“He’s not his pet…” she trailed off. Nobody in Scotland seemed to like Baliol, except her. She shut her mouth when he frowned at her.
“Come on, lass,” he said. He said no more, but stepped in front of her, heading up the path.
She followed him up the hill and through the gates.
The scolding she had from the steward fell on her saddened, deafened ears like rain on rock. The cook’s words stung worse.
“You should be ashamed, Addie!” Mrs. Miller shouted. “Gadding about like a feckless babe. What would your father say?”
Addie shut her eyes, feeling her heart twist inside her like a fist. “My father would say he understood,” she said, very tightly. “Now, if you are quite finished, I will go upstairs. Mrs. Pritchard usually mixes simples at this time, and she’ll be wanting my help to weigh the spices.”
Without a backward glance, spine taut, she walked out of the room.
Upstairs, she found the still room empty. She tiptoed in and sat down, covering her face in her hands. Now, alone, half a morning’s ride from the abbey, she could, finally, let herself relax.
“Oh, Alexander,” she whispered. “Oh, my sweetling. My dearest..!”
As she cried, rocking back and forth to soothe herself, she found her heart tensing with resolve. She did like Lord Baliol, now King of Scotland. However, she hated the man who’d set him up as such – as much for what he’d done to Baliol as for what he wished for her land.
“I am going to help Alexander’s cause.”
She had no idea how she was going to get word to him, but she knew what she wanted to do. She was going to become a spy. She felt no fear of the idea anymore, only a stiff resolution.
Perhaps, just perhaps…if she served her country, if she died for the cause, she would receive redemption. She had sinned, with Alexander. However, this was a way – one way – she could regain her chance at Paradise.
She was going to fight for her country. She was going to be a spy.
She stood and looked into the fire, pouring herself some tea from the kettle that hung there. Mint tea, fresh and green, it had a bitter taste. She drank and poured the last three drops into the flames, watching them, keen-eyed, as they burst and sputtered and flared. She was going to risk everything, and gain redemption. It was all she could hope to do.
TRYING NEW WAYS
Alexander walked grimly past the fortress on the hill. He had been back up here every day for a week. He knew it was ridiculous – every time he came near the place, he risked being caught! However, he had to do this – he felt compelled, as if there was some string within him, tying his heart to the stones.
“…any sign of mischief?” a guard was saying, passing along the wall overhead. Alexander tensed and tried to merge into the shadows of a tree.
“No. Nothing today,” the second soldier answered. He could hear their footsteps, the nails in their boot soles tapping on the stonework of the wall. “I reckon his high-and-mightiness will leave today.”
“No loss,” the second man chuckled grimly.
They were silent after that, their footsteps dying away as they rounded the bend in the walkway on top of the wall. Alexander felt his brow twist in surprise.
“They don’t like him, either, it seems,” he murmured.
That came as a surprise. Why were they all too eager to kill him, when all he sought to do was fight against the hand of England in Scotland’s doings?
A clatter of hoof beats on the path reminded him why. Shaking his head, he dropped into a crouch, hiding in the bracken. A lord was riding up, his horse vast, caparisoned in silk trappings. With him walked two guards, their pikes raised. The man swung down from his horse at the gateway.
“Take me to his lordship, the King of England,” he demanded cursorily to the guards.
Alexander stiffened, almost close enough to see the look of contempt on the guardsman’s face.
“This way, milord,” he said.
The lord – fine linen cloak billowing behind, fur-lined boots tapping on the stones of the courtyard – walked in with an aura of somebody who owned the place. Alexander felt his belly tighten.
“It’s them,” he muttered, standing and darting back to his vantage point near the tree. “Those greedy sots.”
The noblemen – many of them – were benefiting directly from England’s coin. They were, Alexander was certain – taking payment to make some of the choices they made. Land, horses, gold…men could be bought by many things. Or threatened by others.
The people could hate away, but the nobles, many of them, wished to support England’s interference, and profit from such.
