by Amanda Scott
Now the fog had cleared, and the sun shone in a cloudy sky. He was well away from the river, deep in ancient woods—a magnificent mixture of tall beeches, oaks, thickly growing conifers, and where it was dampest, spindly birches and willows. The woodsy scents filled him with a heady sense of freedom. But his pursuers were not far enough behind yet for safety.
Although he had not entered such dense woodland for nineteen long months, he had hunted from the time he could keep up with his lord father and knew that he retained his skills, had even heightened most of them. Quietly drawing deep breaths and releasing them, he forced himself to relax and bond with the forest while he listened and waited for its creatures to speak to him.
Thinking of those creatures and the fact that he had come ashore north of the waterfall, he was nearly sure that he must be in Tùr Meiloach woods. He had heard men warn that the place was rife with danger, either haunted or bewitched. Some swore that it was a sanctuary for true MacFarlans, others that it was a taste of hell for unwary strangers. Wondering which it was would do him no good now, though.
It occurred to him that although he had moved carefully and in near silence for the past quarter-hour, the denizens of the forest remained remarkably still. He had not listened for them earlier, knowing that the din of the river would cover any sound they made and being more concerned about eluding his pursuers.
As if it had intercepted his thoughts, a hawk shrieked above. Then an osprey replied with its shrill whistle, declaring the woods its territory. It would, he thought, have better luck taking fish from the nearby Loch of the Long Boats and should leave the woods to the hawks. Ospreys were better-suited for hunting in dense foliage.
All thought ceased then, because he sensed someone in the woods north of him moving as silently as he did. Had one of the devils got round him? Was one north of him now and the other two south? He had seen only three men earlier on the far side of the devilish river. They had swung across it on a rope tied to a high branch of an ancient beech rooted in what looked from a distance like solid rock.
The three carried swords and dirks. When he’d recognized them as Pharlain’s men, he knew they were seeking him.
A soughing of leaves above drew his glance to a female goshawk on a higher branch. The canopy above her was thick. But he knew that hawks, even big ones like the gos, with two-foot wingspans, were perfectly at home in the Highland woods. He had occasionally delighted in watching one take prey by flying at speed between trees that left insufficient room for it. To fit through, the bird seemed to fold itself, wings and body, into a thinly compressed, arrowlike shape and to do it without missing a single sweeping beat.
The hawk above him fixed a fierce yellow eye on him. Then, as if that glance were all it required, it opened its wings and swooped down and away.
He eyed the gos’s erstwhile perch. It was high, but in the dense canopy above it a man might rest unseen for hours. A rustle of disturbed shrubbery south of him, accompanied by a man’s muttered curse, made the decision easy. He paused only to conceal his plaid in the shrubbery.
Andrena heard the curse, too, and froze in place to listen. She had sensed the trespassers’ approach more easily with each step, because the woods were her home, their every sound familiar. She had noted the eerie silence, had seen the goshawk as it shot through the trees in front of her without making a sound.
The hawk’s presence might have frightened nearby small creatures to silence. But it would not account for the unusual quiet of the forest at large. It seemed to hold its communal breath, to be waiting as she was for the intruders to reveal their nature.
So still was it that in the distance to her right and far below, she could hear waves of the loch, unsettled from the storm, hushing against the rockbound shore.
The strangers were much closer.
Sound traveled farther through woodland than most people realized, and her ears were deer-sharp. The intruders were a score of yards away, perhaps more, but an effortless bowshot in the open. She would soon see them.
Noting movement in shrubbery near the ground, she saw that at least one creature had managed to follow her from the tower. Lina’s orange cat eyed her curiously through slender branches sprouting new leaves.
Without a sound, the cat glided off ahead, doubtless prowling for its supper.
Andrena moved on, too. She heard no noises specific enough to identify but she knew now that there were at least two or three men. Careful to stay hidden but watchful, she also knew that her sweeping gaze would detect any movement.
A large shadow passed between two large-trunked beeches ahead to her left.
Going still, she watched as a stranger stepped between the two trees. Two others followed. All three wore saffron tunics, kilted plaids of dull red and green, swords slung across their backs, and dirks at their belts.
So much, Andrena thought, for Murie’s certainty—and their father’s—that no one could ford the wild river south of their tower without plunging into the loch and out with the tide. Either the three men had forded it or they’d found other means of trespassing onto Andrew’s land without his or his men’s knowledge.
The man in the tree suppressed a curse when he saw the lass. Who the devil, he wondered, would be daft enough to let a girl wander out alone in such dangerous times? His eyes narrowed as she carefully shifted her shawl and he saw the long dirk in its sheath suspended from her narrow leather girdle.
If she had an ounce of wit she would at least try to keep it hidden, because if the louts searching for him saw it, and they would, they might kill her just to teach her a lesson.
Knowing that they might sense his presence as easily as he had sensed hers, he decided that he ought to do what he could to prevent that. Fixing his gaze on a leaf midway between the three men, now only five or six yards away, and the girl moving toward them—ten paces from his tree—he let his mind go blank.
The last thing he wanted was for anyone to sense him watching them.
