They both had been cheated that last night when he’d allowed his brother’s wife to return to the castle. He had not known then that his parting with Susan would be their last. Adam slowed his horse and looked up into the iron gray sky. Suddenly, he wanted to cry out!
The thought flickered through his brain that so much had changed since that night when he’d been rowed out through the river gate of the Tower of London. How much had changed!
Having to leave Susan and never see her again was by far the greatest loss of his life. He would mourn that more than the twelve years he’d lost in prison. More than the parents that he’d never known. More, perhaps, than life itself.
Suddenly, reining his horse to a halt, Adam saw everything in a different light. Suddenly, his past no longer seemed as important part as his future.
Suddenly, he knew--above all else--that Susan must be by his side.
The rain was falling hard by the time Adam descended out of the Ladder Hills, and he could barely see the rounded peaks of Carn Mor to the south with the weather rolling in from the west. Reaching the crest of a heather-covered hill, the warrior stopped abruptly, peering curiously through the downpour into the glen where the Crombie Water flowed.
Yanking the steed’s head around, Adam quickly withdrew behind the hill, and tied the animal to a small, twisted pine. Yanking his sword from the scabbard tied to his back, he trotted back to the crest of the hill and, dropping to the ground, crawled up until he could see the activity below.
Twenty to thirty men, some obviously Highlanders by their gear and some not, were gathered by the rushing waters of the Crombie. The river, usually an easy thing to ford, had turned into a wild torrent, and the men were clearly in some disagreement about their next move.
Adam stared. What kind of renegade band was this? he wondered. Aside from his own, he’d heard of no other group of outlaws in this region. He tried to pick out any familiar faces. None of his own men were visible, and the two Highlanders who seemed to be arguing the most heatedly, seemed to be in command. The rest, for the most part, were just looking on. From the gesturing and pointing, Adam decided it was an argument about whether to try to camp for the night, or to continue to the south along the river.
He was thinking that there were still several hours of daylight left when he saw that, beyond the assembly of warriors, beside the raging river, a handful of men lay either dead, injured, or bound on the ground. There had been a fight here, no doubt, and Adam was wondering what could have been the cause.
Then he spotted them and froze.
The two women appeared to be unhurt. Susan and his brother’s wife sat in the midst of the throng, two warriors holding the reins of their steeds. His anger flared and he half rose.
What could he do against twenty armed warriors? Panic gnawed at the edge of his brain, and the sickly heat of helplessness washed down his back.
He needed to get help. Adam looked around at the mountains and wracked his brain. There was a chance, of course, that he might find a few of his men to the north, but only a chance. Why the devil had he released them? he cursed. Those who’d followed his directions were by now, no doubt, spread far and wide. It would take too long to go back to Huntly Castle. But he could not let these blackguards simply take the woman he loved.
Athol.
What choice did he have? His brother would hang him, to be sure, but if Athol would at least act and send his forces after these brigands--after Susan and his own wife--it would be worth it.
Seeing that the decision had been made to camp, Adam watched as the band of men rode to a stand of trees by a bluff on some higher ground a bit to the east of the river. They obviously thought they would have some protection there.
Running back to his horse, Adam leaped into the saddle and spurred the animal to the north, toward Balvenie Castle.
*****
The warriors had kept up their brisk pace without regard to the driving rain. They had just passed the village of Bakebare, an hour or so from Balvenie Castle, when the two messengers galloped up with the news.
Athol, trying to preserve his calm as the rain streamed down through his long red hair, listened to the men’s account of an urgent letter arriving from Ironcross Castle. Of how the countess and Mistress Susan had ordered that Tosh and a group of the laird’s men accompany them immediately to Ironcross. Hesitantly, one of them conveyed the message that the countess insisted on the earl following them there as soon as he could.
“Oh, the countess insisted, did she?”
“Aye, m’lord,” the man said, handing him a leather pouch containing a letter.
Well, this was an improvement, Athol thought wryly. To have Catherine actually tell him where she was going and want him to join her there!
Although he didn’t have to read the letter to guess at its contents, he pulled the message from the pouch while one of his warriors held up a shield to ward off the rain. As he thought, the message from Ironcross Castle had indicated that Lady MacInnes was dying. The old woman had been in poor health for some time now. It was curious, though, that Catherine and Susan had felt compelled to head south in such terrible weather and not wait for him.
He wondered what else the message from Ironcross had contained.
Even if she were, once again, withholding information from him, at least this time she had taken Tosh and an escort. At least, with Susan and Tosh and the rest accompanying her, Catherine should be able to stay out of trouble during the short trip.
Turning his men to the south in order to follow the well-traveled paths of Glen Fiddich, John Stewart again allowed his thoughts to return to his brother and the possible ways he could at least arrange a meeting between the two of them. Considering the absolute happiness he’d found in marrying Catherine, and knowing now that she was with child, he would not rest until he had found a way to mend the rift between himself and Adam.
It was true. If there were one thing that would make his life complete now, it would be the chance to find a way to recompense Adam of the Glen for even half of all he had been deprived of.
At this stage of his life, resolving their differences would be worth any price.
