by Amy Jarecki
Calum glanced over his shoulder to ensure Rewan hadn’t heard. “No’ this time. Now go give yer wife a kiss and have her load us up with mutton and oatcakes.”
“And whisky.”
“Aye, that too.” He turned to Rewan. “Thank ye for bringing the news. Ye’re welcome to sail with us.”
“As much as I’d like to head home, I’ll go.” Rewan held up Bran’s satchel. “I’ve brought his things—what I could find, anyway. I’ve much to tell ye.”
Calum marched Rewan up the trail. “Aye?”
“He fell in love with Ross’s daughter and got thrown in the pit for starters.”
“I was afraid of that.” Calum sped up his pace. “A young buck like Bran would have difficulty keeping his cock under his kilt with a pretty lassie batting her eyelashes his way.”
“And the queen knighted him into the Order of the Thistle.”
Calum stopped. “Ye don’t say? The bastard’s been mighty busy, and now he’s gone and got his arse thrown in the Glasgow Tolbooth?”
***
Enya had the carriage ready when Robert and her father were released. She stood with determination beside her mother, watching them approach.
Lady Ross stepped forward and embraced her husband. “Thank heavens they’ve released you from that deplorable place.”
“Not to worry, Jean. Moray would have anarchy on his hands if he killed half the gentry.”
Enya embraced Robert and then Lord Ross. “Father, we are truly blessed.”
“You did well negotiating our release, though I daresay one hundred gold sovereigns is quite a hefty price to pay.”
“I wanted to ensure he knew I was serious.” Enya took a step back and steeled her nerves. “I would like to remain in Glasgow and attend the trials. Heather and a groom can remain with me.”
“Are you daft, daughter? We must away to Halkhead forthwith and put this ugly business behind us. Remaining in Glasgow during these unsettling times will only invite misfortune.”
Though she had no doubt her father would react this way, Enya had to ask. She bit back her frown. This meant she must resort to her alternative plan and steal away once they returned to Halkhead.
Robert folded her hand in his. “Come, sis. Board the coach. ’Tis time to go home and lick our wounds.”
Enya gaped at the stern faces staring at her then climbed inside. “What of Malcolm and your other men? Are you leaving them to the wolves?”
Ross followed all into the coach. “Mr. Fisher’s terms were thus. It cannot be helped.”
“Enya.” Mother used a scolding tone. “We shall hear no more. Sit back and enjoy the ride home—for tomorrow it will all be forgotten.”
Heather looped her arm through Enya’s and encouraged her to rest against the padded carriage seat. Enya had absolutely no inclination to forget about the men who had loyally ridden into battle with her spineless father. If she did nothing, Bran would surely die.
It was well past dark when the wheels rolled over the cobblestones of Halkhead House. After her mother alighted from the carriage, Lord Ross took hold of Enya’s arm. “I’ll not have you make a mockery of me,” he growled. “Watching you glare across the coach, you’ve left me with no other choice but to lock you in your chamber until this whole business has come to an end.”
Enya tried to jerk away, but he held fast. “You wouldn’t.”
“You should still be tucked away at Paisley Abbey.” He squeezed her arm harder. “Frankly, I cannot trust you.”
“How can you say that? I negotiated your release.”
“Anyone could have bribed that codfish.” He shoved her to the bench. “You are my greatest disappointment.”
Her father’s words knifed through her heart. Tears welled. How could he say that? It wasn’t as if she’d escaped and fled the abbey. Mother sent for her.
Lord Ross stepped to the ground and faced a sentry. “Take Miss Enya to her chamber and post a sentry outside her door. No one is allowed to enter except her serving maid and Lady Ross.”
“Yes, my lord.” The young guardsman bowed, and Enya wondered if this was Malcolm’s replacement. How convenient that her father could disregard and replace men who were once important to him.
The guard grasped her arm, and Enya snatched it away. “I am quite capable of walking to my chamber without being restrained.”
