The Reluctant Highlander

by Scott, Amanda

  “There are a few stars, at least,” she murmured. “The mist must be clearing.”

  “Aye, that be the breeze. We dinna want it tae clear too quick, though.”

  She followed him, mimicking his movements and striving to move as silently as he did. She heard men talking quietly on the ramparts, but none raised an alarm.

  They were soon over the hill, doubtless on the route that Àdham had taken to reach Finlagh from Lochindorb. But Fiona soon lost track of their direction and could only trust Rory to know where he was going.

  They moved through dark and chilly woodland that seemed to lack any path and walked for much longer than she had expected. Suddenly, she saw the loch, no more than a sheet of blackness, rippling slightly in the breeze.

  Rory crouched in shrubbery, motioning for her to do likewise.

  “That be it,” he murmured. “Ye canna see the island from where we be. But we’ll go round that way”—he gestured to his right—“and ye’ll see it, then.”

  “How far offshore?” she asked.

  “Hoots, I dinna ken. Farther than I’d want tae swim on a cold night.”

  “If Àdham is there, I must see him. How many guards might there be?”

  “I dinna ken that neither. But I ha’ a notion where they’d be. I could creep round and see do I find ’em. I dinna ken how ye think ye could see him, though.”

  “Let me worry about that. But you must not let anyone see you.”

  He didn’t respond to that, and she didn’t blame him. The laddie had a strong sense of self-preservation and would do his best to avoid discovery.

  She held Sirius back, fearing that the dog might give the boy away if it followed him, but Sirius leaned into her, as if to reassure her that he would protect her.

  She knew what she wanted to do, but she didn’t know if she could do it and get away with a whole skin.

  After all, if the Comyns didn’t kill her, Àdham might.

  Chapter 23

  The lapping water sounded no closer, but the air in Àdham’s prison was icy cold, making him wonder if his jailers meant to freeze him to death in his tunic.

  They had not talked to him or to each other, nor had he seen their faces, but he did vaguely recall flopping facedown over what must have been a garron, and later into a tipsy boat. With his hands bound behind him and an opaque sack of sorts covering his aching head, he had been sure they meant to drown him.

  Then, the boat had bumped onto land, and when they hauled him out, he’d lost consciousness again.

  Fiona huddled in the shrubbery with Sirius, listening intently for any sound to warn her that someone else might be nearby. But the first awareness she had of Rory’s return was when the dog stiffened alertly and then began wagging its tail just before the boy murmured, “It’s me; dinna shriek.”

  “Did you see guards?” she murmured.

  “Aye, sure, so he must be there, ’cause naebody else be missing that I ha’ ken of,” Rory whispered. “But they be at t’other end o’ the loch, round a wee fire tae keep theirselves warm and out o’ the wind. Hew Comyn canna be here, and if he does come, they’ll be gey sorry about that fire. But I were glad tae see it.”

  “Are they between us and the place where we can see the island?”

  “We’ll go t’other way. Ye’ll see their fire then, so ye’ll ken where they be.”

  “Might they have left other guards to keep watch over the island or on it?”

  “’Haps they might, but I didna see nae one the way I went, nor did I see a boat at that end o’ the island. I’ll go ahead o’ ye tae show ye the way. Ye need only keep low and kilt up your skirts so ye willna make a din a-dragging ’em.”

  “I can go quietly,” she said. “Just show me where that island is.”

  Rory did not respond but moved ahead, so Fiona followed him, trying to keep silent. She soon saw the tiny fire on the upper shore across the loch and realized that, like most lochs she had seen, this one was at least twice as long as it was wide. She saw the island, too, a third of the way up from their end but closer to the opposite shore. The water glistened, revealing the shape of the heavily wooded island. More stars reflected on the water, so the mist was dissipating.

  Glancing up, Fiona noticed light showing through clouds in the east. The moon, usually her friend, threatened now to betray her.

  She tried to imagine how far a count of two hundred would take her.

  He walked along a narrow, silvery path, surrounded by blackness. An odd herbal scent stirred his senses but revealed nothing about his location. Nor did he seem to have a destination in mind . . . if he had a mind. Perhaps he was dead.

