“Aye,” Alistair said. “Although there are no flags to distinguish the ship from several others there, I overheard some of the men onboard talking in French. I did not send word that we were here yet. Wanted to give ye a chance to catch up to us.”
His men knew this was for the chief to do, completing the mission that would save their clan. The deaths of so many, including Reagan, weighed on his heart, and the guilt of not being able to stop his uncle from gambling their honor away gnawed on his soul. His men knew that Shaw should be the one to bring it to a close, to right the wrongs of his life.
“The women below said that they were told to wait here, so we thought we should stay close,” Logan said.
“What can ye tell about the vessel?” he asked.
“Sturdy, large,” Rabbie said, staring down at Rose from over Alana’s shoulder. “It should be safe to carry the bairn across.” He frowned. “Though I hate to see her go, especially without someone assigned to care for her.” He glanced up, meeting his gaze. “She eats every three hours. If she does not have a nursemaid for the voyage, I fear she will starve or grow weak and ill. She is just a wee, fragile lass.”
“We might pay the younger woman to also care for her,” Logan said.
Hell, that wasn’t part of the plan. As it was, they had few coins left, and every shilling that Shaw earned was saved to pay his uncle’s massive debt in the case he could actually buy back the Sinclair holdings. Although, Edgar Campbell was not the type to agree to that. He took too much pleasure in pushing the Sinclairs away with threats, starvation, and outright attacks.
“If we gain back our lands, then we can use our coin to pay the wet nurse,” Alistair said as if reading his mind.
“But we will not know if she truly will care for Rose,” Alana said. “Or just pocket the coin and let her waste away.” Alana pulled Rose into her chest as if the idea of her being neglected was something she could guard her against.
“We can let whoever is in charge know about the brand,” Logan said. “They might find another wet nurse when they realize that Rose is the real princess.”
“If she is the real princess,” Alana said, determination crossing her face.
They all looked at her. “Of course she is,” Rabbie said, frowning.
“What if you get credit for bringing her here?” Alana said. “With whoever is in charge. Sinclairs get the bill of rights to the land in the north and the castle, but then you explain that there is no one to take care of her, saying that likely the real princess is one of the other two babes.”
“What are ye planning, Alana?” Shaw asked, but the look on her face said it all.
“I want her,” she said. “I will take her, care for her, love her. If she is the real princess, she will be hidden and safe with me surrounded by the walls of Finlarig and students trained in self-defense. If the time comes for her to return to England, I will bring her.”
“Alana—” Shaw started.
“The school is already supported by Queen Mary and the Duchess Catherine de Braganza. What better place is there for a possible future queen? We will educate Rose in every discipline from world history and art to French and self-defense. We will teach her not only to be an English queen, but to be an English queen who loves Scotland and her people.”
“Taking the bairn will jeopardize our mission,” Logan said, his voice rising. “Our only care is to regain our rightful lands and castle.”
“Your only care,” Alana said. “My only care is for this innocent babe.”
Shaw’s frown deepened. Alana had said that she would help him. Had she changed her mind and heart?
Rabbie stood beside Alana, his hands fisted. “We should consider it.”
Logan rolled his eyes, grunted, and turned to pace back to the window. He was usually sensitive about all living things, but last winter had been hard on his family, too, with several dying. He had as much desire to reclaim their homes as Shaw.
Rabbie tracked him with a stare. “The bairn will suffer if she gets on that ship without a nursemaid. And it would be good to have a future queen grow up loving Scotland.”
“Loving Campbells in Scotland,” Logan said with a glare at Rabbie.
“Campbells from Killin in Breadalbane,” Alana said. “Not Campbells who have invaded your home.” Her slim shoulders lifted and fell. “Or Rose could be raised on Sinclair land, although that might be harder to justify without there being a school to teach her as much or more than she would learn in France.” She pressed the bairn up against her chest, cupping Rose’s head gently to hold her wee ear against her beating heart. She swayed as if soothing the child. “It could work.”
“Maybe ye should go with the bairn on the ship to be her nursemaid,” Logan suggested.
