The horse slowed, then stopped when a man came abreast of her.
It was the lad from the festival. She didn’t speak, just pulled Steenie closer to her.
“Greetings to you,” he said as his gaze scanned the area, probably searching for Greer.
She nodded, afraid to speak for fear of what she would say.
Take me away.
“My name is Braden Grant. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Hell, but the man was gorgeous. Even in the moonlight she detected a chiseled jaw covered with a bit of stubble and soulful eyes that called to her. There was something about his countenance, his demeanor, that was different. He had the air of a powerful man, but not threatening or nasty like the Lamonts.
Take me away. Please.
Instead of speaking her thoughts, she said, “What do you want?”
He cleared his throat and swallowed before he spoke. “I wished to make sure you were hale. I know he hit you. The bastard shouldn’t hit someone smaller than him.” The fury in his gaze caught her. He was a man of honor, he had to be. Even though she saw anger in his gaze, she knew he would never hurt her.
Steenie’s head popped up from inside her arm. “Papa hits me, too. Why? I tried my best.”
To her surprise, the fury in his gaze increased for a few seconds before it disappeared. “How old are you, lad?”
“I’m five winters.”
Braden’s gaze moved to the lad before landing back on hers. “He’s your son?”
She nodded, surprised to see what she thought was disappointment in his expression.
“If you ever need assistance, I’d be glad to help. I’m from Clan Grant, north of here.”
A thought crossed her mind unlike any she’d ever had before. Why didn’t she go with him? Beg him to take her to some clan where she and Steenie could live? She could work as a kitchen maid, a house maid, anything to get her away from Greer Lamont. Her head drifted toward the direction that Greer had gone. If it hadn’t been for the punishment she suffered the last time she tried to get away, and Greer’s evil threats…
But her savior could be standing right in front of her. He could protect her from Greer.
The bastart suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “Cairstine, get your arse home. Did you forget my promise?”
Without another thought, she mumbled a brief, “Thank you for your offer, my lord, but we must go.”
She’d never, ever forget Greer’s promise to her. The very thought of it often gave her nightmares. Flicking the reins of her horse, she closed the gap between herself and Greer, not daring to glance over her shoulder until Greer had turned around. But by then, the Grant warrior had already left.
Why hadn’t he stolen her away? Done the same that Greer had done to her? Kidnapped her. Used her. Controlled everything she did. She knew the answer without a doubt.
Braden Grant was an honorable man. But he’d followed her. Why? Just to see if she were hale? She forced the man from her thoughts, back to the circumstances of her true life. He was gone, and her life would never change until someone killed Greer Lamont.
Perhaps it would be her.
When they made it back home, she steered the horse to the stables and Corc, the stable master, came over to help them down. Greer was already long gone.
“Lad, you look as though you’ve been crying again,” Corc said.
How Cairstine adored the good-hearted man, who’d served her family for many years. He was the only one left from her clan who still worked with the Lamonts. They’d needed a stable master to manage their horses and coerced him into staying by threatening Cairstine’s life. If he ever went away from the Lamonts, they’d simply kill her. Corc had agreed, to her relief. Unsurprisingly, he was also the only male who acted as a good role model for her son, something Steenie desperately needed.
“Aye, Corc. Papa thrashed me again for getting lost.” He allowed Corc to lift him off the mount, then he tread gingerly around the grass to see how much pain he was in. Cairstine had seen him do the same many times.
She could swear there was a misting in Corc’s eyes as he shook his head. “Foolish lad.” Corc’s hair had turned gray soon after the Lamonts took over. He had a crooked smile and an easy laugh that touched her heart.
Steenie stopped in front of him and stared up. “I’m not foolish, Corc. I was trying to kill a rabbit for Papa. When I got lost, I could not find anyone.” His hands rubbed his bottom.
Corc leaned over to whisper in Cairstine’s ear. “I meant to say your husband was foolish, not your son.”