  He thought about that as he followed the path. His feet moved without any sense of hard ground beneath them. Perhaps he walked on clouds.

  His body seemed abruptly to upend then and drift until he was lying down. Sirius sat beside him, lapping his cheek. Lips touched his, stirring confusion.

  Dogs did not have such lips. Then Sirius vanished as if he had never been, and he was in bed with Fiona. His body stirred pleasurably. He pulled her closer and began to fondle her, eager to awaken her passions as he could so easily do.

  Water dripped on him . . .

  . . . icy water that soaked through his tunic as a freezing hand cupped his cheek and a soft, familiar voice said, “Oh, Àdham, love, prithee speak, but quietly! Say it is you, for I cannot see you. Oh, my love, please do not be dead!”

  Much nicer than Mar’s shaking and bellowing at him.

  He blinked, and there was light enough now to see her shape. But surely he was still dreaming, for she could not possibly . . .

  “Àdham, say something.”

  “You’re dripping on me.” His voice, to his own ears, was harsh and not his but someone else’s, more proof that he still dreamed. “What did you call me?”

  “What do you mean? I said your name.”

  Water dripped on him again, and his senses reeled. He was certainly not in bed with his wife, but his wife was with him and had no business to be anywhere near wherever he was now. He tried to sit up, but his stretched-out limbs painfully recalled him to his current circumstances.

  “Where the devil are we?” he asked. “How did you get here?”

  “Some Comyns captured you,” she said. “You are in a dreadful shack on an island in a loch southeast of Raitt. At least, so Rory told me.”

  “Rory? Is he here, too, then?”

  “Aye, on the shore, watching for wandering guards.”

  “Shore? Island? Do you mean to say that you swam here?”

  “Aye, but underwater, just as I did in the Tay. I was in no danger, for no one saw me. The guards are keeping warm by a fire some distance from here.”

  “By the Fates, I am going to take a tawse to both of you,” he said more sharply than he had intended.

  “Aye, sure, and so you may when you are safe,” she replied gently. “But first, we must get you home. And before we can do that, let me see if I can untie you.”

  “Why be we a-sneaking past your ain guards, Hew?” Dae asked his cousin as they crept down to the loch shore, where he could see a narrow boat drawn up on the land. “I thought we came here tae make sure they was seeing tae their duties.”

  “’Tis true, we did,” Hew agreed. “But they be lazing by yon fire, so I been a-thinking, Dae, and what I think is that Àdham MacFinlagh has crossed a line. At first, I were a-thinking we could use the man tae force Sir Fin o’ the Battles tae give us the lass, but from the time I saw that wee laddie I pointed out tae ye whilst we watched their party making for Rothiemurchus, I ha’ had some other thoughts. That laddie were at hand when our Rab were killed at Lochaber, so I’m thinking now that Àdham MacFinlagh were likely the lout I did see kill Rab.”

  “Did ye no ken the man at the time?”

  “Nae, then, I did no
t. I hadna seen him in years, and everyone there had such shaggy beards that nae man could ken much more than that the one he were fighting were likely an enemy. But I ken him now, aye? So I’m thinking that Sir Àdham MacFinlagh may just breathe his last breath tonight. And, thanks tae those louts yonder, nae one save us two will ken how that came about.”

  Fiona shivered. Although the water in the loch had felt warmer than the air at first, by the time she had crept ashore on the island, more terrified with each move that someone would shout an alarm, she was freezing. To her relief, the door had only a bar fitted into iron brackets at each end. With effort, she had lifted it away, gently set it down, and pulled the door open.

  Even now that Àdham was awake, and with that door ajar, she could barely see him right in front of her. But the faster they could get moving, the better.

  As she battled the knots, using Rory’s wee knife, Àdham’s threat echoed briefly in her mind. Giving herself a mental shake then, she decided that she didn’t care what he did, as long as he was alive and back at Finlagh to do it.

