Kilts and Daggers

by Victoria Roberts

  “Our tracker has sent word that the spy travels with four men.” To Fagan’s surprise, the man spoke without hesitation or questioning the authority of the new captain. He supposed these men thought coin was coin. It didn’t matter who was in charge as long as they were paid.

  “Aye.” The fiery dragon looked down at Fagan and his eyes darkened. “Lucky for ye that I donna have time for ye right now, but I shall take great pleasure in killing ye both, slowly, for the death of our captain.” He gave his men a gesture of dismissal, and the same two guards escorted Fagan back to Grace.

  They opened the door and shoved him inside. When he fell to the ground, Grace flew to his side. The door closed, and once again they were embraced by darkness.

  “Fagan, are you all right?” She gulped hard and smoothed back his hair with a trembling hand. He realized his face was wet from tears that were not his own.

  “Lass, ye’re leaking on me.”

  Sobs shook her, and she spoke in a weak whisper. “Please forgive me. Dear God. That look on your face will be lodged in my memory for all eternity. Oh God. Please be all right. Please tell me you’re all right. Are you all right?”

  “Am I all right? Ye. Stabbed. Me. Did I nae tell ye to stay back? Thank God I was granted a boon and your aim isnae as good as your sister’s. Ye could’ve hit me in the heart or something far worse.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry. You’re a handsome man and I’d like to keep you that way.”

  “I wasnae speaking of my face, lass. I was talking about the part of me that makes me a man.”

  There was heavy silence.

  “I know ye’re distraught, but ye need to calm yourself. What’s done is done. Now I need to take care of this wound before it festers. Can ye help me sit up?” he asked through gritted teeth. When Grace placed her hands underneath his shoulders and lifted, he cried out. “Gabh air do shocair.” Take it easy.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “Nay, I’m fine. Do ye have anything in here that I can use to bind my leg?”

  “Only the blankets in the corner, and I wouldn’t give one of those rags to Angus. You can use a piece of my shift.” After a moment, she grunted. “I can’t tear it, and I can’t see a darned thing. Oh, Fagan. I was wrong. We shouldn’t have tried to escape. I’ve only made matters worse. You’re injured, and now Ravenna and Uncle Walter are in danger because of me.”

  “Bring your skirts closer and lift them so I only tear the shift. I could make a binding even in the dark. I’ve certainly made enough of them during my lifetime. And I donna want to hear ye talk that way. The Grace I know would ne’er give up. She’s the most stubborn wench I’ve ever known.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “When the men took me away, one of the guards said the spy was traveling with four men.” He moaned when he tied off the binding. “I think ’tis Lord Mildmay because Ruairi wouldnae allow Ravenna to come, especially only accompanied by four men. Your uncle has been working for the king for years. I’m certain he’s been placed in more dire situations than this. He’ll know what to do, and I’m sure he has prepared his men. I have nay doubt he knows that these men arenae to be trusted. He’ll be ready.”

  Fagan lowered his painful leg to the floor, trying to find a more comfortable position. “What am I going to do with ye, Grace? First, ye blacken my eye, and then ye slice me in the thigh.” He chuckled. “I bet ye ne’er knew I was a poet, did ye?”

  When he felt her hand pat him, he chuckled. “Ye cannae get enough of me, can ye?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Och, lass. That isnae my thigh.”

  * * *

  Grace pulled back her hand as if she’d touched a flame. She was never so thankful for the darkness that hid the blush she knew crossed her face.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I was only showing you sympathy and missed your leg.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe I stabbed you. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “How angry do ye think Ruairi and Ravenna will be when they find out ye’ve agreed to wed me?”

  “I know you’re only trying to distract me.”

  “Then answer the question.”

  “Ravenna loves Ruairi. I don’t think she’ll have a problem with the fact that you’re a Scot, but she may have a difficult time understanding why we no longer want to kill each other. All my sister and Ruairi ever saw was us quarreling, and I never told Ravenna about the times when you kissed me. I think this will come as quite the shock.”

