by Blair, Willa
“Distracted? Do I?” Kenneth decided feigning innocence was his best course.
“Perhaps you have heard the news and are now absorbed with thoughts of how to leave us, eh?”
Phillippe’s suddenly grim tone stopped Kenneth at the top of the stairs. “News? What news?”
“Ah, something else has ye deep in thought? It must be a pretty fille. Nothing else would distract a man such as you from news of impending battle.”
He had Kenneth’s full attention now. “What battle? I’ve heard nothing…”
“’Tis said Albany has tasked his cousin, the Earl of Mar, to gather an army of peasants and farmers to keep your Donald of the Isles from burning Aberdeen to the ground. A cateran, you call it? They have a long march ahead of them, eh?”
Kenneth’s pulse quickened. War was coming. The clan war Iain had foreseen and been preparing for. Brodie would fight, as would Rose and other clans along the Moray Firth, swept up with the Isle-men in the battle for control of the earldom of Ross, its territory, and more.
“I didna ken.”
“And now you do. What will you do with this information?”
Kenneth paused and looked Phillippe straight in the eye. “Naught. I am a prisoner here. I canna leave, no matter what my wishes, or those of my laird, might be.” True enough for now, but later? The fact that St. Andrews had a busy port could be very convenient. He was a hostage for Brodie’s good behavior. His circumstances would change depending on whether Brodie joined the conflict—and on which side. If Iain fought for Albany with Mar, Kenneth might even be released. But if he joined Domnhall’s forces, Kenneth could go from hostage to one of Albany’s enemies. Yet how would he know he needed to gain his freedom? He dared not delay until the bishop’s guards came to escort him to the bottle dungeon—or worse.
Phillippe snorted. “You must present a greater tone of conviction in your voice when you say those words to the bishop, mon ami, or you might become a prisoner in truth.”
Kenneth nodded, taking the warning to heart. He’d found little to trust about Phillippe, but those words rang true.
* * *
Catherine walked through town and headed up the hill toward the cathedral. She needed to get out of the house, away from the arguments between Abi and her stepfather. She’d never seen a more contentious pair. No wonder Abi wanted to get married—if only to get away from the unceasing tension. The tailor had found out about his stepdaughter’s plans to elope. The argument that news started had not abated these last two days.
As angry as she was with her own father, hearing the two of them made Catherine appreciate Da more. He didn’t make a habit of disparaging his daughters with everything he said and did. He was motivated by care and concern for them, but even so, she knew the clan came first. As much as she hated the reality, she had to acknowledge daughters were a valuable commodity.
Abi provided the only saving grace in all the shouting. To keep Catherine from being sent home, Abi had absolved her of being involved. Abi knew how important staying in St. Andrews and finding Kenneth was to her. Her stepfather, probably not wanting to spread his ire too thin, had accepted her lie. Catherine didn’t feel any guilt. She’d really done nothing save walk with Abi and Colin to the cathedral. She’d waited outside while they spoke to the priest, hoping for another glimpse of the man who reminded her so strongly of Kenneth. But he had not returned, and she felt foolish for thinking it might be him.
If only she’d known then she had truly seen him, she could have saved herself some longing and found her anger instead. He’d avoided her for what seemed a lifetime. When had he returned from France? What was keeping him in St. Andrews when he’d already been gone so long from Brodie? Why had he warned her off when they recognized each other? She couldn’t fathom any of it.
She took a deep breath and looked around her, forcing away the unhappy thoughts. The beautiful, sunny day promised to be warm later on. Catherine wouldn’t go outside the town’s wall, as far as the harbor. It wasn’t safe for a lass unless she was with a group or was escorted by a man. But the precincts of the cathedral should hold no threats in broad daylight, even for a woman alone. And she might encounter Kenneth there. She was silly to hope. Chances were slim he’d be out of the castle and in that very area when she chose to go there, but priests often went back and forth between the castle and cathedral. Chance had led them to each other once before. It might do so again. And she needed some time away from Abi’s house.
