He turned his face to meet her gaze. “We will know no more of her after we reach St. Andrews,” he said softly. “She will be given her name by people who know her.”
“Family, then?” Alana asked. “We are bringing Violet to kin who will love her?” Her hands paused on the ties cinching the bag, waiting for his answer.
“She is being taken away to keep her safe, so regardless of the blood relation, the bairn will be protected.”
“And loved?”
“Just because one is raised in a family does not mean one will be loved,” Alistair said. Shaw felt his friend’s gaze but ignored it. Pity was not something Shaw would ever acknowledge. His own family had been cold, hateful, weak, or drunk. Nay, he wouldn’t wish a family on the bairn.
“True,” Alana said, looking down at the wee thing on the woolen blanket as she unwrapped her breech cloth. “Perhaps, though, if she will not be loved, she should be raised and loved by someone other than her family.”
“Ye cannot keep the bairn,” Shaw said.
“I am just saying that for a child to grow to be a strong adult, she or he should be loved and—”
“The bairn will continue on the journey she started. Ye can pray for her to be loved if that would help ye,” Shaw said. “And a child does not need to be loved to grow strong.” Wasn’t he a prime example of that? In fact, he often thought of himself stronger from the pain he’d survived. Even the tightness of the flogging scars across his back reminded him how much he could endure and survive. That knowledge made a man stronger.
Alana didn’t look up, but he could see from the tension in the delicate edge of her jaw that she was frowning. Better for her to understand the parameters, so she could guard her heart. Women were sometimes led astray by their hearts, especially when bairns were involved. The love his own mother had carried for him had made her weak and vulnerable to more abuse when he was a small lad.
“Holy God,” Alistair said, staring down at the soiled cloth as Alana rolled the infant out of it. Brown, clinging shite had leaked up the bairn’s back nearly to her neck.
Logan leaned over her with a grimace. “She is ill. Her shite looks different from before.”
Rabbie rushed over, his fingers fanned through his longish hair. “Bloody hell, it was yellow before.” He shook his head, his nose scrunched. “What can we do? The bairn is sick.”
Alana looked from one to the next, all of them, including Shaw, waiting for her pronouncement. “Will she die, then?” Shaw asked.
Alana huffed, dropping her head forward with the force of her exhale in dramatic annoyance. “If you change what you feed a babe, what comes out of a babe changes, too.” She used the cleanest part of the soiled clothes to wipe off most of the brown, stinking mess while the bairn cried. “’Tis perfectly normal for her cac to look brown on cow’s milk, mashed bread, and broth.”
“And stink like the foulness of death?” Rabbie said.
“She does not stink like death,” Alana said.
“As bad as a curdled, decaying corpse,” Alistair said, and Logan nodded in agreement.
“She does not,” Alana said.
“Or like Logan after a night of drinking whisky,” Rabbie said, a smile returning to his face.
Shaw dipped a finger into the water sitting in the small fire, which already felt warm to the touch. He brought it over for Alana to use. “We need to keep moving. Get her cleaned up as fast as ye can.”
Alana met his gaze with a slight smugness. Her eyes were a glorious shade of green with brown flecks in them. “You think my…Kerrick and the Roses are following? You are worried about them.”
My Kerrick? Was the Campbell warrior who had accompanied them to the festival courting Alana? Was he her Kerrick? Shaw had seen the man near Alana often but hadn’t seen him kiss her or even hold her hand. “They may be following,” he answered. “At a slower pace than your dog.” Her hound sat next to the blanket, bending its head low to sniff at the soiled wrappings. “I would rather not have to kill your Kerrick if he tries to stop us.”
She had returned her attention to the bairn, wiping her with warm water. The shite had spread all up her small back, coating her white skin. Her little limbs looked thin and without the chubbiness that he’d seen in older bairns. Alana sought out all the crevices, even the black stub on the bairn’s belly. “She is very young to still have the cord stump,” Alana murmured. Robert’s big black nose nudged close, sniffing at the bairn until Alana pushed his massive head away. “Go on,” she said.
