Chapter Twenty-One
“YER ALL PACKED, LASS. Cleary carried out the last trunk a few minutes ago.”
“Thank you, Hertha.” Merry studied herself in the mirror. She looked unusually pale today, especially for a bride, though perhaps it was the stark unrelieved black of the combination of her mourning and traveling attire. She had donned four quilted petticoats under her wool gown, and sturdy leather half-boots. A Lindsay feileadh mor completed the ensemble. Her hair was neatly braided and tucked up under the hood of a fox-trimmed cloak. She wasn’t cold, though she was likely to be by the time they reached Edzell, where the ceremony would take place with the requisite witnesses in residence.
She turned from the mirror, and her gaze swept one last time over the chamber that had become a sort of haven for her. It looked bereft, without all her clothing strung across the bed and chairs. The cradle Ran had carved sat empty in the corner. She had discovered it beneath a quilt in the Rose Tower, and had it removed so he would not be reminded whenever he went there. A lump formed in her throat, looking at it. What dreams had died with the death of innocents, how raw the mighty Wolf’s emotions still after months had passed.
“I bundled Nellie up, every last inch,” Hertha put in, softly so as not to startle Merry. She seemed to sense her mistress was preoccupied. “She’s waitin’ in the wagon with the bairn.”
Merry nodded. Another tragedy, the loss of a young girl to childbed fever, had emptied another household but filled Nell’s arms. She was standing wet-nurse to the orphan and already cleaved fiercely to the tiny human being. Merry was only glad if something good could come of disaster, it was for someone deserving as Nell.
It had been suggested by Ran himself that Nell accompany Merry as her tiring woman for this journey. Hertha was getting too old to travel comfortably, especially in winter, and he thought Edzell would be a better place for the young woman and babe in the end. Nell would stay at Edzell in Lady Deuchar’s household until the child was weaned.
Merry let her gaze sweep over the room one more time, then turned to Hertha. “I’m ready.” The next time she entered Auchmull, it would be as Lady Lindsay.
In the inner ward, a wagon waited. It had stopped snowing, but it was a cold, gray, blustery day with a distinct bite to the wind. This time Merry would ride with Nell and her trunks in the wagon. Four horses had been hitched up to pull the heavy conveyance through the snow. She glanced about, but Ran was nowhere to be seen. It was Brodie who helped her up into the seat.
“There’s extra blankets ahind tha’ seat,” the red-haired squire told them. He moved away to see to his master’s horse as Hertha came forward to say good-bye.
To Merry’s surprise, there were tears in the woman’s eyes. “God bless ye, lass,” she said quietly, reaching up to squeeze Merry’s hand. “I’ll ne’er forget yer kindness ta me.”
“I’ll miss you, Hertha. Nobody else can do my hair the way you do.”
“Och, ’tis nothin’.” Hertha drew back her hand and openly wiped at her eyes. “Take good care of her, Nellie lass, or ye’ll answer to me.”
Nell Downie laughed. She was rosy-cheeked and her brown eyes sparkled. She was excited about the upcoming journey, since she’d never left the vicinity of Auchmull in her life.
“Dinna fret, Hertha. I intend to take verra good care of both these little ladies.” Nell juggled the baby wrapped securely in her arms. “Dinna ye ken I do hair, too?”
“Nae half so well as me,” Hertha shot back, but there was a twinkle in her eye as she stepped back. “Godspeed, lassies!”
“Good-bye, Hertha.” Merry forced herself to sound as cheerful as she could manage. If she didn’t smile, she was afraid she would burst into tears.
Merry spied Siany, Hertha’s granddaughter, standing a ways off in the distance. She, too, was watching the crowd of men and horses preparing to depart; an impressive, fully armed escort would ride alongside the wagon. The girl was not paying attention to Merry and her grandmother’s exchange, but peering at someone else across the yard, her mouth curved in that annoying little half-smile.
Merry turned slightly and glanced through the milling crowd. She was curious and somewhat disturbed by Siany’s behavior ever since she had arrived at Auchmull. She couldn’t make out the exact target of Siany’s interest, but she did narrow it down to one small group of men who had just come striding out of the keep. Among them were Cullen Maclean, Ran, Gilbert, and Hugo. When Merry looked again for the girl, she had vanished into the crowd.
