Fallon tossed the blankets aside and sat on the edge of the bed. Pulling her hair to one side, she began to braid it. Glancing through the open door, she noticed a basin of water and a towel lying on the floor. The monks must have left it for them, she assumed. Picking up the basin, she closed the door behind her and began wiping her body down with the cloth. It had been days since she’d had a proper bath, and was looking forward to one upon returning home.
“Braeden, my boy. You eat as hearty as a grown man. Where do you put all that food?” Charles jokingly asked.
“I can always eat. I dinna ever miss a meal. It’s the best part of the day. I mostly like meat and potatoes, but my favorite is when my mum makes her honey rolls. Once, I bet Leoric that I could stuff five of them into my mouth. At the same time. Wanna see?”
“Good morning, Sir De Walt,” Fallon interrupted.
“Good morning, my lady,” Charles replied, standing up and pulling a chair out for her. “Your wee lad is a very precocious, energetic child, isn’t he?”
“That he is. I hope he was no’ bothering ye too much.”
“No, no. He is a delightful young man.”
Fallon rubbed her hand through Braeden’s hair as she passed and sat down.
“I have taken the liberty and asked the cooks to whip you up a good hearty breakfast.”
“I can see that. Thank ye,” Fallon replied, as she looked at the platters on the table full of meats, eggs, pastries and cheeses.
Fallon began filling her plate when Charles stood from his seat.
“Well, if you will excuse me, I will see how my men are doing with the horses to ensure a quick and hasty departure.”
“Will ye no’ be joining us? With all this food, I would hate for any of it to go to waste.”
“I am not a morning eater,” he replied holding his hand to his stomach. “Too much indigestion. But carry on. I will meet you two outside shortly. Take your time. No need to rush.”
“Thank ye,” Fallon said as Charles exited the room.
Turning to Braeden, she asked, “Are ye excited to return home?”
With a mouth full of food, Braeden vigorously nodded his head.
“Me too,” she said somberly as the absence of Rylan weighed heavily on her heart.
Fallon and Braeden quickly finished their meal and met with Charles and his entourage outside the gates of the abbey. Thanking the friar for his hospitality, Fallon and Braeden entered the small wooden carriage to begin their journey home.
Pulling the carriage, the driver had explained, would take longer than had they ridden on horseback, but Charles had insisted that it would be safer and provide both her and Braeden more comfort to ride in the carriage. Without argument, Fallon agreed.
Inside the wooden carriage was a single bench along the back wall and a small solitary window adjacent to the door. Covered with a dark red curtain, the light in the carriage was dim. As the horses began to move, Fallon braced herself as the carriage wobbled down the road, hitting bumps and rocks along the uneven street.
Laying his head on her lap, Braeden quickly feel asleep, too bored to stay awake with nothing to do. As Braeden slept, Fallon peered out the window and watched the landscape fly past; a blur of colors like ripples on the surface of a lake. As they passed fields of spotted trees and bright golden meadows, Fallon realized that the terrain was far different from whence she came.
The mountains. They had not passed any.
Fallon leaned closer to the edge of the bench and brushed the curtain aside. The entire panoramic view was flat. They could not possibly be heading in the right direction. There were no mountains. Not even a slight hill.
“Excuse me,” she called to the rider trotting alongside the carriage. “Are ye sure we are heading in the right direction?”
The rider kept his gaze straight ahead. Fallon’s brows furrowed. She knew he could bloody well hear her so, why didn’t he answer her? Feeling wary, she prompted him one more time.
“I wish to speak to Sir De Walt, if I may.”
Her stomach tensed. He was purposely ignoring her.
“I demand that ye stop this carriage at once.”
With a jolt, the carriage came to an abrupt halt. Braeden slid from the seat, and fell onto the floor.
“What’s happening, Mama?” Braeden asked.
“I dinna know,” she explained.
Fallon grabbed the latch of the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. They were locked inside. Sliding across the bench back to the window, she hollered out, “What is the meaning of this?”
