“Thanks,” she said tightly.
“And you never said! Why, you could be a seamstress! There’s castles and homesteads from here to Glencoe that would pay good coin for such grand handiwork!”
“You reckon…?” Addie looked up at her, feeling a sudden stab of hope. If she were to be a seamstress, she would be able to continue work throughout her pregnancy. Nobody would have to see her, and she wouldn’t have to stand, or leave her home. She could raise a child alone – or at least she had a far greater chance of doing so.
Her friend smiled warmly. “You ought to see my stitches! I never could do anything so fine.”
Addie blushed. “Thanks,” she said.
Her mind was racing. Why had she been so foolish, why hadn’t she considered she could work in some other capacity? She should have gone away with Alexander! She could have worked, and they could have escaped these borderlands, together. They could go to the Highlands, where nobody would find them and where war with England was all but unheard of.
“Won’t ye take tea, lass?” her friend asked.
“No, I must go,” Addie said, as the bells rung in the village. It was midday. She really had to go soon. She walked swiftly out, bundle of goods under her arm. She walked straight into a man.
She screamed.
“Whist,” Alexander said.
Addie stared round in alarm. “Alexander! No!” she gestured him into a shadowed alcove by the stairs. “You’re no’ supposed tae be here.”
“I ken,” he said, letting her draw him out of the hallway and into the dark recess. He looked into her eyes. “Addie,” he said. “I have news. I need your help.”
“What sort of help?” she asked. Though it had been her idea, suddenly the thought of their conspiring sickened her.
“I have a letter. I think it’s from the King’s household,” he said. “I cannae read it.”
“Fine,” she said levelly. “Where is it?”
“Here.” He passed her a long rolled-up parchment.
“I need some light to see this,” she said. “Come upstairs with me.”
“Aye.”
She took him to her bedroom. As desperately strange as it felt to have him there, it was the only place she could be sure of safety. Shutting the door swiftly, she drew the small wooden chair against it and then took the letter to the window, eyes straining in the poor light.
“I’ll get the torch from yonder.”
Addie opened her mouth to protest, but it was dark and they needed more light. She said nothing as he stood with the torch from the wall sconce in one hand, the flames spreading greasy smoke through her room.
“It’s in English,” she confirmed, letting her eye slowly run down the letters. She hadn’t read in years! Books and papers were things that priests had, or stewards. The last time she’d seen anything written, she’d been ten years old, and in her father’s workroom.
“To…Lord…DeMarre, baron Hume.” She frowned. “I send greetings and…inquire…about the state of your fort. Should you have need of…I don’t know this word – I think it must mean growth – we will…ensure passage of the best stone…from Dunfermline. In return, we wish for your men to fight alongside us.”
She stared up at him with wide eyes. “This is treasonous!” she said.
Alexander nodded grimly. He didn’t look as surprised as she felt. She put the letter on the nightstand. She was shaking.
“Whoever sent this wants the baron to side with them, should England invade,” she said.
“I reckon so,” Alexander nodded. “In return for building materials.”
They both looked at each other in horror. It was shocking beyond anything they could have imagined. Many of their own noblemen were so venial and self-serving as to sell their own country for stone, or lands, or wealth.
“I don’t believe it.”
“I found it on a messenger,” Alexander said.
“You did?” Addie stared at him. “How?”
Alexander sighed. “I didn’t have to kill anybody, if that’s what’s worrying ye.”
Addie let out a long breath. “Good,” she said.
They looked at each other in the silence.
“What should we do?” Addie asked. Her heart was twisting with a mass of emotions. She didn’t want to do this now! Not when she’d just discovered she could have so much to live for! If Alexander would only give up this cause!
He shrugged wordlessly. “I don’t know.”
Addie sat down on the bed. “You should go,” she said after a long silence. “It’s dangerous here. And the longer you have that note, the more dangerous it gets.”
He nodded. “I know,” he said. “What should we do?”
