Abby’s eyes.
“I love ye, Trystan. Take care of Mama,” he said, kissing his son’s hairy head. Trystan prattled in baby talk, and Cameron handed him back to Abby. She took him into her arms and turned around to face Cameron. Her eyes were mournful.
“I love you, Cameron.”
Abby’s emerald gaze touched all planes of his face. She brought her hand up to his cheek and felt the growth of his beard tickle her palm.
“Be careful, Cameron. You are my world, my life, my son’s father, and my husband. You carry my heart with you, my love. Always remember that.”
His gaze softened but something within him tensed and seized. It sounded almost as if she was saying goodbye.
“Ye’ll be here when I return?”
She smiled at him. “You’ll return to me?”
He gave her a slight shake of his head and a charismatic smile. “On the stump of my body, dragged by my arms if I have no legs.”
She smiled up at him. With one last kiss on her lips and Trystan’s head, he left her in the room.
She turned and stared out the window. Moments after, she saw her husband mount a black warhorse and speak to his men. Their faces were fierce- they were faces that were ready for battle.
She shuddered.
Her husband’s men were a formidable opponent- the best in all of Scotland.
But her father was evil.
She watched the men ride into the distance- the sound of their movement was forebodingly deadly. When she saw the outline of their bodies no more, she left the window and sat on the bed to play with Trystan.
Yes, while her husband’s men were the best, the deadliest, and the most formidable force in all of Scotland, her father was the seediest, most distasteful, and most dishonorable man in England.
She hoped her husband wasn’t marching into an ambush.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
One day later, at gloaming
“Oh, Alice, I cannot. I am too uneasy still. Knitting will not calm my nerves this moment, but thank you all the same. I’m weary, and I believe ‘tis time that I lie down for the night.”
Alice watched as Abby ascended the stairs with Trystan. She’d suggested everything she could think of to help Abby keep her mind off of the battle. It was no use and she should know.
It wasn’t long ago that she was in Abby’s predicament.
Up in their chambers, Abby set Trystan down for the night.
Conversations she’d had with Cameron kept resurfacing. He had insisted on leaving numerous men behind. She wanted him to take more.
“Two hundred of my men could easily battle four hundred of yer father’s,” he’d said. “Yer father doesna have those numbers, anyhow.”
She harrumphed.
What he lacked in numbers he made up for with deceit.
Coming out of her memory, she looked around.
“I forgot the pitcher,” she mumbled.
Nursing Trystan required her to drink vast amounts of water. She didn’t want to bother Margery with such a small task. Looking down at Trystan to make certain he quietly slept, Abby descended the stairs. She never left him unsupervised for more than a small span of time, so her steps were hurried.
She saw Amy attempting to pick up some of Owen’s toys.
“Let me help you, Amy. You shouldn’t be bending like that.”
Amy scoffed. “Well, excuse me there, Abby. I seem to remember that recently, a woman growing large with child complained that she was not incapable of doing chores for herself simply because of the babe she carried.”
Abby laughed. “Aye, caught me there, Amy.” She bent down and quickly picked up the toys. “Now, see how fast that was?”
Amy snorted. “I’ll remember this when ye carry again. I’ll remind ye of this day.”
Abby smiled at Amy and quickly retrieved the pitcher, filling it with water. She was on her way to cross the great room again, but Owen saw her and made a fuss for her to carry him.
“Alice has Trystan?”
Abby shook her head. “He’s in our chamber. I forgot to bring my pitcher.”
Amy nodded. “Well, Owen, Auntie Abby has to go to yer cousin.” She reached for Owen, who protested a bit until she dangled a toy in front of him.
Abby climbed the steps and walked towards her room. She yawned, and couldn’t wait to get into bed. Once inside, she tiptoed around, careful not to make noise. She set the pitcher down after having a long drink. Abby walked over to Trystan.
“Trystan!”
There was a parchment rolled and secured with a leafy plant stem that had small lavender flowers on it. She looked around her room awkwardly, as if there were eyes on her.
“Alice?” she called out.
Had Alice taken him?
No. She wouldn’t have without letting her know.
She didn’t know why or how, but a feeling of dread began in the pit of her stomach. She took the parchment and broke the stem.
Her heart started to beat heavily, and then skipped a beat.
Two words: FOLLOW ALONE.
The air was too thin to breathe at that moment. She turned in the room just seeing it empty of her son and husband, and began to hyperventilate. Abby rushed to the pitcher and drank more water. She tried to calm her breathing but it was hard to catch her breath.
Abby didn’t have to wonder who’d taken her son. The stem told her what she needed to know. Cameron had shown her the herbs Gillyanne used to serve her various purposes. The one she’d tied around the parchment was the one she used to cause Abby’s miscarriage and prevent conception.
Abby understood Gillyanne’s warning in using that herb. She would hurt Trystan if she didn’t go alone.
Abby’s heart thumped. She wanted to panic, but she didn’t have the luxury.
She began grabbing things she’d need for her and Trystan. She took garments, fruit she had in her room, and a waterskin. She walked to the trunk and grabbed a dirk Cameron told her about in case she needed the use of one.