“I saw that black bit when I changed her yesterday. What is it?” Rabbie asked, squatting down to get a better look. “It is hard and rough.”
“The vein that attached the babe to the mother on the inside. It is cut when the babe is born and usually falls off within the first three weeks of life,” she answered, cleaning around it while the bairn kicked impotently and fussed at the coolness. “She is so young and needs to be with her mother.”
“She could die with her mother,” Logan said, and Alistair knocked him in the shoulder with a balled fist. “Och,” Logan said, rubbing it.
“She needs to be warmed,” Shaw said, ignoring the questions in Alana’s eyes, and grabbed the satchel to yank out a change of bindings and swaddling clothes that had come with the infant.
“As soon as she is clean and dry,” Alana said, wiping down the bairn’s legs to her wee little feet, the toes on each one being no bigger than a swollen barley grain.
“Shouldn’t ye cover her…” Rabbie said, pointing down to her female anatomy.
Alana glanced up at him. “Or you could walk away so I can get this done quickly.”
Alistair shoved Rabbie, and the three men turned to meet Mungo as he led back the two horses. Mungo and Rabbie took the remaining horses for water, the wolfhound trotting after them. Shaw watched Alana work with the bairn in silence.
She kept her eyes turned down as she rinsed out the rag and washed her little back. “I would strike a bargain with you,” she said, glancing quickly at him and then back to her task.
“A bargain?” The woman had little with which to bargain.
“Yes,” she said, sitting back on her heels. She covered the bairn’s naked body, leaving her little feet out to finish. Alana’s chin rose slightly, her lush lips pursed. “I happen to need to go east toward St. Andrews, actually to Edinburgh, which is less than a day’s journey from where you are forcing me to ride.”
“The Campbells were planning to travel this way, too?” he asked.
“Yes, eventually, but I worry that they will be too slow, waiting for my brother to send troops.” Her nose wrinkled, and she let out a long exhale as if warring within herself about how much to reveal. When he didn’t respond, she lifted her gaze to his. “My mother is a prisoner at Edinburgh Castle. I just found out that she still lives, but I believe her to be failing. She might not survive another winter there, so I am going to free her.”
“From a fortified castle?” he asked. “Alone?”
“I plan to petition for her release first, but if it is not granted…” She tipped her nose higher, a look of fierce determination on her delicate features. “Then yes, I will find my way in and free her.”
She didn’t seem like a lass lost to fantasy, so she must be desperate. “What is your proposed bargain?” he asked, watching her closely.
Her shoulders dropped as if relief had melted away the tension holding her stiff, and she inhaled fully. “I will help keep the babe alive, without you needing to guard me every second and worry about me…slitting your throats or trying to tell the authorities in any town we happen upon…” She sat straighter, her slender neck exposed above her shawl. “And you will take me to Edinburgh as soon as we deliver the babe in St. Andrews.”
“So ye can free your mother? Alone?” Alana was exceedingly brave or delusional.
Flustered, her shoulders raised in a shrug and then fell. “If you help me in any way to free her there, then I will convince my brother and the re
st of the Campbell clan not to hunt you down and slaughter you in retribution for taking me from the Samhain festival.”
They stared at one another for long seconds. The thought of battling Campbells actually filled Shaw with anticipation, not dread, so her veiled threat didn’t have the effect for which the lass was hoping. But having her willingly help them instead of the continued stiff silences and glares was enticing. Not that he thought she’d ever forgive him, but if he helped her save her mother, perhaps she wouldn’t wish for his painful death with each breath. And just maybe the guilt that had plagued him since the battle outside Stirling would stop eating away at his gut.
“Agreed,” he said. “But I speak only for myself. I will not order my men to help, but ye can ask them. Logan has a kindness that makes him want to rescue anyone who needs it. Alistair is always up for a mission that might lead to death, and Mungo usually follows him. Rabbie will likely help if ye smile at him when ye ask.”
She blinked, taking in his advice, and finally nodded. “It is agreed, then. I will help you, and you will help me.”
