Silence dragged on.
“We had a good life, and she was happy.” The hitch in Darach’s voice called to his heart.
“Ye ken she could have married a laird and never wanted for anything. Instead, she ended up here, when she could have been cared for in a castle around family. Ye willnae do the same to her daughter.”
Nae. Skye had always been Brodie’s; they couldn’t take her away from him. His jaw clenched.
“She will marry who she wishes,” Darach insisted, still calm and controlled.
“Ye ken John Macnab would be a good match for her. He’ll be laird one day.”
“And what of the Macnabs? Do ye ken they havennae stood for the king and their religion? Seems to me the Macnab laird chooses the side that fits him.” A dry sarcastic tone stole into Darach’s words.
The life he’d always envisioned for Skye and him suddenly seemed in jeopardy. He fisted his hands in his plaid, ignoring the sweat that dripped and stung the back of his neck. Darach wouldn’t let his deceased wife’s brother tell him what to do, but the man was the MacDonald laird. Would he seek out the Cameron and force Skye’s father to acquiesce?
“Macnab is a sensible man,” came the dry reply.
“Nae, I willnae allow it. She loves Brodie. He’ll keep her safe and comfortable. ’Tis what she wants.”
“Aye, but sometimes what we want has to be given up for the good of all.”
“No’ in her case. Yer sister wouldnae have wanted it, and ye ken it.”
Movement caught his gaze and pulled his attention from the heated exchange as Skye approached along the trail from Kentillie, the Cameron stronghold. The conversation became a blur as his thoughts scattered.
The next words that registered shocked him to his core, “So, ye will send her away and side with the Covenanters, then?” Never having heard Darach speak in other than a contented tone, the venom in his voice stiffened Brodie’s spine.
Skye hadn’t noticed him yet, but she would soon. Knowing he couldn’t face the MacDonald laird at the dinner table, Brodie skirted around the cottage before she got closer and carried the news of the MacDonald’s possible sympathies with the Covenanters directly to the Cameron laird. After discussing the matter with his uncle, Brodie found himself at a local tavern. While there, for the first time in his life, he found himself drunk and spilling his guts about Skye’s uncle to the first listening ear.
It just happened to be to the one man who was interested—Alexander Gordon, who was mounting a resistance against the Covenanters currently terrorizing the Highlanders who wanted nothing more than to keep their own religion. In one evening, Brodie had become a spy for the Cameron clan and met the leader of the Royalist Resistance, who was the most valuable source of information in Scotland.
Now, as they trotted toward the tavern where he’d planned to meet Isobel, second in command of the Royalist Resistance, he thought about how far he’d come. No longer the simple farmer who had wanted a life filled with family and love, he was now a hardened Royalist whose only loyalty was to his God and his clan.
Chapter Six
After they’d stopped at another inn for the evening, Skye peeked across the plate of stewed meat, roasted potatoes, and bread that sat on the small table between her and Brodie. While she nibbled at a bite of soft, buttery loaf, savoring how the morsel melted in her mouth, she marveled at how he looked so different, but still the same.
His thick dark hair was windswept from riding all day, but at the same time it was appealing on him. Och, everything was attractive on him, even the twin dimples that weren’t showing at the moment. While his attention was diverted by the food, she took in his golden cheeks and the long lashes framing those chocolate eyes that reminded her of warm summer nights and home. Eyes she’d never expected to see again.
Her thoughts turned to another Highlander who promised her a home and family and security. The man across from her had promised those things once, but then took it all away.
What would happen when Collin MacPherson discovered she’d spent two evenings in a room with Brodie? Would it jeopardize the union her uncle had made for her?
Blaming him for the possibility her betrothal might be ruined, she stabbed a small potato piece, met his gaze straight on, and asked, “Will ye send word to my uncle to come get me?” Stuffing the morsel in her mouth, she chewed the tender bit and held back the curses she wanted to fling at him for ruining her future.