The men had moved much faster than Andrena had expected, stirring irritation with herself as well as with them. Having expected to get her first look at them from the next rise, she realized now that she had taken longer than she had intended. In truth, she had paid more heed to the forest creatures’ silence than to its most likely cause, that the men were nearer than she had judged them to be.
Lina would say, and rightly, that having formed an image in her mind of what would happen, Dree had let her thoughts wander and, thus, had failed to think through all the possibilities of what might happen before coming out to investigate.
Hoping that Lina would not learn what had happened, Andrena considered what to do next. She was close enough to the tower for people on its ramparts and wall to hear her pipe if she blew it, so she slipped it out of its pocket into her hand.
The hawks still lingered nearby, as well.
It occurred to her that she would offer help without hesitation had the men simply been storm-tossed onto the shore and missed their way. Perhaps if she…
What the devil was she doing now?
He tensed as he watched her step out into the path of his three pursuers. At least now he knew he need worry no longer about their sensing his presence. The louts had seen her, and the Fates knew that she was stunning enough, even with that ridiculous boy’s cap covering her hair, to stop most healthy men in their tracks.
She walked with unusual grace on the uneven forest floor and did so without glancing at her feet. Her posture was regal, and the soft-looking gray shawl did little to hide a curvaceous, womanly body.
Hearing a scrabbling on the bark below, he glanced down and saw her absurd cat clawing its way up the tree toward him. He could even hear it purring when by rights it should be flying, claws out, at the villains approaching its mistress.
“Forgive me, good sirs,” the lass said in a clear, confident tone, her voice as warm and smooth as honey. “Doubtless, you have lost your way and entered our woods unaware of whose they are. I fear that my fath
er, the laird, requires that men present themselves at Tùr Meiloach before trespassing hereabouts.”
“Does he now, lassie?” the tallest of the louts said, leering at her. “And how might we reach yon tower without stepping on your father, the laird’s, land?”
“We be searching for an escaped prisoner, mistress,” the second man, dark-haired and midsized, said sternly. “Ye shouldna be out here alone like this.”
“I’ll see her tae safety,” the tall one said. “Come along, lass. I dinna think ye belong tae the laird at all. A laird’s daughter wouldna wander about all by herself. Doubtless, when we tell him ye’ve been pretending tae be his daughter, ye’ll find yourself in the suds. But I’ll no tell him if ye plead kindly wi’ me.”
“I would willingly direct you to the tower,” she said. “It lies—” Breaking off when he grabbed her right arm, she stiffened and said icily, “Let go of me.”
“Nay, then, I’ll ha’—”
Putting two fingers of her other hand to her lips, she whistled loudly.
“Here now, what the—”
A sparrow hawk flew from a nearby tree right at his face, flapping its wings wildly and shrieking an angry kek-kek-kek as it did.
With a cry, the man flung up an arm in defense. Shearing away at the last second, the bird swooped around and struck again. Flinging up both arms this time, the lout released the young woman, who stepped away from him.
The cat had reached the branch on which the hunted man lay stretched. It walked up his body to peer over his right shoulder into his face, still purring.
Short of grabbing it and dropping it on one of the men below, he could do nothing useful. So he ignored it.
Had he his sword with him or even the lass’s dirk, he might have dropped in on the conversation. As it was, he hoped they would realize from her demeanor that she was as noble as she claimed to be and were wondering, as he did, why men were not already rushing noisily to her aid, summoned by her whistling.
He had barely finished the thought when three goshawks arrived silently, all much larger than the sparrow hawk. The lout already intimidated by the small hawk took off running, back the way he had come. The other two tried to shoo the birds away. But the birds screamed then as if they were new parents and the men had disturbed their young.
“Our hawks are exceedingly territorial, I fear,” the lass said matter-of-factly.
“Call them off, ye devilish witch!” the tall man yelled at Andrena while flapping his arms as wildly as the birds flapped their wings. Since he was also trying to protect his eyes with his hands, his flailing elbows had little effect.
“They are scarcely my birds, sir,” she replied, elevating him with that single word far above his deserved station in life. “They just know that I belong here and you do not. Had I brought my dogs, they would act in a similar way, as I am sure your dogs do when someone threatens you. I cannot call them off. But if you two follow your friend back to where you came from, they may stop attacking you.”
The hawks, acting more helpfully than hawks usually did, continued flying at the two despite their waving and shouts. One of the men reached for his sword.
“Don’t touch that weapon if you value your life,” she said, raising the wee pipe, still in her right hand, to her lips. “If I blow this pipe, our men-at-arms will come. So I should warn you that my father wields the power of the pit and gallows. Our hanging tree stands right outside our gate, and he will not hesitate…”
The man was staring beyond her, his mouth agape.
Glancing over a shoulder, she saw that with the racket the hawks had made, she had failed to hear the osprey arrive. The huge bird perched nearby, looking even more immense when it tensed, puffed its feathers, and glowered at the intruders.
Andrena said, “She has much worse manners than the others. So do not challenge her.”
“We’re a-going,” the dark-haired one said. “But tell your father that if he finds our prisoner, he must send him back tae the laird in irons.”
“I shall give him your message. But you must tell me who your laird is. I cannot pluck such information from your mind.”
