When Granny Rosel nodded and spoke again, Clydia said, “If you and Àdham have such a union and that is what is happening, Granny says she believes that Àdham still lives and that we must believe that, too. And, she says, we must pray for him, hard.”
Wiping away her tears, feeling reassured despite her hitherto general feeling that what she had heard of Second Sight and such notions was illogical and therefore suspect, Fiona reminded herself that she did believe that God would hear her prayers. Whether he would act on them was another matter, though.
The next day, hoping for the best, Fiona prayed for Àdham’s safety while she helped deliver more baskets and assisted the twins with chores to which the youngest menservants—now away with the army—usually attended, such as sweeping the small bailey and removing and replacing moldy rushes from the great hall floor. She prayed so often that she began to fear that God might decide she was sending up more than her share.
Four days had passed since the rain and the disastrous battle. The chill of autumn had set in, and a thick Scottish mist still shrouded the landscape. Not only had Àdham and Mar failed to find Sir Ivor, Malcolm, or any other ally, but they had also run out of food and gone astray in the mist.
Àdham’s fine sense of direction had fled, and he was sure they were lost.
They had followed the river Nevis for a short way into the steeper mountains, but Mar had struggled with the terrain because of his injury, so they turned northeastward while they could still vaguely see Loch Linnhe below them.
Àdham, well trained by Ivor and Fin to tend archer-inflicted injuries, had been able to break off the barbed end of the arrow in Mar’s thigh, extract the shaft, and bind the wound as soon as they were well away from the battlefield. He had also found a stout branch that, shorn of its appendages, served the earl as a crutch.
Even so, their progress was painfully slow.
The hills east and northeast of Glen Mòr were likely still alive with enemy Islesmen and their allies, seeking anyone who tried to evade them. But avoiding searchers had meant moving, often through underbrush and dense forest, with little awareness of direction other than that they went up or down or right or left.
For the first day or so, turning right meant heading south and left meant north. But the high glens they followed had twisted and turned so, now, since neither he nor Mar was familiar with the range of mountains in which they found themselves, Àdham was certain they would likely run into trouble.
Mar’s injury continued to impede their progress.
Àdham knew they were well east of the rivers Lochy and Nevis in that vast mountain range, and they were still—he hoped—making their way more eastward than north. However, they had yet to see the sun, moon, or any stars, and he strongly suspected that their route had occasionally taken them in circles.
They found water easily in those hills. But, other than berries and a rabbit and trout that Àdham caught and skinned or cleaned, they had found no food. They dared not build a fire, even if they could have in the heavy mist, and although Mar tried to eat the raw rabbit flesh and fish, as Àdham did, his stomach recoiled, and he lost more than he had eaten.
At night, they wrapped themselves well in their damp plaids to sleep, and the dampness was welcome. Wet woven wool swelled, allowing the tightened fibers to confine their body heat.
Having hoped to find Sir Ivor or Malcolm, Àdham feared that each had either perished with his men or managed to escape the area. Neither man had had enough men-at-arms with him to stand alone against such a force as Balloch’s, and both experienced leaders would have known their cause was lost.
The fate of the few Cameron factions whose banners he had seen, or of Ewan MacGillony, was unknown. They were on the west side of the rain-swollen river Lochy, though, unable to cross safely even if they had hiked back to the crossing Àdham had used during the Battle of Lochaber. He suspected that unless Balloch had sent men up the west coast of Loch Linnhe, Ewan, able to witness the attack, would have soon counted the cause as lost and returned to Tor Castle with his men.
Also, Mar would have spoken of such a division of enemy forces. In any event, to defeat Balloch now would take another royal army matching the one that had captured Alexander at Lochaber. And even James might have trouble gathering such a force to go against Balloch. The Earl of Mar, Àdham realized, was not the only one who had underestimated young Donal.
The question now was what Balloch would do next. From the extent of the carnage, Àdham suspected the Islesmen had lost at least half or more of their army, and Balloch was clearly astute enough to believe that more Highland forces—even James with a new army—might be on their way. Strong contingents of Stewart and Mackintosh men still occupied the royal castles of Urquhart and Inverness, as well as Nairn Castle. So, the likelihood was that Balloch would need reinforcements before he could wreak much more damage. Even so, given the man’s history, he would surely act shrewdly and persist in his promise to seize the North.