“Nay,” Shaw said immediately, making his men and Alana look at him. The thought of her sailing away from Scotland made his stomach clench fiercely. “She has her own mission to save her mother from Edinburgh.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding slowly. “I must free my mother from the prison there and take her home.” The sorrow on her face made Shaw wonder. If Alana didn’t have a mother to save, would she agree to go with the princess all the way to France?
“We should try,” Rabbie said, standing with a stubborn tilt to his chin. “Tell the captain that he would be responsible for the bairn dying on the voyage if he takes her. But that we still fulfilled our mission and require payment with Sinclair lands and castle.”
Shaw clasped a hand behind his neck where his head was beginning to throb. “I will walk down to the docks to survey the ships once it is dark. Tomorrow morn, I will see what the captain says when we go down to the castle ruins like instructed.”
Rabbie nodded, hope in the tilt of his mouth as he squeezed his hands into tight fists. Logan cursed, and Alistair just looked grim. Alana inhaled, nodding, her gaze thankful. Dammit all, thankful for what? Would he really risk Sinclair lands for this bairn? All those men, women, and children who were headed into another Highland winter. Fok. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. “I’ll secure Rìgh and Robert for the night,” he said, turning to leave the room. He couldn’t look at Alana holding little Rose any longer with his heart clenching so hard.
…
Alana patted Rose’s back, bringing up a small burp. “There, wee one,” she whispered, carrying the washed and bundled babe over to a nest of blankets that Rabbie had put together. She had laid out the tarts that she’d saved for when Shaw returned from scouting down by the docks. The bun that Fiona had given her sat on the table, too, a little smashed. She’d throw it in the fire if Shaw didn’t think it could be used somehow.
Shaw’s men had left the room so that Alana could wash herself and the babe. Two would sleep in the shared room, but she wasn’t sure where Alistair and Rabbie would sleep. Perhaps in there with them or in the barn.
Rap. Rap.
“Who is it?” she asked, going to the door.
“Alistair.”
Alana opened the door. He held some mugs on a tray. “Warm spiced wine for ye,” he said.
“Shaw is not back yet?” she asked.
He shook his head. “He is taking his time so not to be seen,” Alistair said, brushing off her worry. “Can I speak with ye, lass? For a moment.”
“I… Yes,” she said, letting him into the room.
Alistair shut the door behind him, and she walked to the dark window. She’d left it cracked for the fresh autumn air and to listen for Shaw’s return. She’d been unable to sit still with him out in the shadows by himself. With the fire behind her, she couldn’t see much beyond the glass and heaved it upward to look out. But the back courtyard was quiet and heavily in shadows. “When will he be back?” she asked, lowering the window and turning.
She stopped, her lips parted, and she stared at Alistair as he chewed. “Stop,” she said, her palm outward as if she signaled Robert. The man swallowed. “Oh no,” she murmured.
“I took the smashed one with currants,” he said, glancing down. “Sh
aw hates currants. Were ye saving it?”
Bloody hell. He’d eaten Fiona’s special roll. She’d said it would just make Shaw fall asleep, not dead. Alana exhaled. “You might start feeling tired soon.”
“What?” Alistair asked, his eyes wide.
“That was Fiona’s roll.”
“Fok,” he said, pushing back from the table, his hands going to his mouth where he scraped at his tongue, spitting onto the floor. “Was it poison?”
“No,” she said, hands out, but there was nothing she could help with since he’d swallowed it. “She said it would put Shaw to sleep if he was going to beat me.”
“I can puke it up,” he said, running to the chamber pot in the corner. He put his finger down his throat but just gagged. “Damn, I cannot do it.”
Alana came over. “I think she told me the truth. It will just put you to sleep for the night.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, raking his hands through his hair as he stared at the ground. “I already…feel…tired.”
“Perhaps you should go back to your room—”
“But I wanted to tell ye.” He glanced up at her from where he perched his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. “Has Shaw told ye about the conditions at home?”
