Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “And what about this ‘Lady Alwin’? What kind of name is that?”

  Garrick tried to suppress a smile. Was that a hint of suspicion—or even jealousy—in Jossalyn’s voice? Of course, he had told her next to nothing of his life or his family, so he shouldn’t hold it against her that she would feel uncomfortable at the mention of a lady who lived back at his home in Roslin.

  “She is my brother’s wife.” He sensed the slightest shift from her in front of him as she relaxed a hair’s breadth. Then a thought occurred to him. “She’s English, like you.”

  Somehow, his brother and Alwin seemed to make it work, despite their differences in nationality. But there was more to it than that, and suddenly, he felt uncomfortable with the next piece of information, unsure of how Jossalyn would react to it.

  “In fact, she was betrothed to someone else before she married Robert. She was engaged to be married…to your brother.”

  She inhaled sharply and twisted around in the saddle again, pinning him with her green eyes, which were wide with shock. “I had heard rumors, but I never knew…Then she would have been…my sister?” Several emotions flitted across her face. Garrick was only able to pick out surprise, sadness, hope, and confusion from the bunch.

  “What sort of woman is she? Is she kind? Does she love your brother? Why didn’t she marry my brother?”

  “Hold on, lass, one at a time! I’ve only met her once, but I can tell you everything I know.”

  She took a steadying breath and gave a little nod, turning back around in the saddle to face forward so she could listen more comfortably.

  “The circumstances under which Robert and Alwin came to be married are…unusual,” he began. Though bride-stealing and the dissolution of political unions in favor of love matches wasn’t entirely uncommon in the Highlands, he wasn’t sure how she would take it, given her English sensibilities.

  “Alwin was on her way to meet your brother, when Robert…intercepted her and took her for ransom. Your brother gave chase but wasn’t able to take her back. Robert had them wed, and now they are expecting their first child.”

  “So they are happy?”

  Garrick could remember very distinctly how his brother had looked at Lady Alwin, how he doted on her and didn’t seem to mind Garrick’s teasing about what a moon-eyed whelp he was being. Someday, you’ll understand. Robert’s words floated back to him. Perhaps he was coming to comprehend his brother’s behavior.

  “Aye, very much so. Though it was an unusual union to begin with, they are made for each other. She’s as strong and smart as a whip, and he’s become a better Laird for it.”

  She exhaled and slumped slightly in the saddle.

  “What is it, lass?” he said, suddenly confused by her reaction.

  “I’m happy for them, really,” she said, her voice sounding pinched. “In fact, I thank God she didn’t have to marry my brother. Who knows what would have happened to her.” She shivered, but then went on. “It’s just…I didn’t know for sure until you just mentioned it, but I could have had a sister. I know it’s silly, since I never had her in the first place, but now it feels as though I’ve lost her.”

  Unbidden, a thought struck Garrick’s mind like lightning. Jossalyn could still have Alwin as a sister—if he were to marry her. He shook himself a little, trying to get control of his thoughts. But despite his best efforts, the idea of bringing Jossalyn into his family tapped into something deep inside him.

  “Maybe someday you’ll get to meet her,” he said, trying to ease her sadness.

  “Yes, perhaps,” she said, her voice slightly less strained. She gave herself a little shake, then switched topics. “What of your younger brother—Daniel, you said?”

  “I haven’t seen Danny in several years,” he replied with a rueful smile. Despite the fact that his younger brother was the smallest and weakest of them growing up, he always fought the hardest, and sometimes even bested his older brothers. Though Garrick hadn’t gotten to see him in quite some time, his younger brother had already turned into a skilled warrior and powerful leader.

  “He is helping our uncle William run his keep until William’s son can take over. We were all trained to be Lairds, in case something happened to Robert. Danny—Daniel—took to it far better than I did. Perhaps someday he’ll get the opportunity to lead. Not the Sinclairs, of course,” he said quickly, sending up a prayer for Robert’s good health and long reign. “But any other clan or holding would be lucky to have him.”