The light had changed little since dawn, but Àdham still had his keen sense of time and knew the hour was near midday when Mar collapsed by a rivulet.
“We must rest,” Mar said hoarsely.
He was weak enough now for Àdham to fear that the earl might die before he could get him to safety.
Hearing feminine voices a short time later, he left Mar by the stream and crept silently toward them. Seeing two middle-aged women and a dog herding sheep to the rivulet, he moved into the open and stood quietly until they saw him.
He said calmly in the Gaelic, “I’ll not harm you. My friend is injured, and we have run out of food. Can you help us?”
“Aye, sure,” the older one said, patting a fat pouch tied to the sash around her waist. “We ha’ barley, and there be water in the rill if ye ha’ summat tae mix it in. We ha’ a shieling over yon hill, where we bide nights. But we dinna carry a kettle, for we keep the barley by us only tae keep it from the critters.”
Evidently hearing them, Mar pushed through the bushes, leaning on his staff.
“Faith, but the poor man can scarcely walk,” the younger woman said, hurrying toward him. “Ha’ ye no a pot tae mix barley in?” she said to Àdham.
He shook his head.
“Aye, but we do, madam,” the earl said, taking off his filthy shoe, while Àdham stared. “Rinse this out, lad, and whilst ye’re mixing yon barley, discover if these kind ladies can point us toward the town o’ Nairn.”
The women did not know Nairn, but the older one did know that they were some miles northeast of Loch Linnhe. She suggested that if they wished to continue northeastward, they should follow a nearby glen that would take them that way.
“Thank you, mistress,” Àdham said. “It is good to learn that we have not been going in the wrong direction.”
Mar said, “We’ll set out at once, when I finish my gruel.”
They traveled steadily then, if slowly and cautiously, and the next evening they came to a grassy clearing with a thatch-covered cottage in its center.
Leaving Mar to rest at the edge of the woods, Àdham strode to the door of the cottage, which opened as he neared it. A grizzled head of shoulder-length hair and a shaggy beard poked through the narrow opening, and two bright blue eyes stared at him. A long, weathered nose twitched, and the mouth beneath it grimaced.
Then a gravelly, rather weak, but nonetheless gruff, voice said, “Sakes, ye look like a wraith. Who d’ye be?”
“I am Àdham MacFinlagh of Strathnairn,” Àdham said. “My friend and I have traveled a long way, after a defeat in battle at—”
“Sakes, lad, I’m old but I havena lost me senses. I ken fine about the loss at Inverlochy. But if ye be heading back tae Strathnairn, what brought ye doon along the glen here instead o’ making for the river Nairn?”
“My friend was hurt, and we’ve lost our way in the mist,” Àdham explained. “If you could spare—�
�
“Where be this friend o’ yours?”
“Yonder in the woods.”
“Well, dinna stand gabbling. I canna carry him, but I ha’ food inside and embers I can stir tae a fire. Ye’re welcome tae what I can offer ye. So fetch him in, and we’ll see that we soon set ye on yer road again.”
Àdham obeyed, and when he and Mar entered the hut, they found a basin of water on the floor before the sole chair and the old man awaiting them.
“Sit ye doon, mon, or lie upon the floor, an ye prefer,” he said to Mar. “The water be warm, so we’ll wash yer wound and then ye can wash the rest o’ ye.”
With Àdham’s help, they soon had Mar on a thin pallet on the floor, his wound looking better than Àdham had expected, although he had carefully tended it whenever they stopped near a stream. Certain that the food and drink the old man offered them was all he had, both Àdham and Mar were reluctant to accept it.
But the old man scolded them. “I ha’ been looking after m’self these sixty years past, lads. I’ll look after m’self a good many more, too. But ye’ve sought hospitality, so I’ll thank ye tae take it when it be given right willingly.”