For now, a cool, refreshing breeze blew shoreward off the water, carrying the clean scent of salt and sea. It wasn’t the same as fresh, clean Highland air, but it served to push farther inland the unpleasant smells of town life caused by too many people and animals in a small area.
The cathedral’s towers loomed ahead, reaching for the heavens. On the seaward side, a group of rough-looking men climbed the hill alongside the cathedral’s wall, from the town wall’s fisher gate and the harbor. Catherine averted her gaze as they passed by, and then breathed a sigh of relief. She should be safe near the cathedral, but one never knew.
Just then, a man she recognized passed through the gate below her and continued up the hill toward her. He broke into an appealing grin when he saw her.
Abi’s comments about him and the memory of meeting him and the students bound for the priesthood made his name pop immediately into her head. “Cameron Sutherland,” she greeted him.
“Mary Catherine Rose, aye?”
“Ye have minded me well.”
“A bonnie lass like ye is worth minding,” he flattered her. “But what are ye doing out by yerself?”
Should she tell him Abi’s plans had gone awry? Nay, it was not her place. “Just getting some air. And ye?”
“Getting the news from the port. ’Tis no’ so good, I fear.”
Catherine frowned. “What do ye mean?” Cam offered his arm, and to be polite, she took it.
He walked toward the cathedral, away from the busy path. “Domnhall, the Lord of the Isles, ye ken him?”
“Of him, aye. I’ve never met the man.”
Cam nodded. “Word has come he’s taken Dingwall and may march on Inverness.”
“What?” Catherine stopped, forcing Cam to stop as well and turn to look at her. Rose and Brodie were not so very far past Inverness, farther east along the southern shore of the Moray Firth. “Why?” Her clan, and Kenneth’s, could be caught up in the fighting.
“To stake his claim on Ross, of course.”
“Then he’ll stop?”
Cam shook his head. “Nay. Albany will no’ stand for it. He’ll gather an army under the Earl of Mar. They’ll fight, somewhere between Inverness and Perth, or I miss my guess. This town is already filling up with men coming up to join Mar’s caterans.”
Catherine’s stomach sank. Her home lay very near the disputed area, though up along the firth, so perhaps beyond the swath of destruction such fighting would bring.
“Why are ye in St. Andrews, lass?”
Suddenly, she felt the need to be cautious. “Why do ye ask?”
Cam Sutherland was a Highlander, but Sutherland allied with the Isles. And Rose? She wished she’d paid more attention when her father spoke of the other clans, allies and enemies. But those subjects had been too…serious…for a lass like her. Too tied to his plans to wed her to someone other than Kenneth. She’d avoided anything to do with other clans, with alliances, and with disputes over land and titles. Besides, until Kenneth, she had been more interested in ribbons and horses and other girlish things. Since then, she’d been yearning for a lad she’d thought never to see again.
She was here because her father’s latest attempt to marry her off had been done with less notice and more rancor at her constant refusals. After Mary took her aside and told her their da had lost his patience with her, she’d been forced to grow up fast, and the only option she’d thought she had at the time was to flee. But she couldn’t tell a Sutherland such a sorry tale. She didn’t know whether Cam could b
e trusted, so she went with her instincts. When she’d first met him, she’d been attracted to him, but put off by his arrogance, too. Caution was warranted.
Cam frowned. “If war breaks out, ’twill no’ be safe for Highlanders here, ye ken.”
“Nay!” He didn’t give her the kind of answer she expected at all. This was much worse. In hindsight, she would have preferred to spend the walk flirting with him than discussing the first rumblings of a war that could hurt everyone she loved.
He patted the hand she’d draped over his forearm. “Ye should go home, I’m thinking.”
“To a war? Ye make it sound as if ’twill no’ be safe there, either.”
“At least there ye’ll be with yer clan. ’Tis better than being a Highland lass alone in a Lowland town.”
She could argue she wasn’t alone, since she was living with her cousin, but his expression went bleak for a moment, prompting her to ask, “What about ye?”