  She chewed on his words silently for a while, and the quiet of the woods stretched between them peacefully. But Jossalyn apparently had one more line of questioning to put to him.

  “You mentioned that you would tell Robert the Bruce about Burke’s actions. Do you truly have the Bruce’s ear? I mean, I know that he is your commander, but you know him personally?”

  This line of inquiry was a bit harder for him to answer. He still hadn’t told Jossalyn the full extent of his work regarding his close relationship with the Bruce. He wasn’t sure how she would react to learning that he wasn’t just some soldier in the rebellion’s army—he was one of the Bruce’s most trusted and important advisors and marksmen. Garrick was the one the Bruce entrusted with the most dangerous, secretive, and internal missions and information. He wasn’t just some bowman—he was known as the best shot, and a close confidante of the man leading Scotland toward freedom.

  Just as he was about to open his mouth and fumble for an answer, Garrick noticed the forest around them had suddenly gone quiet. It had been peaceful before, but now he couldn’t hear a single bird chirping or fluttering in the trees. He felt his stomach twist.

  Something was very wrong.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jossalyn was waiting patiently for an answer from Garrick, but he was slow with his words. She didn’t mind that trait at all—in fact, she liked that he thought about what he wanted to say, and then said it in a plain way. But her curiosity was getting the better of her, and she was growing impatient.

  Suddenly, he pulled up hard on Fletch’s reins, his body tense behind her.

  “What is—”

  Before she could get her question out, his hand clamped down over her mouth, silencing her. He leaned in very close to her ear.

  “Shhh.”

  She nodded her understanding, and his hand eased away from her mouth. He slipped quickly and quietly from Fletch’s back, but left her perched atop the large warhorse. Then he reached into his saddlebags and withdrew his bow and quiver, smoothly nocking an arrow and half-drawing it.

  “Show yourselves, lads, or get an arrow apiece in the throat for your trouble,” he said loudly into the woods.

  She jerked this way and that, suddenly flooded with terror at the prospect of some unseen and unheard villain lurking nearby—or surrounding them.

  Abruptly, a whistle pierced the air off to their left. Like lightning, Garrick swung his bow toward the whistle, drawing the bowstring all the way back to his cheek. But instead of letting the arrow fly, he sent another whistle of his own back, all the while keeping the arrow trained on a clump of dense trees and shrubs a little way off.

  The shrubs rustled slightly, and from them emerged, to Jossalyn’s horror, a fierce-looking, kilted warrior. He had a large sword strapped to his hip, and though he was still some distance off, she could tell that he was a giant of a man, both tall and broad.

  Garrick kept the tip of his arrow trained on the man, but a rustle from behind them sounded, and he jerked his bow toward the new noise. Another large warrior in a different colored plaid emerged from the branches of a densely foliated tree. He swung down from a tree limb and landed with a thump on the forest floor.

  As if from a nightmare, a third man appeared in front of them, his sheathed sword swinging at his hip as he walked slowly toward them. Jossalyn felt a scream rising in her throat. Even though she knew that Garrick was an excellent shot, it was three against one, and these savage-looking men appeared battle-hardened and deadly
.

  The sound of Garrick’s laugh snuffed out her terror like a bucket of water over a fire. The sound startled her, for she had never heard him fully laugh before—he would chuckle, or snort, but never all-out laugh. That is, until they were surrounded by Scottish warriors looking murderous.

  To her shock, the other men moving in on them also broke out into hearty laughter.

  “Garrick! Garrick Sinclair! We were expecting to see that sorry, red-plaided arse of yours a week ago! What took you so long?” bellowed the giant who had revealed himself first.

  Garrick finally lowered his arrow and released the tension on the bowstring. He replaced the arrow inside his quiver and slung the quiver, along with his bow, over one shoulder.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Angus,” Garrick said lightly.

  When the giant had reached Garrick, he thumped him heartily on the back, a blow which should have sent Garrick flying, but he braced himself for it.

  “Apologies for the welcoming party,” the man approaching from behind said with a boyish grin. “Can’t be too careful these days.”