  With his hands freed, he sat up and leaned forward to deal with the knots at his ankles, but an involuntary cry of pain escaped when he tried to reach forward.

  “Ay-de-mi, lass, I can scarce move my arms, let alone my fingers.”

  “Let me do it,” she said. “Keep trying to move your arms and hands, though, because you will have to swim, and quietly. I do not suppose they were so helpful as to leave your weapons here with you.”

  “In troth, I do not know,” he admitted. “Someone must have attacked me when I left Nairn and then, I think, knocked me on the head for the second time in a sennight. I came somewhat to my senses twice, once on a garron and then when they dumped me into a boat. I expected them to drown me.”

  “You can tell me the rest later, but your legs are free now,” she said. “Try to move them, and rub life into them whilst I feel around in here to see if they did leave a weapon. At present, I have only this wee knife of Rory’s.”

  “By the Rood, lass,” Àdham murmured wearily as he massaged his legs and feet, “I ought to bellow at you and order you to go home where you would be safe, but all I want is to take you in my arms, hold you tight, and tell you what a mad, brave thing you have done by coming here to rescue me.”

  “You’ll likely come to your senses before we reach home,” she said dryly, “but I hope you do not, because I want you to do those other things, just not right now. So rub harder,” she added, “so we can leave this dreadful place.”

  Obeying her orders, Àdham struggled to bring feeling back into his extremities. He was certain that the Comyns would not have left weapons in the shack, so he was startled to hear a soft exclamation of triumph from her a few moments later.

  “What?” he asked, keeping his voice down as much as he could.

  “Someone left a sort of club here,” she replied in a whisper. “It is not a mace or as good as a sword or a dirk, but it may be useful if we meet any Comyns.”

  “Likely, it’s the one they bashed me with,” he muttered grimly. “I do not suppose you had the good sense to tell Fin or MacNab that you were coming here.”

  “We have no time for scolding,” she murmured. “Fin went to Cawdor, but Rory heard MacNab tell me he’d met someone who thought he’d seen you in Nairn. So, Rory took Sirius near Nairn and told him to find you. When Sirius led him on east of Raitt, Rory came back through your pass and told me about this island.”

  “How the devil did Rory know about it?”

  “I am sure he will tell you about that when you are safe,” she said softly.

  He realized that she was talking to him as if he were an ailing bairn. But just as he was about to point out to her that he was naught of the sort, a wave of dizziness struck him, and he realized that his head still ached like fury.

  Likely, her judgment was not as impaired as his own was.

  “Can you stand yet?” she asked.

  “I will.” But he quickly realized he would need her help even to do that. “Sakes, lass, I’m as weak as a babe.”

  Doing her best to help him to his feet, she said, “When did you eat last, and why did you go to Nairn instead of coming straight home?”

  “I was with Mar,” he explained, wishing his head would stop pounding. “He keeps a galley in Nairn harbor, and he’d been wounded, so I stayed with him.”

  “Do you think you can swim?”

  “Aye, sure, more easily than I can walk,” he said. He was standing but hesitated to take a step, lest he find his legs less interested in doing so than he was. His head pounded more than ever, but the dizziness had begun to ease.

  “I’ll just fetch that club,” she said. “See if you can walk to the door.”

  Even as she was talking, she heard a songbird’s chirp-chirp from the shore. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered. “That was Rory. I told him to make a stir to draw the guards off if they raised an alarm but to give an owl’s hoot or a night bird’s call if he saw someone coming toward this island.”

  “Fetch the club, lass. I’ll step out into the trees and look about.”

  Moving quickly to the club, Fiona picked it up and was turning toward the door when she heard a new voice outside the shack speaking Gaelic. Although she could not speak it well, her understanding had improved enough for her to get the gist of his words:

  “So ye’ve managed to free yourself, have ye? I vow, I’ll string those louts up and take the hide off them for their idleness. But ye’ll get nae farther, Àdham MacFinlagh. I ha’ me sword, as ye see, and this time ye have none.”

