by Ruth Langan
Brenna turned to her old nurse. “You must delay for as long as you can. When Morgan Grey finally loses patience, stand back and force him to break down the door. That should give us enough time to climb down and cross the River Tweed. Once across, we will make our way to the Highlands.”
“And the safety of Brice Campbell’s protection,” Megan said with sudden understanding.
“Aye.” Brenna began stripping away the filmy gown she had worn to celebrate the retreat of the English. “Hurry, Megan. We must dress quickly and be on our way.”
“You have no horses, lass,” Morna moaned. “How can you go all that distance on foot?”
“Once in the forest we can enlist the aid of the Highlanders. They know of our relationship to Brice Campbell. They will come to our aid.”
“They are a strange breed, lass. They would just as leave kill you as help you.”
“Not if we explain that we are running from the English. They do not forget old grudges. Besides,” Brenna said as she pulled on a heavy woolen cloak lined with ermine, “I would rather die in Scotland at the hands of the Highlanders than in England at the hands of Morgan Grey.”
“He would not kill you, lass, only hand you over to his queen.”
“Aye. To be wed to some hated Englishman. That would be worse than death.”
When at last the two young women climbed over the balcony and began making their way down the uneven stone wall of the castle, old Morna stood watching, her lips moving in prayer.
“Godspeed,” she called. She lifted tear-clouded eyes to scan the forested peaks in the distance. Safety was so far away. And yet it was their only chance to elude the man who waited below to steal away her beloved mistress.
The English soldiers allowed old Duncan to assist Hamish in stemming the flow of blood from his shoulder. While they worked, Morgan Grey paced the courtyard. He had originally intended to go with Brenna and see to her hasty arrangements. But after witnessing the emotional outburst of her younger sister, he had changed his plans. He would allow them a few minutes alone. There was much they would have to say to one another.
His men stood beside their horses as the sun climbed higher in the sky.
Morgan cursed this peculiar trait in women that caused them to take hours to do what a man could do in only minutes. What was the damnable woman doing? Packing the entire contents of her wardrobe? He glanced around. How many additional beasts would it take to transport all that she was bringing?
He would be firm. He would personally inspect every trunk and insist that she leave behind all except the most necessary items. Like all women, she would weep and wail and beg to be allowed to take all her silly frills to England. But in the end he would prevail.
He paced again, the length of the courtyard and back. He had been patient long enough. Exasperated, he charged through the doorway and up the stairs.
“I can give you no more time, my lady,” he called through the closed door. “We must leave before the sun grows any higher in the sky.”
He paused and listened. There was no sound from within.
He pounded a fist on the door. “My lady. We must leave.”
Once again there was only silence.
He frowned. What trickery was afoot?
“Old woman,” he shouted. “Are you inside?”
He placed his ear to the door and listened. No sound issued from within.
“Alden.” Alarmed, Morgan ran to the top of the stairs and shouted for his second in command. “Bring your strongest men. And a log with which to batter down this door.”
Hamish and old Duncan watched with sudden interest as several of the English soldiers hurried inside. The rest of Morgan’s men grew tense. They listened to the sounds of pounding as the log was thrust again and again until the massive door gave way.
Morgan strode through the open doorway and stared at the old woman who huddled against the far wall.
“Where is your mistress?”
The old woman trembled.
He strode across the room until he towered over her. His voice was low with rage. “You will answer me. At once.”
In a quavering voice Morna croaked, “She has gone to the Highlands, where she will be safe.”
“The Highlands. How did she escape this room?”
The old woman pointed to the balcony. Astonished, Morgan stalked to the railing and stared down.
“How can this be? There is no rope.”
“My girls never needed a rope,” the old woman said with a surge of pride. “From the time they were wee lasses, they were able to climb the castle walls by placing their feet and hands into the notches made by missing stones.”
Morgan swore savagely, then turned to his second in command. “Alden, choose five of your fastest horses and riders. They will accompany me to the Highlands. You will lead the rest of the men back to England.”
In a low tone, so the other soldiers couldn’t hear, Alden whispered, “You dare not follow the woman to the Highlands, Morgan. You’ve heard the rumors. An English soldier would never survive those savages.”
Morgan’s mouth was set in a hard, tight line. The tone of his voice left no doubt of his intentions. “I go to the Highlands. Or to hell and beyond. It matters not to me. But this I know. I shall return to England. And when I do, the woman will be with me.”
Chapter Five
Within the hour, Morgan and his five men pushed their mounts forward into the cold waters of the River Tweed. They climbed up the far embankment, then began the slow ascent into the rugged hills.
A thick wall of forest closed around them. Somewhere nearby they could hear water rushing, but they could not see it. As they continued to climb, the sun was blotted out by the tall spires of ancient timbers.
They beheld a strange new world of soft glens and gentle fells. Craggy mountain peaks glinted high above them, some of them wreathed in clouds.
They spoke in whispers, as if they were in some ancient, hallowed cathedral. Their ears became attuned to the sounds of nature around them, and they became enraptured by the chorus of birds and insects.