“Yes,” she said, watching him closely to see if he showed any signs of deadly poison. “He has told me how you are all harassed and chased from your land.”
“Did he tell ye about Reagan?”
She frowned. “No?” Did Shaw have a woman back home? The thought curdled Alana’s stomach. “He has not mentioned anyone with that name.”
“He does not talk about her,” Alistair said. “And will likely blacken my other eye for telling ye, if I foking survive tonight.” His words sounded slightly slurred as if he’d been drinking whiskey.
Was Shaw married? Or betrothed? “Who is she?” she asked, bending down before the man. He didn’t answer, and she caught his shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Alistair. Who is she?”
“Was,” Alistair said.
“Was?”
“Shaw’s older sister. Died last winter from illness. The Campbell bastards harrying her out into the snow. Grew…weaker.”
Alana’s hand pressed against her chest. He had mentioned a sister and wishing she could wed and have bairns but not that he had lost one. “He did not say.”
“He would not.” Alistair exhaled, swaying on the bed. He used his hands to keep him upright. “He still has Bren.”
“Bren?”
“His younger sister.” Alistair shook his head as if trying to shake off the effects of Fiona’s tart. “So, he will not do anything to jeopardize the return of Sinclair lands. His own sister is buried in an unmarked grave on that land, and he will see a stone placed there.”
He tried to stand, but his knees gave way. Alana jumped back as the large man fell to the floor, his arms blocking the worst of the fall. She dropped down to kneel beside him. “Alistair?”
His eyes were shut, but he was breathing. He mumbled, and she leaned close. “The life of a wee princess will not stop him,” he said. “And neither will ye falling in love with him.”
“In love with him?” she asked, her voice higher in pitch.
“Revenge is stronger than love,” he murmured. “Shaw has sworn to gain Sinclair lands, and no woman, especially a Campbell, will stop…him. I…will make sure.”
“You? What do you mean, you will make sure?” Alana lowered her face opposite his until her cheek rested on the wooden floor. He breathed evenly. She shook his arm. “Alistair?”
“Like…at…Stirling,” he mumbled. His mouth fell open, and he breathed as if falling into a deep sleep.
“Dammit, Alistair,” she said, sitting back on her heels, hands on her hips. “Like what at Stirling?” She already asked Shaw about the battle at Stirling. Alana frowned at the closed door. If she didn’t have a babe to guard and now a fallen man for whom she felt responsible, she’d go out to find him. She looked at the dark window. A gnawing sensation sat in her chest, a feeling Shaw would recognize. The hollow of missing someone.
Did Shaw have secrets? Things that would change her mind about the honorable man for whom she’d begun to care? She was a Campbell, and he was the chief of the Sinclairs; she’d known that from the start. Like at Stirling. Alistair’s words prickled along the skin at the back of her neck. She rubbed it and exhaled long. No matter what happened tomorrow or the day after, she knew that deep down Shaw Sinclair was an honorable man, trying to save his remaining sister and clan.
She glanced at Alistair sprawled out on the floor. A deep snore came from his open mouth. Apparently, he wasn’t going to die.
She walked over to look down at the sleeping face of the infant nestled within the soft blanket. Rose’s tiny lips moved in and out as if she dreamed of nursing. Alana crouched down and inhaled the sweet baby scent, sighing. Alistair was wrong. Love was stronger than everything. Even the darkness of hate and betrayal, and even revenge.
…
“No,” the English commander, Colonel Commandant Wendall, said in a clipped tone. “Bring the infant in the morning. All three must climb aboard the Queen’s Song to sail for Calais.”
“Oui,” the French captain said, nodding. “The second wet nurse, she will care for la petite fille. There are to be trois bébés, eh?” he asked, looking at Wendall.
Even with the darkness of the deep shadows, Shaw could see the frown on the man’s face. “Three, yes, not two.”
“The bairn I bring may not survive the crossing without her own wet nurse or someone to care for her,” Shaw said, but it was the same argument that he’d already made. “You will deliver a dead princess to your contact in Calais.”
