“Over there!” someone called out and they turned in the direction the man indicated. The attackers were prepared, no doubt heard them coming and rushed to them head on.
Swords clashed, metal against metal. The mixture of human growls and horse whinnying filled the air. The intruders were battle ready, obviously the type that spent time on the battlefield and not just training daily like his men. They did not hold back, but struck with intent to kill.
A loud whistle sounded and the attackers immediately pulled back. They turned away and fled into the darkness.
They gave chase, but were forced to give up when called back by the other lairds. Aiden looked to the others. “I believe they are leaving our lands, not to return. Let us find our injured and go back.”
The Gordon held up his right hand to get their attention. “If you see any of theirs are not dead, take them as prisoners. Do not kill them.”
They did not find any injured attackers; those left behind had been killed.
Soon they headed back to the McNeil keep, the largest and nearest. The injured guardsmen were set up in cots in the courtyard so a healer could care for them.
The women and elderly in the keep rushed out to help. The dark-haired beauty from the inn came down a stairway. She hesitated at the bottom, her eyes immediately locked to the entryway of the keep.
He wondered if she’d seize the opportunity with all the commotion to escape. But moments later, she lowered beside a man who writhed in pain. She took cloths and with swift precision, tore them into strips. She then tied several around the man’s upper arm and began to clean the injury to his lower arm. He noted she didn’t cringe at the gruesome sight. Instead, she spoke in soft tones to the man who Aiden suspected would lose his arm.
To a warrior, losing a sword arm was worse than death and Aiden felt bad for the man. He neared to get a better look at the injury. The wounded man looked to him, searching his face as if hoping Aiden would bring good news.
“I will help you keep still so she can tend to you wounds.” He lowered and held the man’s shoulders. Breena pulled his ravaged flesh together and the man began to shake, his breathing ragged. She looked up at Aiden and then back to the wound. “I am not sure I can stitch it closed, but I will try. First, I will have to bring the bone together. This will hurt.”
She dipped her fingers into the wound and the man cried out in pain. Her concern-filled eyes looked to his face. “I’m sorry. But we have to try to save your arm.”
The warrior nodded, beads of sweat pouring down his face. “Aye, go ahead.”
Aiden was astounded at how calm the woman remained as she set the bones and stitched the wound shut. Her fingers steady, all the while she spoke to the warrior in low tones, keeping his focus on her as much as possible. Once the wound was closed, she motioned for a maid to come and give him a strong dose of whiskey to help dull the pain. “I believe you will heal, but it will take weeks.” She picked up her skirts and moved to the next injured man, who had an angry gash to the side of his face.
Aiden stood by as she cleansed the wound and began stitching it. “Where did you learn healing?”
“We do not have peace in the lowland area where I come from.” She did not look at him, but kept her focus on the wound. “My clan has battled most of my life. I learned young how to care for the injured.” She gave her patient a swift slap on the hand when he reached to his face. “Don’t touch your face. Your hands are grubby and will infect it.”
The hapless man gave Aiden a defeated look and lowered his arm. “You are not gentle at all,” he grumbled.
“You are correct. I am not,” she replied and continued her work.
When she finished, he scanned the area for her guardsmen. It seemed curious that none were about. Neither was Robertson. The man probably still slept off the effects of too much ale. From what the McNeil told him, the man had drank himself into a stupor. He touched Breena’s arm. “May I speak to you?”
He followed her to a corner of the courtyard. She looked up at him, her façade strangely calm. Unlike the day before when she’d asked for his help in escaping, today she seemed like a totally different person. “Why did you ask for my assistance in escaping?”
She studied him for a moment, seeming to deduce whether he was friend or foe. “I was upset. Homesick. Acting like a child. It is nothing. I realize it was silly of me to approach a total stranger.” As she spoke, her gaze scanned the courtyard.
“I don’t believe you.”
Her eyes flew back to his face. “It is up to you, of course, to think as you see fit. But you do not know me, sir.”
“You are correct in that. But ’tis easy to see the man with whom you travel mistreats you.”
She remained silent, so he took it as a clue that the woman would refuse his offer to help in that moment. “If you need anything, send word. I am Aiden Stuart, of Torraibh. I live not too far from here to the south.”
“Breena McGalen,” she replied and bowed her head. “I must go and see what else needs to be done. Please excuse me, Laird.”
So she already knew who he was. He’d not told her he was a laird. Aiden watched the soft sway of her hips as she made her way back to the center of the courtyard.
“Not too many injuries for my men. What about you?” Declan Gordon placed a hand on his shoulder. Aiden searched for his guardsman, Calum, who’d fallen off his horse and had to be carried back. He spotted the guardsman standing with a group. “It seems Calum was knocked on the head, but he’s fine now.”
“McNeil lost a man.” They crossed themselves. “A young man who’d not much experience.”
“It is hard with lack of battle for so long for our men to take battle training seriously. Although this has been a tough lesson, it is a good one for them.”
“Aye, I agree.” Declan motioned for him to follow. “Come, we must meet with the McNeil. Looks like the Campbell arrives. Word was sent to him to join us.”