“We should record what’s written,” she said, reaching for a knife. She had a small slate in the bundle of precious things – a sturdy thing with a surface as smooth as oiled metal, it had belonged to her father.
While Alexander whispered the details, Addie scratched them onto the tablet with the knife. Then, with a dull horror resting on her soul, she slid the stone into her bag again. If anybody who could read found it, they were as good as dead.
“Och, Addie…” Alexander said. He was looking at her with eyes full of worry. Addie felt surprisingly annoyed.
“It’s the cause that matters,” she said in a small, tight voice. “Isn’t it?”
She turned her back as he walked out of the room. She heard the door close softly behind him.
When he had gone, she rolled up on her side, heart pounding, body as tense and tired as if she’d spent the whole day walking. She felt a tear track down her cheek and laid a hand on her belly, wishing she could protect the child she could be carrying.
“Och, Alexander,” she whispered. “When will you know that duty can’t light your world? Only love.”
A WHISPER OF SUSPICION
Alexander rolled over in the darkness. He was sleeping in the stables, having bad dreams. It was pitch black around him. What had woken him? Reaching for his dagger, he stood, leaning against the wall.
Footsteps. They were coming along the aisle between the stalls, the sound of soft leather boots almost inaudible on the flagstones. Alexander was surprised he’d woken.
“It has to be him,” a voice growled into the silence.
“How do you know he’s here?” another voice – a strained whisper.
“The lad said he always sleeps here.”
A low chuckle followed that statement. “He spoke up soon enough, alright.”
“He did.”
Alexander felt his heart clench. Who had they questioned? Who were they looking for? His stomach roiled with fear.
The sound of the boots got closer. He wrinkled up his eyes, seeing a lamp flare in the dark. A horse snorted. A man laughed.
“That’s clever, Fergal,” he said. “Make a rare fine noise, why don’t ye? Wake up everybody in the place.”
His companion swore. The light was abruptly snuffed.
“No,” the mocking voice continued regardless. “We’ll just have to find him without a light.”
“How?”
“Stab the straw. When he yells, we’ve got him.”
They reached the pile where the hay was stored, where Alexander had – until a few moments ago – been asleep. He felt his breath catch in his throat as the soldiers drew their swords. It was an unmistakable sound, the whisper of metal on oiled leather. A hiss, like the sound of ice sliding from a roof.
One of the men started to stab the straw. The blade tip clanged hollowly on the stone. They other started on the other side. Alexander, feet still buried in the pile, leaned on the wall. Kept his eyes closed.
“Bollocks,” the soldier on his right said.
“Fellow must have lied,” the other one growled, the one who had spoken with such relish about questioning Callum.
“Or the farrier’s escaped,” the first man put in.
“Or that. Aye.”
They looked around.
&n
bsp; “Let me light up the torch again,” the other man said. “It’s just straw in here. The horses won’t see the light from here.”
“No. We might set the whole place on fire,” the first man grumbled. “Och, well. Go ahead.”
Alexander heard his companion draw a flint out of a metal holder. He ran forward, dagger poised.
“Take that!”
The man he’d run at – just a darker shadow on a background of darkness – screamed. Alexander felt his blade twist on chain mail and swore, the blow jarring his wrists.
“Mind away!” the first soldier yelled. He’d lifted his sword, and he swung it at Alexander, a great arc that would have cut his arm, had he not danced aside.
He heard the other guard yell in alarm, and realized the blow must have landed on him. Taking advantage of the confusion, as the two men swore and fumbled for a light, he ran to the door.
“I have to get out.”
He ran up the aisle between the stables, heedless of the noise he was making. In the background, he heard the two men yell in frustrated rage and pound down the center line after him. He ran around the side of the barn, knowing they were only seconds behind him. That was when he saw their horses. Saddled, they waited around the back.