Within a few moments, Charles appeared.
“Why have ye locked us in here? Where are ye taking us? Ye said ye were taking us home.”
“Unfortunately, there has been a change of plans.”
“That is no’ what ye promised. Ye lied to me. Ye told me that ye gave Rylan ye word. Ye said ye were Rylan’s friend.”
“What happened to Rylan was unfortunate. Really, I had no idea that Rylan would have come across your tiny farm and get caught in the middle of this. He was a good friend, but sacrifices have to be made.”
“Then why us? What does any of this have to do with us?”
“Not us, my lady. Him,” he said pointing a finger at Braeden.
“I dinna understand.”
“And of course you wouldn’t. We both know the boy’s lineage. Heir to the great Clan Sutherland. With the proper direction, he will become a great adversary to the English King.”
“Nay! I will no’ allow it.”
“I’m afraid there is little you can do to stop it. Everything is already arranged.”
Fallon placed her hand to her chest as it swelled in pain. Her heart pounded violently, as she fought hard to breathe. Fallon felt as if she was being torn apart piece by piece. She was going to lose her son. Forever. Braeden was not only her legacy, but also her lifeline. To lose him would kill her.
As loud as she could, Fallon cried for help. Hoping, praying that someone, anyone would come along and save them.
After fixing a broken wheel on his cart, Vorwen mounted and carried onward, urging his horse to move forward. His cart, which was laden with hay, had tiny trinkets hidden near the bottom for him to sell in the next town. Business this year had been successful, and his journey to England was about to come to an end.
At the sound of horses traveling near, Vorwen led his horse towards the protection of the trees. He did not need any run-ins with thieves that were more cunning and less forgiving than he was.
Vorwen dismounted and hid behind a large boulder as he got a closer look at the oncoming group of riders. There were eight of them, one of which pulled a small wooden carriage.
As the carriage flew past, he saw the beautiful, yet scared face of the only woman who had ever been kind to him, peering from the window. Fallon.
“Help! Someone help,” he heard her cry.
Fallon was in trouble.
Vorwen knew he was no match for them. He had no weapons, nor would his horse be fast enough to follow them. He was as powerless as a child.
He watched and waited for a moment, keeping an eye on the direction the men were taking her. Satisfied they were heading further east, he kicked his horse with his heel and headed north to find help in the nearest village.
Though he did not know her well, Fallon was a remarkable woman he would never forget. She saw something in him that no one else had seen, not even Vorwen himself. She looked at him as if he was a man, and not just a dwarf. He may not have been a hero, but he was not going to let her down.
Chapter 21
Rylan, Daven, and two of their trusted warriors rode to the front of the monastery. The black iron gates were closed. With mid-day prayer, the courtyard was empty and no one was there to allow them entrance. Having only been to Avery Hall once, Rylan was not acquainted with the abbey’s friar or their rules and customs. As he was not a church-going man himself, he was not entirely sure if he could just enter the grounds without proper invitat
ion, but Rylan was not going to wait for permission to walk on the sacred or hallowed ground.
Removing his sword, Rylan climbed over the gate and jumped down. With long, brisk strides, he hurried to the chapel and stepped inside. Giving the customary sign of the cross, he made his way down a narrow hall to the friar’s quarters.
Rylan found the chapel’s friar in an ill-lit room, sitting behind an L-shaped wooden desk. Wax from the tapers dripped down the candelabra and pooled on the tabletop. The friar held a book in his hands, his attention drawn to its words, for he had not noticed that Rylan had stepped into the room.
“Father,” Rylan greeted.
“If ye wish to give a confession, ye will have to come back later.”
“I am no’ here to confess. I am searching for a young woman and her child. I was told they traveled here.”
The friar set his book down on the table, marking his page with a red piece of ribbon, and lifted his head to look up at Rylan.
“Ye are referring to Lady Fallon and the wee Braeden. I am afraid ye are too late, ye have just missed them. They have been escorted home.”
“Home? By whom?” Rylan asked.
