Highland Treasure

by Lynsay Sands

  “I had to send Simon to bed just now,” she heard Rory comment. “He was standing outside the door when I came up the stairs. Did he try to come inside? He did no’ see Elysande is awake, did he?”

  “Nay. He did no’ come into the room. He came to offer to sit with me to help guard Elysande, but I told him to go back to bed. I told him I’d wake him when it was time fer him to stand guard. But Elysande was no’ awake yet. If he saw her over me shoulder, all he saw was her bandaged head and closed eyes,” Alick assured him. “He looked pretty rough though. I think he’s feeling guilty that he left her alone to get attacked. I did point out that if she ordered him to go get her water, he had to obey and ’twasn’t his fault. I do no’ think it helped much though, and we’ll probably find him hovering in the hall standing guard a lot.”

  Rory grunted what might have been an agreement.

  “It was not his fault. I did order him to go fetch me water and a pot,” Elysande admitted, and then explained, “He argued with me that he was supposed to be guarding me when I asked, so I ordered him to go.” She smiled wryly, and added, “He got a bit huffy and said, fine, but he would blame me if he got in trouble for leaving his post.”

  Her eyes were still closed, but she could almost feel both men looking at her, and then Rory asked, “What happened then, lass?”

  Elysande was silent for a minute, and then grimaced. “I went back to grinding the weeds, and several minutes later . . .” She hesitated before continuing. “I was distracted and do not recall hearing anything, but something made me stop and look behind me,” she muttered, not wanting to admit that the hairs on the back of her neck had suddenly stood on end and made her whirl around. “There was a man right behind me and a knife coming at me. I think I screamed, but I know I jerked back into the table. I tried to move around it then to get out of the way of the knife, but my ankle gave out and I started to fall as I felt the knife strike me and . . .” She frowned. “I think I hit my head on something as I fell. I do not remember anything else.”

  “Ye hit yer head on the hearth,” Rory explained solemnly. “Fortunately, while ye gained yerself a bump and broke the skin, I could no’ feel any damage to yer skull. The headache should pass in a day or so, and ye’ll be right as rain again. But I want ye to stay abed for the next day or two. I’ll no’ risk yer ankle giving out and yer hitting yer head again. Besides, the rest should do yer back and ankle good anyway.”

  “There is no time for resting,” Elysande reminded him grimly. “I need to get to Sinclair quickly, because we need to sort out a way to get the warning to the king.”

  “Ye let me worry about that, lass,” Rory said soothingly. “I think I’ve a plan to get yer king that warning more quickly.”

  Elysande tried to push her eyelids open to look at him and ask what plan, but they didn’t seem to want to open, and she was losing her grasp on what she wanted to ask him anyway. The tincture was obviously taking effect, she realized, and allowed herself to drift off into sleep.

  When Elysande woke without any pain for the first time in what seemed like forever, she thought she must still be asleep and dreaming. She even lay there for a minute, waiting for whatever came next in the dream. When nothing happened, she cautiously opened one eye, ready to blink it closed again at the first sign of pain, but there was none. No pounding headache, no screaming back pain, not even a twinge from her ankle when she moved it tentatively under the linens and furs covering her.

  “Huh,” she murmured, unsure what to make of that. She had woken up several times over the last two days since the attack, and each awakening had been accompanied by screaming headaches that had been bad enough that she hadn’t fought Rory giving her the tincture that sent her back into blessed, pain-free sleep. But now that pain appeared to finally be over.

  Elysande opened her other eye and glanced around the room. She recognized the bedchamber from the inn and realized they were still in Ayr, then shifted her gaze to the man in bed next to her.

  Men, she corrected herself when she looked to her other side and spotted Alick there. Rory was on her left, and Alick on her right. Both men were sleeping above the furs, while she was under them. They had also left a good bit of space between themselves and her, which was the only reason she was able to wiggle her way out from under the furs and escape the bed.

  It wasn’t a fast or easy procedure to manage without waking either man, and it was while trying to do so that Elysande felt her first twinge of pain. It wasn’t bad though, just enough to draw her attention to the bandages that ran across her chest and around her back, and make her realize that they and her breeches were her only covering.