*****
The small overhang of rock over the patch of wet, sandy ground did little to hold back the stinging lash of the icy rain.
With their backs against the cold, wet rock of the bluff, Catherine quietly shifted her position a bit closer to Susan’s side and motioned toward the unconscious Tosh.
“Can you tell how badly he is hurt?”
Dragged through the mud to the hillside, the Highlander had been knocked cold during the attack when one of the brutes had given him a blow to the head from behind. As far as the condition of the rest of the men who had accompanied them, Catherine knew that they all had been wounded, if not killed. There had been considerable discussion among the attackers whether the warriors had any ransom value or not. The two leaders, seemingly unable to agree on almost anything, had argued about that, as well. One of them, a fierce-looking man missing most of the fingers on his left hand, wanted to go south as quickly as possible, but the other’s apparent greed seemed to have met with the approval of many in the outlaw band.
“I cannot say for certain. But I think he is breathing.” Susan’s voice was a hushed whisper. “I believe they knew that he was in charge of our warriors.”
“And so, all the more valuable to them!”
Catherine wearily looked at Tosh’s unmoving body sprawled on the ground. The attack had been unexpected. It had come all too suddenly. The outlaws had been many and had seemed to descend on them from all directions. It had almost seemed as if they were waiting in ambush. And unfortunately, having Susan and herself in the party had proved to be the great disadvantage to Tosh and his warriors. Rather than taking the fight to the renegades, her escort had been forced to fall back and try to defend the two women. And for that, Catherine blamed herself bitterly.
She had promised her husband that she’d never do a
nything to bring harm to his people. And here, warriors from Balvenie Castle lay wounded--perhaps even dead or dying--and all of it because these roughs had come in search of her.
“You called me by the name of Laura and told them I was your sister,” Susan whispered, keeping an eye on the warrior standing guard nearby. “What reason did you have for doing that?”
Catherine leaned her face closer to Susan’s ear. “When the attack came, I heard the fingerless one shout my name and point at me with his sword. They’ve been sent to bring me back to England.”
“But they’re Highlanders, mostly!”
“Aye, but the leaders referred to the name Percy.”
“That’s true, I heard that.”
“They wouldn’t come all this way just to kill me. They want...they want something. I know that these brutes had to have orders not to allow any harm to come to me or to my sisters for the fear of us taking a secret we keep--a secret they want--to our graves.”
“So you saved my life.”
“I think all I did was to confuse them enough so they wouldn’t bring--” Catherine quieted down as one of their captors carried a horse blanket up the slight rise to the base of the bluff and dumped it on the ground at their feet. She returned the man’s leer with a frown, but he moved off to their guard.
Silently, the two women watched the two outlaws mumble complaints to one another about spending “another night in the cursed wet.” After a while, though, the man headed back down the hill at the same direction where he’d come from. It was nearly dark now, and men were scrounging around for dry tinder to start the night’s fires. She eyed a ragged, filthy young fellow who was wandering their way.
“So you think their plan is to drag us all the way to England?” Susan asked hurriedly.
“Aye. So, ‘tis up to us--” Catherine stopped abruptly as the young man bent down a few paces from her feet and yanked a yellowed shrub out of the ground. As he turned away, a ribbon of gray, an adder half again as long as her arm, slithered with incredible speed out of the disturbed ground and up the sandy heath bed toward the bluff. She stared at the dark V-shaped mark behind the head and the dark zigzagging line down the back.
Vaguely aware of Susan’s sharp gasp of fear, Catherine casually reached for the horse blanket and with a sure movement, trapped the head of the snake beneath the cloth with her hand. In an instant, she had quickly covered the rest of the wriggling creature with the edge of her cloak.
When she looked up, their guard was scratching himself and staring longingly at the fires that were just beginning to crackle by the stand of trees. Susan’s face was the picture of shock and revulsion, and Catherine almost laughed in spite of their situation.
“Aye,” she whispered with a wink. “A viper...come to call. And you know, I never expected help to arrive so soon!”
****
The rain had turned almost entirely to sleet, and the wind was continuing to lash at the warrior’s faces. Athol was determined, though, to reach Ironcross Castle this night, so he relentlessly pushed his weary horse and his warriors ahead.
At first, when they’d turned their steps southward, he had not thought much about the urgency of this trip. He knew that Catherine, for the first time, had proceeded appropriately. With Tosh to accompany her on the journey--and Adam’s band dispersed--there was little to fear. Everything would be well, and she would be waiting for him when she arrived at his friends’ holding.
But the farther south they traveled, for some reason, the less comfortable he felt.
He didn’t know why. But a tiny prickpoint of worry that had begun in his belly, had lengthened into a sharp, thin line extending up his spine and burning the skin of his neck. Now, the taste of iron was there in his mouth. It was the taste of fear.
He spurred his horse on as quickly as the darkening trail would permit.
And then, she was there in his head. Her thoughts, her voice--the same way that, so many times in the past, she had been present in his mind. And something was wrong.
Wiping the rain off his face and pushing ahead even faster, he knew she was in danger. She needed him. Visions of dragons and giants with stumps for arms flooded his brain, clouding his thinking.