“Which leaves us poor fools shivering in the woods, with barely a sheepskin tae cover us,” he swore.
Sheepskins gave him a thought. In all the days he’d been walking here, sneaking up from their encampment by the cave, patrolling the walls to seek a glimpse of Addie – he’d not considered the carter.
What he should do is go into the village, and see if he could find him.
He felt his own roughly cut auburn curls. He frowned. Though he didn’t consider himself that handsome, he knew he stood out – he was tall, and strongly built. His hair was a strong color. He just needed one of the guards to recognize the big tradesman who’d been in the village at the time the inn fight happened, which was concurrent with when a fire started in the guardhouse, and everything ended terribly.
He drew his dagger from the sheath, and hacked a section off his tunic. Then, wishing he could see himself, he bound it tight around his head, stuffing the curls into place. It wasn’t perfect, but a swathing bandage would hide most of his hair.
Then, adding to the disguise, he smeared his face with dirt, darkening and obscuring his skin and his face. He couldn’t change his height, but he hoped changing his walk was enough. Limping forward, dragging his leg like a fellow who’d broken a foot, he headed down towards the village.
As luck would have it, the market was in full swing. The traders had set out their stalls, a guardsman heckled a carter who’d blocked the roadway and a piper played a jig. The lengths of ribbon on a merchant’s stall streamed back in the breeze, a fragmented rainbow of reds and green and blue.
He thought of Addie when he saw those, and felt in his pocket, knowing he had a shilling somewhere. He went over to the stall, feeling stupid. Why was he going to buy her a ribbon, anyway? He was unlikely to ever find her again, and if he did? He was going to give her a ribbon, when he should be spending his life earning her forgiveness?
“You’re a scoundrel,” he told himself.
“Ribbons! Fine ribbons! Real silk!” the merchant called. He was a vast fellow with a spreading nose and eyes the palest blue of lakes.
“How much is the green?” he heard himself asking.
“Six pennies, soldier!” the merchant wheedled. “Just six pennies. For something so fine.”
“Six pennies! That’s too much,” he murmured. That was half his money! The man was crazy! He turned away.
“Five pennies, then!” the man urged. “Just five. And think what your pretty lass will say, when you tie the ribbon round her neck?”
“Bollocks,” Alexander swore. Just the thought made his heart clench. Behind him, the merchant whistled. He walked away, feeling stupid.
He walked past pie stands and cloth stands and spices, his heart growing more and more sorrowful as he went. The fairground, with its merry tunes and laughing bairns, made his heart sore.
“Curse the lot.”
He was deciding to leave when his eye fell on something he hadn’t expected to see. A wool seller. He stared.
“How much?” he said, pointing at the wool, which was either raw in bundles or spun into colored skeins.
“This one?” the merchant looked surprised. He lifted the bundle, frowning at it. “This one’s our finest wool. Comes from up in the Highlands. This is a shilling.”
“Go on wi’ ye,” he mocked.
“No, really,” the
merchant insisted. “How much would you pay in Edinburgh for such, do ye reckon? Half again. Take it now, or ye’ll wish ye had.”
Alexander bit back his retort. He wanted to ask this man a question. Offending him was not a good way to start.
“Where’d ye say it comes from?” he asked.
“From Glencoe…thereabouts,” the fellow shrugged.
Alexander gave him a firm look. “You’re telling me the truth?” he challenged. “I heard say that some o’ this lot,” he jerked his head, indicating the remaining stalls in the marketplace, ha’ been selling off wool from the abbey, as if it comes from out near Glencoe.”
“Really?” the merchant raised a brow. “Haddon?”
“Aye?”
A stocky built fellow wearing a leather jerkin and hose looked up at the merchant. He was sitting on a cart round the back of the stall, and he regarded Alexander with a blank stare.
“When ye fetched the wool, which of it came from the abbey?”
“Most none of it,” the carter said firmly. “Except this bundle here, and that too…” he gestured to some patchy-looking bundles on the edge of the table.