She forgot about the odd incident as the men approached the wagon. She noted Ran’s brisk stride, his no-nonsense demeanor. He wore dark wool riding trews beneath his red-and-black breccan, and a leather doublet was visible through the open cloak. The Lindsay badge was nowhere to be seen. Merry wondered why. Then she glimpsed the gleaming broadsword strapped to his waist. Her indrawn breath caught Nell’s attention.
“’Tis a claymore,” Nell said, as if she read Merry’s mind, or more likely, the dismay in her expression. “The two-handed Highlander sword. The men even name their weapons, milady. Scathach belonged to Lord Ran’s grandsire, and was named for the legendary woman warrior who once ran a battle school on the Isle of Shadow.”
“I know about claymores. But why is he wearing it on his wedding day?”
Though he doubtless overheard the women’s anxious whispers, Ran didn’t stop to speak with Merry, but passed directly by the wagon to meet Brodie, who was holding his stallion’s reins. The animal’s coat glistened blood red under the stormy sky, and Merry shivered as Ran vaulted up into the saddle in one smooth movement. The sword clanked against his muscular thigh as he mounted Dearg. There was something ominous hovering in the air today. Even the horses were restive, and the men likewise.
Some of the clansmen appeared to be staying behind. Nell informed Merry in a low voice they would be in charge of Auchmull until Ran’s return. Though no trouble was expected during his absence, Ran was taking no chances with Wickham or war-mongering Macleans. Meanwhile, Cullen departed to his own mount, and the uneasy moment was relieved with a bit of humor when the gelding laid back its ears and bared impressive teeth. Cullen promptly cuffed the animal across the nose, drawing blood, and then hollered for Brodie to hold the animal fast while he swung up into the saddle.
“Please tell me he’s not going to Edzell, too,” Merry whispered to Nell.
“Nay. I hear he is headed back to Glenesk, but he’ll ride partway wi’ us to take advantage of Lord Ranald’s protection.” Nell made a wry face. “Black Cullen is nae one to look a gift horse in the mouth, ye ken.”
Merry chuckled at the familiar expression, especially as Cullen was now struggling to stay aboard the gelding, which was crow-hopping around the yard.
“Worthless spawn o’ a Sassenach nag!” Black Cullen shouted, and a moment later his tartan bonnet flew off, landing in the fresh mud resulting from melted snow. Nell clapped a hand to her mouth to stop the gales of giggles, and Merry stared in amazement at the spectacle. A ripple of low laughter went through the ranks of mounted men, even Ran, but when Cullen finally got control of his fractious steed and raised a mottled purple face to glare at the onlookers, a deathly silence fell over the yard.
Ran broke the spell by waving a hand to the guard in the gatehouse. The wooden barricade slowly rose, pulleys squealing noisily and straining to lift the gate and its heavy accumulation of half-melted snow.
Brodie returned to the wagon and took the reins in hand. It was a tight squeeze with three in the seat. Nell sat in the middle, discreetly nursing the baby beneath her cloak. Merry braced herself on a wooden post as the wagon suddenly lurched and moved forward. They made a wide arc in the yard, coming about in time to occupy the middle portion of the departing crowd. The vanguard, led by Ran and his men, had beaten down the snow enough to make it relatively easy going for the wagon. Once outside the walls, the front riders fanned out in a half-circle. Cullen rode behind, and Merry glanced over her shoulder when she felt the i
cy sensation of eyes boring into her back.
Cullen rode directly behind the wagon. He had crushed his soiled hat down low over his head, and glared at Merry from beneath the brim as if to blame her for the incident in the yard. She felt only a cool contempt for the man now. His failure to exhibit any true remorse over Duncan’s death, plus his deliberate attempt to cause mischief at Auchmull ever since he arrived, had not endeared him to her. She wondered if her marriage to Ran might not cool the relation between the two men even further.
Fortunately, they soon parted ways with Black Cullen. Once they were safely through the pass, he branched off in a westerly direction, while the other travelers continued southeast.
Journey by wagon was no less exhausting than a coach, Merry soon found. They bumped and jostled roughly over hidden obstacles in the snow; the wagon shuddered and squirreled in the slushy remnants of the storm. The four big-hearted horses strained in the harness, gamely stumbling through the mess, but even they were rapidly becoming exhausted. Merry herself was freezing.