  She’d been stabbed, Elysande recalled, staring down at herself where she now sat in the bed, the fur only covering her from the hips down. Or maybe that had been a dream, because she felt sure a stab wound should cause more than just a twinge of pain. The thought had her moving a little more quickly to get out from under the fur, and within moments she was crawling down the center of the bed to the bottom, and then shifting to sit on the end of it with her feet on the floor.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Elysande considered the two men still sleeping soundly, and then peered at her bandages again. She wanted to unwrap them and take a look at her wound, but that seemed a risky endeavor when Rory or Alick could wake up at any moment and catch her without the wrappings. They’d probably already seen her without them. At least, Rory probably had since she suspected he would have been the one to tend her wound and bandage her up, but that had been while she was unconscious. She was awake now.

  Muttering irritably under her breath about the lack of privacy since encountering these Buchanans, Elysande got cautiously to her feet, half expecting her ankle to pain her, or suddenly give out. But it did neither. There was the faintest twinge when she put her full weight on it, but nothing more than that. Still, it was enough to make her walk slowly and cautiously as she made her way to the bags lined up against the wall.

  A quick search produced a clean gown and a tunic. Elysande donned both, and then glanced around for her new plaid, but didn’t see it anywhere. That was probably for the best though, she decided as she gave up on it. She wasn’t at all sure she could have managed the plaid on her own anyway. She supposed she’d just have to do without it for now and hope the innkeeper and his wife were still nice to her, because she was not only starving, but she was so thirsty she couldn’t even work up spit in her mouth.

  The thought of food and drink urging her on, Elysande ran her hands through her hair as she walked to the door, doing her best to smooth out the worst of the tangles she could feel, and give it some sort of order. She gave up on her efforts though when she opened the door to find two large male backs in her way. Conn and Inan were standing side by side in front of the door, but both men glanced over their shoulders now, and then spun around and gaped at her like a pair of slack-jawed dalcops. It appeared her efforts to tame her hair had failed, she thought, but really didn’t much care, and that was a testament to how hungry she was. Or how thirsty. She couldn’t say which was worse at the moment.

  Elysande smiled pleasantly back at the men, waiting for them to get over their shock at the state of her hair and move out of her way, but they were being rather slow about it and she was so thirsty. Finally, she said, “May I get past, please? I wish to go below and get something to eat and drink.”

  Both men’s mouths snapped closed at once, and they were suddenly moving. But rather than getting out of her way, they moved toward her. Conn was the one who caught her by the shoulders and turned her around. He was also the one to march her back into the room, while Inan closed the door before rushing to the bed to shake Rory awake.

  “Inan? ’Tis the middle o’ the night,” Rory muttered, blinking the sleep from his eyes and sitting up abruptly when he realized who was leaning over him. “What’s about?”

  “I was about to ask ye the same question,” Inan said dryly, and then waved to where Elysande stood in front of
Conn. “The lass whose death we’ve all been awaiting appears to have decided to live.”

  “Death?” Elysande squawked, stiffening with alarm. Eyeing Rory with dismay, she asked, “I was dying?”

  “Nay,” Rory assured her, and then glanced to Alick when his brother rolled over in bed and peered at their company. When the younger man then just flopped back on the bed, Rory sighed and started to climb to his feet as he explained, “I just wanted de Buci’s man to think ye were so he’d no’ try to kill ye again before I could get ye out o’ here and on the Mary Margaret.”

  “De Buci’s man?” Elysande asked with a frown, and then confusion covering her face, she asked, “And what is the Mary Margaret? Is that a horse?”

  “Nay. ’Tis a cog. A ship,” he added when she continued to look blank. “The Mary Margaret is a merchant ship that is setting sail from here the day after tomorrow, headed for New Aberdeen. The captain’s agreed to drop us in Thurso on his way, which is half a day’s ride from Sinclair. It will cut our trip by more than half, even with the few days we’ve had to wait fer the ship to sail.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, a smile tugging at her lips. This was the plan he’d mentioned. The way he’d come up with to speed up their trip. They would sail to Sinclair, and then no doubt send a courier with her mother’s messages on another ship going south afterward. They would be able to warn the king in time. “Oh,” she repeated, and then impulsively rushed across the room to throw her arms around Rory and hug him tightly. “You brilliant man. You have saved the king.”

