His dear Maddie was in heaven, but she came back to give him important advice when necessary. Whatever others chose to believe, no one could deny that whatever Madeline Grant told him came to fruition.
Alex moved around his chamber slowly as he prepared for bed, appreciative of all the tools his sons and daughters had crafted to make his life easier. At last, he climbed into bed and lay back, resting his head on the pillow and staring up at the beams overhead. He hadn’t seen Maddie in a while, so he wondered if she would visit him this night. Things in Scotland were heating up as they prepared for the onslaught of the English and King Edward II.
Suddenly, as if his mind really had conjured her—a talent he wished he had—there she was, standing in front of him in a white, translucent gown. She looked exactly as she had the day they married. “Was that not the gown you wore the night of our wedding?” He arched his brows at her, surprised to see her teasing him with such skin, her voluptuous curves glorious beneath the fabric.
Maddie glanced at her gown and waved a hand at him. “Oh, Alex, whatever I wear is a product of your memory. This must have been a favorite of yours, but you know it has naught to do with this visit.”
“Aye. I always did love you in that night rail.” He smirked. “Go on. I know that look. Who’s at risk this time? I’m certain someone is in grave danger, so I’ll wait for you to tell me who the troublemaker is this time.”
Maddie sighed and leaned toward him, taking his hand. “I’m not sure. You must keep an eye on Chrissa. Something is going on, and I know not what. She looks so much like you and her mother. Do you not think so? And she’s headstrong like Kyla. They have your blood in them, for certes.”
“And yours,” he reminded her. “The English are after her, or is it the other force? The one that wants to take over our castle.”
She lifted a hand to her lips, thinking. “Would that I knew. There is evil lurking, that much I can see clearly. I’ve heard it will rival the evil we faced many, many years ago. It pleases me that Logan is coming. Perhaps he’ll help you figure out who seeks to cause trouble between our clans.”
“Do Logan and Lina have the sword in their possession yet?”
“Aye, Lina will bring it to you, and you must help her decide on the proper protector. I cannot say anything else about it, nor do I know who should take ownership. But I do know this. Chrissa is in trouble, and the battle on Midsummer’s Day will be pivotal. The lads must send as many guards as they can to Stirling.”
“But?” he whispered in her ear, taking advantage of their closeness.
“The other force, the one that seeks to sow discord between the Grants and the Ramsays, will come as a surprise. You must assist them in rooting it out.”
“Will you take me home with you when this is over?” he asked, his heart racing as he awaited his answer. He was so ready to be with her again.
“Alex,” she said, leaning into him so their bodies melded together. “Much as I would love to, you know I cannot tell you. Oh, drat.” She looked at her hand, the vision disappearing. “I love you, Alexander Grant. Thank you for taking such good care of our bairns, grandbairns, and great-grandbairns. We have some feisty new lassies.”
He opened his mouth to tell her how right she was, but he didn’t get the chance.
She was gone.
***
Drostan awoke in the middle of the night, rubbing the sleep from his eyes because he’d lost something for sure. It took him a moment to realize what had happened: Chrissa had left his arms.
She caught his gaze at the edge of their camp, creeping off into the darkness by the light of the half-moon. He supposed she had to relieve herself so he stayed put.
They’d set up camp shortly after the fools had left them, leaving the guards to alternate duty while they slept. That left one decision. Where were the two of them to sleep?
Dyna had made the decision easy. “Chrissa, you’d be a fool not to sleep in Drostan’s arms because men are like the largest hearths loaded with wood. And Drostan, if I see your hands roving and touching where they shouldn’t be, I’ll cut your bollocks in two.”
He’d turned a bit green at the thought of his bollocks being ripped in two, but Derric had clapped him on the back. “The image in your head is more useful than you’d think. It guarantees any erection will be quickly lost. Serves its purpose quite well. I’ve even used the imagery myself a time or two.” He grinned, casting a sideways look at his wife, who promptly slapped his arm.
“And who were you thinking on when you needed it?”