She leaned back to whisper her response. “You know full well he’s not my husband, Corc. Never said the word ‘aye.’”
His pained look told her he didn’t like Greer any more than she did. But he also cared to protect her reputation. He merely patted her shoulder as he leaned down to console her son. “Och, lad. You must be aware of your surroundings at all times in the Highlands. We have great big wolves out there, or do you not believe us? I’ve warned you before.”
“I’m not afraid of a wolf.” He stared at the ground, his self-worth totally crushed by the bastart.
“Mayhap not, but you should be afraid of your da. Have you not learned that yet? I always stayed away from my da’s swinging hand. And when I got older, he started swinging belts and even a paddle.”
Steenie’s eyes widened at the thought of being hit with something stronger. “How big was the paddle?”
Corc held his hands out, greatly exaggerating the size of the paddle. His hands only stopped fanning out when he looked up and saw Cairstine’s look of doubt, her hands on her hips.
Steenie never noticed his mother, instead staring at Corc’s hands. “I don’t want Papa to hit me with a paddle that big.” He dragged his gaze from Corc to his mother. “Does Papa have one that big?”
“I’m not sure, Steenie.” She ruffled his long locks.
“He might,” replied Corc. “So you best be on your good behavior.”
“But men are not supposed to hit someone smaller than they are. That man said so.” He lifted his chin with such determination that Cairstine would have smiled if not for the content of his message.
Corc shifted his gaze to Cairstine and then back to Steenie. “Maybe that’s true. Where did you hear that?”
How she hoped Steenie would never make such a statement to Greer.
“The man wearing a red and green plaid and riding a horse. He told Mama that. I heard him. He said Papa hit Mama.”
“Shush, Steenie,” Cairstine darted next to him to cover his mouth with her hand. “Do not let Papa hear you speak of that man. He’ll not be happy and thrash us both.”
Steenie stared up at her, properly frightened so he nodded, then took off toward the keep, forgetting his pain until his rapid movement reminded him of it. He stopped, only to limp slowly away.
“Sorry, lassie. Just trying to help him. He needs to be afraid of Greer. Who is the man in the red and green plaid? You know whose plaid that is, aye?”
She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “He said he was a Grant. Do you know them?”
Corc quirked his brow. “Know them? Surely you’ve heard of the Grants. They’re the most powerful clan in the Highlands, allies to the other strong clan, the Ramsays. How did you come upon him here? We’re a good half a day from the Grants.”
“Aye, I’ve heard of them, but I don’t think much on it. He was at the Drummond festival. Had a run-in with Greer over meat pies. He followed me to see if I was hale.” Her hand rubbed her cheek again. What did it matter? If someone was to rescue her, it would have happened long ago. It had been six long years. She’d lost all hope.
“Greer hit you and a Grant warrior witnessed it?”
“Aye, but you’re wrong that the man witnessed it. He heard the crack and came to my defense. But I lied and said I slapped a bug away.”
“Greer had his hand on you as a warning. I know his ways.” Corc patted her shoulder. “I don’t like to get your hopes
up, lass, but that could have been the best thing that ever happened to you. I knew the old Grant stable master, Mac. They’re a fine clan, and they do not take kindly to men beating women.”
“I almost wished I’d gone with him on the spot,” she said, brushing the tear away from the corner of her eye. Why hadn’t she? Because the name Grant had meant nothing to her. Now she knew better. Greer kept her isolated from everything.
“Was he alone?”
“Aye. But at Drummond Castle, there were two others with the same plaid who banded around him against Greer.”
“Lassie, I’m going to give you some advice, e’en if you did not ask for it. Do not run from Greer unless you have half of the Grant warriors there to protect you. I heard the threat Greer made against you, and I believe he meant it. Tread carefully. But if you do have the support of Alex Grant calling you ahead with a band of his warriors, promise me you’ll go and never look back.”
“But Steenie…” She swiped at another tear.