While she marched up the stairs, hundreds of thoughts coursed through Enya’s mind. She’d promised Bran she’d sing to Griffon. Now she’d have to attempt it from her chamber window. Who knew where the eagle was now, if still alive? But she had made a promise. It was one her father couldn’t prevent her from keeping.
More pressing, however, was her need to return to Glasgow. Posting a sentry outside her door was something Enya hadn’t expected. How would she slip past a guard?
Sucking back her desire to throw herself on the bed, Enya pulled a chair up to her window and opened it. At the top of her lungs, she fa-la-la’d Bran’s tune, wishing she’d asked him to teach her the words. She scanned the dark, dreary sky, wondering how on earth Griffon would hear her, let alone come to her when she’d only handled the bird once.
As she sang, sloppy wet droplets fell and soon a downpour forced her to pull the window closed. In the dim light, she could see nothing.
Enya slumped into the chair. Curling her arms over her head, she rocked. Tears spilled from her eyes, splashing her gown. Her chest tight, she wailed aloud. This could not be happening. She must do something to help Bran. She would not remain in her chamber while he faced trial and, most certainly, the executioner. The mere thought of Bran’s life held in the hands of that pungent, rheumy-eyed magistrate filled her with such panic, she could scarcely breathe. Heavenly Father, please help me.
Enya staggered to the bed and threw herself across it, sobbing and wailing out of control.
***
Recovering from her lapse into the depths of despair, Enya fought to steady her breath. She pulled Bran’s archer figurine from her pocket and ran her thumb across the smooth wood. Touching it renewed her strength. Wallowing in self-pity would not help Bran or anyone else. She marched across the room and shook the latch with such force, the door rattled in its hinges. “I must see Mistress Heather. Now!”
“Heather has retired to her chamber,” a deep voice resonated from the corridor.
“Fetch her.”
“But your door must remain guarded.”
“She’s only paces away. Besides, how can I escape with the door locked?
Footsteps clomped away and soon Enya heard a muffled rap. Fingering the sovereigns, she dashed to her wardrobe and pulled out a satchel. She wouldn’t need much, but to promote the air of nobility, a regal mantle to wear over an embroidered kirtle would be lightweight enough to carry. She stuffed a lovely red kirtle inside.
Enya settled for a black velvet mantle lined with golden silk. With a hood, she could use it to hide her identity. She tossed it on the bed, ready to throw over her shoulders when the time came.
The door opened and Heather slipped within.
Enya pulled her to the far end of the chamber so they would not be overheard. “Dearest Heather.” She kept her voice low. “If you care anything for me, you shall help me escape this night.”
“Enya, have you not noticed? An armed sentry guards your door.”
“Help me to distract him.”
Heather covered her face with her hands. “Oh heavens…”
“Can you honestly face me and say you care nothing of the lives of Father’s men? Even if you wish Bran dead, what of Malcolm?”
Heather’s eyes grew round at the mention of the captain’s name. “Malcolm?” She clasped her hands together. “Even if I could convince the sentry to leave his post momentarily, it would be only hours before your father would discover you missing.”
“Please, Heather.”
“If I help you, neither of us will ever be able to return to Halkhead.”
“I understand.” Eny
a met Heather’s tortured gaze. “Will you ride with me this night?”
“Aye. I there’s no other place for me but beside you, my dearest.” Heather shook her head. “Every time I close my eyes, I see Malcolm’s face. I’ll never reconcile with myself if we don’t try something.”
Enya threw her arms around Heather and squeezed. “I knew I could count on you.” She held her at arm’s length. “Now. How do we distract the guard?”
Heather sat on the bed and chewed her thumbnail. “Believe it or not, I’ve been thinking about this all night. I shall tell him I’m going down to the kitchen to fetch you something to eat.”
Enya nodded. “And?”
“I’ll return with a parcel of oatcakes—for us to take along—and give him a full tankard of ale.”
Enya’s heart skipped a beat. “And when you leave, you’ll offer to stand guard while he relieves himself—and I’ll slip across to the solar.”
“Exactly. Upon his return, I shall pretend to go to my rooms, but once I round the corner, I’ll follow you to the solar and meet you in the passageway.”
