The Warrior's Bride

by Amanda Scott

  From a rack by the postern door, Andrena took her favorite cream-colored wool cap and twisted her tawny plaits up inside it. Then she donned the gray wool shawl hanging beside it and took down the dirk that hung by its belt under the shawl.

  Fastening the belt so that the weapon lay concealed beneath the shawl, and leaving her untanned-hide boots where they lay on the floor, she went outside barefoot and crossed the yard to the narrow postern gate.

  Four of the dogs, anticipating a walk, sprang up and ran to meet her.

  Catching two by their collars, she said to the wiry redheaded lad eyeing her as he raked wood chips near the gate, “You must keep them in for now, Pluff. If anyone should ask for me, I’m going for a walk. But I don’t want to take the dogs.”

  “Aye, m’lady,” the boy said with a gap-toothed grin. Setting aside the rake, he ordered the dogs back to their naps and unbolted the gate for her, adding, “Just gie a shout when ye come back and I’ll let ye in.”

  Smiling her thanks, she went through the gateway and heard the heavy gate thud shut behind her and Pluff shooting the bolts. Looking skyward as she crossed the clearing between the barmkin and the woods, she saw that the circling birds had moved nearer. Whoever it was, was still two hills away but was definitely moving toward the tower.

  Looking over her shoulder, she saw one of their men on the wall and waved.

  He waved back.

  Satisfied that her sisters and at least two of their people knew she was outside the wall, she hurried into the woods. She had her dirk and the wee pipe she always carried in the pocket that Lina had cunningly woven for it in the shawl.

  Thanks to Andrew’s teaching, Andrena was skillful with the dirk and, if necessary, could use the wee pipe to summon aid. Since she did not expect anyone in the woods to see her, she doubted that she’d need any help.

  He was out of breath from running. But he knew that in dashing away from his pursuers earlier, he had left evidence of his flight for a regrettable distance before he was far enough ahead of them to take precautions.

  As it was, he needed to find cover and catch his breath. That his pursuers lacked dogs to track him was a rare boon from the ever fickle Fates.

  He had been both careless and foolhardy, and it irked him. He had sensibly managed to keep his wool plaid with him, even as he swam, knowing he would need its warmth. Scaling the cliff from the stormy loch had been necessary, since he could not stay on the shore and in the rainy darkness he’d seen no safer way to go.

  After reaching the top of the hurtling waterfall, sleeping for a time, and waking in foggy dawn twilight, it had come as a shock to find that he could not travel farther south without fording the damned river.

  To be sure, he had seen this area from the water, including the distant sharp ridge of peaks beyond its cliffs and forested hills. The two great waterfalls had been full even then, but he had assumed he’d be able to cross the river somewhere.

  However, it raged furiously down through its bed, tumbling over and around boulders and rocks in its path—too deep to ford, too wide and dangerous to swim.

  He had followed it inland until he had seen and recognized the three men.

  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, which 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 high 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 bel
ts.

  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 father, 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 had 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 fe
et, 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.