“I know, lassie, I know you love him. Take him with you if you have the opportunity. But do not be foolish and risk your lives for freedom. Someday, the Lord will make things right. Believe that your sire is watching over you, too. He’ll find a way, but he won’t do it until he’s sure.”
“I know, Corc. You’re like a sire to me now. If only young Steenie had a da half as much a man as you…” She sighed and followed her son.
Every day she walked into the keep she forced herself to remember the good days. Six years ago, the Lamont brothers had taken the Muirs by surprise in the middle of the night, bringing over a hundred men with them. They’d committed murder over and over again. Since her sire was chieftain of the Muirs, the Lamonts had searched for him first.
She and her brother had come out to the balcony and then run down the stairs, following the villains out of the doors. They’d frozen at the top of the stairs of the keep, incapacitated by the sight before them. The Lamonts had dragged her parents into the middle of the courtyard, then proceeded to kill them both. Greer, the heartless devil, had killed her mother without flinching, and Blair had taken his knife across her sire’s throat. Her brother had gone tearing down the staircase, bellowing, before she could move to stop him. She was just fifteen at the time, and he was two years older. Even if she had tried to hold him back, he would have broken out of her grasp, hellbent on revenge. The second that Greer spotted her poor, beloved brother, filled with rage and anguish, he thrust his sword straight into his belly. Her brother had been unarmed and stood no chance against the fools.
Her brother had died with her parents, along with all the staff except Corc. Everything she’d known had disappeared in a wash of blood.
She’d wished she’d died with them. How things had changed in their absence, and all her joy faded along with them. Steenie was the single spot of brightness in her awful existence. The only comfort she had now was that she was certain her family was in heaven.
Unfortunately, for her own foreseeable future, she would remain in hell.
Chapter Three
Braden and his cousins arrived back on Grant land a fortnight later. They’d met briefly with Will and Maggie, then traveled to Will’s grandfather’s home to work on the cottage they were building as a meeting spot for the Band of Cousins. The three-room house was nearly done when they left. The meeting room would hold a large table for ten, along with a hearth and shelves for cooking. The other two chambers were for sleeping, one for lads and the other for lasses, with several pallets built into the walls.
They’d left behind their Ramsay cousins to build the table and chairs, and Maggie and Will would make heather mattresses for the pallets.
The couple had followed up on the last known location of the Channel of Dubh, but they’d found no useful information, so they were headed back to Edinburgh. The problem was that the whole illegal enterprise was swathed in shadows—the men in the network did not all know one another or who was in charge.
Meanwhile, Braden couldn’t concentrate long enough to stop thinking about the lass with Greer Lamont. He should have followed her to the castle, wherever it was, but he’d been alone and known that would have been unwise. Connor and Roddy had convinced him it was best to go back to Clan Grant and see what they knew of the Lamonts before searching out his castle.
He’d been surprised to see Cairstine had a son, but he shouldn’t have been. She was clearly Lamont’s wife, so even though the way Lamont had treated her had struck every nerve in his body, it wasn’t a reason to steal her away, no matter how she stirred his loins.
He’d done his best to forget her, but he failed miserably. The pain in her gaze haunted him.
Braden and Roddy settled at the Grant dais for the midday meal when they returned. Their sires, Brodie and Robbie, joined them, and Connor came in a while later with his sire, Alex.
They spent most of the meal talking about David Drummond’s wedding and the events around it, which only made Braden more anxious. When the conversation came to a natural pause, he asked, “Uncles, do either of you know aught about the Lamont brothers?”
Uncle Alex asked, “Lamont? Nay, should we?”
Braden said, “I met Greer Lamont at the Drummonds on the night of the wedding feast, and ‘twas not pleasant.”
Uncle Alex quirked his brow but waited for more information.
Roddy chuckled. “I’d say ‘twas most entertaining. Do you not agree, Connor?” He gave their cousin a teasing look, making it all too clear that he intended to taunt Braden and hoped Connor would join in on the fun.
Connor picked up on it deftly and added, “Entertaining and memorable.”