  “Aye, well, since ’tis the English king we’re talking about, I’d appreciate it did ye no’ mention that outside this room,” Rory said dryly, his arms slipping around her waist.

  Elysande laughed and hugged him again, but her stomach grumbled just then, reminding her of her original mission. Pulling back, she caught his hand and turned, intending to drag him out of the room in search of food, only to pull up short when she spotted Conn and Inan watching them with solemn expressions.

  “Right,” Rory sighed behind her, and then moved forward to face his men. “I let ye all think she was much more ill than she is because—” Pausing abruptly, he asked, “Where is Simon?”

  “He went down to the stables fer something,” Conn answered. “He should be back soon though.”

  Rory’s mouth tightened, but he nodded. “Then one o’ ye needs to stand by the door and keep an eye out for him.”

  Conn and Inan glanced at each other, and then Inan moved to crack the door open and keep an eye out.

  The moment he was in position, Rory said, “Simon is the reason I let ye all think Elysande was dying. I suspect he is de Buci’s man, and did no’ tell ye the truth because I did no’ want ye slipping up and saying anything in front o’ him that might make him think she was well or recovering.”

  “Simon?” Elysande asked with amazement when she was finally able to speak past her shock.

  “Aye.” Rory took her hands and said apologetically, “I think he’s the one who stabbed ye.”

  “What?” she gasped with a half laugh of disbelief, and immediately began to shake her head. “Nay. Simon would never do that.”

  “Lass,” Rory began patiently.

  “Nay, Rory. You are wrong. Simon would not hurt me.”

  “Lass, he had powder on his boots, there was water only by the door, I did no’ hear him running up the hall after ye screamed and I’m quite sure no one jumped out that window.”

  “I have no idea what any of that means,” she admitted, feeling perturbed at the very suggestion that her man might harm her, and very angry at Rory for suggesting it.

  “Ye remember the weeds ye were working on in the mortar ere ye were attacked?” he asked.

  “Aye, of course. I think it got knocked to the floor,” she said, recalling the sound of the mortar thumping to the wooden planks.

  “It did,” he agreed. “And the men tramped through the fine powder and had it on the bottom of their boots. I made them brush it off ere they left the room, and then had it swept up and the floor washed.”

  Elysande nodded solemnly at the precaution, knowing it was necessary.

  “But Simon did no’ just have it on the bottom of his boots,” he told her now. “He had a spot of it on the top o’ one o’ his boots too, just in front o’ his ankle. That troubled me. Ye do no’ get it on the top o’ yer boot by walking through it.”

  “But ye could were ye nearby when it hit the floor and flew in every direction . . .” Conn said, his voice a rumble of realization.

  Elysande scowled at the man for siding with Rory on this, and said, “Mayhap he kicked it up while walking, or . . .” Her voice trailed away as she realized that kicking it up would have got it on his toes, but not just a spot of it, and not by his ankle.

  Rory eyed her sympathetically, and then added, “And another thing that troubled me was that when I crested the top o’ the stairs, Simon was just disappearing into the room carrying a pot and a bucket with water slopping everywhere in his rush.”

  “I sent him for that,” she said, not understanding.

  “Aye, but the water was only spilled by the door, not all along the hall as it should have been if he’d hurried up the hall on hearing yer scream.”

  Elysande’s mouth compressed with displeasure, but he wasn’t done.

  “And while we first assumed yer attacker had escaped out the window because we passed no one in the hall, I’m now quite sure that is no’ true. I checked the ground outside our window, and the grass was verra wet from the melted snow, but there were no marks from someone leaping from a second-floor window and crushing the grass into the mud with his weight. Unless yer attacker could fly, he did no’ leave through the window.”

