The Highlander’s Angel

by Lee, Caroline

  When Court leaned forward in the saddle, she caught Morgan’s attention once more. “We’re here to talk to the chief. Ye’ll take us to him.”

  The little man snorted and shook his head. “Arrogant, as himself always said.” He pulled a long dirk and waved it in their direction, not quite threatening. “For past’s sake, I’ll let ye leave, English, and I’ll even tell the chief ye were calling on him.”

  As soon as Ross had seen the glint of steel, his hand had dropped to the hilt of his sword, and he muttered a command to Honor under his breath.

  The bandit hadn’t noticed, but Court had. Her attention still on Morgan, she lifted two fingers off her bow, which rested on her left thigh, where it always did while traveling, as if to tell him to stand down.

  Although it galled him not to be in control of the situation, Ross forced himself—and his dog—to wait. This man could take them to whoever could answer their questions, and Ross wanted to pounce, to punish the bandit for drawing steel in Court’s presence.

  For threatening her.

  But the Queen had called them partners, and partners trusted each other.

  Even if Ross had no idea what in Creation was going on.

  “Morgan,” Court said calmly, “ye will take us to him, and ye’ll put up that wee blade.”

  “Wee?” The bandit snorted. “More’n a few men’s blood has washed this, English. Ye ken that.”

  “I do no’. But I ken ye’ll no’ harm us, not when I’ve called on the chief himself.”

  “English—”

  Ross likely should’ve expected it, but the bandit most certainly hadn’t. Between one heartbeat and the next, Court had an arrow nocked, drawn, and pointed at Morgan.

  “Stop calling me that,” she growled.

  The bandit swallowed, his attention on the tip of the arrow, even as he slowly sheathed his dirk.

  Then, to Ross’s surprise, the other man grinned. “Good to have ye back, Courtney.”

  She blew out a breath and loosened her draw, allowing the man to breathe again. “Swear it, Morgan.”

  The wiry man tapped two fingers to the back of his left hand. “I’ll no’ harm ye.” His grin flashed again. “ ’Tis for the chief to decide.”

  Ross still hadn’t loosened his grip on his sword, and now felt even more awash in uncertainties.

  He watched as Court finally nodded, then lifted her right hand from the string—although the left still held the arrow in place—and slowly tapped two fingers against the back of her left hand.

  Her gloved hand.

  Morgan noticed and nodded to it. “Got caught, did ye?”

  Ignoring the man’s question, Court shifted in her saddle to speak to Ross. “He’ll have to blindfold us.”

  Ross’s denial was immediate and firm. “Nay.”

  She nodded, just as firmly. “Aye. The camp moves each season or so. Morgan’s the one who can lead us to our answers, Fraser.”

  She’d called him Ross last night.

  “I donae trust him.”

  “Fraser, eh? Andrew will want to meet ye,” the bandit spoke up.

  Who in the seven hells was Andrew?

  Ross felt like scrubbing a hand through his hair in frustration, but curbed the impulse to raise a brow at Court in challenge.

  She heard his unspoken words, because she sighed and shook her head slowly. “I willnae say I trust him, but I ken he fears his chief more. He’ll no’ hurt us.”

  “I’ve sworn it, Fraser,” the bandit snapped.

  And a thief’s word was supposed to count for aught?

  Ross searched Court’s eyes, and saw acceptance there.

  She would follow this Morgan into the center of an impenetrable wood to fulfill her mission to the Queen, so Ross could do naught else but follow.

  He would not leave his partner to face danger alone.

  Slowly, he unfolded his hand from the hilt of his sword. “I will blindfold myself,” he finally acquiesced.

  But instead of pleasure at his words, he saw trepidation flash across Court’s face, before she nodded and turned back to Morgan.

  “As will I. Lead on.”

  Ross tore two pieces from his plaid and passed one to her, watching as she tied it tightly across her eyes, before he did the same. He’d expected her to do a poor job, to allow herself space to see. When she hadn’t, he guessed it was because she didn’t want the bandit to have cause to check.