“How was it memorable, son?” Brodie asked. “Was your temper involved?”
Hellfire, but hadn’t they drawn out of his father exactly the response they’d wanted? How they loved to taunt Braden about his temper. Aye, his temper was stronger than either of theirs, but he’d learned to control it, hadn’t he? When would they stop assailing him? “Papa, I did control my temper.”
His cousins laughed and clapped each other on the backs.
“Did you now?” his sire asked, his two uncles taking everything in.
“Aye, I could have pulled my knife, but I restrained myself. The brute shoved me first, and any Grant would retaliate over an intentional push. Am I not correct, Uncles?” He glanced at the two men, who continued to observe the scene without interfering, Uncle Robbie with a smirk, and Uncle Alex with a stonier face that kept his thoughts a secret.
He continued, “I thought I handled myself well enough.”
Connor snorted.
Braden glared at Connor. They’d seen the same thing, hadn’t they? Lamont was a mealy faced swine. “I was at the table trying to choose a meat pie when the fool shouldered me hard from behind, telling me to hurry up. I didn’t feel I needed to hurry at all. We were at a reception for the wedding, not a jousting tournament. I don’t even understand why he was there. He’s not an ally of Uncle Micheil’s.”
Connor said, “The gates were open. Anyone in the area was welcome after the wedding. The couple had gone on their way, so the food and festival were for all.”
Uncle Robbie asked, “And how did you let the man know that you didn’t wish to hurry, Braden?”
“After he pushed me and grabbed my tunic, I retaliated by punching him in the face.”
“Sounded like you broke his nose,” Connor said. “And then you flipped him onto his back and set your boot on his chest, but nay, you did not hold him at knifepoint, so I suppose you’re right.”
Braden shot Connor a look that indicated he would be next to receive his fist if he didn’t stop his jesting. “So, no one knows of the brothers?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to his original goal and that someone would give him a clue leading to the woman named Cairstine. “The Drummonds told me they used to live in the Lowlands but deserted their castle because ‘twas in ruins and made their way north five or six years ago, though they’re uncertai
n where. I was told they are a bad sort, the type who would attack unprovoked.”
Uncle Alex said, “Sounds to me like they’re not worth chasing, so best if you let it go.”
“Only one problem with that,” Connor said.
Uncle Alex stared at him, waiting for his youngest son to finish his statement as he leaned back in his chair.
Connor cleared his throat and explained, “Lamont had a woman with him, and Braden thought he slapped her. I must say she was quite a beauty. In fact, he followed her to see where they went, and even spoke to her, but she and her wee lad followed Lamont northwest of the Drummonds.”
Uncle Alex sat up straighter in his chair, a familiar fury in his gaze. His wife had been mistreated before they met, and he was always moved by the plight of women in distress. “If ‘tis true, then we need to find her. I’ll send a group south of here, search the area for any signs of new dwellings. Last I heard, the king hadn’t made any decisions about the Buchan Castle. Mayhap they’ve joined others there.”
Uncle Robbie’s gaze narrowed. “Hmmm. I’ve just remembered something. Alex, do you recall what happened to the Muirs a bit southwest of here?”
Uncle Alex said, “The Muirs are closer than you think, probably a half day’s journey. I wish we’d been home when that tragedy took place. Whoever ransacked that clan did their damage and left. They were never found or identified.”
Uncle Robbie said, “That in itself was odd. Muir Castle was a fine building. It doesn’t make sense that the attackers would have left such a fine keep behind. Why not take it over?”
“Because our king would never have condoned such a massacre. The guilty group went into hiding, for certes. No one ever knew who committed the evil deed, or why. The Muirs were a peaceful people.” Uncle Alex stroked his jaw in thought.
“Did we not send guards there when we returned?” Brodie asked.
“Aye,” said Alex, tipping his head back to prod his memory. “Our guards buried the Muirs and some of his men at the request of our king. They identified the laird, his wife, and his son. Never found the daughter. She must have run away.”
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