“Where are ye really goin’?” he asked.
Rhoswen sat down in the hay as well. She couldn’t keep up this charade much longer. “We really were going to the Highlands. That part was true.”
“To meet with Ranulph Drummond,” he said.
She nodded. “Only it wasn’t really because I’m betrothed to him.”
“Ye’re no’?” he asked, not understanding.
“Ranulph was once married to my older sister, Ailsa, who is now deceased. We were going to trade a sword for her son, Lockie, to bring my nephew home.”
“Blethers, are ye tellin’ me yer sister was the wife Drummond killed?”
Her head snapped up when she heard this. “So it’s true? He really did kill Ailsa?” she asked, with her heart about beating out of her chest.
“That’s what he’s been tellin’ everyone. He’s been braggin’ about it, lass.”
Anxiety coursed through her. She got up and started pacing again. “Well, I still don’t believe it. He couldn’t have killed Ailsa.”
“Ye dinna ken the man, lass. He is capable of doin’ so much worse.”
She sat down once again. “Well, no matter what happened, it’s in the past now.” Her father’s words kept echoing in her head, telling her to find justice for Ailsa’s death by killing the man. Kill. She’d never killed anyone and honestly didn’t know if she could. Neither did she want to. “All I care about is bringing my nephew back . . . home,” she said, reality hitting her hard that she no longer had a home to go to when this was all over.
“What is this sword that was stolen from yer faither? And why does Drummond consider it valuable enough for him to give away his own son?”
“Lockie is not his son!” She jumped up and started pacing again. “My father told me on his deathbed that Lockie’s father was a stableboy.”
“And Drummond found out and killed the lass,” he answered, the words stabbing through her heart like a sword. She closed her eyes and silently nodded. “So tell me about this sword.”
“The sword was –” she stopped in midsentence. If she told him it was the English king’s sword, he might want to keep it for himself if they ever found it. But she needed that sword more than anything and needed his help to get it back. “The sword was special to my father. It was a . . . a lucky sword. It won battles. That’s why Ranulph Drummond wants it.”
“I see.” Logan bit his bottom lip and nodded. “I used to have a sword like that once, too, so I understand. I think it’s important we find this sword so ye can bring yer nephew home where he belongs.”
“Yes. Home,” she said, feeling like she was in a trance. She had no idea, even if they found the sword and saved Lockie, where she and her family would live when this was all over.
“We’ll set out lookin’ for it as soon as we bury yer faither.”
“We?” She looked at him in disbelief. “Do you mean that you’re going to help me recover the sword from the bandits?”
“Well, I canna let an innocent little boy grow up with cutthroats like Drummond, can I?”
“I – I don’t know what to say.”
“Say ye’ll give yer faither a proper burial.” He reached out and touched her gently on the arm. “Rhoswen, I dinna ken what ye and yer faither were arguin’ about before he passed away, but ye need to forgive him.”
“You have no idea what you’re saying.” She pulled away from him and walked over to the stalls, leaning her arm on the top of one, looking the other direction.
“Take him back to England. Give him a proper burial in yer castle’s graveyard. It’s the least ye can do for the man after what happened to him tryin’ to save yer nephew.”
Rhoswen turned her head slightly, her heart still cold from what she’d learned. “We’ll bury him in the woods, right here in Scotland. Going back to England now is not an option.”
“Lass, are ye sure? He is yer faither.”
“Correction – he was my father,” she told him. “And yes, I’m sure. Now, let’s go bury him so we can get on with the mission.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Logan threw the last shovel of dirt over the wooden casket buried in the woods. His friends, as well as Rhoswen and her siblings watched. Blaine cried, and Newell comforted her. Rhoswen, on the other hand, seemed to have no emotions at all. He just didn’t understand it.
“Did ye want to say a few words?” asked Logan, sticking the shovel into the ground and brushing off his hands.
Rhoswen’s gaze focused on the ground where her father was buried. She didn’t say anything. For a moment, he thought she was having a change of heart.