She looked back down at the bairn, who was making little circles with her lips as if she just realized that she had dominion over them. Her thin legs kicked out from the blanket, and Alana caught one of her feet to wipe it clean, taking up the second. Rubbing, she paused, leaning in, and scrubbed at the wee toes.
“What is this?” she murmured, inspecting the digit.
Shaw couldn’t see what she was looking at. They’d only had the bairn for less than a day before they left the festival. Perhaps she had an odd birthmark?
Alana bent down low, tipping her head to meet Shaw’s gaze. She swallowed, her soft-looking lips parting. She held the wee toe as the bairn whimpered. “Shaw,” she said. “This babe has been…branded.”
…
Alana stared up at Shaw, but she didn’t see guilt, only anger in the bend of his brows. “The burn is nearly healed,” she said, warming the little foot in the palm of her hand. “It must have been done soon after she was born.”
For the largeness of the man, Shaw moved with rapid grace as he squatted down, taking up the tiny toe to examine the red circle, coated with dry scabs, on the bottom of it. With slow movements, his fingers pinched, he picked at the wound.
“Do not break it open to bleed,” Alana said.
“It is a design,” he answered and grabbed the wet rag Alana had used, finding a clean corner. He dipped it in the water and wiped away a bit of the scab that had come loose and looked up to meet Alana’s gaze. “It looks like a rose.”
A rose? She met his gaze. “Do you know what it stands for?” she asked.
Before Shaw could respond, the Sinclair with the full brown beard, Logan, ran up to them, squatting down as if hiding. “Riders,” he said. “Coming across the side of the hill from the south.”
“My students.” Alana quickly wrapped the babe up in the swaddling clothes and wool blanket.
Logan shook his head, his sword already unsheathed. “They wear red and carry muskets from what Mungo could see.” He nodded to the south, where Alana saw Mungo running toward them in a low crouch.
English. She picked up the infant, sliding her snuggly into the wrapper that she twined around her own body, so Shaw wouldn’t grab the baby away. “The English are coming for their babe,” she said. “Perhaps the mother sent them.”
Shaw’s hands landed heavily on her shoulders as she cradled the infant between them. He bent to look in her eyes as if willing her to believe what he was about to say. His gray eyes came so close that she could see the darker flecks around the centers. “The English are coming to slaughter this bairn, not save her. We need to hide her.”
“Why would they want to kill an infant?” she argued, but the force in his words told her that he believed what he’d just said, believed and was willing to die to keep the child from whoever was coming down the steep hillside.
“Why would a mother secret her newborn bairn away except to hide it?” he asked but didn’t wait for her reply. He looked to Logan. “We will move near the river until they pass.”
“The fire—” Logan said.
“Scuff it out and hide the soiled clothes. Let’s hope they think we have moved on.”
“If they do not?” he asked.
“Do not let them cross the river,” he answered and grabbed Alana’s arm. It was a strong grip but didn’t bruise. “We need to go,” he said, his deep voice adding to the increased thudding of her heartbeat beneath the baby. There was no burning castle in which to be locked, but angry English soldiers were dangerous on their own. And she had a baby to protect.
To the right, she spotted Alistair and Rabbie crouched down in the undergrowth. Mungo must be with their horses at the river. And Robert? Where was he?
Clutching the baby to her chest, Alana began to run through the deeply colored woods toward the sound of rushing water. Her damn skirts were catching on limbs and slowing her legs. Her gaze swept between the trees.
“Shaw, my dog.”
“There’s no time. He will follow your scent this way.”
She kicked at her skirts as they ran, a few shouts coming from behind them. They’d been seen. She tripped on a tangle of bramble and would have fallen with the child if Shaw’s grip weren’t under her arm. “Damn skirts,” she said in a soft rush of breath. “They tie a woman’s legs.”
She gasped as Shaw’s arm hit the back of her knees. He bent to lift her without breaking his stride, his boots leaping over limbs as he ran. She no longer heard the men behind her. Shaw’s dashing through the undergrowth, mixed with the increasing rush of the fast-moving river ahead and the pounding of her own heart, had obliterated all other sounds in the world. She felt the babe squirm and cupped her little head, hopping the jarring wouldn’t harm the delicate girl who was already having a very difficult life. Branded, sent away from her mother, and now chased by English devils who may want her dead.