  “I see,” Elysande said quietly. “So you think Simon fetched the pot and bucket of water, set them outside the door, came into the chamber, stabbed me, opened the window and then rushed out to grab the bucket and pot to make it look like he was just arriving when you got upstairs?” she asked, trying to understand what he was suggesting.

  Rory hesitated, and then admitted, “I canno’ be certain, o’ course, and I ha’e no proof, but that is what I think happened. It would explain away all o’ those points I just mentioned, as well as how yer attacker got away without anyone seeing him.”

  “Mayhap, but there must be another explanation,” Elysande said firmly.

  “Well, when ye think o’ one, let me ken, lass. In the meantime, ’tis better to be safe than sorry. So I intend to continue to let Simon think that ye’re at death’s door, so he does no’ try to finish ye off.” Meeting her gaze, he said firmly, “Ye got lucky the first time, lass. I suspect he was in a panic when ye screamed. He knew we’d be coming and just thrust the blade in, opened the window and ran, no’ noticing that what he gave ye was little more than a scratch. He did no’ realize the knife hit yer sack o’ coins and slid to the side and the coin sack then helped to hold it in place. Neither did I when I first saw ye. Aye, ye got lucky the first time.” He paused briefly and then added, “If it was the first time.”

  Elysande glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean ‘if it was the first time’?”

  “I mean yer accident on the way back from the shops when ye were pushed in front o’ a horse and cart.”

  “That was an accident, a bunch of drunken sailors were passing. One of them bumped me,” she reminded him.

  “Or was it Simon who pushed ye into the road as the sailors passed, kenning he could blame them for it?” he asked. “The man was at yer back, supposed to be watching ye. No one should ha’e been able to push ye into the street.”

  Elysande stared at him blankly, completely shocked by his words.

  “Anyway,” he said on a sigh. “As I said, ye’ve been lucky so far. But I suspect we’d no’ be as lucky the next time and am unwilling to take the chance.”

  Elysande considered his words but she simply could not believe that Simon was her attacker. “I have known Simon for y
ears, Rory. He trained at Kynardersley under Father from the time he was six years old. We grew up together. He is like family. I cannot believe he would betray me like that for whatever de Buci would offer. I just cannot.”

  “He may no’ have been given a choice,” Rory said solemnly. “De Buci may have threatened someone he cares fer. A parent or sister.”

  Elysande frowned at that possibility. Simon’s parents and sisters had been to Kynardersley several times to visit over the years. His father had been friends with hers since they were boys, and had remained close. It was why Simon had trained under her father.

  “But it matters little if ye believe or no’, I did no’ expect ye to anyway,” Rory said now, drawing her from her thoughts. “However, yer mother tasked me with getting ye to Sinclair safe, and I plan to do that. I have no’ accused Simon outright, but I’m keeping an eye on him. Ye’ll no’ be alone with him again. Either Alick or I . . .” he began, and then his gaze slid to Conn and Inan. When both men nodded, he added, “Or Conn or Inan will be with ye at all times.” He waited a moment as if expecting a protest.

  When Elysande didn’t say anything, he added, “And I want ye to stay in this room until we leave the inn for the Mary Margaret. We ha’e to keep up the tale that ye’re dying. ’Tis just one more day,” he said quickly when she started to protest. “And necessary. By now there is probably a small army o’ de Buci’s soldiers in Ayr. They’re biding their time because they think ye’re dying, but if de Buci’s as desperate as ye think, and learns ye’re no’ on death’s door, he verra well might attack the inn during the night and slaughter everyone, or simply bar the doors and set it afire.”

  Elysande’s eyes widened. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might do something like that, but the man was desperate. He did not face a pleasant death if the king was warned. He would be found guilty of high treason for this plot. They would strap him to a hurdle, drag him through the streets to the place of execution so that people could hurl things at him along the way. Then he would be hanged, but not to death. He’d be cut down seconds before death could claim him and then he’d be unmanned and disemboweled, his organs and genitalia thrown in a fire in front of him so that it was the last thing his eyes saw. Then he would be quartered, and each part would be sent to decorate the four corners of the city as a warning to others not to follow in his footsteps.