The older man stopped at the courtyard entrance upon a great steed. Too many guardsmen to fit into the courtyard flanked him. His shrewd eyes took in the scene before him.
He looked to Declan and the other two lairds. “I came to let you know you have my support and the use of my men. I will join you tomorrow. Send a messenger to let me know where and when.”
“We thank you,” Liam McNeil bowed to the Campbell who nodded. “You are my neighbors and my friends. Our clans have coexisted in peace for many years. Any attack on Moriag is an attack on Kilchurn.”
After the Campbell left, Aiden joined the other two lairds as they ascended the stairwell into the keep. It was time to plan for any upcoming attacks.
Within moments of settling into a room just a bit smaller than the great room, Robertson deemed to make his appearance. He narrowed his eyes at seeing Aiden and Gordon. “What is the reason for the joining of lairds?” He moved to a sideboard and motioned for a lass to pour him mead. “I imagine ’tis something of importance.”
The McNeil looked to his guest. “Our village was attacked in the wee hours of the morning. I consider an attack to be important, yes.” He looked to the other lairds. “This is Creag Robertson, my guest.”
Curt nods were given, everyone more focused on dealing with the attackers than the obnoxious man who settled into a chair and watched them with interest.
“Now, to the matter at hand,” Liam McNeil got everyone’s attention. “We must join forces in order to ensure the peace to our region is regained.”
When the lairds departed to go inside, Breena kneeled next to the man whose arm she’d already bandaged. He seemed to be well enough to move and she motioned for men to come forward and carry him to one of the tents where he could sleep and recover.
“You should wash up and get some rest,” Grisella told her, her brows drawn together. “I assure you this is a rarity. Our region has lived in peace for a very long time.”
“Do not worry yourself with me. I am fine. I will go rest momentarily.”
&n
bsp; “Thank ye for helping with the men. You are a good healer.” The woman patted her shoulder and moved away when someone called for her.
Breena picked up a wooden bucket and went toward the courtyard’s entryway. She moved to a well and began pulling at the rope all the while looking across the courtyard to the top of the high walls. Men patrolled, scanning the area below. To her left and right, men congregated in small groups; anxiety floated in the air.
She walked to the side of the keep and continued close to the wall with her still empty bucket in hand. Trembling she fought to keep from making any noise. Breathing became hard, her chest heaving from the effort. If Robertson learned of her attempt to escape, she shuddered to think how he’d respond.
No one followed. Thankfully, a few steps further, there were low growing bushes, which would keep the men from above the keep from seeing her clearly. If she were discovered, she’d claim to be gathering healing herbs. Just to make her story believable, Breena bent and nipped some sprigs of a plant known for pain and put the greenery into her bucket. Her feet sunk into the soft grass and the overwhelming desire to collapse came over her. What had her life become?
She was raised in the best of circumstances. Both her parents were titled. Growing up with her sister and brothers, she’d never wanted for anything. They’d been pampered, but she rarely was shown any type of affection by her parents. Her father’s attention was exclusively for his sons, her mothers for her younger sister. Upon reaching adolescence, her mother sent her off to live with an aunt and uncle for several years, claiming not to be strong enough to deal with her unruly ways. It was true. She had been rebellious, a desperate attempt to get her parents’ notice.
Her restlessness gave fruition to finding a purpose. Satisfaction at helping fulfilled her when she focused on learning the art of healing. For the last few years, she’d dedicated her time to learning to care for the wounded. Her clan was constantly involved in clan border fights.
Out with the wounded, she was appreciated and treated with respect once her intuition for healing was realized.
In the distance, she heard a guard whistle and she bent again and picked at a plain grass. She took some and put it in the bucket. No one came after her. The man must have been getting another one’s attention for something else.
She admired the men who gave their life to protect the laird and his family, always had a high regard for guards. At ten and six, she’d fallen in love with a warrior and they’d been lovers for a while. But he could not stand up for her before her father. Any acknowledgement of their involvement would result in his lashing or worse, so they’d kept it secret. Then one day, he was gone. Later she learned one of her brothers had discovered their relationship and had sent him away.
How she hated the power men had over her. How she detested her cruel family’s ways.
Just a year earlier, she’d overheard her parents argue. It seemed her mother had a lover before they’d married and she’d been the result. Understanding dawned that day and made it clear why neither of them ever cared for her. Upon Robertson’s request for her hand in marriage, both had quickly agreed. The farther away she lived, the easier it would be to forget she existed.
An hour later, she heaved a breath of relief. She’d done it. Gotten away. The woods she rushed through grew thicker and darker and she fought to keep her skirts from snagging on low branches. Thankfully, she’d changed into a serviceable frock to help with the injured, so the dark color as well as the narrow skirting helped.
With everything that happened at the keep, as well as the meeting of the lairds, she hoped it would be late before Robertson sent for her. If Ita noticed her missing first, she was sure the maid would announce it to the ladies of the house before telling the men.
The McNeil’s wife and daughter seemed kind. Both gave the impression of being content. But she doubted they’d hold Robertson back from punishing her. Although they seemed to have a different life. Totally different than what she faced with Robertson.