  “Ye mean when ye kissed me.”

  She swatted him in the arm. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Distracting me.”

  “I’d do anything for ye, Grace. And what will ye say to Casterbrook?”

  “That is a conversation I’m not looking forward to having. The banns haven’t been posted yet, but I did talk to Ravenna before I left about Daniel. She knew I was confused and said she’d support whatever I decided. I was foolish enough to think that Daniel and I could grow to love each other. I hope you understand that I wanted to marry into the aristocracy because that’s what my father desired for his girls, but now I realize he only wanted us to be happy. At least I hope that’s true.”

  “A father would do anything for his children. Even though I ne’er knew your sire, he sounded like a great man. He would’ve wanted the best for ye and your sisters, but I’m certain he wouldnae deny any of ye love.”

  She leaned against his arm. “Then I’m in luck because I have the best of both worlds. Although you’re being an arse for not telling me how you feel, you challenge me to be a better person. I want to be a better person when I’m with you. You and I are like kindred spirits.”

  “Och, lass. I knew that when ye first arrived at the gates.”

  “Fagan…”

  The light was coming closer and the door swung open. Two guards entered and torchlight illuminated the room. She gazed down at Fagan and felt like she was punched in the gut. Blood had soaked clean through the makeshift bandage and he was covered in muck. He looked much worse than she had imagined.

  “Ye’re coming with us.” One of the guards stepped forward and pulled Grace to her feet.

  She shook off his arm. “Get your hands off me. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Leave her the hell alone,” said Fagan. He tried to stand, but the guard kicked him hard on his wound and brought him to the ground. Fagan held his leg and briefly closed his eyes.

  “The damn spy sent a messenger to see if ye are hale. He will nae meet with the captain until ’tis confirmed that ye are.”

  “Fagan…”

  “Ye donna have a choice, lass. I beg ye to remember what I told ye.”

  Grace was escorted out onto the cliffs and up the path. She prayed Ruairi and his men would arrive in time. At least she had confirmation the spy was Uncle Walter. Perhaps she’d have time to warn him about what these men intended to do. But Fagan’s words haunted her. He didn’t need to remind her that once she was no longer useful to the mercenaries, they would kill her.

  Nineteen

  Grace stood in an open field flanked by mercenaries. She hadn’t uttered a single word since the guards escorted her from the cave. Not only was she concerned for Uncle Walter, but Fagan did not look well. He needed a healer to properly see to the wound that she had inflicted.

  The men were at the ready, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. To make matters worse, a light rain obscured her view of the forest. She wasn’t sure where the rest of the men were lurking and lying in wait, which meant neither did Uncle Walter. She glanced around the tree line praying for some type of rescue from her brother-in-law and his men. Nothing stirred, at least not anything she could see, and that frightened her even more.

  “We know ye’re there!” yelled the captain. “Come out. Ye can see the wench still
breathes. We have fulfilled our end of the bargain.”

  Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and five men emerged from the forest several hundred yards away. One man wore a dark-colored cloak and walked ahead of the others. Although she couldn’t see his face, he was the same size and shape as Uncle Walter. The men approached, and their hands mirrored those of the mercenaries with fingers strategically placed around the hilts of their swords. She had to warn her uncle before it was too late.

  “Don’t come any closer! They’re going to kill you!”

  One of the guards whipped his head around, and his eyes darkened. “Shut your mouth, wench!” He imposed an iron grip on her arm, and she cried out in pain.

  Two of Uncle Walter’s men now flanked him, and the two others stayed back. They stopped when they reached the mercenary captain. Her uncle’s men gazed around warily as Uncle Walter stood as still as stone. A few moments passed, and then he lifted his arms and removed the hood of his cloak.

  Grace gasped.

  “Release my betrothed at once.”

  “Daniel?”

  “Are you all right, my dear? Worry no longer because I am here to take you home.”

