates for the festival. The intruders must have used the opportunity to learn the layout of the castle, the cellars. Perhaps they’d even been lying in wait.
How far did they think they could go?
Apparently, quite far.
“Like hell,” she said. “I’ll go nowhere with you.”
“You will or we’ll kill your daughter Chrissa, and we’ll make you watch as we slice her throat.”
The arrogant bastard would learn his place once her warriors got ahold of him.
“How would you know anything about my daughter?”
“She’s twelve winters old, and my friends are outside the castle walls with her. One has his knife across her throat, awaiting further instructions. She likes to sneak away on her own, or didn’t you know that?” Only one of them spoke, the other two standing there silently, their presence menacing.
“You’re lying.”
“Are we?” He reached into his sporran and pulled out a squished piece of parchment, tossing it to her.
She opened it up and nearly fainted because she recognized it as Chrissa’s favorite ribbon she used to tie her hair.
She could feel the life draining out of her face, but she steeled her expression, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing they’d gotten to her.
“All right. What must I do?”
“You will follow us out to our horses and tell everyone who comes close to stand back. Once we get you on the horse, they’ll bring your daughter around front and we’ll release her.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“I ask the questions. Do you understand?”
She nodded. The one in charge yanked her up in front of him, pushing her toward the staircase. “You will go out the back entrance through the kitchens.”
She did as she was told, praying her dear daughter was safe, that they’d let her go as long as Kyla followed their instructions. It was obvious this wasn’t about her daughter. Was it even about her?
The English had tried to kidnap her father before. Could they be after him again? Or did they want someone else? Robert the Bruce? She didn’t know, but she’d stay alert so she could find out the truth.
She had to believe the Highland Swords and the force of Grant warriors would save her. Her son Alick and his cousins had abilities that went beyond the normal realm of warriors.
They moved around to the front of the castle, concealed by the dark of the night. There weren’t many about, but as they approached the front, the guards on the portcullis said, “Halt. Who are you? Step away from our mistress or you’ll die.”
“Don’t shoot them,” Kyla said, her voice trembling. “They have someone with Chrissa. Don’t hurt them, but go after my daughter as soon as they take me away. Save her.”
The warriors stopped. Connor stood at the top of the gate, looking down on them. Four archers were arrayed around him, arrows nocked at the men who held Kyla at dagger-point.
“Your terms,” her brother called out. “What are they, and who do you answer to?”
Her brother Jamie came from behind her, she could hear his voice. “You’ll not get away with this. Mayhap for a few hours, but we’ll hunt you down.”
“The terms are simple. Bring Alex Grant to Glasgow in two days. Then we’ll release your mistress.”
“King Edward will pay for this. I don’t care who he is, we Scots don’t answer to him any longer. We have our own king.”
“You’re right about that. You don’t answer to him any longer.” The first man chuckled as he tugged on Kyla’s arm and dragged her through the gates. “King Edward is not our leader.”
Kyla couldn’t hide her surprise at this declaration. If not Edward, then who?
The leader said, “Edward is dead. Our leader is his son, King Edward II.”
***
Chrissa smiled with satisfaction. She’d snuck out past the guards at the gate again. She couldn’t help but snicker about how she’d pulled it off this time. One of Connor’s young lads, Morgan, loved to be the center of attention. She’d promised her cousin she’d steal three pastries for him from the kitchens that night if he would fall down in the middle of the courtyard screaming.
The lad had screamed so loudly that no one had even glanced at Chrissa’s horse as she’d led the beast to the gates, running alongside so as not to be noticed. She’d gotten out without any trouble at all since the gates were still open. Unless there were English in the area, the Grants kept their gates open until nightfall. Why, she’d have to get Morgan an extra pastry for that.
Now she mounted her horse and galloped across the meadow, the mountains off in the distance and the wind in her hair, just as she loved it. As she approached the archery field, she slowed her horse to make sure she was alone. Not seeing anyone in the immediate area, she brought her horse to a spot where he could nibble on the grasses, jumped off his back, and grabbed her bow.
But she didn’t have a chance to reach for an arrow before two men dropped out of a nearby tree and grabbed her, one covering her mouth with his hand while the other held her arm.
“Hold still and we’ll not harm you.”
Finally, an adventure of her own. She feigned fear, shaking a wee bit as she nodded her agreement, acting the part of a scared lassie. The second they let their guards down and relaxed their hold on her, she sprang into action.
She bit one’s hand and kicked the other in the bollocks while the first one howled in pain. She ran to her horse, trying to get to an arrow, but she didn’t make it. One of them grabbed her by the hair, tugging her backward, but she spun around swinging, her nails slashing across his cheeks and his neck.
“Ow, you wee bitch! Ned, you take her.”
“Fine. If you can’t handle a wee ten-year-old lass, I’ll see if I can,” he answered, rolling his eyes. Ned grabbed at her and she jumped into action again.
She bit his arm and used her fist to punch his bollocks as hard as she could. When he doubled over, she drawled, “How are you doing handling the ten-year-old lass? And I’m two and ten, you hedge-born bastard.”
The first one laughed. “Got you, didn’t she, Ned?”