Enya hugged her. “The plan is perfect. But Halkhead is your home—can you risk so much?”
“It has been a home, but with all the girls grown, I suspect Lord Ross would no longer have use of me once you’re married and gone. I had hoped to follow you when you married.”
“Well, it may not be exactly as you planned, but as long as you are willing, you will always have a home with me.”
“I thought you would never speak to me again.”
“As did I, but I realized you believed you were doing right. And now you’ve proved I have your loyalty.” Enya pulled Heather to her feet. “Make haste, for we must be far away before dawn.”
***
For once, Enya took Heather’s advice and secured her tresses under a snood. Besides, it would prevent her hair from whipping out from under her cloak. With her bow and arrows over her shoulder, the dirk in her pocket, Enya waited for Heather in the secret passageway. “Do you think the guard suspected anything?”
“Nay, he was too grateful for the reprieve. We didn’t even need the ale. His relief never arrived. I think he’ll be stuck there all night.”
“Poor man.”
“Aye, and he’ll be a mite poorer once your father realizes you escaped under his watch.”
Enya led Heather through the tunnel. The rain had ebbed to a heavy mist. “I hope he isn’t punished too severely.”
“Me as well.” Heather held up her palm. “’Tis a shame God didn’t see fit to keep the rain at bay.”
Enya tugged her through the shadows. “’Tis a blessing. We’ll be harder to spot in the darkness.”
“Lord help us.”
In minutes Enya had Maisey and a gelding saddled. “Put up your hood and follow me. I ken how to avoid the guard.”
Heather climbed the mounting block. “Precious child. I knew there was a reason the good Lord saw fit to make you so adventurous.”
“With any luck they won’t notice us gone for some time. Mother always punishes me by staying away, and Father rarely visits my chamber.” Enya chuckled. “They’ll probably discover you’re missing before me.”
Chapter Twenty-one
By the time they reached Glasgow Road, the rain had completely stopped, though the dark clouds above and heavy fog made it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Wet and shivering beneath her cloak, Enya urged the horses to a steady trot. She could barely feel her numb fingers grasping the reins. Her sole motivation was to spirit to Glasgow as quickly as possible and save Bran from the gallows.
Her teeth chattered while white mist billowed from her mouth with each exhale. “Are you doing well, Heather?”
The gelding pulled alongside Maisey’s flank. “I’m holding up. Though we could have done without this miserable fog.”
“Not to worry. We’ll be there soon enough.”
The darkness got blacker and the trail became further blurred by the mist. The cadence of the horse hooves grew louder with her lack of sight.
“I do not like this.” Heather’s voice warbled.
Enya tapped Maisey with her heel. “It will pass.”
The air grew heavier, more humid. Enya breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the lazy flow of the Clyde River. Any moment, the trees would open up to the bridge.
She spurred Maisey to a fast trot. “Come on, Heather, we’re nearly there.” Enya glanced back only for a second. Something slammed into her midriff, ripping her from the saddle. Enya’s heart shot to her throat. Midair, she flung out her arms and flapped them wildly, trying to grasp anything to break her fall.
Completely blinded by the darkness, Enya could see nothing. Time slowed until her backside slapped into a muddy bog. Her hands filled with moist peat. Sucking in a breath of air, she tried to push up. Male laughter cackled behind.
A dreaded memory of the Gypsies made ice run through Enya’s veins. She reached for her bow, but it was gone. Patting the forest floor, she desperately searched when something smashed into the side of her head.
She cried out with the pain. Stars clouded her vision. Footsteps slapped the mud as she raised her hand to staunch the throbbing.
“We’ve a ripe one,” a deep voice growled in her ear.
Enya tried to spring to her feet, but hands grasped her wrists and dragged her into the trees.
“Release me this instant.” Enya thrashed and wrenched her arms against the force, the illusion of stars completely blinding her. Her head spun like it was engulfed by a swarm of bees. Vaguely it registered that hands searched in her pockets, around her neck, all over her body.
