Protection By Her Deceptive Highlander (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 5)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “It’s down in the cellars. If you’ll come there with me? Best if we go after nightfall – when everyone’s gathered for dinner.”

  “Aye,” Barra nodded. She looked away. Somehow, even though it could so easily have been a ruse to get her into a vulnerable place alone, she trusted Tam. He was not the sort of person who would do that.

  “Well, then,” he said awkwardly. “I’ll see you at the cellar at sunset.”

  “Thank you,” Barra murmured.

  She saw him go bright red again, and then he headed down the stairs, his boots ringing on the steps.

  When he’d gone, she headed down the stairs herself. She felt as if there was a glimmer of hope, but at the same time, she felt afraid. Was she really thinking of cutting across country on her own? Following the troops into danger?

  She was sure it was the silliest decision she would ever make. At the same time, she was also sure that she had to do it.

  The day wore on slowly. Every moment she was in the kitchen, she kept on looking around at the cellar, almost as if she expected somebody to guess her plans. Her small bundle of supplies – a shirt torn up into strips for bandages, some herbs, a loaf of bread and two apples – was hidden in the pile of baskets and other goods by the cellar door. She thought it was well hidden, but was still terrified that somebody would find it.

  “Barra?” the cook called, as the sun was sinking. Barra, who’d been reaching for her cloak, dropped it.

  “Yes, Cook?” she asked, feeling instantly alert. Had she guessed? Was she going to denounce her?

  “When you’re on your way out, you could get another bunch of parsley? This one’s used up.”

  “Thank you. I mean, of course,” Barra stammered.

  The cook gave her an odd glance, but Barra threw on her cloak, picked up her basket and hurried through the door. She gathered the parsley quickly, then took it into the kitchen. Cook was at the sink, washing dishes. She shrank back against the wall, hoping to escape notice. She had to find some way to get into the cellar!

  “Barra? You there?” Cook muttered.

  Barra said nothing. She wasn’t sure if she should risk answering, and being sent out of the kitchen on another errand, or if she should simply remain silent. If Cook thought she wasn’t there, then she would have a chance to sneak out.

  “Must be my imagination,” Cook muttered, reaching for another big pot to wash. “I must be getting old.”

  Barra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She shut her eyes and leaned on the door. While the cook’s attention was still focused on the sink, she tiptoed across the floor, heading for the door. She paused as Cook turned around to pick up some dishes – if she just looked up, she would see her. She didn’t glance up from her work, and Barra felt relief wash through her.

  While Cook’s back was turned, she tiptoed to the door to the cellar, pushed it gently open gripping her bundle of supplies, and went inside. Then, hoping that she wouldn’t notice, Barra pushed the door shut before Cook would see.

  “Whew.”

  She leaned on the door, her eyes becoming accustomed to the utter dark of the cellar. She could smell the familiar musty smell. She looked up as a light flared in the darkness.

  “There you are,” Tam said. He sounded glad. “I thought you might not come. Come quickly…we don’t have much time.”

  Barra nodded. She looked up at him, wondering how he’d gotten down here. He had a lit candle with him, casting a warm and ruddy glow over everything. She followed him down the steps into the main cellar, looking around nervously. She looked up, and realized there was a trapdoor of sorts over her head – a hole for the delivery of grain or fuel, she thought. That, she guessed, must be how he had got in.

  “It’s a way away from the main cellar.” Tam’s voice was subdued in the darkness, as if he, too, were a little uncertain down here. Barra followed him, nervously. “It goes out under the wall, near the gateway. These cellars are much bigger than most people think. They were dug as part of the foundations – or mayhap for soldiers to hide in…no idea.” He held up the candle, and Barra looked around.

  The part of the cellar they usually used was behind her – supplies stacked neatly about on the floor, or against walls or doors. The part they were in now was cut off behind a wooden framework. She followed Tam down and felt a subtle draft of air against her cheek.

  “I don’t know if anyone has gone all the way around,” Tam said. “The doorway I’m going to show you hasn’t been used since my Grandfather’s time.” He paused to look back at her. His face in the candlelight was still and serious. “I found out about it during a siege. Grandfather told me about it so as I could help Mum out, should we need to escape.”

  “I see,” Barra nodded. The place was unpleasantly cold, the walls bare stone. She thought that she wouldn’t feel at ease until they were safely away from it. She followed Tam down the tunnel, her heart beating hard in her chest.