“Shut your mouth, Lewis. Just hold her down while I massage my bollocks.”
“They sure aren’t verra big,” she yelled at Lewis as if she understood what she meant. She’d heard the kitchen lasses talking the other day about the size of a man’s private parts. They’d boasted about whose man had the biggest, so she’d guessed it would be an insult to tell a man his parts were small.
The man laughed. “Lass, stop trying to impress us and keep still. Now be quiet and we’ll let you go in about a half hour. Understood? We don’t need to hurt you…”
“You didn’t hurt me. I hurt both of you, you yellow-bellied pignuts.” She’d heard Uncle Loki use something similar to that name before, and she’d been waiting for an excuse to use it.
One slapped her hard across the face, but she retaliated quickly by kicking him hard in the shins. “Ow. You really make it hard for me not to wallop you, you ornery witch. Just stand there and keep your hands to yourself. As soon as our friends have the other captive, we’ll let you go.”
Who was he talking about? Her mind spun with a dozen different possibilities, but she already knew the answer in her heart. Her mother.
“Who are you after?” she asked anyway. It wouldn’t do to let the fools know she was on to them.
“Your mother. And you’ll not get her back.”
Someone whistled in the distance, and Ned nodded to Lewis. “Let her go. That’s our call to move out.”
They both mounted and hurried, headed in the direction that would take them off Grant land.
Her hair w
as a mess since she’d lost her hair ribbon, but she didn’t care. She had to fight to save her dear mother. Chrissa brushed the dirt off her hands and shouted after them, “You have not seen the last of me, you dirty brutes!”
And she meant it.
Chapter Twelve
The moment Alick and the others stepped into the great hall after the battle, his cousins’ wives soared into their arms, and all he could do was look around, feeling empty, wishing Branwen were here.
He glanced at Dyna, who drawled, “Don’t even think it.”
That made him chuckle. Dyna had always had a way of making him laugh, no matter what the situation. Grandsire sat in his chair by the hearth, John in front of him brandishing his wooden sword. “I fight you, Seanair.”
“Nay, laddie,” he said softly but firmly. “You practice with Seanair. Never fight someone you love.”
The lad stopped to stare at him, confused.
“You don’t wish to hurt Mama or Papa or your sister or me. You don’t fight us. You fight the English. With me, you may practice.”
“I pwatice you?”
“Aye, we’ll practice.” Grandsire picked up a smaller wooden sword lying near the hearth and held it in front of him so the lad could swing at it.
Emmalin sighed when she saw what he was doing. “I’d hoped to keep him away from the harsh truths of war for a bit longer.”
Grandsire said, “’Tis an admirable thought. My Maddie felt the same way, but we’re at war, so ’tis unlikely you’ll succeed. But he needs to learn the difference between friends and foes.”
Emmalin nodded. “My thanks for that. Please mention it to Alasdair.”
Alick sat down next to his grandfather. “It worked again, Grandpapa. I felt the heat, the power. The lightning was clear for all to see, but tell me what started it. I was too busy to notice.”
Dyna said to Els, “Strip down, and I’ll sew your wound closed. ’Tis bleeding too heavily.”
Els took a chair near them, and Dyna pulled a small table over to use for her supplies. “I’ll check to see if there are any others who need sewing after I finish with you. I brought enough salve for a few. Don’t watch. Tell Grandpapa when you first noticed the heat.”
Els clenched his jaw when the needle pierced his skin the first time, so Joya sat next to him and clutched his free hand.
Emmalin sat down with a plunk. “I didn’t want to involve John, but I feared what would happen once those men broke through the gates.”
They spent the next few minutes discussing what had happened, and how it had differed from their past practices. Only one thing stood out: their swords hadn’t become heavier as the fight went on. The power hadn’t sapped them.
Alasdair joined them, bringing a pitcher of ale.
“Alasdair, did your sword become heavier?” Grandsire asked. The others did not experience it this time.”
He nodded, glancing from Els to Alick. “Mine did. No one else?”
Els was too busy gritting his teeth to answer, so Alick answered for him. “Nay. Mine was easier to swing, but never became heavier. How long did it last, Alasdair?”
“’Twas only at the end. My verra last swing when I noticed it.”
“’Tis quite odd that only one of you experienced it. Well, we put on quite a show,” Grandsire said. “We can be sure people will be talking about the lightning.”
“My do yat, Papa. Big bangs,” John said excitedly, looking up at his father.
Alasdair sighed and said, “Aye, you did, laddie. I pray the English never learn that. ’Tis a secret.” He held his finger to his lips and said, “Shhhh.”
“Is a secwet,” he repeated. “Uncoo Els, pwactice?”
Els was currently still gritting his teeth against the pain of Dyna’s ministrations, so Alick said, “I’ll practice with you, John.” He had to do something, or he would run to the stables and not stop until he reached Branwen. He hoped the Earl of Thane had been able to convince her father that she belonged with him, but he knew her sire to be a stubborn man and a cruel one. Although he would have preferred to start his life with Branwen with her family’s approval, they might have to forgo it. He could leave on the morrow without upsetting anyone, he was certain.