Now would certainly call for the use of it.
She decided to leave the family, specifically Patrick, who was commander while Cameron was gone, a note in the room. They would search for her first and it would give her enough of a start so that Gillyanne would believe she was alone.
Abby snuck out the back was and headed for the stables. Along her path, she saw the herb on the ground.
So that’s how the whore expected her to know where to go.
Abby led a horse out, braced herself and her fears, and mounted. She was thankful she slipped by the guards without notice, and that her horse was a quiet and docile one. The moonlight was strong, which helped Abby see the lavender stems resting on the green grass.
Abby coached the horse to move faster, the fear of what would happen to her son overpowering her fear of fast-moving horses. She let the herb of death guide their path.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The following evening
She sat quietly on a knoll, drinking wine, and eating cheese and fruit. A veritable princess, she was.
She smiled.
Alas, revenge would be hers. It was so close she could almost taste it on her lips.
It was crying. It wouldn’t stop crying. Was it hungry?
She shrugged. It was a necessary annoyance while she waited for its mother. Hopefully, or mayhap not, it wouldn’t die before she reached them.
She turned her head. She heard them- both contingencies.
She looked to her left and saw the armor of the English. She looked to her right and saw the Scots off in the distance, led by the blind oaf who’d shunned her.
Fine day for a battle, was it not?
She smiled.
Especially when those to her right didn’t know those to her left were coming.
She just loved surprises.
“Halt!” Cameron roared. The men slowly came to a stop.
“What is it, Cameron?” Keith asked, looking into the distance as Cameron was doing.
“There.” He pointed. The nearly setting sun was briefly reflected by metal. Two hours, three at the most, was all they had left of light.
“Reflections,” Aidan whispered.
“They ride.” It was Keith who said it.
“How far do ye think they are?” Aidan asked.
“About a thousand paces,” Cameron said.
“How did they know?” Keith asked.
Cameron shook his head. “Abby was right. He must have found out somehow and rode at a neck-breaking pace to surprise us. Surprise he did.”
He broke away from his men and turned to face them.
“Haynsworth is but a short distance away! They ride to us,” he said, and they quieted, surprised by this news. He waited until he had all of their attention. He looked over his shoulder once and saw the English had gained much distance.
“Yes, they ride to us!” he repeated, turning back to his men. “But they ride to their deaths!” he roared and they cheered. He waited for them to calm down and continued. “At my signal, archers, stand aside and prepare to discharge flamed arrows. Riders, unsheathe yer swords. Those on foot, ready for attack. Hurt their mounts, make them fall!” he bellowed.
When they quieted, he continued.
“Ready yerselves,” Cameron said, mounted on his great black warhorse. He rode in front of his men.
“See it in yer minds!” He pointed to his head. “See the battle!” he roared so his two hundred men would hear him. They cheered as they heard his words.
“See their blackhearts,” he bellowed, his horse kicking some dirt into the air as Cameron touched his chest. He pulled the reins to ride down the front line.
“See their defeat!” He pointed to his eyes. The men cheered in chorus.
Cameron’s eyes were steel, forged from strength, revenge, and ruthlessness.
“We. Will. WIN!”
He turned back to the approaching English amid the shouts of his men.
He knew the English bastards had at last seen them. They were less than two hundred paces away and he saw the leader bring them to a halt.
Haynsworth was not there.
That was no surprise. The rat was probably hiding, doing what most rats did.
Cameron raised his massive broadsword in the air. He looked at the English, all in queue.
He gave the battle cry, and he and his men rushed forward.
Finally!
She sat on her knoll, restless. How long had it been? She had grown irritated and gritted her teeth.
Dear Lord, sometimes she wished she were a man. Certainly she would have moved faster!
At the battle cry, she clapped!
Yes, yes! A battle. Nothing like a good battle to bring her loins afire!
She took a moment to imagine the activities she would participate in with the English victor. She’d heard they were like cold fish in bed, but she had sampled one of them days earlier when she’d ridden to Haynsworth.
Cold fish her arse!
Her eyes rolled as she remembered that night. Surely he was the best she’d had.
Well, perhaps not the best. The second best. The best she’d ever had rode unknowingly to his death.
Hmmm.
If the best died, wouldna that make the second best, her best best?
It was sad. She shook her head. It could have been a good life for her and Cameron. It was almost two years ago that Abby had first entered into his life. Two years was a long time to stay angry. It felt as if it were a mere two months.
She shrugged.
“Ehh…two years, two months, is there a difference?” she asked herself, and looked over to the baby who’d fallen quiet.
At hearing the clashing of the swords, she sat straighter.
She was getting flushed looking at the men fight. She hoped it would be over soon, but not too soon.
She couldn’t wait to sample those English goods again.
The battle had begun with groans and roars. Cameron’s men, although outnumbered, were cutting the English down rapidly.
The archers had caused numerous Englishmen to hit the ground in anguished yells. Distracted by the flaming arrows, the Englishmen made it easy for Cameron’s men on horseback to lead the way through the crush of men, allowing those on foot to remain protected while wielding their swords.