“Aye, I will make sure ’tis done tonight.”
Unbidden, her thoughts went to spending another night alone with him, and her face tingled with embarrassment. His dark gaze turned to hers and seemed to take in more than what she wanted to reveal.
She scooped up another bite then turned away, hoping that he hadn’t guessed her heart still fluttered when his gaze landed upon her.
“Does yer uncle side with the Covenanters?”
Blinking at the unexpected question and the strained tension in his voice, she said, “What? Are ye insane? Why would ye think such a thing?”
“Has yer uncle had any dealings recently with any of the Royalist clans?”
Something in the depths of his eyes told her he wasn’t jesting. He seemed dangerous, not the playful lad of her youth, but rather a fierce Highlander hardened by battle, politics, and divided loyalties.
“Nae, and even if he did, why would I tell ye?” She felt an urge to defend her uncle, who had given her a family when she’d lost everything.
Brodie’s eyes clouded, taking on a deeper hue and pinning her with distrust. After a swig of ale, he pounded the cup on the table, causing her to flinch. He pushed back. The wooden chair creaked and let off a jarring screech. He rose and walked for the door. “Bolt the door and dinnae leave the room.”
She stood up. “Where are ye going?”
“I’m going to write to yer uncle. ’Tis safer if ye stay here.” He didn’t turn to face her, but his voice no longer held the anger it had moments earlier.
“Ye dinnae mean to leave me alone in here?”
“I willnae be far.”
They were in a village she’d never seen, and she had no coin and no way to get home. Would he come back for her this time? Och, she hated to be alone, even if that currently meant spending the time in a room with Brodie Cameron.
He pulled open the door, walked through, and shut it without saying another word.
Skye paced the open space between two beds in opposite corners of the room. Trying to keep panic at bay, she shuffled toward the window and the dying light of the day. She glanced out just in time to see Brodie strolling across the street and several doors down to a large building with a sign that read, The Gray Goose.
A tavern. That scoundrel. He was going out drinking while she sat like an obedient child waiting for him to return. How could she trust a man who would so easily mislead her?
Raw anger stung her cheeks and ate at her. He left her so that he could have a drink. Och, she would have let him drink in the room, or he could have taken her with him. Sinking onto the bed, she rolled the options around. She couldn’t flee, because she had no way to get back to Stirling. But, she could go to the innkeeper and insist he send for her uncle and let him know she was here against her will.
Or better—it was time to confront the arse.
Straightening her shoulders, she rose and marched toward the door. She was going to let Brodie Cameron know exactly what she had gone through when he had been off in the pubs while her father died.
She was down the stairs, across the street, and at the door of the Gray Goose before she could question what she was doing.
When the door swung open, she froze. Holding on to the frame to steady herself, she watched as Brodie, arm around a lovely lass with hair so light brown it appeared gold, leaned in as if he were telling her secrets and inviting her back to their room. He hadn’t come down to get a drink, he’d come to find a wench with more curves than she had to whet his appetite.
The bonny lass caught
her eye, and as her full lips moved, Brodie turned to see her in the door. A flash of anger sparked in his gaze, but then was gone, and he turned back to the woman at the table and offered her a grin.
Skye turned, bumping into a man whose arms circled her waist and pulled her to him. His rat-like gaze looked hungry. “Come on now, lass. I’ll take care of ye.”
Luckily, she was able to back away and pull free from the hands that felt like greedy talons grasping for a meal. If she had coin, she would go somewhere else, but she had nothing save the clothes she wore, so she ran back for the inn, stumbling up the stairs, then finally slamming the door and bolting it behind her.
…
Why hadn’t she listened and stayed in the room? Aye, she was headstrong, but he’d warned her of the danger she was in. Brodie cursed, knowing he couldn’t go after her and chance jeopardizing his mission or compromising his identity.