  “I was expecting to ride several more hours before reaching camp,” Garrick replied, turning to grasp forearms with the sandy-haired young man who had just spoken.

  “We moved,” the third man said tersely as he halted in front of Fletch.

  Garrick only exchanged quick nods with this man, whose dark eyes continually darted between Garrick and Jossalyn.

  Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who had noticed her.

  “And who is this radiant vision of a lass with you?” the one called Angus said in a hushed tone.

  He was gazing up at her with wide eyes, and for some reason, Jossalyn had to suppress a giggle rising in her chest. No one as fierce-looking as the giant warrior in front of her should attempt gallantry or genteel manners. It was too incongruous.

  “This is Lady Jossalyn—” Garrick cut off abruptly before saying her last name.

  She noticed that he had spoken for her, and wondered if he didn’t want these men to know that she was English. Well, she wasn’t going to stay silent forever, so she might as well get it over with.

  “I am Jossalyn Warren,” she said in the most serene voice she could muster.

  All of the warriors’ eyes widened, and the sandy-haired one who had come up behind them sputtered into a coughing fit. The dark one who had approached from the front, and who had been looking at her suspiciously, narrowed his eyes slightly.

  “As in, Raef Warren?” he said as he continued to hold her with his narrowed gaze.

  “He is my brother,” she said simply, trying not to crack under his scrutiny.

  “You captured Raef Warren’s sister? Good on you, laddie!” Angus bellowed, clapping Garrick on the back again.

  This time, though, Garrick wasn’t prepared for it, and the blow sent him stumbling forward a step.

  “What’s the plan, then? Ransom? I heard that that didn’t work out so well for your brother, so I’d suggest—”

  “Hold, Angus!” Garrick said firmly. “She is not my captive, and I do not plan to ransom her back to her brother.”

  Angus furrowed his bushy, reddish-brown eyebrows at that. “Then why did you drag a wee English lassie with you all the way to the Bru—”

  “Stop your chattering, Angus, before you say something foolish,” the dark-haired man glaring at Jossalyn hissed.

  “It’s all right, Finn,” Garrick said. “She is loyal to the cause and wants to join us.”

  The man Garrick had just called Finn shifted his narrowed stare from Jossalyn to Garrick. “Just because you rut with a lass doesn’t mean that she’s trustwor—”

  Before he could finish his insult, Garrick drew the dagger he kept in the top of his boot and closed the distance between them in a flash. He pressed the point of the blade into the little hollow at the base of the other man’s neck lightly. Amazingly, Finn didn’t even flinch.

  “Disrespect her again, and I’ll kill you,” Garrick said quietly.

  Finn only stared back silently, his unreadable dark eyes boring into Garrick.

  “Easy, lads,” the fair-haired man said cautiously. “We’re all on the same side, remember?”

  The group remained tense as Garrick slowly pulled his dagger back from Finn’s throat and resheathed it in his boot.

  “I’m sure you will be most welcome back at camp,” the young man went on, turning to Jossalyn with a forcibly light tone to his voice. “I am Colin McKay, at your service, my lady. That brut is Angus MacLeod, and the one who forgot his manners is Finn Sutherland.” He swept a bow at her, and she was suddenly reminded of Burke’s smooth gallantry. “But if I may ask, what is a fair English lady such as yourself doing getting involved with Garrick Sinclair and the rebellion?”

  She hadn’t thought about how she might explain their circumstances or her desire to join the Scottish fight for freedom to others yet. She hesitated for a moment, but then decided there was no point in dipping her toe in cautiously. She might as well jump all the way in.

  “I was trying to escape my brother, so I stowed away with Garrick and his cousin Burke while they were scouting Dunbraes. The long and the short of it is that we all ended up fleeing my brother, and I managed to convince Garrick to let me join him on his way to Robert the Bruce’s secret camp. I am a healer, and I want to offer my skills to your cause.”

  Colin whistled softly, his sandy eyebrows arching above his bright blue eyes. “That’s quite the adventure, lass. But if one of the most suspicious and unwelcoming men in all the Highlands trusts you, then I’m sure we can too.” He clapped Garrick on the back playfully as he spoke, but also shot a meaningful look at Finn as well.