To a man like Morgan Grey, born and bred in the cultured life at the English court, this primitive forest presented a new challenge. He had fought many enemies on their own soil. But he had heard that the Highlanders fought like no other soldiers ever encountered. They were rough giants, exposed to a way of life so harsh, so rugged, they could overcome their opponents by sheer size and determination alone.
He cautioned himself to savor the beauty of his surroundings without relaxing his guard. He had but one goal here. Find Brenna MacAlpin and carry her off to England, he hoped before he encountered a band of Highland clansmen.
When at last he found the pair of small footprints in the soil, he gave a tight-lipped smile. The footprints belonged to Brenna and her sister. Of that he had no doubt. The prints were no bigger than his hand. And he had spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the lady’s ankle and foot.
“They are headed that way. Toward that distant peak.”
He climbed into the saddle and urged his mount into a trot.
Night fell early in the Highlands. It was soon too dark to follow the tracks. Besides, Morgan’s men were feeling tense and edgy. Even their beasts were skittish.
“We will rest the night here,” he commanded in low tones.
As he pulled his cloak about him for warmth, he found himself wondering about the women who ran from him. Had she thought to bring warm clothes? Did she and her sister have enough to eat?
One of the soldiers brought him a tankard of ale. He drank gratefully, then cursed the way his mind was working. Damn the woman. By now they could have been halfway home. Let her starve. Let her freeze. But let her remain alive, he prayed. At least until he caught up with her. So that he could have the satisfaction of wringing her lovely neck.
Brenna drew her sister into her arms and wrapped her warm traveling cloak around them. As they snuggled deep into the hay she offered a prayer o
f thanks for the Highlander who had piled the dried grasses in his field for the livestock. The hay, mixed with heather, made a cozy bed.
“Do you think the English dared to follow us?” Megan whispered.
“Aye.” In her mind’s eye, Brenna saw the fierce face of the English savage. “Even the Highlands would not stop that man once his decision has been made.”
“Then we should not stop to rest.” Megan sat up. “We should keep running until we reach the safety of Brice Campbell’s keep.”
“Hush. We can go no farther in the darkness.” Brenna drew her sister down beside her. “But do not fear. Even the English must rest.”
“But what if this Highlander finds us in his fields?” Megan shivered. “I cannot rid myself of the old fears of the Highlands.”
“I know. But they are part of our family now. With Brice Campbell wed to Meredith, we have nothing to fear.”
“Unless we are in the field of one who is foe to Brice.”
That thought had already occurred to Brenna. “Sleep,” she whispered. “I will keep watch.”
As the moon slipped beneath a bank of clouds, Brenna strained to peer into the darkness. It was not the Highlanders she feared. Even those who were foe to her sister’s husband. There was only one to be feared this night. The Englishman who would separate her from all that she loved.
The thrill of the hunt was invigorating to a soldier like Morgan. He awoke quickly, his mind sharp, his thoughts clearly focused on his goal. This day he would have his victory. He could already taste it.
He led his mount to the trail of prints made by a small, feminine boot. The trail disappeared into a wooded glen. Before the first flicker of light touched the horizon, he and his men pulled themselves into the saddle.
“The men are hungry,” his aide grumbled.
“As am I. But there will be time enough to satisfy our hunger when this task is behind us. We ride until we find the woman.” He tossed his aide the dried meat that often accompanied the soldiers to battle. “Chew on this until your hunger is abated.”
The grim-faced soldiers fell into line behind their leader.
They rode for nearly an hour before coming upon a Highland woman busy milking her cows. When she saw the English standard, she began to race toward the small hut in the distance.
“We will not harm you,” Morgan called.
Ignoring his words, the woman ran for her life.
“Stop her.”
As his men urged their mounts forward, he added, “But take care that the woman is not harmed. She must be made to understand that we come in peace.”
Though she bit and kicked and scratched at the hands holding her, his men did as they were bid and brought her to their leader. She stood before him, sullen and silent.
“We seek two young women from the lowlands.” Morgan caught the woman by the chin and forced her to look at him. “Did you see them?”
“I saw no one.”
“And if you saw them, would you tell me?”
She shot him a look of defiance. “I would not.”
“I thought as much.” He nodded toward the small pen where the cows waited patiently before being turned into pasture. “Was there any sign of them in the animal shelter?”
The woman shook her head.
Morgan nodded toward his men. “See to it.”
After a thorough inspection, the men returned to confirm what the woman had said. “There is no sign of them.”
Morgan released his hold on the woman. “Then we search elsewhere.”
“But what of the woman?” one of his men cried. “If you release her, we will have an entire Highland clan on our heels.”
“Our fight is not with you,” Morgan said sternly. “Or with your people. When we find the women we seek, we will be gone. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
As he pulled himself into the saddle, the woman spat at him, then turned and began to run for safety.
“’Twas a mistake to turn her loose,” his aide muttered. “At least until we find the ones we seek.”
“It is a risk we must take. I wish to show the Highlanders that I do not come to do battle.”
“’Twill prove our downfall.”