“You, of course.”
They shared the ale they’d brought along and settled down in the clearing. Chrissa had been uncharacteristically quiet, but she’d insisted nothing was wrong. She’d lain down first, wrapping herself in a plaid, and he’d lowered himself down next to her, tugging his plaid over her shoulders.
A smile had crossed his face, simply because it felt good to be close to her. She’d glanced back in warning, but she’d fallen asleep faster than he did, giving him time to appreciate her finely formed arse.
He didn’t touch, just looked. He wanted his bollocks to remain intact in the morn.
When she didn’t return to the clearing after a few moments, he got up and made his way into the woods, careful not to sneak up on her. He found her leaning against a tree, wide awake.
“Something wrong, lass?”
The expression on her face guaranteed it. He’d never seen Chrissa look like that.
“I can’t sleep. ’Tis too different being out here with you, with marauders not far away. And boars, snakes, bats… Something is wrong. I can feel it. We’re going the wrong way, or something bad is about to happen. I can’t figure it out.”
“Don’t think on it.”
She held her hand up to him to silence him as she pushed against a tree. “I heard something. Did you?”
He moved in front of her, and though her hand went to his shoulder to try to push him out of the way, he wouldn’t allow it. Listening, he thought he heard horses in the distance. Still a ways off, but the sound left little room for interpretation.
“Mayhap they’ll pass us,” he whispered over his shoulder.
“I doubt that,” Derric said, rubbing his hand down his face as he walked up to them. “Hell, why could you not have let us sleep?”
“We did not awaken you,” Chrissa said.
“Drostan’s noise did.”
The two guards and Dyna joined them. “What should we do, Derric?” she asked. “Are they stopping?”
“I’ll be right back,” Drostan said, touching her arm lightly. He hurried off to a better vantage point, looked down at the ravine below them, and cursed. “At least there are no drunken reivers coming this way,” he mumbled to himself as he turned around to head back.
Once he was close enough to be heard, he explained, “Scottish sheriffs. Two, and they’re coming this way with a few more guards. Look to be Lowlanders, although it’s impossible to say in the dark.”
The sheriffs were upon them several minutes later. One of them called out, “Corbett? Is that you?”
The sheriffs dismounted while their guards remained on horseback, staying back a distance and checking the periphery.
Derric said, “DeFry, what brings you to this area?”
“We’re looking for any roaming English. Some came rushing ahead of the king, thinking they’ll be able to steal before the king’s forces arrive. Have you seen any?”
“One group of four Englishmen,” Dyna said. “They were in their cups, so they’re no threat to anyone. I’m surprised you didn’t pass them. They left a couple of hours ago.”
“They should be heading north.”
“They went south.”
It was the other one who answered, not the man Derric had addressed as DeFry. Drostan only knew he was a sheriff from his clothing. “Who knows what they’re doing. I’m more interested in finding out why you have lasses out here during these tumultuous times. You know no
t who you’ll run into and your numbers are too low for you to protect yourselves.”
“Who the hell are you?” Derric asked.
DeFry said, “This is Sheriff Henry Percy, a Scot. You don’t know him?”
They all shook their heads, so DeFry added, “He’s a reputable sheriff, one you can trust. And Percy, this is a group of Grant warriors. Their women are some of the finest archers in Scotland.”
The man didn’t act impressed, but he took the time to carefully study each person, as if committing them all to memory. “Why are you here? You shouldn’t be about.”
Dyna snorted. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want. You aren’t stopping me.”
“You dare to speak to a Scottish sheriff like that? I’ll have you tied to a whipping post for disrespecting the law.”
DeFry coughed and said, “Allow me to introduce you to two of Alexander Grant’s granddaughters, both trained by Gwyneth Ramsay.”
Percy paled, but he didn’t flinch, nor did he attempt to apologize. “Be on your way when dawn arrives.” Then he tugged on the reins of his horse and sent it back toward the path.