  So he gave Honor the commands for alert to danger and track, as he resigned himself to a blind journey. Hopefully, the dog wouldn’t be too confused about the lack of trail, and instead, would be able to find his way out of the woods were there trouble ahead.

  He almost chuckled at that. There was sure to be trouble ahead.

  It seemed like hours passed as their wee band picked their way along the forest path. Ross’s ears told him Court’s horse was still beside his, although she never spoke.

  Occasionally, Honor would woof at something—the bandit? Or an animal among the trees?—and Ross would murmur comforting words.

  Ahead of them, Morgan walked, leading the horses by the reins. Occasionally he would make bird calls, which were answered from the trees, and Ross assumed they were passing other sentries.

  Otherwise, there was only silence, which left Ross plenty of time to think.

  Just who was the Red Hand, and what did they mean to Courtney?

  It was obvious she was not only familiar with the area and their history, but with specific members and the way they worked as well. That was logical, if she’d grown up here, which is what she’d claimed on the morning of the attack in the Queen’s solar.

  She’d said she’d lived among them, grown up here.

  Were they her family?

  The unpleasant thought had Ross’s lips pulling into a frown. She said she’d once had a family; was it the chief?

  Was he the family she’d once had?

  Why did that thought—the thought of her caring for this man—send a spike of jealousy through Ross, hard and sharp?

  Over what he felt must be an hour, two maybe, Ross’s thoughts and questions pounded at him, until his head ached and his stomach rumbled.

  At the noise, the bandit chuckled softly, and called back, “No’ too far now.”

  Sure enough, Ross soon heard the sound of running water, and the horses drew to a stop.

  “Stay here, English, and I’ll see if the chief wants to kill ye outright.”

  At those words, Ross ripped the blindfold from his eyes, even as his right hand was drawing his sword. But by the time he was able to blink in the suddenly bright sunlight, the wiry bandit was long gone.

  Court was slower as she pulled her blindfold off, and Ross was surprised to see her face paler than normal.

  Was she…?

  Was she frightened?

  “Court?”

  Her fist closed around the scrap of Fraser plaid. “He’ll no’ kill me,” she whispered, although he wasn’t sure if she was reassuring him, or herself.

  “Ye’re sure?” he asked quietly.

  She met his eyes, then looked away. “Aye.”

  Although she still didn’t sound too certain.

  He cursed under his breath, and then, since he could do little atop the horse with the reins dangling, swung down and led the animal to the wee pool at the base of the small waterfall.

  They were standing in a glen, surrounded by thick trees, and the sunlight made the whole place look damn idyllic after the darkness they’d traveled through.

  His stomach rumbled again, reminding him they’d missed their noon meal, and it was already mid-afternoon. As the horse drank, Ross pulled dried meat from his saddle bags and offered some to Court, who was now sitting on one of the boulders. Her right hand was buried deep in the fur under Honor’s ear, scratching absentmindedly, even as she stared at the grass by her feet.

  He had to repeat her name a second time before she looked up.

  When she saw his offering, she shook her head.
“Cam will either feed us, or send us away. I can wait to eat, either way.”

  Honor, however, was happy to eat her share, judging from the way the dog abandoned her scratching to leap at Ross’s offering.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned this Cam person, but now that there was a very good chance Ross would have to face the man, he wanted answers.

  Sinking to a crouch beside the boulders, he braced his shoulder and studied her.

  “Cam. Ye spoke of him before to the Queen. He’s the chief?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, not meeting his eyes. “He was. Mayhap nae longer, if the Red Hand deals in royal assassins.”

  “And who is this Cam? To ye?”

  It was apparently the right question to ask, because her head jerked up, her brown eyes finding his briefly, before she focused on the water in the pool.

  “Cam is… He was…” She took a deep breath, held it for several moments, then said, “He was my brother.”

  Brother.

  Family.