“Say a prayer, Rhoswen,” said her sister. They’d been told that Logan and the others knew their true identities, so they no longer continued the charade.
“Aye,” agreed Newell. “You are the eldest of the three of us, so you should say the final words.”
Rhoswen was quiet for another moment, then she slowly shook her head. “We are wasting time,” she told her siblings. “I need to find that sword.” She turned on her heel and headed back to her horse with her siblings following.
“Och, the lass is a cold-hearted wench,” said Caleb once they were out of earshot.
“I’ve never seen anythin’ like it.” Ethan bent over and ran his hand over his hound’s head. “I would say a word or two if my hound died. But she didna seem to even blink, watchin’ her faither bein’ buried.”
“Take it easy on her,” said Logan. “We have no idea what she’s been through.”
“She is an odd one,” said Hawke, watching the girl and her siblings mount their horses. “Ye’d better beware of her, Logan, before ye’re pulled into somethin’ ye’ll regret.” The cry of a red-tailed hawk called to them from the sky. Hawke looked up and held out his leather-clad arm. His pet landed with grace upon it, making him smile. “Guid mornin’, Apollo,” he said, pulling a treat from his pouch and giving it to the bird. “I think Apollo is tellin’ us it’s time to get back to the rest of the clan.”
“Slink is back at the tavern,” said Caleb, speaking of his pine marten. “As soon as I get him, I’m ready to leave.”
“Me, too,” added Ethan. “I’m anxious to get home to Alana.”
“I miss Phoebe, too,” said Hawke, lifting his arm and sending his bird into the sky. “Logan, how long will it take for ye to be ready to go?”
“I’m no’ goin’ back to camp,” he told them, getting confused looks from all of them.
“Why no’?” asked Caleb. “Dinna tell me ye want to go back to the Glasgow fair because of that bonnie lassie ye saw sellin’ sweetmeats.”
“Nay,” he answered. “I promised Rhoswen I’d help her find the bandits that stole her faither’s sword.”
“What?” Ethan made a face. “Are ye daft? Why would ye want to do that? It’s none of our concern.”
“Plus, she’s a Sassenach,” Caleb pointed out.
“It seems that sword is the only way she’ll get her nephew back from Drummond,” Logan explained.
“Blethers, Logan, dinna tell me ye’re thinkin’ of goin’ anywhere near the Drummond Clan,” said Hawke. “Especially when it has anythin’ to do with a sword.”
“That’s right,” said Ethan. “Ye canna trust Drummond. Why would ye want to purposely put yerself in that position?”
“I want to help her,” said Logan, watching the beautiful woman climb atop her horse and reach up to fix her hair. Like black onyx against virgin snow, her long curls cascaded over her shoulders and settled against her chest. She wore her hair down now. Long and loose. He wondered if it was some sort of rebellious gesture, something to do with her father. “Besides, she even offered to pay me to escort her to the Highlands.”
“Well, no amount of money is worth purposely bringin’ her to Drummond’s door,” said Hawke.
“Dinna do it,” warned Caleb. “Send her and her siblin’s on their merry way back to England where they belong and let’s go home.”
&n
bsp; Logan thought about the way Rhoswen had changed since her little argument with her father. Something had quickly hardened her heart. He didn’t know her at all, but she was no longer that same girl who begged him to help her dying father.
His longing to help the beautiful lassie gnawed at him. He needed to know more. Something was upsetting this woman so much that she acted like she wanted to spit on her father’s grave. It didn’t become her. All he wanted to do was to make her smile.
But was the price of a smile worth helping her find a sword and then delivering her right to his enemy’s door?
Chapter 5
“Rhoswen, why are you acting this way?” asked Blaine, dabbing her eyes with a square of cloth as they stood outside the Horn and Hoof Tavern, preparing to leave.
“Aye,” said Newell, tightening the straps of his horse’s saddle. “You wouldn’t even let us pray at father’s grave.”
“Come here, both of you,” said Rhoswen, pulling her siblings away from the tavern so no one would hear her. “You don’t know the conversation I had with our father before he died.”