With feigned drunkenness, he called over to one of the serving lads and dropped a coin in his palm, “Follow my wife back to the inn and make sure she’s bolted the door. She cannae abide my interest in other women.” The lad snorted in commiseration. His fingers curling around the payment, the boy hurried out of the tavern, returning quickly with a short nod.
Assured Skye was again safe, Brodie let out a breath and returned his attention to Isobel. The spy hadn’t moved, her back to the wall at a table that afforded her a view of the whole room. Motioning to a young lass, he held his hand up to indicate he’d like another ale.
A man approached the table, eyeing Isobel as if he were looking for a little bed sport. Before the lout said a word, she pulled a dirk from the depths of her skirts and slammed it on the table between them, not letting her hand move from the hilt or her steely stare leave the unwanted guest. Silence filled the room and the man gulped, backing away, nearly running over Brodie in his haste to escape. The man had good cause to be scared of her—Isobel wouldn’t hesitate to kill.
It was one of the things that worried him about her—she was drawing too much attention to herself and would be outed if she kept it up. Meeting her here had probably been a mistake, putting them both at risk. He’d have to talk to Alex Gordon about finding a way to get her to abandon whatever asinine quest had brought her to this point in the Royalist Resistance.
Scooting his seat closer to hers and leaving his exposed back to the room, he leaned the chair onto its hind legs and cheered loud enough for the whole place to hear, “Showed him, ye did, lass.” Then he let out a raucous laugh that was harder to produce than usual, his lungs still tight over both what Skye had seen and his new concern for Isobel.
The barmaid hurried to his side with a new cup. Trailing her hand across his arm, she purred, “Just yell out for me if ye need anything.” He’d given her enough coin for three ales earlier, but he didn’t think money was what the lass wanted as she winked at him.
Turning his attention back to the table in front of him, he picked up the cup and pretended to drink. “The meeting is set for June in Edinburgh.”
“Will Argyll be there?” Isobel eased, pulling the dirk back. It disappeared beneath the table.
“My guess is yes, but I amnae certain yet. I do ken ’tis a trap for the Royalist lairds, though. I just havenae figured out who is behind the plot.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“What’s Ross up to?”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “I’ve told ye I dinnae keep track of him. Unlike ye, he really does appear to be useless.”
“I need to ken what he’s been doing.”
Shrugging off his concern, Isobel asked, “Who is the wench? She’s no’ yer wife.”
Looking down into his cup, he hid his lips as he murmured, “Dinnae worry with her. Do ye have any news?”
“Aye. Something’s upset Argyll. He sent riders out all over the Highlands this morning.” She hid her mouth behind her hand as she spoke.
“Why?”
“I tracked down one of them. The man said he was after some lass. The earl wanted her bad enough to offer a hefty reward for her capture and a smaller one for proof of her death.”
If Earl of Argyll wanted this woman dead or alive, she would be better off dead. “Hell. What did the woman do?”
“No one kens, and the man I stopped needed persuading”—exposing her hand, she flashed her dirk then returned it to her lap—“to tell me who she was. Argyll doesnae want what happens to her associated with his name.”
“Who is she? Mayhap she kens something that will help us. Does Alex ken where to find her?” This time he took a sip of the ale to wash down the worry and anticipation. Maybe this was their chance to stop the Covenanters.
“The MacDonald of Skye’s niece. She’s named after the island, which confused me at first, but it makes sense now.” Isobel let out a little laugh like she was amused, but it barely registered with Brodie as every part of him froze and time ceased to move.
The fingers around his cup went numb.
Nae. She couldn’t be talking about his Skye. What would Argyll want with her? Had her uncle gone back on some deal he’d made with the Covenanter leader?
“Do ye ken her?” Isobel asked.
Forget the serving lad’s assurance. He had to get back to the room to know Skye was still there and to keep her safe.
“Have Alex meet me. The Healthy Hen. In five days.” He was calculating how long it would take him to get back to Kentillie and then to enlist Lachlan in hiding Skye and protecting her from whatever was going on. Pushing back from the table, he knocked his chair to the floor.