“I will go when I must. I’ve work yet to do here.”
“Work? Ye are no’ a student then? I thought ye were…”
“Nay,” he replied and laughed. “I’m a bit long in the tooth for books and examinations and such, aye?”
Catherine’s mistake made her feel silly, but she had wondered at seeing him with the other lads, all of whom were students. “So why are ye here? And why were ye with those lads the day I met ye?”
Cam shook his head. “I’m a factor…a merchant’s agent, if ye will. And those lads—those students go everywhere. No one pays them any notice. They see and hear more than ye might suspect, aye?”
“What does that have to do with being a factor?”
“Maybe naught, maybe everything—especially when alliances are as unsettled as they are now.” He pinned her with a gaze more serious than she’d ever seen him wear. “’Tis less about being a factor and more about being a Highlander, ye ken? I must wait for a shipment from Flanders before I can sail for home. But ye should make plans to leave—and soon.”
All this talk of danger and gleaning information made her look him over with a fresh eye. He didn’t look much like a merchant of any sort. He looked like a warrior, broad of shoulder and well-muscled. He’d caught her eye because he reminded her of Kenneth.
She couldn’t go home. Her father would marry her off. And she’d just found Kenneth—here. She had unfinished business with him. One way or the other, she was going to get answers. “Perhaps when ye leave, ye’ll take the Highlanders in town with ye.”
He didn’t reply for long moments. He frowned and his gaze cut past the cathedral toward the fisher gate then back to her. “I canna guarantee that. The ship is no’ mine to command. But I might make room for a lass such as ye.” His quick grin gave her an idea of what he had in mind as payment for such a favor.
“I canna go home…just yet,” she demurred, thinking frantically. She would not barter her honor to Cam Sutherland. So where in the Highlands could she go and not be returned immediately to Rose? And how would she get there?
If only she could return to Brodie as Kenneth’s wife. That had been her dream these last two years. Perhaps she’d been foolish to hold on to what she’d thought they had for so long. Now that she’d seen his smile of recognition and the warmth in his gaze before he’d controlled himself, she hoped not. She’d defied her father again and again, believing Kenneth would return and claim her. But he’d frowned and waved her away. If he remained behind the bishop’s castle walls—no matter the reason—the future she’d pined for would never be. Instead, she might be forced to appeal to Cam Sutherland’s better nature—if he had one.
* * *
Kenneth listened to the report being made by the Warden’s man to Bishop Wardlaw and, for self-preservation, forced himself to remain calm. Though the bishop had a kind demeanor, Kenneth’s first impulse was to leave the audience chamber and get out of the castle any way he could manage. Domnhall had taken Dingwall, seat of the Earl of Ross, and was reported to be threatening to burn Aberdeen, a royal city, to the ground. Phillippe had warned him, but Phillippe could have been wrong. Hearing the news from this man’s lips made it all too real. If Domnhall did move from Dingwall, would he sail from Inverness? Or march east, as Phillippe had supposed, wreaking havoc all along the way?
Phillippe raked him with a glance, then looked away. Aye, he knew. The time had come for the priest to repay his debt.
The bishop accepted the man’s report with a nod, blessed and dismissed him. Then he turned his gaze to the other priests and servants in the room. “War comes again, it seems. What do any of you know of this man and his plans?”
His question was met with stony silence.
Kenneth held himself still; knowing now was not the time to attract the cleric’s attention. He had no knowledge of Domnhall’s plans and little information about the man himself. Certainly, he knew nothing that would illuminate the man’s character or intentions for the bishop.
“This conflict may put at risk all we have built here, all we have achieved. The Holy Father, Pope Benedict, will soon receive the charter for St. Andrews University to establish a center of learning. We must pray the disagreements are quickly settled, and hope the fighting passes by us.”
He paused and Kenneth remained still, his gaze on the wall behind the gathered priests while the bishop looked around the room.
“When word of this gets out,” the bishop continued, “you may have students clamoring to leave to join the fray or to defend their homes. You must deny them.”