  “She’s nae going anywhere until ye hand over the evidence against the Earl of Orkney—which ye have.”

  Daniel lifted his head haughtily and puffed out his chest. “You see, my good man…that may be a problem because the earl’s son, Robert Stewart, was already taken to Edinburgh where he will stand trial for his insolence.”

  The captain’s face clouded with uneasiness.

  “Oh, my apologies, you didn’t know. Stewart was not the wisest of men. You see…while his father was already imprisoned for disobeying the king’s commands, Stewart also had an accomplice, Patrick Halcro, who talked. And he talked a lot.”

  The captain shifted his weight. “What the hell are ye rambling on about?” He turned to his men. “Me thinks this whelp likes to talk a lot.” When his men laughed in response, Daniel’s eyes narrowed.

  “If you had any hope of seeing the earl released from prison, it’s too late, my friend. I’m afraid his fate is sealed. You see…Patrick Halcro insisted that he acted on the earl’s behalf, even though the earl was in prison. The servant girl, Margaret Buchanan, whom one of you killed, read instructions for Halcro written in the earl’s own hand. In turn, Halcro gave the letter to Stewart who read it and then tore it into pieces ‘for the better,’ he told Mistress Buchanan. And why, you ask? So that the letter could do no harm in the future, and because the Earl of Orkney did not want to lose his head for it, she was told. And before she was killed, she told me the contents of the letter.”

  The rain hardened, and Daniel smoothed back his hair. “I’ve already given this information to the king’s advisors, and now I’m here with you speaking with the authority of the king. The Crown is perfectly aware the Earl of Orkney hired you, but the poor earl didn’t expect Mistress Buchanan to talk with me before you killed her. And now I’m afraid you won’t be getting paid for your efforts because you’re a little too late to bargain anything. So let me tell you how this is going to work. I’ll be leaving here with my betrothed, and you’ll be leaving here without your heads.”

  The captain smirked. “If ye havenae noticed, your king’s laws arenae observed in the Highlands. And I would have to say that our numbers are far greater than yours, ye English prick. If anyone is going to lose their bonny head, ’tis going to be ye and this English wench ye came to rescue.”

  Daniel sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that, but I was hoping you wouldn’t be difficult. Perhaps there is still time to change your mind.” Daniel raised a fist into the air as armed men on horseback rode out of the forest from all directions. Immediately, Grace recognized the royal badge of the Tudor rose divided by the Scottish thistle, topped by the royal crown. It had been a long time since she’d seen her countrymen, and she’d never been so relieved in her life.

  She and Fagan were about to be saved by Daniel and the king’s men.

  * * *

  Fagan lost track of how many times he’d cursed Grace. Now that he was injured, by her hand no less, there was little he could do to aid their escape. He prayed Mildmay had thought long and hard before he summoned the mercenaries to bring Grace to him.

  His leg was getting worse, and God how he wished he had a healthy dram of whisky to ease the pain right now. But the constant throbbing in his thigh wouldn’t be close to the agony he’d feel in his heart if something happened to the lass. He was supposed to protect her, but all he’d done thus far was deliver her into the arms of the mercenaries—twice.

  He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. It would be so easy to just let go and give in to the blackness. But he had every reason to live. His eyelids flew open when the sound of clamoring men echoed through the cave. He held his breath. He didn’t think he imagined the noise, but the guards shouldn’t be back so soon.

  In the distance, metal struck metal, and he realized the men were only having a wee bit of swordplay. He supposed they needed something to pass the time and was thankful they weren’t torturing him to satisfy their restlessness.

  Fagan shook his head to clear the fog because he swore he’d just heard a scratch at the door. He hesitated another moment to decide whether or not to investigate the noise. When there was another odd sound coming from outside the door, he grudgingly pulled himself to his feet.