Cameron was angry that Haynsworth wasn’t there. He would have to travel to his damn holding to kill the cowardly bastard! That meant more time away from his wife and son, which would be time they’d spend worrying about him.
Damn he’d been stupid in not listening to his wife. He had known that she was right about her father. Damn his pride. He should have waited a little longer- not because he feared losing, but out of respect for his wife’s sentiments.
Looking around quickly, Cameron saw that few of his men had fallen but many more of the English had, too.
The blood pumped hot and rapidly through his veins. Four men approached Cameron. They all had grins on their faces and murder on their minds.
Until Cameron smiled back in response.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but instead hardened them, making them burn in the dimming daylight.
The men lost their smiles and charged at him. Immediately, Cameron slashed two and then engaged the other two in combat. After numerous punches, ducks and kicks, the two English soldiers fell.
Cameron picked up his sword and rolled his shoulders and neck. Nothing like a hand-to-hand fight to warm-up yer muscles.
On they fought until there were barely any Englishmen left. Cameron smiled, pierced the ground with his sword, and flexed his arms to stretch them. His muscles rippled and the sweat droplets followed the mountainous crevices of his arms and back.
He’d been looking down at the ground and finally looked up. A large English force was heading towards them. The group was larger than the one they’d just defeated. Cameron roared to his men, alerting them of the surprise force, just as the skies opened up and rain pelted on his face.
Abby shuddered as the rain fell on her. Lightning crashed and she was so frightened she nearly fell off the horse. She hunched closer into herself, having no cloak to offer her comfort.
She hated storms and all they brought with them- unrelenting rain, clapping thunder, and dangerous, bright lightning. She knew her fear came from that horrible night years ago when she’d been ambushed but fortunately, she never remembered anything of it. She hoped she never would.
She approached the clearing and inhaled sharply.
Bodies! Dead bodies everywhere! And still, as the lightning illuminated the ground below it, more were battling. She heard them fighting still but there wasn’t sufficient light for her to see how many of Cameron’s men stood. She thought she’d seen the majority of his men still fighting, but there were so many more English.
She brought her hand up to her mouth and sobbed. She shook her head as her mind played a trick. She blinked rapidly.
She thought she’d seen Elliot coming towards her with a knife.
She laughed uneasily to alleviate her nerves.
Squinting in the darkness, she knew her father would be conniving. It was obvious he’d found out about Cameron’s intent to seek vengeance.
But how?
Abby walked slowly and quietly. The path of herbs stopped at this point. As she looked to the right, she saw a knoll. Sitting on it was the worst person she’d ever had the misfortunate to encounter. Abby had the advantage. Gillyanne didn’t know she was there.
Where was her son?
Her heart leapt out of her chest.
Abby’s eyes wildly sought out his small form. She saw him a ways away under the shelter of a tree. To her relief, she saw his arms flail, and he was crying.
He was alive.
She had been scared because she knew that Gillyanne would not hesitate to hurt a baby. Fortunate Cameron was that this whore never conceived.
Heartless cold bitch.
There was nothing more she wanted than to
go to him and hug him close. Her hands opened from their clenched fists, and she itched to reach him. The tree offered some refuge from the rain, however. By going to him first, she’d be risking both of their lives. Gillyanne clearly wanted to kill her. She would attack Abby, and having Trystan in her arms would also place him in that immediate danger. She needed to subdue Gillyanne first.
Abby needed to proceed with her course of action. It was high time Gillyanne atoned for all that she had done. She wiped the hair out of her face. Annoyed, she looked down and ripped a part of her dress and used it as a tie for her hair.
Abby quietly walked towards the hooded whore who looked on at the battle below. Standing ten paces back, Abby felt her ire rise. She gripped her dirk.
She wanted to push her off the damn hill, but that would be too easy and Gillyanne deserved worse.
She would be the one to give it to her.
“Wasn’t taking one child from me enough, Gillyanne?”
Chapter Thirty
Gillyanne turned, and the look in her eyes chilled Abby. Her eyes were mad, and beyond all semblance of reason.
“Hello, Mouse. Took ye long enough to get here.”
Abby stood silently, waiting.
“I will take great pleasure making ye suffer. Despite the odds that were always against me, I will at last succeed today, and,” she said, looking below to the bloodshed, “I may have already succeeded.”
“Succeeded?” Abby turned around and looked at the battle. More and more English marched forward. “Dear Lord,” she whispered horrified.
“Aye,” Gillyanne said, leaning forward. “He will die.”
“So it was you!” she said through clenched teeth. “How did you discover…?” At Gillyanne’s smile Abby shook her head. “Nay, I already know. Whom did you have to spread your thighs for? Or mayhap the question should be, how many?”
Before she could react, Gillyanne ran towards her growling. The wind was knocked out of Abby as she hit the ground. Her dirk flew out of her hand. She struggled to take a breath.
Forget Me Not, My Scottish Love (Heart of a Highlander Collection Book 3) Page 22