Shortly after they left Auchmull, the gray sky had begun to churn and darken, but the storm did not hit until they were too far to turn around. A bitter wind sprang up from the east, snow flurries gusted around the weary travelers. Ice crystals blasted their eyes and cheeks. Merry huddled close to Nell, trying to share meager body warmth. At least the baby, christened Ashet after her deceased mother, was warm. She slumbered contentedly between the two women on the seat, wrapped in a profusion of warm blankets and both of their cloaks.
When Ran dropped back to check on their progress, Brodie shouted over the whistling wind, “We’ll hae to rest the horses soon, m’laird! They canna take it much longer, ridin’ into the storm.”
Ran nodded, and Merry saw his expression was set and grim beneath the shadows of the winging storm clouds. She marveled he seemed unaffected by the cold, for he rode without hat or hood, and his cloak flapped open against the wind, soon liberally dusted with snow like his hair.
They halted in a sheltered copse of pine and spruce and larch, and Brodie sighed with relief as he climbed down to check on the horses. Here the storm was held somewhat at bay by the windbreak the trees provided. Merry glanced around the little clearing, clutching her hood around her chilled face, and for a moment she forgot her discomfort. The scene might have been plucked right from a Hilliard miniature.
Snow-flocked trees ringed the rolling hills, and the land sloped gently downward to meet with the plains of Forfarshire. They traveled beside a small stream, frozen in time by the winter temperatures. The snow was unblemished for miles in every direction, until Ran and his men dismounted and moved about.
A short time later, the winter sun slipped out from behind a cloud. Rays of sunshine streamed down, briefly turning the frozen stream to a glittering rainbow of colors. It seemed to shift and move, as if the icy waters suddenly had a life of their own.
“Look at the stream,” Merry said to Nell.
“Aye. ’Tis a lovely little burn.” Nell shivered. “Och, mayhap the kelpies live here. ’Tis said they favor such places.”
“Kelpies?”
Nell regarded her with amazement. “Dinna tell me ye haven’t heard tale of them, even in England. Why, lass, surely ye must hae heard the stories as a bairn, about the water spirits.”
Merry shook her head. “Nay.”
Nell frowned and lowered her voice, as if fearing the mere mention of the kelpies would summon them to her side. “’Tis said they take the form of horses, and lure good Christian folk to their deaths. The most famous of all ’tis the Each Uisge, a steed who tricks mortals into riding it, and then races ’wi them into the loch and eats all but their livers.”
Merry couldn’t resist chuckling. “Maybe Black Cullen’s horse is a kelpie.”
“Milady, dinna laugh! ’Tis verra serious.” The other woman glanced about fearfully, and her hand lowered to rest protectively upon the sleeping Ashet. “They hunger for the wee ones most of all. The power of innocence is great, milady. They feed on it and become ever stronger.”
Nell’s words were too ominous to be believed, but Merry remembered how she’d shrugged off Mother MacDougall’s prophecy. Dinna mess wi’ things ye canna understand, she’d overheard Hertha telling one of the kitchen maids at Auchmull. She shivered, suddenly wishing Ran and the others would hurry up.
* * *
BRODIE DETACHED THE HORSES from the wagon and led them down to the stream. With the handle of his knife, he broke the ice in several places so the animals could drink. Ran assumed a watch at the crest of a nearby hill, hunkered down on his heels, alertly scanning the peaceful valley for any sign of trouble. Merry saw him leap to his feet a split second before a hoarse cry rent the air.
“Buadhaich!”
Nell clutched at Merry’s arm. “God preserve us. ’Tis a Highlander war cry!”
They heard Ran’s claymore slide from its sheath with a furious hiss that sliced the morning air. He ran down the hill, his deep voice momentarily drowning out the shouts of the invaders.
“Gil! The women!”
Gilbert leaped up from where he was resting on a fallen log, grabbed two of the horses by their bridles and hurried through the snow back to the wagon. “Get out of there. Now!” he shouted at the two women. Merry and Nell moved to obey, each of them simultaneously reaching for Ashet. Merry won. She snatched the baby to her breast just as Gilbert reached up for her. He swung her down, then sent her stumbling in the direction of one of the horses.