  Pain shot through his leg, and his breath hitched in his lungs. He willed himself to remain conscious. With his hand, he placed pressure on his wound as he took a small single step. “One dram: nae the better or the worse from it.” He inched forward. “Two drams: the better and nae the worse from it.” About two more steps and he’d be at the door. He continued to speak through the agony and caught himself before he crumpled to the ground. “Three drams: the worse and nae the better from it. I. Need. A. Damn. Drink.”

  He reached for the door and leaned his head against the bars. The boisterous guards were still practicing their swordplay in the distance, but he heard a faint whine coming from outside the door.

  “Is someone there?” Not that he expected anyone to answer. He paused another moment, and heard another scraping noise. “Who’s there? Can ye help me?” This time he heard another whimper—the kind an animal would make.

  Something thumped up against the door, and Fagan took a chance by reaching his hand through the bars. He was greeted by a large mass of fur and another whine. “Angus?” A tongue licked him on the hand. “Och, Angus. ‘Se balach math a th’annad. An cuidich thu mi?” You’re a good boy. Will you help me?

  Torchlight was coming closer and reflecting off the cavern walls.

  “Fagan!”

  “In here! Please, greas ort!” Hurry up!

  Ruairi gazed through the bars, and Fagan had never felt so relieved in his life. When the door swung open, his leg gave out beneath him and his friend caught him. Ruairi draped Fagan’s arm over his shoulders and grabbed him around the waist, supporting him. As Ruairi pulled him from his prison, Fagan realized he would’ve laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire because he was the one who’d always saved Ruairi’s arse. They moved through the corridor of the cave as fast as Fagan’s legs could carry him.

  “Mòran taing.” Many thanks.

  “How badly are ye injured?”

  “’Tis naught. Where’s Grace? Did ye make it in time to help Mildmay?”

  “Mildmay? What are ye talking about, and where is Grace?”

  Fagan stopped. “Ye didnae see her?”

  “Nay. Calum told us what happened to ye, and thank God I was able to track ye here from the signs ye left us. The guards are dead.”

  “Nae all of them. These bastards wanted Grace because Mildmay holds evidence against the Earl of Orkney. They threatened to kill her unless Mildmay came here and didnae deliver the evidence to
Edinburgh to the king. The men took Grace to meet her uncle.”

  “Are ye able to ride?” As if Ruairi read Fagan’s mind, he pulled out a flask and handed it to him.

  “Aye.”

  * * *

  The captain bristled. “Ye think that ye and the king’s men will make us cower at the feet of the English?” He turned to his men. “Kill them all.”

  Daniel and his men unsheathed their weapons as the captain and his men did the same. Grace fled and didn’t stop until she reached the tree line. The men didn’t pay her any heed because they were more interested in killing each other. Even though the English had far more men than the Scottish mercenaries, all her nervousness slipped back to grip her. She wanted this to be over. She wanted Fagan to be well again. And she never wanted to hear about or see another bloody spy. How could she have been so foolish in thinking this was the life she wanted to lead?

  She. Was. An. Idiot.

  Swords were drawn. Blood was spilled. The men on horseback cut down the Scots on foot in less than a minute’s time. A man was beheaded, another stabbed through the chest, and a few men were even impaled in the eye. Taunts were thrown like stones, and men screamed battle cries, each attacking their enemy with forceful blows.

  Grace flattened her hands over her ears to silence the cries. There was chaos all around her, as if hell was set free on earth. She knew the mercenaries deserved their fate but was surprised by the brutality of her countrymen. She closed her eyes. Even though the battle was over before it had barely begun, it felt eternal. Hands gripped her, lowering her arms, and Daniel gave her a warm smile.

  “Are you all right, my dear?”

  Grace swatted at him. “How could you not tell me you were a spy for His Majesty?”

  “You didn’t need to know, but you are safe now and that’s all that matters.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to see my men bring these mercenaries to their knees, but that’s what happens when anyone tries to cross His Majesty—or Lord Casterbrook, for that matter. Come, dearest, let me take you home to England where you belong.”