“Sir Charles De Walt. The Duke of Annandale.”
“He was still here?”
“Aye. He had sworn an oath to watch o’er the lad until he was reunited wit’ his mother.”
Rylan felt a sense of comfort knowing that Braeden and Fallon were safe under the protection of the Duke. With them in good hands, Rylan would be free of his obligation and could now return home. In his mind, it was easy for Rylan to say goodbye, but in his heart, he felt a strange, hollow void.
“Thank ye, Father,” Rylan said as he excused himself from the chamber.
“Well, where is she? The lass we have risked our life for twice now. Dinna tell me that we spent a good part of the day riding here fer nothing,” Daven questioned.
“She is gone. They returned home this morning. Let’s go home,” Rylan proposed.
As Rylan was just about to mount his horse, a thundering sound came barreling down the road toward the monastery.
Instinctively, Rylan’s hand flew to his weapon, but did not draw it from its sheath when he saw only a lone rider traveled towards them. The rider’s cart jostled from side to side, hitting dips in the road and bouncing back and forth, leaving a trail of hay in its path.
“You must help me. Please. My friend is in trouble. A woman,” the small man exclaimed.
Rylan looked over the side of the cart and gazed down at the broken bundles of hay. Hidden underneath as plain as day, he noticed the golden jewels scattered about hidden under the lumps of hay.
“The mon is a thief,” Daven stated as he picked up a gold chain from off the cart. “He cannae be trusted. He’s probably trying to lure us out into the woods. There are is probably a horde of ‘em waiting to pilfer our goods.”
“No, please you have it all wrong. I am a thief, I will not deny that, but I am not lying about needing your help. I believe a dear friend of mine has been taken. I heard her calling for help.”
“We are no’ interested in rescuing damsels in distress today. Move on and go find yerself another hero,” Daven replied.
“Please, I implore you to see reason. She is a good and honest woman. If you will not help me, I will find someone else who will,” the dwarf muttered as he began turning his horse around.
“How do we know we can trust ye?” Rylan asked.
“You can’t, so you will either have to trust me or let me find someone else who will. She could be in grave danger and the longer they have her, the harder it will be to get her back,” the dwarf explained.
Looking to Daven, Rylan lowered his eyes. Daven knew all too well the oath they had sworn to. This may not be a mission from the crown, but never the less, they were protectors.
“We will help ye,” Rylan said. “Now, what did ye say yer friend’s name was?”
“Fallon. Lady Fallon Montgomery. A group of men took her. She was calling for help.”
At the mere mention of her name, a whirlwind of anxiety and worry stormed through him.
“And ye are sure it was her?” Rylan asked.
“Yes. One could not forget a face so beautiful.”
“Tell me everything,” Rylan demanded.
Vorwen explained everything as Rylan and his men followed him in the direction he had seen the wooden carriage traveling. Heading east, the group of them rode hard. With only a few hours’ distance between them, it did not take long for Rylan and his men to track them down.
The carriage was parked near a large tree. The tree trunk blocked its door so no one could enter or escape. Of the eight men Vorwen had seen, five of them sat around a fire roasting rabbits while the others were nowhere in sight. In the middle of the group of men, enjoying their fare sat Charles De Walt. A man he trusted; a man who knew his secrets and had betrayed him. How had Rylan been so blind? Had Charles ever been loyal?
Rylan and his men circled around the camp. There was no time to strategize a plan. It was all or nothing. Raising his fist high into the air, he led the ambush forward. Metal to metal, swords clashed. Rylan heard a woman’s scream over the sound of the fray.
Facing the carriage, Rylan saw one of Charles’s men moving the horse forward, pulling the carriage away from the tree and struggling to get inside. He meant to stop him, when Charles made a run for it and took off in a sprint to the woods. For a moment, Rylan hesitated. He did not want Charles to get away, but then again he needed to save Fallon. Glancing back towards Charles, he watched for a mere second until Charles vanished into the woods then Rylan ran to rescue Fallon from the carriage.