  “Here it is,” he said. He lifted the candle and the light showed her a low door, cut into the hillside. She rested a hand on the rough wooden boards of it, and looked up at his square-jawed face. His brown eyes were full of care.

  “Thank you,” she said, her throat tight with feeling.

  “Please,” he said softly. “I should be talking you out of this, you know.” He shook his head. “Only use it if you think there’s no other way…it’s dangerous for a lass to be out there, all on her own.”

  It’s dangerous for a lass to be in this castle, all on her own.

  Barra didn’t say it, but she knew it was true. She just nodded. “I know.”

  “I wish I could come with you,” Tam said gently.

  “Tam, you have a family to look after here,” Barra said softly. “I can’t expect you to put yourself in danger, just for me. You stay here. Somebody has to make sure the folk of the castle are safe, after all.” She smiled at him.

  “I don’t know if they need another person for that,” he said, though his eyes brightened and she could see that the thought had encouraged him.

  “We need many more people like you,” she said to him. He looked away, his face going red.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that, Miss. Now, you take care. And don’t stop walking until you get to the abbey. Gayton Abbey, it’s called. Big tower – about twenty minutes of walking from here. You’ll spot it.”

  “Thank you,” Barra said, squeezing his hand. “You have been a real help.”

  “Oh, lass,” he said, looking at his feet. She was surprised to see tears in his eyes when he looked up at her. “Take care, now.”

  “I will,” Barra whispered. She put her weight against the door and slowly pushed.

  The door grated, letting in cold air. Tam stood back, holding the candle, and she went out into the night. She looked over at him with the candlelight shining on his face, and then the door shut and she could see nothing.

  She was alone on the hillside, in the darkness.

  She had to find the army, before it was too late.

  In The Woods

  Brodgar rode in the darkness, straining to see ahead. He was riding by the bright torchlight held by one of the foot soldiers who walked with the horses. He strained to look into the darkness, knowing that, should an enemy be lurking there, he would be too late to see them.

  “Blast this, Uncle,” he muttered. He looked left, to ensure that Callum, his uncle’s right hand man, was not listening carefully. The man had been left to guide them, but Brodgar had the feeling that his uncle meant to entrust the leadership of Brodgar’s men to him instead.

  It was, he thought, screwing his eyes shut to try and deal with the darkness all around, the stupidest thing he could think of, to try and surround the enemy fort via a night march. He and his men were all half-blind, riding in country that was made to make ambushes in. They had torches now, but when they quenched them, they would be completely blind. However, they were not inaudible. Unless the English were deaf, they would have found them
already.

  “And then we’ll be the ones getting shot.”

  “Sorry?” Callum said.

  “Nothing,” Brodgar said sullenly. “It’s a cold night.”

  “Yes, it is,” the man replied mildly. “And sound travels at night, even more when it’s cold – which is why I suggested the horse’s hoofs be muffled.”

  “I know,” Brodgar said.

  The older man inclined his head, as if content with having made his point. They had muffled the hoofs by wrapping them in cloth, but, Brodgar thought crossly, it didn’t really make much of a change – the men’s feet were not muffled, and the sound of hobnailed boots in the forest was as much a giveaway as horses hoofs would be.

  He gripped the reins with his fingers, trying to ignore his annoyance, the cold, and the foreboding sense that he had that they were in danger.

  Uncle didn’t stay with these troops…why is that, I wonder?

  He shrugged. His uncle had suggested that they divide the force into two groups. He would ride with half of them, circling around the back of Arlington fortress. They would ride around the front.

  “I don’t like it.”

  His uncle had chosen the harder of the two tasks – to sneak right past the fortress, and wait there while Brodgar’s men closed the net around it. By rights, he was in greater danger than his nephew. While it was consistent that he would choose the more daring escapade in order to prove himself, it wasn’t like Uncle to endanger himself.

  “We’ll be there before the dawn,” his silent companion murmured.

  “Yes,” Brodgar whispered, trying to hold in the flurry of impatience that boiled up inside him. He had no doubt whatsoever that they would be there within two hours, never mind before the dawn! It wasn’t this fact that was disturbing him. They had ridden barely at all the previous day, camped in sight of the castle, and then set off late this afternoon on this crazy task of a night march. What disturbed him was the premonition that they were riding straight into an ambush.

  “When we get there, I’ll want mulled ale,” he murmured. “And something decent to eat.”

  Callum, riding beside him, didn’t say anything. Brodgar didn’t need the light to see the scornful glance that was being leveled at him from the left hand side. He didn’t particularly care.