Gilbert lifted Nell down from the wagon and immediately thrust her up again on the bare back of the other horse. When he saw Merry hadn’t yet mounted, unsure of how to ride without a saddle, he made an impatient noise and then hurried back to help her. He heaved her up onto the horse’s back just as the clang of steel echoed in the glen.
Gilbert swung up lithely behind Merry, digging his heels hard into the animal’s sides. The mare bolted into a brisk gallop, while Merry clutched Ashet with one hand and the horse’s coarse mane with the other. Nell’s horse obediently followed, both mounts weaving rapidly through the close trees.
Merry risked one glance backward, just as the plaid-covered figures of the enemy came boiling over the hills.
“Told him never trust a snake,” she heard Gilbert mutter, and then their horse veered sharply, directed by a subtle change in pressure from his knees. Merry realized he was an expert rider, and had no need of bit or bridle. Just like Ran, Gilbert Lindsay had yet to meet a horse he could not master. He drove the plunging steed through the snowdrifts, away from the dangers of battle. Nell’s mount was close behind, the woman weeping with dismay at the circumstances.
“Hist!” Gilbert ordered her over his shoulder. “Do you want them to follow us?”
Nell fell silent then, though sobs still shook her slight frame. Finally Gil judged it safe to slow their wild flight, and drew the horse to a halt in the midst of a protective bracken patch. He swung down from the steaming animal, extending his arms to Merry. When her feet touched the ground, she nearly crumpled from exhaustion. Holding the baby was all that prevented her from doing so.
Nell wasn’t in much better shape. She immediately hurried to Merry’s side, tear tracks frozen on her cheeks.
“The bairn?” she cried.
“She’s fine, Nell. It never even woke her up.” Merry peeled back the edge of the blanket and smiled down at the slumbering baby, whose tuft of pale hair peeked above the heather-colored blankets.
Nell gasped. “Brodie! He was fetchin’ us water, down at the stream.”
“He’s with the others,” Gilbert put in. “Sit down and be quiet, Nell. Any undue noise will bring naught but trouble down on our heads.”
Nell shot a surprised glance at him, and Merry, too, was rather bemused by the brisk, no-nonsense edge to his manner. Usually Gil was the clown, the proverbial jester who kept things light. Never had she seen him more serious.
Merry drew Nell aside, and the two women sank down, exhausted, in t
he snow. There they could only wait, frozen with cold and dread. Luckily the storm had passed on. The shrill cries of battle and the ringing clash of swords and shields eventually faded into the distance, with the coming of twilight. After hobbling the horses, Gil couldn’t resist sneaking back to see what had happened. It was obvious he was itching to join his clansmen, and mayhap resentful to be the one assigned to protect the women.
After he was gone, Nell burst into quiet sobs again.
“I canna bear the waiting,” she cried. “I hae a right awful feeling about this, milady!”
Merry quickly sought to distract her. “Why would anyone attack a peaceful band of travelers?”
“Och, several reasons, milady. First, ’tis sure to be some variety of Maclean. They’ve been stealin’ Lindsay cattle for years. We’re nae far from Badanloch here. Likely we just stumbled on top of them this time. They’re a pack of lazy curs, they are, and would as lief steal as hunt for themselves.”
“They’re probably hungry,” Merry said. “Hertha said ’tis been an early, hard winter.”
“Dinna make excuses for those traitors,” Nell sniffed sharply. Then remembering who her mistress was, and where they were going, she apologized. “I think Black Cullen also believes yer usurping Lady Blair’s position, milady. When ye wed Lord Ranald, she will no longer be Lady Lindsay. His rights to trespass on Lindsay lands and Ran’s tolerance will end. He kens this and wants to strike first. Mayhap this was just a warning.”
A short time later, Brodie appeared to fetch them, his freckled face split wide with a lopsided grin. “They’ve a’run!” he cried to the women. “Turned tail and ran back to their hidey-hole, like the puir bit craturs they are!”
Nell rose with the baby clutched in her arms. “Grady?”
He shrugged. “I dinna ken, Nell. I only saw Lord Ran. Law, but the mon can fight! Fierce as a badger and twice as fast.” Brodie was bursting with pride at the rout.
“Can we go back?” Merry asked anxiously. Though Brodie’s words had assured her Ran was all right, she wanted to see as much for herself.
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