John clearly liked the idea of “pwacticing” because he took a running start at Alick, laughing with glee.
“By the way, I just thought I’d let you all of know I married Branwen before I arrived last night.”
Alasdair set his goblet of ale down and nearly spit out what was in his mouth. “You what? You married someone without us? And you’re only telling us now?”
He was about to explain it all, but Gaufried came through the door with an awful look on his face. Emmalin noticed immediately, motioning for the steward to join them. “What is it?”
“There’s a messenger at the door,” he said. “Shall I bring him in?”
“Tell us first,” said Grandsire, his expression already thunderous.
Gaufried cleared his throat and said, “The English have stolen Kyla.”
Alick stood up abruptly, nearly knocking John over. “My mother? They kidnapped my mother?” His stomach clenched at the thought, and he took a step forward, full of purpose. Intent on getting to the stables, although for a different reason.
Grandsire took hold of his forearm and said, “Nay, you’ll not leave yet. Gaufried, bring the messenger in, please.”
Alick glanced up at Grandsire to see how he’d reacted to the news, and the old man’s clenched jaw told him all he needed to know. Kyla was his mother, but she was his grandfather’s eldest daughter.
His bairn.
Gaufried moved back to the door, opened it, and a man wearing a Grant plaid came inside. “Magnus,” Alex said. “Pleased to see ’tis you. Give us the details. How were they able to do such a despicable thing?”
Magnus said, “Jamie and Finlay will be here on the morrow. They sent me ahead.”
Emmalin waved to a serving girl and said, “Ale and a meat pie for him, please.”
“The details,” Grandsire prompted.
“There were five of them. They came in through the back, killed four guards, then snuck upstairs. Two of them held Chrissa out near the outer archery field, and the other three waited for Kyla to go to the cellars and surrounded her there.”
Alick thought he was going to vomit. They had his sister, too? He was definitely leaving.
“They threatened to kill Chrissa if Kyla refused to go with them. They wish to exchange her for you, my laird. I’m sure you’ll get a missive soon, as most everyone knows you are here.”
Alick said, “Where is Chrissa?”
“She’s fine. All five of the men left with Kyla on horseback. It was about an hour into the night.”
The group digested this for a few moments, and then Grandsire said, “That bastard Edward.”
“Och, I forgot the other news. King Edward is dead. His son is king, and ’tis he who sent the men after Kyla.”
Alick stood up and said, “I have to leave as soon as possible.”
But which way did he go?
After his mother or his wife?
***
Branwen fired another arrow, surprised to hit the apple in the tree, knocking it down. She ran to pick it up, biting into the sweet fruit before she handed it to Lora. “Here, you finish it.”
Lora said, “I still can’t believe you were trained by someone who learned from Gwyneth Ramsay.” She nocked an arrow and it flew wide of the target. “I’m not verra good at this.” Her shoulders slumped.
“You cannot give up. It takes many, many attempts before you see improvement. Keep practicing, though you should stop for a bit when your shoulders get sore. We need to get used to it.”
“How I wish we could kill a rabbit for something to eat. I’m hungry,” Lora said. They’d slept another night in the cave, and although Jep had given them some food, it wasn’t a lot when shared between two.
“Mayhap I can shoot down a couple more apple
s for later.” She aimed and fired, once, twice, thrice, missing with the first two arrows but connecting with the third.
Lora ran over to retrieve it. “This one is big and juicy,” she said with a sweet smile. “We can share it for this eve. ’Tis enough for both of us.”
“Do you miss your brothers or your sisters, Lora? I’ve always wished to have a sister,” Branwen said, pausing to stare off into the bushes, alert for any signs someone might be watching them. Nothing.
Lora stopped to think, tipping her head. “Only Coira. The others are all so mean, and they love to pick on the wee lass. She’s only three summers, but she has a big heart. I feel guilty for leaving her there. I need to get her away before the others ruin her and make her mean, too.”
“We’ll try,” she promised. They’d decided they would go live on Grant land. Not even Branwen’s father would be bold enough to attempt to steal her away from Grant Castle, and Osbert Ware didn’t have the resources to come after them. Nor did he have the right to pursue Branwen, although he did not know that yet.
Lora shot two more arrows, then squealed. “Look! I hit one,” she said, running over to the tree she’d aimed at.
“You’re a quick learner. Good, because I may need you to help me if Alick isn’t able to come right away,” she said, silently praying he would.
She missed him already. “Come, we’ll hide our things, and we can head over to the castle, see if Jep saved us any more food. Mayhap he even saw Alick.”
The two traipsed back to the cave, refreshed themselves in the burn, then fed the horse oats before leaving for the castle.
It was a gray summer morning, but the air was a perfect temperature. Not too hot, and there was a slight breeze. They each picked some wildflowers along the way, doing their best to keep out of sight and off the regular path.
Before they knew it, they were standing outside Thane Castle.
Branwen gave Lora a swift hug and said, “You should stay back here. We cannot risk both of us getting caught. I’ll go to Jep and return as quickly as I can.” She handed her the small bouquet she’d gathered.
The Scot's Pursuit (Highland Swords Book 3) Page 10