Chastened, the two ate what he gave them, and Mar slept on the old man’s pallet that night. By morning and mutual consent, both Àdham and Mar declared themselves fit again and prepared to set off.
“Ye’ll take that path yonder till it begins tae head hard uphill,” the old man said, handing them a sack with the remains of the previous night’s meat. “There be a stream there as heads round to the east and downhill. That be the Arnieburn, so follow it till it merges wi’ the river Nairn. I’m thinking ye’ll then ken your road.
“I’ve heard nowt o’ Islesmen hereabouts,” he added. “So ye should be safe. But keep a keen eye, especially an ye mean tae go intae the town o’ Nairn.”
Mar shook his hand and said, “I have experienced less hospitality from men who think themselves well-tae-do, sir. If ever ye find yourself in difficulty, ye must make your way east tae Kildrummy Castle, the seat of the Earl of Mar. When ye get there, demand tae see Alexander Stewart, who will see to it that the earl rewards ye for the kindness ye’ve shown us these past two days.”
“Aye, then, and I thank ye for your counsel, sir. I dinna reckon I’ll need it, but if ever I do—”
“Aye, if ye do,” Mar interjected firmly, “ye’re tae do just as I’ve bade ye, and dinna take any sauce from them ye see wha’ tell ye the man doesna exist. He does.”
As they walked away, Àdham said, “Alexander Stewart?”
Mar shrugged. “Aye, and why not? Nae one would recognize me as I be now, all ragtaggle and filthy. Few hereabouts or anywhere else think of me so, in any event. Sakes, few ken aught o’ me save my title, which is what I’ve used since I acquired it when I married my late countess.
“Moreover,” Mar went on, “thanks tae the willingness and rapidity with which my Stewart kinsmen have for generations spread their seed, Scotland must contain any number o’ Alexander Stewarts. At present, though, I am the only one who may be found at Kildrummy Castle.”
“So you will not return to Inverlochy?”
“Look at me, lad,” Mar muttered. “D’ye no think Jamie needs someone stronger and more fit tae be constable there now? I’m for Kildrummy, I am.”
“We must first find the Nairn and safety,” Àdham reminded him.
Chapter 22
Adham tried to persuade Mar to go first to Castle Finlagh, where he knew they would both be safe. But the earl insisted on going straight to Nairn’s harbor, where he kept a galley that would take him east along the southern coast of the Moray Firth, then a few miles due south to Kildrummy.
“I ken fine that ye’d like tae see your ain folk straightaway, Àdham,” Mar said, “But I’d liefer ye stay wi’ me till I’m shipboard. I willna command ye, but—”
“I am still yours to command, sir,” Àdham said sincerely. “I’ll see you safely aboard your ship, but I will admit that I am concerned about my lady. See you, her father had expected to be married by now and—”
“Tae the lovely Lady Rosalie Percy, aye,” Mar said. “Caithness told me they had not yet wed.”
“They were to have visited Finlagh before summer’s end. When unrest in the Highlands put them off, my lady was gey disappointed. I ken fine that she must be worried about me now, too. But I will go to her as soon as I see you safe.”
“Aye, then, ye may tell her that I’ll send word tae Ormiston that he and Lady Rosalie can marry at Kildrummy in the spring if they would like that. Winter be fast approaching. And, after this dreadful loss, the western Highlands will likely become more dangerous than ever. Even so, traveling east from here should be safe enough by spring for ye and your family, so ye’ll be able tae attend the wedding, too.”
“I’ll tell her, sir, and I thank you,” Àdham said.
It took them another day to reach Nairn. Although they recalled their elderly benefactor’s advice, they saw nothing to suggest an infestation there of Islesmen.
Àdham did see two men he knew as tenants from the nearby Thane of Cawdor’s estates. He paused long enough to exchange greetings with them, identifying his shabby companion only as a fellow survivor of the battle.
From the two, he learned that the town was as peaceful as usual, because Mackintosh forces at Inverness Castle and Nairn still controlled access to the Moray Firth. The two had heard of the disaster at Inverlochy. “But we ha’ heard nowt o’ Balloch’s men moving northward, let alone as far as Loch Ness,” one of them said.