  Angus, apparently missing the laden exchange, rumbled his approval at Colin’s words. “Let’s be on our way, then!” the ruddy giant said merrily.

  Finn didn’t say anything, but even without looking at him, she could feel his dark eyes on her again.

  Garrick mounted behind Jossalyn but kept the horse at a walk so as to keep pace with the three warriors striding at their side. Jossalyn had to keep reminding herself that these men were apparently friends—or at least allies—and not enemies.

  She could suddenly understand Garrick better now that she saw him surrounded by other Highland warriors. It explained a lot of his gruffness, his hardened exterior, and his honed fighting skills. Nothing about these men was soft.

  Then again, she suspected that once she got to know them better, Angus would prove tender-hearted, and she sensed Colin was a mischievous and people-loving sort. Finn, however, didn’t strike her as anything but cold and hard.

  Despite being in the company of his fellow soldiers, Garrick seemed slightly more on edge that normal as well. He kept one hand on the reins, but he wrapped the other protectively around Jossalyn’s middle, holding her close to his chest. The tension she felt from Garrick, plus her own nervousness, both in the company of strange warriors and in anticipation of reaching the Bruce’s camp, made time stretch. How much farther could this camp really be?

  It was likely only an hour or so after they had encountered the three warriors that she got her answer. At another indiscernibly different point in the forest through which they were walking, Colin sent out a loud whistle, which was immediately called back by some unseen watcher in the surrounding trees. Then the woods thinned slightly, and Jossalyn caught a glimpse of canvas between the trees ahead.

  As they kept moving forward, she saw more and more splashes of off-white canvas. They were tents, set up in the open spaces between the pine trees. She also saw movement between the trees and the tents.

  At first, her eyes registered dozens of men, all clad in different colored plaids, many with fearsome weapons strapped to their hips, backs, or over their shoulders. But once they were moving among the tents, she realized there must be hundreds of men here. Those who noticed them nodded or waved, and many seemed to know Garrick by sight. They would call a greeting to him or welcome him back, oft
en sending curious looks in her direction.

  The deeper they went into the sea of tents and men, the more Jossalyn was struck by the scale of it all. This wasn’t merely some thrown-together camp—this was a mobile village. Off to one side she saw several pens filled with livestock, and behind them, a row of carts and wagons, presumably to be able to transport all these tents and gear for the men quickly if the need arose.

  But how could such a large and well-run operation stay secret and hidden for so long? The English had heard rumors of the Bruce’s headquarters and sought it with fervor. Perhaps it was the Scots’ superior knowledge of the surrounding area.

  But that wasn’t enough. Jossalyn realized that there were at least two rings of scouts and security around the camp. The three warriors they had met were the outer layer, and whoever Colin had whistled to as they approached the heart of the camp would be another level of protection. If anyone approached, either on foot or on horseback, the camp could be alerted and either prepare for battle or disassemble and moved, potentially with several hours of notice.

  Jossalyn was in awe of the scale and order of the rebel camp. Everywhere she looked, men were practicing with their weapons, or were leaning over a map spread on a stump, or even preparing food. She caught a glimpse of a few women as well. She assumed that they were the camp’s lemans, but they also appeared to be helping out with washing, cooking, and generally keeping the camp running smoothly.

  The group weaved their way through the maze of tents, seeming to know where they were going, though Jossalyn was already thoroughly lost. Eventually, they stopped next to a small tent that looked like all the others, except for the fact that it was adjacent to the largest tent she had seen yet.

  “We got you all set up after our most recent move, since we were expecting your return last week,” Colin said to Garrick.

  Garrick nodded his thanks as he dismounted, and then wrapped his hands around Jossalyn’s waist and pulled her down to the ground next to him. She suddenly realized that all four of the warriors surrounding her towered over her. Burke and Garrick were both tall and broadly muscled, but to be inside a circle of four such hulking, battle-hardened men was rather intimidating. She could see why the English spoke of the Scottish rebels as monstrously large barbarians.