“We’re in luck, lads. The wench has a stash of coin in her pocket.”
Voices laughed.
Enya’s head throbbed. The world spun. “Heather!”
“This old crow didn’t survive the fall.”
Bile burned the back of Enya’s throat. Old crow? Heather? Enya struggled to sit, but she couldn’t tell up from down. The pain overcame her. At once, everything mercifully went black.
***
Enya awoke to the sound of horse hooves. Violet streams glowed against the clouds, announcing the sun’s appearance. Though her head throbbed, she opened her eyes. Surrounded by trees, Heather lay in a heap a few feet away.
Enya pushed up, the trees around her spinning like the slow churning of the blacksmith’s wheel. “Heather?”
Nothing moved. Enya turned her ear to the nearing horse hooves. Colors fluttered through the trees. She clutched her arms against her chest. It could be another mob of thieves. Praying for a miracle, Enya tried not to make a sound as she crawled to Heather and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Heather. You must wake.”
Tears stung her eyes, but she sucked them back and held a trembling hand to Heather’s nose. A warm, faint breeze caressed her finger. A shaky laugh slipped past Enya’s lips. “Heather.” She shook her shoulder vigorously. “Please wake.”
Heather moved under Enya’s hand. “What happened?” she rasped.
“We were attacked by brigands.” Enya pulled Heather into her embrace and squeezed. “Praise God you’re alive. Are you hurt?”
Heather hung her head and ran a hand over her face. “My head’s throbbing.”
“As is mine. One minute I thought we’d made it to the bridge and the next I was on my backside.”
Heather lifted her head and cupped Enya’s face with both hands. “Did they violate you?”
Enya tensed, her mind racing back to what she could remember. Hands searched her, mayhap not to violate, but to rob. “I think not.” She reached inside her pocket and gasped. “They’ve taken my shillings and my dirk.” Her gaze darted around the clearing. Bran’s figurine floated in a puddle.
“You had a dirk?”
Enya picked up the archer and wiped it dry with her dirty skirts. The horsehair bowstring was missing, but the rest survived the attack. “Aye. We needed more than a bow and arrow for protection.”
<
br /> “A lot of good that did us.” Heather brushed the dirt from her hands.
“I neither heard nor saw them coming.” Enya glanced toward the road. “The sun is rising. We best be on our way if we’re to reach Glasgow in time for the trial. Thieves shouldn’t bother us now we look like we’ve been wallowing in a swine’s bog.”
Heather pressed her palms to her cheeks. “And there’s nothing left to steal. What are we going to do without coin?”
“I’ll think of something.” Enya swooned as she stood. After a moment, she steadied and held out her hand. “Come.”
Heather eyed her and grimaced. “You look a sight. Mud from head to toe.”
Enya shrugged. “As you say, I always manage to turn into a guttersnipe when I leave the manse. Now you ken why.”
Fortunately, it wasn’t far to cross the bridge over the Clyde and enter the city. The brigands had lain in wait on the outskirts of town, watching for their chance to attack an unsuspecting party. Enya offered a prayer of thanks they hadn’t seen fit to kidnap her. She shook her head and vowed she would never allow herself to be so gullible again. But this couldn’t be helped. She had no choice but to leave Halkhead without a guard. Blast being female. If she were Bran, she would have skewered them all and left them bleeding on the road.
They stopped at a fountain near the river and washed the caked mud from their faces and hands.
Heather tugged Enya’s arm. “Come here and let me tidy your tresses.”
“But we have no comb.”
“Nay, but I can work a little magic with my fingers.”
Enya complied and sat on a bench while Heather removed her snood and made quick work of re-securing it in place. She stood back and gave Enya a good look from head to toe. Heather slapped Enya’s mantle and brushed out the dust. “You’re marginally presentable.”
“I do not know what I would do without you.”
“I have no idea why I let you talk me into this.”
“There’s no turning back now.” Enya looked past Heather and spotted a flash of red hair on one of the galleys moored at the riverbank. Recognition tickled the back of her neck. “It can’t be.”