As Mar had expected, his galley awaited him in the harbor. After making himself known to his captain, he turned to Àdham and said, “I’ll get word tae Ormiston, and I’ll expect tae hear from ye when ye’re ready tae travel eastward.”
“Thank you, sir. But you need not—”
“Say nae more, lad. Recall the words of our kind benefactor and accept the hospitality I offer tae ye and yours. I owe ye more than I’ll ever repay.”
Parting quickly after that, Àdham turned southward. As he passed through an oncoming group of travelers just outside the town, with only a few miles to go before he would hold Fiona in his arms again, he felt a sense of deep contentment.
Bruce MacNab reached Finlagh late the following afternoon.
Fiona, helping Clydia and Katy finish picking the last fresh herbs from the kitchen garden for drying on racks above the bake oven, saw him striding toward the tower entrance from the gateway and looked eagerly for Àdham.
MacNab, however, was alone.
Moving to intercept him, with the twins at her heels, she said, “Where is Sir Àdham? And the others,” she added as an afterthought.
Stopping, MacNab gazed bleakly at her and said, “I had hoped that Sir Àdham were here wi’ ye, your ladyship. As tae the others, we lost dunamany men.”
Before Fiona could speak, Katy said, “But Àdham was with you, was he not?”
“Aye, but . . .”
When he paused, Clydia said gently, “We should all go inside, I think. Mam and Da will also want to hear what MacNab has to say.”
“Aye,” Fiona agreed, swallowing hard. “Let us find them at once.” Moments later, looking right into his eyes as she entered the keep, she said, “You have not kept anything horrid from me, have you, sir? About Sir Àdham, I mean.”
“By my troth, m’lady, I dinna ken where he is,” he said. “The last time I saw him, a sennight or so ago, he sent me tae tell Sir Ivor that our lads had seen Donal Balloch’s boats in the northern part o’ Loch Linnhe. I havena seen him since then.”
Doing all she could to control her emotions, Fiona turned away and hurried into the great hall with the others following. Gillies had arranged the trestles for supper and Fin was on the dais, so she let MacNab lead the way to him.
“Welcome back,” Fin said, shaking his hand. “H
ow many are in your party?”
“Just me, I’m afraid,” MacNab said wearily. “I traveled wi’ the Mackintosh and Sir Ivor tae Loch an Eilein and came here on my own. Five o’ Castle Finlagh’s wounded lads came with us as far as Rothiemurchus, but Sir Ivor will keep them there till they be fit tae come home. We lost dunamany men, sir.”
“Where is Àdham?” Catriona asked, approaching from the privy stairs.
“I dinna ken, madam.” He explained how they had met and parted. “I ha’ no seen him since. But Sir Ivor’s Tadhg did see him afore the battle started. Tadhg said a host o’ Alasdair Carrach’s archers spilled down the hillside, sending him and Sir Àdham tae cover,” he added. “When they had passed, Sir Àdham sent Tadhg tae hie Sir Ivor and his archers along down tae help him attack the enemy from the rear.” His gaze drifted then to Fiona and the twins.
“I’ll want to hear the rest of the details later, and mayhap my lady will, too,” Fin said lightly with a smile for Catriona. “We will all eat our supper first, though.”
Having no appetite, Fiona did little more than rearrange food on her trencher.
After a time, Catriona gently asked if she were feeling sick.
“Nae,” Fiona replied, forcing a smile. “I am tired but not hungry. I think I will seek my bed now, if I may.”
Catriona gave her a long look, and Fin leaned forward to say, “Àdham will come home, lassie. So, you would be wise to sleep well until he does. You have been looking a bit wan these past weeks, and he will be eager to reunite with you. You won’t want to disappoint him by being sick then.”
“No, sir,” Fiona said. “If you will excuse me . . .” Anticipating his nod, she stood as she spoke, bade them and the twins good night, and made her way to the room she had shared with Àdham.
Bridgett, having watched her leave the dais, soon joined her there. She aided Fiona with her ablutions, swiftly tidied the chamber, and left her to sleep.
The Reluctant Highlander Page 31