DeFry said, “Pay him no mind. He’s always had a certain jealousy over Alex’s reputation in the Highlands.”
With that, he rode off too, following Percy into the night.
No one spoke for a long time, until Drostan couldn’t take the silence anymore and said, “I wouldn’t trust either one of them.”
Chapter Eleven
“You tire, Lina,” Logan said as he watched her walk slowly back to her horse after taking care of her needs.
“Logan, I haven’t ridden this far in a long time. Drew did not want me to leave, certain I’d have trouble, but I’ll survive.”
He turned to Sorcha and Cailean. “I know of a small kirk about an hour up ahead. ’Tis nearly dusk. The priest was a friend of Father Rab’s, God rest his soul. I’m sure he’ll take us in for the night. I don’t know that I ever met the man, but his name is Father Dowall.”
“Don’t do this for me, Logan,” Avelina said. “I’ll manage. We’ll be on Grant land in another day.”
“Aunt Lina, please,” Sorcha said with a groan. “I’d be pleased to sleep in the church, anything for a little padding between my arse and stone. Besides, ’tis too cool for my bones, too. Papa, I say aye, we go to the kirk.”
“MacAdam, you and I will sleep outside. It’s a small one, but there should be plenty of room for the two lasses.”
“Suits me fine,” Cailean said as he lifted Sorcha onto her horse.
A little over an hour passed before they came to the small church, its spire pointing proudly to the heavens. Logan said, “Before we all dismount, let me check to see if Father Dowall is still here.”
He knocked on the door, then stepped inside, a candle lighting up the interior. A priest came from near the altar, heading directly toward him.
“Father Dowall?”
“Aye,” he said, a bit timidly if he were to guess. “Who is visiting Our Lord’s house this eve?”
“’Tis Logan Ramsay, Father. I’m looking for a place to rest our weary bones for one night. I have two women in my group. If you can offer them shelter, the rest of us will sleep outside.”
Father Dowall clasped his hands together, his eyes dancing with delight. He looked younger than Logan had thought he’d be, but then they’d all gotten older quickly, hadn’t they? The man had a slight build, but his smile made him seem like a larger presence. “My dear friend Rab mentioned you, Logan. You are married to his sister, correct? You are welcome here. Please, come around back to my quarters. I have room for you I believe, though some of your guards might be able to fit in the aisles.”
“Our guards will sleep outside, but if you can offer sleeping arrangements for my daughter and sister, I’d be deeply appreciative. My son-in-law and I will sleep in the aisles of the chapel. I’ll help with the horses and come inside. Many thanks to you.”
“The meal will be meager, but I eagerly share with you all. I have a vegetable stew cooking over the hearth, and there’s plenty for all of us. I always hope that visitors will stop by, and God has blessed me this day with you. I’ll meet you in the entrance at the rear of the building. I’m pleased to see Father Rab is sending me blessings from his place inside the gates of Heaven.”
“Blessings?”
“Aye, he must have learned of my weakness over this upcoming battle.”
“Weakness? I see no weakness in any Scot who dreads the consequences of any battle brought on by the gluttonous, self-serving, conniving Englishman who calls himself the King of England. Everyone should fear what will happen. Before we leave, we’ll help you with anything at all that will ease your worried mind.”
“Actually, I was hoping for a different favor now that you’re here.”
“Name it. Anything for a friend of Rab’s.”
“Good, I’m pleased you feel that way. I feared you’d reject my request.”
An odd feeling washed over Logan. Why would they not wish to help a priest? He got his answer sooner than he expected.
“Since you’re heading north, I’d like to go with you.”
Dumbstruck, Logan searched for a good answer, but he couldn’t come up with one, so he simply asked, “Where are you headed, Father?”
“North. Take me straight to Stirling. I can’t miss any part of this battle.”
Logan nearly fell over.
***
Chrissa and the others had spent the day searching for Englishmen, but they’d found nothing. They were nearing dusk, so they gathered as a group before deciding where to spend the night.