She’d noticed warm looks between Grisella and the McNeil. If not love, they cared for one another a great deal. Perhaps the woman would wait before reporting to Robertson of her disappearance. Then again, with the attacks, they’d no doubt send out men to search for her immediately.
Breena moved faster. She needed to be as far as possible, find a place to hide before the guardsmen came searching.
At the sounds of horses, Breena gasped, dove into the vegetation, and lay stomach down onto the rich, peat-covered ground. She peered through the thickness. A large group of men on horseback appeared on a thin trail. They rode in flanks of two, about twenty men in all. They spoke in low grunts, their attention forward. “We strike and flee toward the west today. Have to keep them guessing where we make our camp,” a large man with long hair spoke. “Don’t leave any injured behind. If you canna ride, you die.”
They did not spot her as they rode past, their attention seeming to be on getting to their destination.
Breena let out a breath at the sight of their retreating backs. Interesting, she could have sworn two of the men were Robertson’s guardsmen. Could it be possible he was behind the attacks? But why would he bring destruction to Moriag?
Of course, he had very little land of his own, although he was wealthy. Perhaps he wanted a larger region to rule over and being that Moriag was a peaceful region, he expected it to be an easy place to overtake.
Breena considered returning and warning the other lairds, but it was too risky now. She’d be caught by the men who went towards Moriag.
For now, she’d find shelter and do her best to find a way to warn them in the morning.
A small cottage came into view. With trepidation, she went to the front door and pushed it open. It was empty. No one seemed to live there. The few things kept there appeared to not have been used recently. Closing the door swiftly behind her, she went to the fireplace and began to pile wood for warmth. With a flint and kindling, the fire came to life, at once warming the cottage. Exhausted from the trek and the emotions she’d managed to keep controlled, Breena collapsed onto the floor.
Tears flowed and she allowed sadness at what her life had become to have free rein.
Chapter Four
Now that it was no longer necessary to maintain a brave front, Elsbeth McNeil leaned against a wall and let out a breath. Her entire body continued to shake after seeing so many injuries and blood.
Men stood around a large fire in the center of the courtyard, some keeping guard and others resting.
At a loud moan from a wounded man, several of her household staff made their way over to him with water, cloths, and no doubt, whiskey. Her father had availed all his whiskey to be used to dull their aches.
Never again would she take the tranquility of Moriag for granted. It would be a long time until she dared ride out alone even for a short time.
“Do you need to sit? You look about to faint.” Ian McRainey studied her. He’d walked up without her notice. The man moved like a cat. On silent feet.
“Nay. I am worried about our people. Our town,” she confessed. Although at first meeting him she’d been taken aback at the man’s handsome face, Elsbeth now considered him a friend. Comfortable around him, she felt at ease to speak freely. He never chastised her lack of decorum, nor did he judge her for not acting like a lady at all times.
“I am too.” He leaned on the wall next to her. “Although I am not surprised that someone would consider this region to be an easy target.”
She let out a long breath. “We have allegiance with the Campbell, and Aiden Stuart has always been a type of sentry who oversaw the security of our lands. I suppose it wasn’t enough.”
“No. The lands are vast and men who wish to have more power would consider it perfect to settle here and move either north or south to fight.” Ian yawned. “I need to sleep. At dawn, I go to Moriag.”
With the grace of a seasoned warrior, he sauntered across the courtyard. Ian was tall, incredibly handso
me, and his body was built for war, with a broad back that tapered to a slim waist. Well-defined muscular legs from years of riding, he stood out amongst most men. His dark golden hair was an unruly mess after the day of fighting and distress. Absently, she wondered who his woman was. Elsbeth had never asked him about his private life. Although friends, they didn’t share more than necessary about their life outside the superficial things. How did he look unclothed?
At the picture in her mind of him undressing, her hand went to her chest and she gasped. Where had those thoughts come from? She ran her other hand across her brow. It was the excitement of the day. She was overly tasked and addled by it.
Her mother neared. “Ah, there you are. You’ve done enough, Elsbeth, come inside and let us rest.”
“I agree.” She followed her mother. Just as she was about to enter the keep, she looked to the large tent Ian had headed to. They were only friends. As a laird’s daughter, her husband would be someone of higher stature than Ian McRainey.
They’d patrolled all night. It was almost dawn before the men stopped and set up camp near the loch on Declan Gordon’s lands. Restless at not finding the attackers, Aiden went to his guardsmen. “I am going to circle the area once more on foot. Take care to leave one man on duty at all times.”
The men agreed, knowing how good of a tracker he was and would not come to harm. Once he settled his horse, Aiden made his way into the forest.
The smell of smoke got his attention first and he turned toward Ian’s cottage. They’d been there several times in the past year while hunting. Could it be possible the men were using it to hide? At once a stupid mistake and a wise choice being no one would expect them to be so close.
He drew his sword and went toward it. No horses were nearby, which didn’t make sense. Careful to not make noise, he peered through the narrow window. Unable to make anything out, other than a fire in the hearth, Aiden decided whoever was hiding could not be a warrior. One would never start a fire.
Enticed by the Highlander: The Moriag Series Page 17