John!
He could hear her. This time, she was calling to him.
Coming over the crest of a hill, he was the first one to spot the lone horseman coming across the meadow. Like himself, the other man appeared to have a devil in pursuit of him. Moving down the hill, Athol slowed his pace. His small company of warriors followed his lead and slowed, as well.
Almost immediately, the traveler saw them, for he reined in his horse for a moment, and then came on, approaching at a near gallop. The horseman did not appear to have a sword or lance in his hand, but he was riding toward them at a gait that made the men behind Athol begin to murmur among themselves.
Through the rain and wind and descending darkness, there was no way Athol could identify him. He could have been one of Gavin Kerr’s men, or even one of his own men, though the horse was not--
Suddenly, the truth descended on him like a sharp cuff to the ear. Feeling the sudden tightening of his chest, the blood flooding into his face, Athol jerked his horse to a full stop. His men gathered behind him and watched the oncoming rider with narrowed eyes.
John Stewart, as well, assessed the man. His large build. The hilt of the weapon that he could now see strapped to the man’s back. The determination and skill with which he pushed his horse ahead. Athol motioned for his men to stay and spurred his own steed forward.
The two reached each other by the rushing creek at the bottom of the meadow. Bringing their snorting horses to a stop, each man studied the other. Two pairs of piercing gray eyes exchanged looks of amazement as they took in their likeness.
With the Highland wind whipping about them, Adam broke the silence.
“I was coming for you.”
“I’ve been looking for you, as well.”
Adam gave a curt, comprehending nod. “I ask you to put your anger aside for the moment. There is a matter of much more graver importance that we need to see to.”
“My anger? Have no fear on that score. But whatever you are about to ask, I only ask that you give your word not to disappear afterward. I need to--”
“My word?” The corner of Adam’s mouth curved in a look of long-accustomed scorn. “You are asking for the word of a thief--of one who has been robbing you and your people of their peace for half a year?”
“I am asking the word of my brother.”
The two horses tossed their heads and circled one another. Adam’s voice dropped to a husky growl. “I was told that you didn’t know you even had a brother.”
“What you were told was true. But I know now.” Athol tried to calm his own agitated horse. “I believe we have both lost a great deal--you far more than I--by our ignorance of the truth.”
Their faces glistened in the pouring rain.
“I cannot change the past,” Athol continued. “I cannot undo what was done to you. But I can ask for a chance at a better future. A chance to know the man who is my brother.”
Adam stared at him, and Athol could see the uncertainty in the man’s eyes.
“I...I didn’t expect this,” Adam said finally. “I was coming after you, certain that you’d slay me before giving me even a chance to speak of the danger that lies ahead.”
“I’ve just been to see the earl of Huntly. He told me that you had left there before I arri--” Athol’s frown suddenly deepened as Adam’s words sank in. “What danger?”
CHAPTER 23
As the rain and wind continued to whip about them, the band of renegades huddled beneath an assortment of cloaks, tartans, and horse blankets around the smoky, sizzling fire. No attempt had been made to cook anything, and Catherine had a sense that they would be moving on as soon as the weather allowed. The bickering had subsided, and a surly silence had settled over the troop.
This was not what Catherine had in
mind.
The viper beneath the blanket had also settled down, only occasionally thrashing its long body as she held it tightly just behind the head. Catherine knew the adder was poisonous, but she was not afraid of it. Thanks to Brother Egbert and his interest in the natural world, she and her sisters had handled snakes and other small creatures their entire lives.
Catherine and Susan sat close together, pretending to be sleeping. Both of them were keeping their eyes trained on the darkness beyond the renegades’ camp.
She couldn’t explain it, but there was no doubt in her mind that he was coming. In fact, she knew that he was very close at this very moment. She knew that, just like her knight of a thousand dreams, John Stewart would be stepping through the smoky light of this fire, sword in hand, eyes flashing.
And until he appeared, she would keep up her silent vigil and her quiet struggle with her venomous friend. Now, peering into the darkness again, she considered her role in battling these blackguards.
From what she’d been able to glean from the arguments of the two leaders, they were clearly in the pay of Sir Arthur Courtenay, the king’s Deputy Lieutenant in Yorkshire. Hearing his name on their lips had by no means surprised her. Sir Arthur was a pox-faced weasel who had been a vicious enemy to her family since her father’s original capture and imprisonment. He’d seemed to enjoy persecuting her family, but she’d had no idea he was one of those searching for the Treasure of Tiberius.
Foolishly, Catherine had thought that when they’d left England, Courtenay and his vile threats would have been left behind, as well. Certainly, he could have had no power to touch them in Scotland. She--and her mother, too--had obviously underestimated the reach of the brute’s tentacles. Gold is a powerful tool, and greed a great motivator of men.
Catherine felt the other woman stiffen and then nudge her with her elbow. Fully alert now, she followed with her eyes the line of Susan’s gaze. First she saw nothing in the darkness. Then she saw the flash of the sputtering firelight on metal. There were men between them and the river.
Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) Page 26