“What did he say?” asked Blaine, looking up with innocent eyes. She was four and ten years of age, but her innocence was often that of a child. “Did you tell him we love him?” she asked.
“Nay. There wasn’t time,” she said, her eyes darting back to the door of the tavern. Logan and his friends would be here at any minute and she had to talk quickly. “It seems father isn’t the man we thought he was.” She relayed the entire story to them.
“Nay! I don’t believe it,” cried Blaine, becoming very upset. “Papa is not a murderer.”
“He was, and you need to accept the fact, Blaine.”
“Why did he do it?” asked Newell.
“Papa had his pride.” Calling her father Papa was an endearment she always thought of as special. But now, it seemed like blasphemy – because the dying man on that table was not the man she used to know. “Father,” she corrected herself, “didn’t think this plan through,” she told her siblings, not able to call him Papa again. “He endangered all of our lives and left us with nothing – not even a place to live.”
“I want to go home,” said Blaine.
“Nay. We have no home to go to,” explained Rhoswen. “If we return to England without that sword, the king will condemn us and probably kill us for our father’s crime.”
“Then we’ll find the sword, save Lockie, and beg the king’s pardon,” suggested Newell. “We’ll be back home in no time.”
“I’m afraid King Richard might not be as forgiving as you think, Newell.” Rhoswen looked over at the tavern and saw Logan walking with his wolf toward the stable. “We can’t take that chance.”
“Well, I’ll take it,” said Newell. “I’m going to be a knight someday. I want to go back to England.” He pulled his sword from his weapon belt and held it up high.
“Give me that before you hurt yourself.” She grabbed the sword out of his hand, since it was hers anyway. “Now give me the weapon belt as well.”
“Nay!” said Newell. “Father let me wear it.”
“Newell, it was only because I’m a lady and it wouldn’t look right to be wearing a sword. We both know that you can barely even hold it.”
“I was Father’s squire,” he said, sounding like he really believed it.
“You are not a squire. You were only a page.”
“But I will be a squire someday soon.”
“You are an eleven-year-old boy who happens to look like he’s at least four and ten, but you’re not. I’ll work with you to learn how to use the sword properly someday but, for now, I’m taking it back.”
Rhoswen saw the disappointed look on her brother’s face and also the determination to be something he would probably never be. The reason her father hadn’t spent more time training him with weapons is because although Newell was large in size, he had no skill at all when it came to using weapons. Unfortunately, he was better at things that weren’t so physical, while Rhoswen had the talents he always wished for. Newell was the thinker, good with figuring out the castle’s expenses and having an unnatural talent with knowing numbers. But that wasn’t going to make him the warrior that he someday wished to be.
“What are we going to do, Rhoswen?” asked her sister. “I’m frightened.” Blaine was always frightened, even of her own shadow sometimes it seemed.
“We’re going to find that sword and trade it to Drummond and bring little Lockie to live with us. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“Live with us where? You said we no longer have a home,” Blaine reminded her.
“Aye,” she said, releasing a breath, watching Logan talking with his friends now. They laughed and drank Mountain Magic, seeming more like brothers than just clan members. “I have an idea,” she told them.
“What?” asked Newell. “Because if we don’t figure out something soon, we’re all going to die.”
That set Blaine off and she started to cry again. Rhoswen put her arm around her little sister. “Newell, stop scaring Blaine!” she scolded. “We will have a place to go. Because I plan on us living with the MacKeefes.”
“What?” spat Newell. “You think Highlanders are going to take us in? They hate the English. They call us Sassenachs. If we go to their clan, we’ll have our throats slit as we sleep.”
Upon hearing this, Blaine wailed louder.
“Stop it!” she spat, glaring at her brother. “Now take Blaine and finish preparing our horses. And I don’t want to hear another word about us dying.”
“Stop being so bossy,” said Newell, still sore at her for taking back her sword.
“Get going,” she ordered, pushing them gently toward the horses while she took off for the stables to talk to Logan and find them a place to live.