“Why? ’Tis much sooner than yer usual meeting.”
“Because the lass who followed me in here tonight was Skye MacDonald.”
He was stumbling toward the door when he heard Isobel’s reply, “Oh, damn!”
Och, the woman had to be more discreet, and she needed to get out of this business before Argyll found her.
The shroud of night outside wrapped around him, and he was reminded how early the darkness crept in on a Highland winter night. It had been a warmer day, almost pleasant, but now a bone deep chill indicated another shift in the weather.
After using his key to peek into the room, assuring himself Skye was there, he strode back down to the innkeeper’s study, where he spent the next hour, his eye on the stairs, composing two letters to the MacDonald—one as Brodie, to let him know she was safe in his care, then another in different handwriting as the Raven to pass on the information that Argyll was after his niece.
Pulling the seal from the hidden pocket in his plaid, he used the red wax on the desk to close the letter and stamp it with the signature R of the Raven. Then, he took the one from his sporran with the letters BC on top of the Cameron badge and stamped the other with a brownish wax he had found.
Afterward, he tracked down the post-boy from the town, who had been approved for contact by the Royalist Resistance, and deposited the envelope from the Raven into his care. He held on to the other one to send from an alternate location.
Back in the night air, the wind slapped him with a frenzied fury. A storm he couldn’t stop brewed and bubbled.
The first priority was getting Skye to a safe location and then discover what she had to do with Argyll and the Covenanters.
…
They rode most of the next day in silence, the ground still wet from last night’s fast moving storm and the lingering mist in the air. Skye had said little to him when he’d returned from his meeting with Isobel, and was evasive and still angry with him, but that was all right because he was still trying to decide how to broach the subject of Argyll and her uncle. All the while, he attempted to puzzle out why Ross would have gone after Skye even before Argyll had sent out the orders that put her life in jeopardy.
What if Ross had been Argyll’s first attempt to get at Skye and had failed? The earl may have sent out others. Yet, Brodie was finding it hard to believe the MacLean man would work for the Covenanter leader.
The sun was low in the sky
, and he decided it was past time to stop for a meal, but he’d been so anxious to put distance between them and the threat of exposure, that he’d not stopped to consider Skye’s needs.
Ross was probably ahead of them, traveling straight toward Cameron lands, or on his way back to MacLean lands. Since they’d taken the detour east, his old friend had most likely continued on what should have been their course, and probably had no clue as to where they were.
The barren, open field they came upon seemed an adequate spot to stop. If they sat in the back corner, he would have a good view of the road without travelers being able to see them. After guiding the horse to the area he had in mind, he dismounted then helped Skye down. She didn’t balk and turn away, only appeared resigned to spending the time with him.
Laying an extra plaid down on the soft clumps of wet, brown grass, he eyed the path they just came from, as Skye sat and unpacked the basket the innkeeper’s wife had filled this morning.
“Good, ’tis fresh,” she said. “I was worried after what they’d served this morning.”
He sat next to her, so close they almost touched. She bristled, and he thought he saw her fingers tremble, but he turned so as to not call attention to her uneasiness—and because he wanted to pretend her mistrust didn’t exist.
“I have to keep my eyes out for Ross and Neil.” He pointed to the road, not letting on there could be even more dangerous men out there somewhere hunting her. She nodded.
“Like ye did last night with yer arm wrapped around some lass in a tavern.”
Knowing he couldn’t alienate her, because she was the only one who could answer his questions, he divulged part of the truth. “The lass was Ross’s sister. I’d heard she was there, which was why I left ye at the inn and hurried over to catch her before she left. I wanted to learn if she knew why he and Neil attempted to kidnap ye.”
Her pursed lips softened. “Did she ken anything?”
“Nae.”
Looking away, she stared at something then turned back to him, fury blazing in her stare. “How well do ye ken her?”
Highland Redemption (Highland Pride) Page 4