“Whoa!” Alexander yelled. He threw himself onto the back of one of them, hauling himself up in the way his master-at-arms had taught him until his arms ached. Settling into the curved saddle, lifting the reins, he twisted round and rode for somewhere – anywhere.
“Out of my way!” he screamed at the guards as he charged the gateway. “He’s getting away! We have to follow him.”
The propensity to follow orders was strong in these men. Seeing only a commanding shape on horseback, cloak flying, they moved out of his way.
Alexander let his horse have his head, and they careened out into the dark night.
“Whoa! Stop that man!”
He heard shouts and the sound of pursuit. He closed his eyes a second, praying that his horse would not run smack into a tree, and let the creature carry him on a random, crashing path, through the forest.
Someone must have heard his prayers. He felt his horse straining and reined him to a stop, after a run of perhaps eight long minutes. They stood still in the silence. His horse drooped his head.
Alexander listened. The sounds of pursuit were faint, now, almost inaudible between the trees. The wind whispered in pine needles, the only leaves still left overhead. Otherwise, the woods were silent.
“Whist, lad,” he whispered to his horse. The creature’s head was down, his sides flecked with foam. He knew they were both in danger – of exhaustion, wild beasts and cold. He looked round, then dismounted.
“I dinnae ken where we are, lad,” he said. “And I dare not make fires.”
All they could do was follow the first track they came across, and hope it led somewhere that the soldiers did not know about.
He lifted his horse’s bridle and together they headed down the only open space they could see between the trees. It was lighter here than in the castle. The stars were big overhead, outlined crisply in an autumnal sky. He could smell leaf mold and rain.
“Beats being in a stable, anyhow.”
His horse snorted. It seemed neither of them were convinced. Alexander was starting to shiver. He could feel his horse doing the same. He wished they could find shelter for the night. Now that they’d stopped moving, he was starting to feel truly cold.
“Addie,” he whispered under his breath. “I have to fetch you.”
He had stolen the letter and thought he’d achieved no detection. He’d taken it to her, to transcribe. The person they would accuse, should they find the tablet of her words, was her.
She’ll be killed as a traitor, or simply quietly killed by those two knights.
It was all his fault.
Alexander closed his eyes. He had to go back. It was going to be difficult – how was he supposed to find his way, when he didn’t have any idea whereabouts he was? However, he had to take her away from there.
If you had never agreed to this. If you’d persuaded her not to come here…
His horse snorted and stopped, shivering. Alexander stroked the creature’s neck, looking around them in the silent forest to see what had disturbed him. He heard it. A slow, soft rushing noise, somewhere just beyond where his ears could rightly hear. It was the sound of a river.
“Well done, lad!” he patted the horse’s neck affectionately.
Together they walked on towards the sound.
By the time they reached the water, Alexander was shivering in earnest. He drew his cloak about himself and leaned back against the rocky outcrop by the bank. He drew his horse into the shelter, too. As luck would have it, there was a natural overhang there, which meant they were, at least, in the lee of the wind.
Alexander unsaddled the horse, and used the padding below the saddle to dry off the rest of the perspiration from its skin. Then he gathered his cloak around him and, shivering, drew his knees to his neck and tried to sleep.
Morning brought a soft light to the clearing. Alexander opened his eyes, wincing as the sunlight struck them, pale and filtered by tall trees. He rolled over. He was so stiff! His legs were drawn up to his chest. His fingers were still clamped tight around his knees, and when he tried to move them, they ached. He groaned.
Somewhere nearby, his horse snorted.
“Easy, lad,” he groaned. “I’m here.”
He tried to stand, grunting with the effort as his knees cracked with the strain. He stumbled out towards the clearing.
As he did so, he heard a sound that made him tense. It was the sound of people.
“A pox on it, Rennys,” a voice said, clearly annoyed. “We’re going to just have to walk the rest of the way.”
“No, milady!” a voice protested. “I canna let you do that.”
“Can you stop me?”