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “I was raised among—by, I suppose—the Red Hand. I have nae memories of my early years. Cam told me I came to them with some other wanderers, and his predecessor bought me, thinking my small hands would be good for picking pockets.”

  Bought her?

  She said it so casually, as if this were a fact of life; a life where small, unwanted children could be bought and sold like merchandise.

  “Were these wanderers English?”

  She shrugged. “Cam never said.”

  “He wasnae really yer brother then, was he?”

  For the first time since they stopped, real emotion flashed across her face, as her angry gaze snapped to him. “He was the closest thing I had to one, Fraser! He protected me, he comforted me. He was my friend.” Then her shoulders slumped, and her gaze dropped to his chin. “Until he took leadership.”

  There was such pain in her tone, Ross wanted to reach out, to draw her into his arms, to comfort her himself. But she wouldn’t want that, he could tell.

  Instead, he asked a different question.

  “And were ye any good at picking pockets?”

  One side of her lips twitched upward, and she made a wee noise—which might’ve been a snort, might’ve been a chuckle—as she lifted her hands toward him. “Aye, one of the best. Cam, then later Morgan, would take me into Tarbert on market day and let me loose. I got to keep a tenth of all I stole, ye ken.”

  Shifting, he resettled his weight and lifted a brow in her direction. “And did that make ye rich?”

  “Nay. Ye cannae get rich picking pockets. The real wealth lies in highway robbery.”

  She said it so matter-of-factly, as if this were common knowledge. The part of him which had been raised in the bosom of a loving family, a supportive clan, rebelled against her words, and her nonchalant description of life.

  In his mind, in his history, highwaymen and pick-pockets were evil, a blight on society. But she’d grown up among them, calling them family…

  Unsure how to respond, he reached out and snagged her right hand in his, gratified when she didn’t pull away. Even if it was all he could offer her, he’d do it gladly. He squeezed, trying to convey I’m sorry and that shouldnae be so and I admire yer strength all at once.

  Likely he wasn’t successful, but she met his eyes all the same.

  “This is who I am, Ross,” she whispered. “Ye have a clan to lay claim to. I have…” Her left hand waved around the glen. “I have the Red Hand as my past.”

  “Ye left them.”

  “Cam forced me out a few years after taking over. He had to choose between loyalty to me, and loyalty to his men, and he chose the future above the past.”

  Her words, her references to loyalty, had him straightening. “Ye’re saying he put his loyalty to his band, and the future that represented, above whatever feelings he might’ve had for ye?”

  She nodded. “He made his choice and sent me away.”

  His choice.

  By His Wounds, the man she’d thought of as a brother had sent her away.

  And suddenly, Ross understood what she really meant.

  Cam—whoever this complete bastard really was—had been her brother in the only way she knew, and had unknowingly taught her to choose between loyalties. He’d shown her a man could only be loyal to one cause, one person, at a time.

  That’s why she was so insistent Ross chose between the Queen and his laird. That’s why she was holding back. She believed Ross couldn’t be loyal to the Queen as well as a man she thought was a traitor.

  Was that why Court hadn’t given anyone her heart?

  She was loyal to the Queen’s Angels, and thus believed she couldn’t split her loyalties and love anyone else?

  Ross blew out a breath and slumped against the boulder again.

  When he met this Cam, he’d be hard-pressed not to smash his fist into the other man’s jaw.

  When she tugged her hand from his, he didn’t object, and to be honest, wasn’t sure if he could.

  But he kept his attention on her hand as she slowly tapped two fingers on the back of her gloved hand.

  “The man who led before Cam valued loyalty and strength, and taught us to put the welfare of the group ahead of ourselves. Do ye ken how hard that is to thieves and bandits and the scum of the earth?”

  He frowned up at her. “Ye’re no’ scum, Court.”

  “I’m a thief.”

  “Ye were a child, doing what ye’d been taught to do in order to survive.”

  Shaking her head, she began to unlace her glove. He watched, intent on the movement, and wondering what it meant.