“When did you bring it?” Alexander asked, giving the carter a hard look. He could almost hear his heart. He felt his hands get damp and wanted to wipe them on the front of his shirt, to ease the tension. This fellow might have been the last person to see Addie!
“Och, a week ago,” the man shrugged. “Last market day. Why?”
“You saw a lass, aye?” he challenged. “At the abbey.”
The fellow went pale. His eyes darted around behind Alexander, as if he was looking for an escape plan. Alexander felt his hand shoot out and grip the fellow’s shoulder.
“You saw her. If you did, just tell me! Please?”
The merchant was looking at them as if they had both gone daft. Alexander ignored him. In his grip, the carter struggled.
“I saw her, aye. She paid me. Told me tae take her to the castle, so I…I did. Let me go, sir? Please!”
Alexander let go of his shoulder. The fellow rubbed it, leveling a glare at him. He ignored it.
“Thanks,” he said swiftly. Then, before the merchant could say anything, he grinned.
“Ye’ve got grand wool, there,” he said. Then he marched off across the market, feeling his heart soaring.
Suddenly, the place was lively. He noticed the beautiful colors of bolts of silk on a merchant’s counter, smelled spices and bread baking. Heard the lively sound of a reel. Hope was like a candle, he thought. When you had it, your world was a bright and different place.
He found himself at the ribbon seller’s stall.
“Sixpence, for the green stuff. Aye?”
“Five pennies,” the merchant said. He looked as if he must have witnessed Alexander’s challenge of the carter. “You can have it for five pennies.”
“No, ye said sixpence,” Alexander said reasonably. His heart was full of joy and he felt like spreading it around. “And sixpence it shall be. Now roll it up, will ye? I’ll not want it getting soiled.”
“Of course, of course.”
The fellow’s long-fingered hands wound the ribbon, and he passed it to Alexander wrapped in a linen scrap.
Alexander, grinning, passed him the shilling piece. He counted his change carefully before he left, biting into one of the pennies to test the silver.
Then, whistling under his breath, aware of the merchant’s wary gaze still on him, he headed up the hill, towards the castle.
As he walked up the path, he saw something. He stared. Red hair, the color of sunsets, bright against the brickwork of the wall.
“Addie…?” he breathed.
The woman was slight, like Addie, with curves that drew the eye and made his blood heat. She had long red hair, clubbed back from her neck with a scrap of cloth. She was wearing a brown dress. He stared. No, it couldn’t be.
She turned around. Her eyes, the fine green of the first grass after springtime rains, looked into is.
“Alexander…?” she whispered.
“Addie!” he called. “Addie McMurrie! I found you!”
They embraced.
“Addie,” he sighed, breathing in the scent of her, feeling her in every part of him, body melting with relief and joy. “I can’t believe I found you.”
“Nor I, you,” she said. She stared into his eyes, and he saw a shadow pass over their green depths, a cloud on the warmth. “There is something I need to tell you.”
A PLAN IS MADE
The wind whipped through Alexander’s hair and cloak, lifting them lightly. Addie faced him. She felt frustrated, and desperate. Together, they made her feel angry with him.
“You’re not listening. Dinnae ye understand what this means to me?” she said.
He frowned. “It’s too dangerous. I cannot let you…”
“You cannae let me?” she spat. “You cannae stop me! What makes you think…?” she trailed off, as he looked at his boots. She could have taken anger, or bluster. To see him simply desolate was worse.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he said softly. “I didnae mean that. I just cannae stand by and let you take a risk.”
Addie jerked her chin up, staring at him with blazing eyes. “You didnae think of the risk I took, coming to you. Being with you. I could have a child – which would mean I was without work, destitute! You didn’t think of my disgrace. You didn’t think of my soul’s peril.”
“I know,” he said. He wasn’t looking at her, but she could see his shoulder trembling and knew that he was close to tears.
Her voice softened. “It’s no’ your fault,” she said. “I also wanted you.”