As frowns drew down several brows and a low murmur arose, Kenneth hid his grim agreement. The priests had no idea, but the students he’d seen here, especially the Lowlander lads, had no business on a battlefield.
The bishop continued after another pause. “Once this latest conflagration is over, they must remain—alive—to become the keepers of their people’s future. I put my trust in you to guard these lambs from the wolves of war.”
The bishop’s words might be comforting to those who believed they encompassed the sum of the cleric’s concerns. But Kenneth was not so naive. Albany’s hostages would no longer be viewed as innocent guests held in hopes of avoiding fighting. With this news, Kenneth would be seen as belonging to one of the warring factions. As the bishop dismissed the courier, Kenneth determined remaining here as hostage for Brodie no longer mattered. Domnhall was on the move and Albany was sure to send his cousin, the Earl of Mar, to answer with troops of his own. The Highlands would soon be at war with the Lowlands. St. Andrews was no longer a safe place for any Highlander.
Even a Highland lass.
A wave of urgency washed over him, tensing his muscles. He had to get free, if only to make sure Cat boarded a ship. He didn’t care if she was married—it didn’t matter. Once he knew she was safely away, he would worry about whether he would join the Brodie forces. Iain would likely align Brodie with the neighboring clans—Rose, Munro, Urquhart, and others. But on which side?
The bishop stood and gestured his advisors closer. Everyone else headed for the exits.
“Kenneth Brodie, you will remain.” The bishop’s voice rang out clearly over the muffled shuffling of soft-booted feet as others escaped the presence. As Kenneth had hoped to do. He needed to have words with Phillippe, but the French priest was in the group headed out the door.
Kenneth recalled himself to his situation. What did the bishop want with him? He stepped forward, dropped to one knee to avoid towering over the slighter man, and bowed his head over the bishop’s ring. Despite their political differences, he owed this man the respect due his experience and position.
“Arise, my son,” the bishop’s sonorous voice rolled over Kenneth like a wave, weighty and warm.
Kenneth did as he was told, then waited, head still bowed. It was not his place to demand answers—not from this man.
“Given this news, I must ask you where your clan will stand. With the Isles or with the Crown?”
“Your Excellency, I dinna ken,” Kenneth answere
d. It was the truth. Even though he believed he knew how Iain would act, he’d had no news from Brodie since he’d been brought here.
“You cannot say with certainty?”
“Nay, I fear I canna, Your Excellency. The question is no’ so simple.”
“Indeed?” The bishop opened one hand, palm up, as if reaching for the truth.
Kenneth took the gesture as permission to elaborate and looked up, not quite daring to meet the bishop’s steady gaze. “Our clan’s territory lies on the border of the disputed lands, between the Isles and the areas controlled by the…crown.” He’d almost said warden and caught himself just in time. The south belonged to James I, even while he was held in England. Bishop Wardlaw, having been his teacher years before, strongly supported the young king. “The clans along the Moray firth will do what they deem best for their future. If Domnhall is strong enough, they may fight for him. If no’, they will see their future lies with the king. Or they may remain out of the fray, preferring to let the Isles and Albany decide the current contest without their interference.”
The bishop nodded. “A fair answer. Very well, you may go. May God’s blessing be upon you.”
Kenneth bowed and quit the chamber as quickly as he could without running. Rather than throwing him in the bottle dungeon, the bishop had accepted his answer and blessed him. He still had a chance to escape. But first, he had to find Phillippe.
Chapter 4
Hours later, Kenneth stood on the castle’s seaside rampart, watching the clouds scud offshore. He longed for the wide vistas, open spaces and clean air of the Highlands. The offshore wind didn’t help. It carried the fish rotting at the harbor and the inevitable smells created by the town’s residents. Like most towns, St. Andrews stank.
He glanced to the west, where the sun was sinking into a cloud bank. The days were long now, and nights were too short to be of much use to someone who needed the cover of darkness to travel, and to put as many miles behind him as he could manage on foot.