  In the years he’d known her, she’d never removed the black leather covering. Even in bed, their one night together, she’d kept it on, although he’d assumed at the time, it was because they’d both been in such a hurry to disrobe, she’d simply forgotten.

  Now though, he watched her peel the supple leather from her hand and flex her fingers. Staring down at the back of her hand, she blew out a breath, then lifted her gaze to his.

  She turned her hand so he could see.

  A burn—a brand—in the shape of a “T” marred her skin. It was old and the skin pulled around it was white and scarred.

  A thief’s brand.

  He knew there were places—sheriffs—who believed in them, but had never imagined seeing one on the skin of a woman he was coming to care for.

  Coming to care for?

  Damnation, but he did care for her.

  “When Cam sent me away, sent me to Scone, I was fifteen. I refused to whore, because I’d seen what the pox could do to a person.” Her chin jerked up. “There were a few times when I was starving and had no choice, but I didnae make a habit of it.”

  She hadn’t been a virgin that night they’d spent together, and Ross hadn’t thought much of it. After all, he hadn’t been one either.

  Nodding, he let her know he understood. “Hunger is a powerful motivator.”

  “I stole to survive. I learned how to move around in a big city, move among the merchants, same as I’d learned in the woods. I stole from stalls and pockets and homes, although, by the time I reached my full height, I could no’ manage that for long.”

  “And the brand?”

  Her gaze dropped to her hand, which had fallen across her thigh. “The last time I tried a house, I couldn’t manage the window. The owner caught me and turned me over to the law. The brand was supposed to deter me, to convince me to live an honest life.”

  When her lips twitched, Ross joined her in an ironic smile. Once branded like that, the sheriff had condemned her to a dishonest life forever. Evidence of a past crime such as that would ensure she’d never have a chance at a decent position.

  She met his eyes. “I was eighteen when I was caught again. At that age, I suppose I was lucky the man didn’t see fit to punish me in his own way.”

  Ross’s left hand curled into a fist on h
is thigh, knowing exactly what kind of punishment she referred to, and wondering if she’d ever had to endure it.

  “What happened?” he asked, in a rough whisper.

  “As a repeat offender, I had a date with the hangman.”

  The hangman...?

  By all His saints and sinners!

  His shock must’ve shown on his face, because she nodded solemnly. “Aye. Without even a holy Father’s blessing, I was preparing to meet St. Peter’s judgment, since earthly judgment had condemned me already, but then…” She shook her head. “Then she walked in.”

  “She?” Ross choked.

  “Queen Elizabeth. The blessed Queen of Scotland sauntered into my cell, with only a single bodyguard, and told me she had a position for me. I would’ve taken any opportunity to escape, ye ken, but she offered me a new life.”

  The Queen?

  “Jesu Christo.”

  Court nodded. “Aye. Ye see, Ross, why I love her?”

  Why I’m loyal to her?

  She didn’t ask that particular question, but she didn’t have to. Ross heard her words all the same.

  With a single nod, he thrust himself to his feet, catching her hands and pulling her up with him before she could object. Standing there beside the pool, Honor snoring contentedly in the sun behind him, Ross felt as if certainty had been poured over his head and swept across his heart.

  He knew her. He knew how she thought, and now…?

  Now he knew why she thought those things too.

  Lifting her hands to his lips, he met her eyes.

  “My thanks,” he whispered, dropping a kiss onto her right palm. “My thanks for explaining.”

  He kissed her left palm, then turned her hand over.

  Holding her gaze, he dropped a tender kiss upon the brand, inhaling her scent of leather, and the oil she used on her bow, and Courtney.

  She sucked in a breath, and he felt her flinch under his touch.

  When he kissed the brand again, he saw tension drain from her shoulders, and the lines around her eyes eased slightly.

  “Courtney, thank ye for explaining, and for surviving, and for growing up into the woman ye are now. Whatever the Red Hand meant to ye in the past, whatever sins ye committed, they’re behind ye. The Queen of Scotland herself trusts ye with her life.”