When she approached the group, all of the men except for Caleb were huddled in a circle off to the side of the stable talking silently. They were no longer laughing. They seemed to be looking down at something but she couldn’t see what.
“What’s so interesting?” she asked, causing them all to jump. She giggled, since she didn’t think anything could startle a Highlander.
“God’s toes, it’s only ye,” said Logan, holding his hand to his chest.
“You almost sound disappointed,” she replied, feeling suddenly unwanted. “Who were you expecting?”
“We thought it was Caleb,” said Ethan.
“And a guid thing is wasna,” added Hawke. “Logan, Caleb is goin’ to have yer head.”
“What do you mean?” asked Rhoswen. “What are you looking at?”
“Dinna fash yerself about it,” said Logan, stepping up, trying to hide something.
“Let me see.”
“Nay,” answered Ethan, also stepping in front of her to block her view.
Rhoswen’s eyes flicked from one man to the other. She was never going to get results if she had to overpower them. Instead, she would have to outsmart them instead.
“All right. I’ll be waiting for you by the tavern,” she said, turning and pretending to leave. She saw Caleb emerge from the tavern, and stop to talk to her brother and sister. Looking back over her shoulder, she waited until the men had turned back around. Then she spun around and ran up to them, pushing between them before they had a chance to stop her. She laughed, until she looked down to the ground and saw Logan’s wolf eating an animal. It was a long, skinny animal, covered in blood.
“Oh!” she cried, reaching out and grasping on to Logan’s arm. Her eyes opened wide and she felt as if she were going to retch.
“Bid the devil, Rhoswen, we told ye no’ to look,” said Logan.
“W-what is . . . that?” she asked, horrified to see the mutilation.
“It’s just Jack’s meal,” said Logan.
“How awful.” She raised her hand and hid her eyes. Logan reached out and put his arm around her shoulders. Liking the way it felt, she leaned in close, resting her head against Logan’s chest.
; “He’s a wolf,” Logan reminded her. “He hunts to eat and has to eat to live. It’s the way of nature.”
“I know. But w-what was that?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know.
“It looks like some sort of weasel, as far as we can tell,” said Hawke.
“A weasel?” Her heart jumped. Suddenly it all made sense. They were looking at a dead weasel and also didn’t want Caleb there. “Is it . . . Caleb’s pet?”
“We canna really tell, but it damned well could be,” said Ethan.
“Logan, Caleb is goin’ to kill ye for this,” said Hawke, staring at the wolf and shaking his head.
“What am I goin’ to kill Logan for?” asked Caleb, surprising them, since they didn’t know he’d walked up behind them. Even Rhoswen jumped this time.
“Caleb,” said Logan. “We didna ken ye were there.”
“What are ye lookin’ at?” he asked, smiling, not suspecting anything was wrong.
“Caleb, don’t!” said Rhoswen as Caleb stretched his neck trying to see around his friends who were all taller than him.
“Ye arena goin’ to like it,” warned Ethan, blocking his way.
“Let him see,” said Logan halfheartedly. “He’s goin’ to have to find out sooner or later.”
“Let me see what?” Caleb asked.
Ethan and Hawke stepped aside and Caleb’s eyes fell to the wolf. His smile quickly disappeared.
“S-slink?” he stuttered, dropping to his knees, looking at the remains. Rhoswen thought the grown man was going to cry.
“Caleb, dinna forget yer damned weasel,” shouted Old Callum MacKeefe from the door of the tavern. Rhoswen turned to see Callum holding Caleb’s pine marten up by the scruff of its neck. “If I catch the blasted thing in my larder again, I swear I’m goin’ to skin it alive and add it to my stew.”
“Slink!” shouted Caleb, getting to his feet. “Damn ye three,” he said, glaring at his friends. “That was a nasty trick to pull on me.” He took off at a run for the tavern to collect his pet.
“We really thought it was Slink,” Logan shouted after him, but Caleb didn’t turn around.
Highland Steel: Highland Chronicles Series - Book 3 Page 5