The Frenchman shrugged. “If she dies on board, she dies. ’Tis the way of infants.”
The man had likely never been a father, and even if he had a bastard in every port, he hadn’t watched the bairn sleep in his arms or blow bubbles with the milk on her lip. Nay, there would be no arguing with them.
The Colonel shifted where he stood. “If you do not bring the baby to the dock to sail tomorrow and place her on the ship, I will not hand over the royal letter for you to regain Sinclair lands and Girnigoe Castle. That was the bargain.” If the man had brought the letter with him, would Shaw have been tempted to kill them both and take the letter? Surely word would get back to London that Shaw hadn’t delivered the bairn like he’d promised.
“Aye,” he said, his voice low. “I will bring the bairn. She is healthy and strong right now, as promised.”
“Very well,” Wendall said, the man’s intense look making Shaw wonder if he knew that Rose was indeed the true princess.
With a nod to them both, he turned away, Robert trotting beside him. The dog wouldn’t remain behind with Shaw walking into town. And his hulking form had made it less necessary for him to guard against desperate thieves in the shadows.
Shaw listened to the crunch of his boots as he walked the vacant street. It was nearly midnight, and most were tucked into bed. Was Alana sleeping soundly or up feeding Rose? Robert’s head slid under his hand, raising it for a quick pet. “Aye,” Shaw murmured. “Let us find your mistress.”
Two of his men were sleeping in a shared room and two more were bedding down with all their horses. Shaw would sleep in the room with Alana, although they would have a bairn with them. And a secret between you. No matter what scenario Shaw played out in his head or what words he planned to use, the outcome was always the same. “She is going to hate me,” he said, sliding his hand along the dog’s bony head. If not for sending Rose to France, then once he helped her free her mother, a Campbell, who would not only remember him, but who might wish to kill him if given the chance.
Walking to the front of the inn, Shaw drew his short sword as the shadow at the corner moved. Logan stepped around, apparently waiting for his return. “Did ye find the captain?” he asked.
“Aye,” Shaw said, still holding the weapon.
; “What did he say about the three bairns? And whether the lass can keep ours?”
“Two bairns are decoys apparently, but the colonel and the captain at the ship either don’t know who the true princess is or are not telling. And all three bairns must ride to France. The other two couriers bringing bairns will also gain back land or money for fulfilling their bargains, although the colonel would not divulge any details.”
“I know the younger woman is a Maclean from the western isles,” Logan said. “The other will not give up any information, but from her accent she hails from the lowlands near the English border.”
Shaw nodded. “To gain our lands and Girnigoe, we have to put Rose on that damn ship.” He frowned, hating the idea of the little lass sailing without someone assigned to feed her.
“Which is our mission,” Logan said. “It is almost done.”
“I know our mission.”
“Aye.” He shook his head. “And yet a Campbell lass convinced ye to ask if we can keep the bairn. We are just so close. If we help the king save his daughter, we win back everything.”
Shaw rubbed at the ache at the back of his head. If he didn’t have the weight of being chief to a desperate people, he wouldn’t help the blasted English with anything.
Logan reached out, his hand heavy on Shaw’s shoulder. “We are so damn close. Just like at Stirling.”
Usually it was Alistair who thought to remind him about his duty. Shaw leaned forward, his gaze like a sword as he stared at Logan. “I know our mission. I planned it. And this is nothing like Stirling.” He turned and strode into the quiet common room, Robert following him.
The innkeeper slept slumped over on a bench as if awaiting more patrons. “Stay,” Shaw said to Robert, using the signal Alana had taught the dog. He brought him over to the warm hearth and made the motion. Tongue hanging out from his jog back up the dark streets, Robert turned in a circle and laid down. “Stay,” Shaw said again and glanced at the innkeeper who snored.
The steps were dark, and Shaw used a light foot, treading carefully to the third door to the right. Damn Logan. Did he really think he had forgotten their mission? That after a lifetime of praying for and working to become strong enough to help his clan, he would just give it up because a lass asked?
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