“I’m starving,” she said. “We need something more than oatcakes and berries. I want a duck or a pheasant.” Pheasant was her favorite, though a single bird would be more than the four of them could eat.
“Get that pheasant and I’ll see ’tis eaten in full,” Drostan said. “I’ll try for a rabbit or two.”
She couldn’t help but sigh at the thought of roasted meat. “Even that would please me.”
“Consider it done, lass,” he said with a confidence she admired…even if it made her want to laugh.
“Shall we make a contest of it?” Dyna said.
Derric was usually easygoing, but he didn’t seem as pleased with the idea as the rest of them. “This is an area where ambush is easy. We need to be careful. Drostan and Chrissa, take that path.” He pointed ahead of them. “’Tis a short one, and most of the ambushes take place on the longer paths.”
“How long are they?” Chrissa asked.
“We’ll send the guards with you. The paths separate for at most five hundred paces. If it takes longer for you to emerge, we’ll come after you.” A smile finally crossed his face. “We’ll see who the best archer is. Will it be duck or pheasant? I don’t know about you, Chisholm, but I’m just going along to protect my wife. I’ll lead the way, but she has a much better chance of downing some dinner than I do.”
“I’ll lead, Chrissa. You follow and the guards can stay close to you.”
“Don’t take any other paths,” Dyna warned.
Off they went, each with a preemptive smile of victory. Chrissa was so hungry that her desire alone might be powerful enough to bring down a duck. She followed Derric down the meandering path, listening for any sound of birds, searching for a clearing where she’d have a better view of game overhead.
She saw nothing until they came near the end of their path. It branched off to the right and then opened into a clearing. She heard the rustling of pheasants in the trees. “This way, Drostan.” She headed down the path with glee, surprised by his furious response.
“We’re not to go off the path, Chrissa! Turn around.”
Then she saw it. A plump pheasant sat inside a tall hawthorn hedge, its head visible to her. Unable to tear her eyes from her quarry, she slowed her horse and pulled out an arrow, aiming carefully before she shot. Her reward was the satisfying thump of the bird landing on the ground.
“I got it, Drostan!” She glanced over her shoulder, looking for him. What she saw instead made her heart jump into her throat.
An empty horse.
“Drostan!” she called out, then whistled, hoping Dyna or Derric would hear her. She headed back toward his horse, but a sound sent her gaze back toward the clearing. Two men were leaving the area on horseback, and one of them had a prone man slung over the back of his saddle, his dark hair covering his face.
“Drostan, nay!” She followed the horses, praying he wasn’t dead, praying Dyna or Derric might come along and help her. Where the hell were the guards? She passed one with an arrow in his sword arm, writhing on the ground.
“Go,” he said, “two men have him.”
She pursued the horses down a different path, the area they were in a maze of paths that she hated. The second guard lay on the ground, blood running down his forehead, his eyes closed. She wanted to check on him, but she didn’t dare lose Drostan.
Fool, a voice in her head accused. What will you do if you catch him?
But she couldn’t stop, not now. Not with Drostan as their prisoner.
Five men came out of nowhere, one grabbing for her horse while another snaked an arm around her waist and lifted her onto his lap. She fought with all her might, kicking, biting, and scratching while she screamed for Derric and Dyna.
She should have gone back.
A blow to the back of her head nearly knocked her unconscious, but she fought to stay awake. Someone tossed her through the air, and she landed face down on another horse, two arms catching her and tying her hands behind her back.
Just like Drostan, she found herself face down over a horse, but with a bag over her head and her hands tied behind her back. She hadn’t gotten a good look at her attackers, so finding her way would be difficult once she managed to escape—because she would escape. But she did recognize the voice of one of their attackers.
She knew the bastard.
Chapter Twelve
Drostan woke up and nearly moaned, but he kept his mouth shut because he found himself in a dark, windowless stone chamber. No one else was present, so he pushed himself to a sitting position and leaned back against the cold stone wall.
The Scot's Deception (Highland Swords Book 5) Page 9