He looked up. His eyes met hers and he smiled. He still looked desperately sad.
“Och, lass,” he said. He lifted a hand and held it out to her. She took it in both her own. His fingers were firm with muscle, ridges on the underside from holding the horse’s reins. “I dinnae deserve you.”
“That’s as may be,” she grinned, though she didn’t feel much like laughing. “But this plan is the only one I can think of, to redeem myself.”
“You dinnae need to,” he said, sounding desperate. “As you said, if any is guilty, it’s me! Och, lass…if I could do aught better!”
“I know,” she said soothingly. “You can’t wed me without making my situation worse.”
“I’m lucky you’re so forgiving, lass,” he muttered.
Addie sighed. “I reckon I don’t have much choice, but to be.” Again, she smiled, though it wasn’t amusing – not really.
They stood silently for a while. She felt her heart tighten with sorrow. Why wouldn’t he agree to it? At least, if he were working with her, it would make it worthwhile! Less dangerous besides. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes with a look of mute desperation.
“Very well,” he said.
“What?” Addie stared at him. “You mean…you’ll consider it?”
“Aye,” he said. His hands swung at his sides, helplessly. He smiled at her, though the pain in his eyes was clearly visible.
Addie’s throat closed up. “Thanks,” she whispered mutely. A tear rolled down her cheek. She cuffed it away.
He chuckled. “Why are ye crying, lass?”
“I’m silly,” she sniffed.
He shook his head. “You’re the bravest lass that I ever saw.”
She shrugged. “I dinnae ken if this is brave, or plain foolhardy. Probably both.”
They stood together for a long moment, both keeping their silence. He seemed as uncomfortable as she felt. He frowned, then rummaged in the belt pouch he always wore.
“Um…I got this for you.”
Addie stared at what he held out. His big hands were bruised and swollen, and in his fingertips he held something of surprising delicacy. It sparkled like emeralds. She stared.
“Alexander...? What is that?”
“A ribbon. I got it at the fair. Made me think of you.” He looked shy.
Addie felt her
heart fill with conflicting emotions. Joy, regret and pain all twisted together in a mix that made her chest hurt. She coughed through a tight throat.
“Oh, Alexander. You shouldn’t have.”
“Och, it’s nothing.”
However, it wasn’t nothing – not for her or for him. She took the roll of silk, unraveling it slowly. Heaven alone knew how far it had traveled! The best silk came from India – some far away place of hot sun and spices that she could not even imagine. She let it run through her fingers, smiling at the way it caught the uncertain sunshine, glowing like a jewel.
“It’s beautiful,” she sighed.
He was beaming, watching her as if he’d never seen anything as beautiful as the smile on her face. She swallowed hard, feeling the glow of his appreciation strike fire inside her.
“It’ll suit ye,” he said.
Addie smiled shyly. “I’ll wear it for the gathering next week.”
“Wear it now?” he asked.
She lifted her hair up from her shoulders, shaking it out and then gathering it into a rough plait. He waited until she was finished and then frowned, shyly at her.
“Can I tie it in?”
“Aye,” she whispered. “Please.”
His big fingers with the muscled knuckles worked a second or two, and he made a tight knot. The ends of the silk hung loose against her dress. She watched them drift in the slight wind, then looked up at him.
“How does it look?”
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Just grand.”
“Och, you flatterer,” she teased, though his words touched her.
He just smiled at her, uncertainly.
She sighed. Around them, the wind had risen, and it howled past, buffeting the ribbons, tangling his cloak, lifting the red strands of his hair. That gave her a thought.
“That needs remedying,” she said. “And a change.”
“What does?” he lifted a hand to his chopped, ruined hair. “You mean, my head?” His protective horror was genuinely funny. Addie chuckled.
“Yes, that,” she said. She reached out and touched it gently. He tensed. She bit her lip, not wanting to give in to the feelings that welled, sweet and tender, inside her.
The Highlander On The Run (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 1) Page 16