“Aye, well, I thought ye’d ken who we be. The missing chap be one o’ Pharlain’s galley slaves, taken in fair capture whilst raiding.”
“Then doubtless my father will do as you wish,” Andrena said mendaciously. Andrew would more likely help the man on his way.
The osprey, balefully eyeing the intruders, spread its wings and twitched its talons menacingly.
Abruptly, the men turned and followed their erstwhile companion.
The goshawks, one of the few hawk species that will hunt together and now a veritable flock, swooped after them.
Andrena stood for a time, listening, to be sure they were well on their way. Then, hearing a loud purr at her feet, she looked down and saw the orange cat. It walked across her bare feet, rubbing against her shins.
“Where did you spring from this time?” she asked.
The cat blinked, then continued around her and back toward the tower.
Turning to follow it, Andrena found herself face-to-muscular-chest with a huge, broad-shouldered, shaggy-bearded, half naked stranger. He wore a ragged, thigh-length, saffron-colored sark, the ripped left shoulder of which revealed a bad abrasion and bruising that extended along his upper arm.
Startled nearly out of her wits, she snapped, “Where did you…? That is, I never even knew that you were—”
“Hush, lass, they may still be near enough to hear you.” His voice was deeper than her father’s, and mellow, unlike any she might imagine coming from a villain.
“They are halfway across yon hills to the river by now,” she said.
“They may be, aye. But I want to be sure.”
“Then follow them. But how did you get so close to me, especially as big as you are? Faith, you’re a giant, and I can always—” Breaking off, aware that she was talking too much, she said, “You must be their missing prisoner, aye?”
His twinkling gaze met her frowning one. “They would identify me as such, aye. But I disapprove of slavery. So I don’t see the matter as they do.”
“I suppose not. But—” Breaking off when she saw how steadily he gazed at her, she eyed him askance. “Are you not going to follow them, then?”
“Nay, for I cannot leave a wee lassock like yourself out here alone. I’ll see you safely to your gate first.”
“Thank you, but I don’t want or need your escort,” she said firmly.
“Aye, well, you need not look so displeased by the notion,” he said. A wistful smile peeked through his unkempt beard as through a shaggy hedge. “Unless you fear that your da will hang me for escaping,” he added.
“He will not do that. He feels no love for Parlan Pharlain.”
“Then why do you hesitate to go home? Art afraid he’ll punish you for coming out alone and learning how dangerous that can be?”
“He won’t do that, either. By my troth, although he will not hang you, you are the one who should be leery of him.”
“Why should I?”
“Because, since you managed to escape from Cousin Parlan and must therefore be Parlan’s enemy, I fear that Father will insist that you marry me.”
Chapter 2
Mag Galbraith smiled. He couldn’t help it.
She was gazing up at him, looking into his eyes, and hers were such a dark blue that they looked black. Her long, thick lashes were black, too, but her delicately arched brows were deep golden brown. They knitted together when she said, “You do not believe me, but you should. My father can be most persuasive.”
“We’ll talk as we walk,” he said, moving to retrieve his plaid from where he had hidden it. As he slung the length of still damp fabric over his injured shoulder, he added, “Art sure your devilish birds will continue to harry those louts away?”
“Most likely,” she said. “We’ll tell our lads on the wall about them, though, lest they try to sneak back. I was surprised they h
ad got so close… and you, too.”
“I did see that I’d startled you.”
“And are amused to have done so,” she replied. “But where were you hiding? I thought no one but those men had entered our woods.”
“Dense woodland conceals much and is always dangerous,” he said, indicating that she should lead the way. “Your father should not let you wander here alone. One can never know when one might encounter menace.”
“I usually do know when others are near me,” she said, turning obediently back the way she had come. “I can sense danger, too.”
“ ’Tis true that hunters, woodsmen, and warriors can sense such things,” he said as he followed her along a nearly indiscernible path. “Their fathers and commanders train them to use all of their senses and to keep them well honed. Forbye, you are neither woodsman nor warrior.”
“I do not know what that has to do with using one’s senses. My father trained me just as yours must have trained you. He encourages me to roam our woods, to know every rock and rill, and to keep a close watch for danger.”
“Next you will say he encourages you to carry that dirk of yours.”
“Aye, sure, he does,” she replied. Glancing back at him, she added, “Why should he not when he gave it to me himself?”
“The man must be mad.”
“Mayhap you will tell him so,” she said with an edge to her voice. “I would not advise such a course, because his temper is uncertain at the best of times. It will be bad enough when we tell him that three of Parlan’s men—nay, for you must count as a fourth, must you not? So four men successfully invaded our woods. I know I said that he would not be wroth with you—”
“Because he’ll want me to marry you, aye,” he said, smiling again.
As he did, he realized that it was unusual for him to smile twice in the space of less than a few minutes. He could not remember a time during the past nineteen months when he had smiled at all.
Despite the smile and the engaging twinkle in his light brown eyes, Andrena told herself that he was just another man like any other. Wrinkling her nose at the smell of wet wool, she looked back again to say, “You look as if you’ve been in a fight, and, by the smell of that thing you carry, it is soaked through with sea water.”