Raising his sword high, he sliced the blade through the air, severing the coachman’s arm with a clean swipe before he was able to wiggle the door free. As the severed limb fell to the ground, Rylan plunged his blade into the Englishman’s chest.
The carriage stopped moving when the driver fell from the mortal blow to his chest. When Rylan swung the door open, Fallon jumped into his arms, nearly knocking him over. She clung to him with a white-knuckled grip.
Her emotions began to descend like the sun until every part of her felt numb.
“Mother of God, yer alive!” she said as tears fell freely from her eyes.
Braeden ran out of the carriage, throwing his arms around Rylan’s waist and clinging like a thistle to a wool stocking. Rylan lightly patted Braeden on the head, but kept his arm wrapped around Fallon.
Seeing Fallon was like watching the sunrise for the first time; pure, unexplainable beauty.
“W…we th…thought ye were dead!” Braeden choked out as he sobbed against Rylan’s shirt.
“I almost was,” he replied gazing down at Braeden.
“Charles! He got away!” Fallon warned him.
“Tis no bother. Charles will no’ get far, nor is he a mon who likes to hide. We will find him and deal wit’ him soon enough. Are ye well? He dinna hurt ye, did he?”
“Nay. Braeden and I are both fine.”
“I am sorry Fallon. Had I known…”
“Ye couldnae have known. Charles deceived ye. He deceived us both. But ye are here now, that’s all that matters.”
“I promise I will no’ let anything happen to ye or Braeden, ever.”
Rylan could have sworn her green eyes turned a lighter shade of blue. Fallon drew in a breath, and lifted her hand, placing it upon his cheek. Her hand felt cold to the touch. Placing his hand over hers, he grabbed her waist with the other until her body molded against his. Without hesitation, he brought his lips to hers.
The feel of her body melting against his made his nerves quake with the want of her. Grasping the fabric at the back of her dress, he deepened the kiss. He had never needed anyone before, but he needed her like air.
Sounds of men coming toward them caused Fallon to break their kiss. Rylan instinctively drew her to his side. Fallon stiffened as the men approached.
“Dinna worry, lass. Tis only my
men,” he assured her.
“They all be dead,” one of them said. “All of ‘em but that conniving coward Charles De Walt.”
“Aye. We will deal wit’ him later. In the meantime, we will head back to Saughtree, and meet up wit’ the rest of our men.”
Rylan felt Fallon’s shoulders drop and her body lean against his as if she could hardly stand. Looking down at her, he noticed the color had drained from her face as if she had seen a spirit rise from the grave. Her bottom lip trembled. Rylan glanced back to his men and saw a similar stricken look upon Daven’s face as his gaze fixed on Fallon. Rylan looked between the two as tension began to fill the space between them.
“Daven! Yer alive?” she whispered breathlessly.
Leaving Rylan’s side, she ran toward him. A flood of memories and emotions threatened to drown her senses as a thousand questions rushed to the forefront of her mind. After all this time, where had he been, and why had he not come for her?
For years, she had thought of this very moment, but her thoughts and feelings of their reunion were not as pleasing as she had imagined it would be. She had not swooned at his feet or jumped into his loving arms. She did not feel joy at all. She was angry.
With a loud crack, Fallon smacked him across the face before breaking into tears. Everyone around them looked at them in shock and utter confusion at her unprovoked action.
“I thought ye were dead!” she cried out. “I thought I’d never see ye again.”
“I am sorry, lass.”
“When? When did ye come to look fer me? I waited. I waited for o’er a year.”
“About a year and a half after I left. We traveled across France and the Orient before returning to Scotland. I came back fer ye, but I was told that ye were already gone. Where did ye go?”
“Once I believed ye were no’ coming back, I went south and found refuge in a small village near Dumfries. I have a small farmhouse there. Tis just me, and my son Braeden,” she replied.
“Yer son?” Daven replied. His eyes widened, and face drained of color. “Is…is he mine?”
Heart of the Highlands: The Wolf (Protectors of the Crown Book 2) Page 14