She leaned into Shaw’s strong chest, wrapping one arm around his neck to steady them while the other clutched her precious bundle. Up ahead, the river rushed by. “How deep is it?” she asked.
Shaw paused, looking across and along the leaf-covered bank. Far downstream, Alana could see the horses. If she could reach Rainy, she and the baby could ride farther and faster to hide. “The horses,” she yelled over the sound of the water. Robert bounded out of a clump of brambles next to them, chasing a pheasant that took flight. “Robert, come,” she called.
As soon as the words fell from her lips, a pair of red-coated soldiers rushed up to the horses with muskets. “No!” she yelled as Shaw yanked her around a thick tree trunk so that only their faces could be seen. “Robert,” she whispered, watching in horror as her loyal friend ran up to the men, barking. But he didn’t attack. He didn’t know the darkness in their hearts, the darkness that would make them hunt an innocent baby.
“Mo chreach,” Shaw said, his jawline hard as his head whipped around, looking for a place to run.
Alana stuck her smallest finger in the babe’s mouth to keep her from crying out. Violet sucked on it, her eyes open, watching her face.
Shaw shifted them in his arms, tugging at his kilt, and it fell into the leaves at his booted feet.
“We are going across the river,” he said, lifting her higher in his one arm as he bent to yank his sword from his scabbard that had fallen with his kilt. With a muttered curse, he dropped the sword again and grabbed her more securely with both hands.
“Robert,” she said, yanking open her skirt strings at her waist with her free hand.
“He will follow ye to the other side. Meanwhile, he’s distracting them with the cunning of a talented jester.”
Alana glanced around the tree to see Robert dancing around the two men, his thick, shaggy tail wagging as he tried to make friends. The men were too close to fire at him but threatened him by swinging the weapons in his direction. Robert thought it great fun, like when Alana threw sticks for him.
“S
et me down so I can rid myself of these heavy skirts,” she said and slowly removed her finger from the babe’s mouth.
“Quick, then. Before they notice us.”
As soon as she felt the ground beneath her boots, she shook her hips and let her skirts drop, pooling below. She was left in her black woolen trousers with her stays over her long white smock. She gathered the end of the underdress, tying it high in a knot at her waist. The babe whimpered against her.
“Here,” he said, handing a sgian dubh to her. It was her own dagger, snatched away by Alistair when they were back in the tent at the festival. “Ye may have need of it.”
Shoving the blade into the holster in her boot, she glanced at Shaw’s bared legs under the long tunic he wore. They were corded with muscle, holding his large frame easily as he waited for her. “Your kilt would weigh you down in the water?” she asked.
His arm caught under her legs, and her breath hitched as he lifted her up. He peered around the tree. “I fight better without it.”
Alana had read about the legendary Celts who fought without wearing a stitch of clothing. Did the Sinclair clan follow the same strategy?
“Hold tight,” he said, giving her only a heartbeat to draw in air before he plunged out of the tree line, his booted feet taking them directly into the cold river. With barely a splash, he surged forward, holding her and the baby above the waterline. How deep was it? Would they be carried away with the current? Fear, as cold as the water rising up past Shaw’s waist, clasped Alana. Over a year ago, Alana had nearly been killed by fire. Now would she die by the cruel, unstoppable water?
“Stop!” one of the English soldiers yelled, and she saw him lift his musket. Shaw pressed against the mighty current, which was so much stronger than what appeared from the bank.
“Good Lord,” Alana prayed, her arm clutching the crying child to her. “Save us.”
Chapter Five
Had the soldiers already lit their muskets? Fok. He needed to get the bairn and Alana to safety before they shot him dead. Mo chreach. He’d die without his sword in his hand, something he swore he’d never do. But Shaw hadn’t planned on carrying a bairn across Scotland, either.
The Highland Outlaw Page 6