“Perhaps.” Morgan’s eyes narrowed as he studied the hay on the far side of the pasture. “Would women from the lowlands risk sleeping in the animal pen, so near their enemy?” He prodded his horse into a trot. “Or would they rather sleep in the open, where they could slip unnoticed into the forest at first light?”
His men followed as he rode toward the hay. Dismounting, he studied the slight indentation. “Did the Lady Brenna rest here perhaps?” He suddenly knelt and breathed in the scent that he knew to be hers, mingled with the fragrance of dried grasses and heather. Excitement rippled through him.
“She was here.” He would never mistake the scent of her. It was already deeply imprinted in his memory.
He stood and pulled himself into the saddle, then studied the trail of trampled grass leading to the forest once more.
“She is close. I can sense it.”
“One pair of tracks leads that way,” a soldier cried.
“A second pair is headed there.”
“Would the two women separate?” the soldier asked.
“Nay.” Morgan smiled, remembering how calmly Brenna had faced his knife until her younger sister was safely inside the castle walls. The woman would do anything to save her sister. Anything except leave her to the dangers of this primitive environment. “It is a clever ploy to divide our strength and send us on a merry chase.”
“Which tracks will we follow?”
Morgan shrugged. “It matters not. I have every confidence that they will come together at a prearranged destination.”
As the soldiers moved out, Morgan was forced to admit a grudging respect for the Lady Brenna. In her place, he would have done the same. It would seem that despite her delicate appearance, she had the instincts of a soldier.
They followed a set of tracks as it wove through a forest of towering evergreen. The sky was obscured by the thick canopy of boughs. Gradually the woods thinned until they found themselves in a high, grassy meadow.
For a moment the sun was so bright, they had to shield their eyes. But as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, Morgan drank in the sight of a field of blue-violet heather that stretched as far as the eye could see. He was reminded of Brenna. The flowers were the exact color of the eyes of the woman he sought.
Far in the distance he spotted a slight movement. Had it been a Highland breeze rippling the flowers? Or could it have been a human form, taking cover beneath the heather?
Brenna broke free of the forest and entered a meadow abloom with heather. For a moment she stared around with a look of wonder. Not even the sense of desperation that drove her could detract from the beauty of her surroundings. How strange these Highlands were. One minute savage and primitive, the next so lovely they took her breath away.
At the far side of the meadow she saw Megan emerge from a wild tangle of shrub and thorn. So far their plan was working. They had skirted the woods from two different directions and had managed to come together again without mishap. Now, if the fates continued to smile upon them, they would reach the fortress of Brice Campbell by midday. Once there, no English savage could dare to touch them.
“Brenna.” Megan lifted a hand as she spotted her sister.
Brenna returned the salute and opened her mouth to call out. Suddenly the words caught in her throat.
Emerging from the dark woods far beyond Megan was a horse and rider. Even from so great a distance, Brenna had no doubt as to his identity. God in heaven. Morgan Grey was already close on Megan’s heels, like a wolf after a helpless fawn.
Several other horsemen followed their leader. Her sister’s back was to the English. As yet, she had no idea that they had trailed her.
With no thought to her own safety, Brenna broke into a run, determined to reach her sister before the sold
iers. With her breath burning in her throat, she spanned the distance between them and threw herself at Megan, dragging them both to the ground.
“What…?” Megan pushed against her sister, fighting to regain her balance.
“Hush.” Brenna covered Megan’s mouth with her hand, then came to her knees and chanced a quick glance in the direction of Morgan Grey.
“What is it?”
Brenna frowned and crouched low in the grass. “English. I count six of them.”
“Have they seen us?”
Brenna shrugged. “I know not.”
“But I was so careful to keep to the woods.”
“These are soldiers, trained in the art of tracking their enemy. ’Twas not your fault.” Brenna drew her sister close and pressed her forehead to Megan’s. “Listen to me. And listen well. From this moment on we must go in separate directions.”
“Nay.” Megan clutched at her.
Brenna’s whispered voice was unusually calm. It was the way she always dealt with danger. “We have no choice. We will crawl through the heather, always keeping that distant spire as our goal. There lies Brice Campbell. There lies safety.”
“But why must we separate?”
“Because there are only six of them. If they divide, there are only three against each of us.” She gave her sister an impish, engaging smile, meant to lift her spirits. “’Tis well known that three English against one Scots warrior would hardly make a fair fight. ’Twould take at least a dozen English soldiers to bring down a single Scotsman.”
Despite their perilous situation, Megan joined her sister’s laughter. “Aye. God help them if they find us.” After a moment she sobered and clutched at Brenna. “I cannot leave you. You cannot make me.”
“Listen to me, Megan.” Brenna grasped her sister’s arms and stared into her wide eyes. “I love you too much to see you sacrificed to the English.”
“And what about you?”
“I am the MacAlpin. I order you to leave me.”
Megan opened her mouth to protest, but Brenna whispered passionately, “Megan, my dearest little sister. I could die this moment and find eternal peace, as long as I knew that you were safe. Promise me that you will neither stop nor look back until you reach the safety of Brice Campbell’s stronghold.”