“Sorry, milady.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, how far away is this place, anyway? Will it take all day?”
“I don’t know, milady.”
Alexander crept closer and stared through a gap in the trees.
In the clearing, on the other side of the river, was a coach. It had clearly gone off the road – one wheel was in a gully by the roadside. There was a man – the coachman, he reckoned – standing beside it, head slumped forward, whole body bent with a defeated posture. It was the figure before him that made him stare.
She was a tall woman, wearing a dress of dark velvet. Her hair was bound in a braid and she wore a steepled hennin with a long veil trailing from the tip. She had a straight posture and looked angrily down at the man who stood before her.
“Well, find out, will you?” the woman admonished.
“Yes, milady,” the man said humbly.
At that moment, Alexander stepped out of the tree line. Taking off his cap, he bowed low.
“Milady…” he began.
Two sets of eyes swiveled to him. The servant gaped, dropping his hat.
“Rennys! Do something!” she sounded terrified. “That’s one of those robbers that they mentioned lurk in here.”
The servant shrugged helplessly. He advanced on Alexander, trying to look threatening. Alexander resisted the urge to smile. The fellow was armed with nothing, save his hat.
“Begone,” Rennys said. “I swear I’ll get my shovel and I’ll…”
“If I were a real robber, you’d be dead.”
He patted his dagger, which was sheathed at his side. The man went white and took a step backwards. “I’m not, so I haven’t killed you yet.”
“Milady, I think we should return to the coach,” the servant whispered.
“Nonsense, Rennys! Why? It’s broken! Look, you,” she turned on Alexander, dark eyes shining. “I am the daughter of the Baron Arnott. If you don’t leave me be, I’ll have you clapped in irons.”
Alexander bowed low, almost to the ground, hiding his surprise. “Milady, I’m honored to make your acqua
intance.”
The woman sniffed, seeming unimpressed. “Mayhap,” she said. “If you are no robber, perhaps you can be of assistance?”
Alexander shrugged. “I could be. What’s the matter?”
“Our coach is mired.”
“Mired, eh?” Alexander looked at it, amused. It was worse than mired, he reckoned – the wheel lifted uselessly off the ground, stuck in a rut.
“Well, can you help?” the woman asked, after giving him a moment or two to stare at it, in silence.
He frowned. “Reckon we’ll have to lift it. Rennys?”
“Yes, milord?” He had a strange accent, and Alexander wondered if he – and his mistress – were from these parts.
“We’re going tae have tae lift it,” he said. “You think you can do that?”
“If it’ll get us back on the road, aye,” the servant nodded. “The count will have my skin, else.”
Alexander grinned. Wordlessly, he bent to the axle. Straining and grunting, with Alexander on the side with the stuck wheel, the coachman at the front, guiding the horses to pull, the thing moved, inch by precious inch, from the hole.
“One more go…” Alexander wheezed. His back strained, his arms burned. His heart thumped and he could barely breathe. The thing was heavier than anything he’d ever moved. Cursed thing!
The horses pulled as he strained his arms and it shot out of the rut. Alexander collapsed in the mud, heart thumping, head pounding.
“I owe you my thanks,” the lady said, standing over him. Her voice seemed to come from a long way away. He just grunted.
“Thanks, milady,” he said. He stayed where he was. He was completely worn out.
“My husband the count will be grateful,” she added thinly. “If you would like to name a reasonable reward, I feel sure he would honor it.”
A thought struck him. “Have you any victuals?”
“Victuals?” the woman sounded confused. “Um…yes.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “But I reckon we can do better than that.”
“Can you give me passage to Berwick Castle?” Alexander asked swiftly. “Me and my horse got lost, riding through the woodlands.”
Again, she gave him that flat stare, clearly not believing that was all he wished for. However, she nodded. “We’re going that way,” she said, already alighting into the coach. “You can mount your horse and follow along behind.”
The Highlander On The Run (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 1) Page 18