  Peeking out through the doorway, thinking the voice sounded distantly familiar, she saw a bearded man nearly as tall as Àdham but less broad, wearing a plaid and tunic. Àdham had turned to face him but was backing slowly away toward the shore. A cloud that had occluded the moon was easing past it, and as its light brightened, she saw the other man’s profile. Something about it seemed familiar, too, although his thick beard made identifying him impossible.

  Nevertheless, he had threatened Àdham and seemed not to know that Àdham was no longer alone. He said tauntingly, “Ye’ll no get far if ye try tae swim away. If ye ha’ nae ken o’ me, I’ll tell ye I be Hew Comyn o’ Raitt, and I need only tae shout for me lads tae bring ’em down on ye wherever ye might swim ashore.”

  “But you cannot best me alone, can you?” Àdham said in Scots. “If I mistake not, the last time I faced one of your lot, you turned tail and ran.”

  Recalling what Rory had told her about the day he’d met Àdham, Fiona gripped the club in both hands and began to move into the doorway. Hearing a gasp and slight cough on the other side of the door, she stopped abruptly and kept still.

  Afraid to breathe, she watched as a second man passed the opening. He, too, wore a tunic and plaid and carried a sword. He did not speak, but she was as certain as she could be that he was another Comyn.

  Àdham had seen the second man, too. He had easily recognized Hew Comyn as one of the two men who had punished Rory at Lochaber.­ Not that it would aid him now that Hew had the upper hand. He just hoped that Fiona would stay inside the shack and that he could draw the two men farther away from her and regain some of his strength in the doing. If he could not, Hew would kill him.

  If his lass remained quiet, she would have a chance to get away . . . unless the Comyns entered the shack again after they killed him.

  The second man had not spoken. But he had coughed, so surely Hew Comyn knew he was there. They were both dry, so they must have come to the island in a boat. As the thought crossed his mind, he saw Fiona step out of the shack and had to bite his lip to keep from bellowing at her to get back inside.

  Hastily, but still in Scots, he said to Hew Comyn, “What the devil do you two dastards hope to gain by killing me? If you had wanted me dead, you could have killed me straightaway instead of taking the trouble
to bring me here.”

  “Aye, well, me cousin Dae and I had a first thought o’ trading ye for your lady, who might be o’ use tae some o’ us in persuading her da tae speak tae the King on Alexander’s behalf,” Comyn said, shifting to Scots himself. “However, after our victory at Inverlochy, me da says Jamie will ha’ tae let Alexander go, or he’ll see the whole o’ the western Highlands laid waste by Donal Balloch. But I’d also seen our lad Rory wi’ ye and suspected ye were the murderous snaffler wha’ killed our Rab. Now that ye’ve spoken o’ Lochaber, I be gey certain o’ that.”

  “’Twas your Rab who attacked me, if you can recall the truth of it.”

  “Ye were interfering in what were our business and nane o’ yours.”

  Keeping his gaze on Comyn’s eyes and, he hoped, Comyn’s eyes on him, Àdham was nonetheless aware that the second man stood watching them and that Fiona was stealthily moving toward him. His fear for her nearly distracted him from the fact that Hew Comyn had set himself to attack.

  Praying that Àdham could keep his attacker’s attention fixed on himself long enough for her to deal with the second man without letting the first kill Àdham, Fiona fixed her gaze on the back of her quarry’s head.

  Ignoring her near certainty that even if she clubbed the man before he sensed her behind him, the other villain would kill Àdham and then turn on her, she knew she could not hesitate. If she did, the likeliest outcome would be Àdham’s death and her immediate capture by Rory’s “damnable Comyns.”

  Gripping the club in both hands, she moved swiftly but furtively toward her target. Her bare feet made no sound on the grass and dirt beneath them as she moved toward him, raising the club, and then swung it as hard as she could, catching him a resounding crack behind his right ear.

  The man dropped with a thud and lay still.

  His sword slid silently to the grass beside him.

  Sensing motion behind him and hearing the thud, Hew glanced back to see Dae drop his sword and fall. In the growing moonlight, he recognized Ormiston’s daughter, Lady MacFinlagh, standing over Dae in her wet shift, holding their club.