  I want my dinner and a good pint to drink and then bed.

  He wasn’t going to think about anything besides that. The fact that he had left Barra in a castle full of danger, the fact that, should he die, she would be cut off there from her family…he wasn’t going to allow any of that to come into his head. The only thing he could allow himself to think about was tonight. Even tomorrow, when the garrison awoke to find themselves besieged, was too tentative a dream.

  He rode on, becoming accustomed to the steady rise and fall of the horse’s hoofs, the throbbing pulse of the orange torchlight as his eyes half-closed, swaying with the pace of the horse’s walking…

  “Sir!” a shout brought Brodgar’s head whipping upright. He stared down as a soldier ran to him. “Sir! We’re under attack!”

  “What?” Brodgar looked around, appalled. As he did so, an arrow whizzed past his face. He looked around, wild-eyed, to the chaos of men around him.

  “Shields!” he screamed, his mind suddenly coming back from the dazed half-conscious state he’d been in. “Dismount, men! Grab your shields!”

  He heard the clatter and clang as the men rushed to do as he had ordered. The shields were raised and he slid off his horse, feeling a slight draft as the man who’d run to warn him lifted a round leather-covered shield to protect him.

  “How did you find the attackers?” he demanded, but over the sounds of men and horses, his voice was inaudible.

  “Sir?” the man shouted back. “They’re up ahead. We tried to cut through the forest, but they were too many. The path is blocked. They were in the woods all around us!” His voice was strained and Brodgar felt his heart tense.

  There are too many for us to fight off, he thought.

  He heard arrows thumping into the trees and came to a decision.

  “We have to turn back. If we get onto the North road, we can join my uncle. But we will have lost the element of surprise.”

  “Sir,” the man said, as if he had expected Brodgar to think of something.

  “Go back!” Brodgar screamed. He could hear the sound of horses, and men shouting, but as yet no clang of weapons. Their foes had yet to break out of the trees against them, relying on their archers to do the work of scattering his men.

  “Back!” he yelled again, risking ducking out from the shield’s coverage. He waved his arms, gesturing to the road. “Head away!”

  He thought the men had not heard him, but then, slowly, a group of them began to turn around, heading to the road. He felt his stomach lurch with relief.

  “Follow them!” he screamed at the others. “To the road! We’ll go north!”

  The men seemed to get the idea, because they were heading backwards as one. He felt the press of bodies against him lessen, and started to head back too. He felt for his horse’s reins, glad that she had not been shot. He considered mounting, but it was more prudent, he reckoned, to stay on the ground. He led his horse backwards, gripping the shoulder of a wounded man, propelling him ahead, out of the killing ground.

  “Sir…we don’t know where they came from,” the man panted. He was close to Brodgar’s ear, but the fact that he could hear him above the shouts and chaos surprised him. They started running, which was the other thing that surprised him, that meant that they were closer to the edge of the fighting than they thought, or how else could they have the space? The press of men had lessened slightly. Brodgar risked looking around.

  “That way!” he shouted, gesturing to a group of men who were trying to back into the forest, clearly intent on surrounding their enemy.

  They must have heard him, because he saw those at the front turn and run towards the road. He nodded and ducked down again.

  There were shields and other things lying about on the ground. He bent and lifted one, raising it above his head and the head of the man standing beside him. Together, they struggled forward.

  “Easy,” Brodgar said, as the man stumbled. He caught his arm and together they went on towards the road. The going was easier now – there was less lying around to trip over. He pushed ahead and together they made it up the slope.

  “Men!” Brodgar roared. “Here! To me!”

  He waved his arm and felt something sting his back. He winced and realized that there was something hot trickling down his leg. He guessed he had been cut by an arrow – it was not stuck in him, for he couldn’t feel anything. He felt a wet patch on his tunic and when his hand came back it was sticky.

  “That way,” he said to the soldier next to him, who was staring at him in shock.

  “It just scratched me,” he shrugged.

  The man was standing there, rooted to the spot. Brodgar realized he was in shock. He also realized he himself was exhausted.

  He looked around. The field was a haze. He could barely see across it. Men stood clustered on the far edge of the road, under the trees. They were clearly as weary as he was – the only reason they were still on their feet was because they hadn’t fallen down.

  “Men!” he shouted, raising his sword, so that the light of someone’s torch reflected off the blade. “Here! To me! We go North.”

  He saw their heads come up. They were exhausted and shocked, too weary to decide what to do. He saw how they fell in behind him, relieved to have something to do.

  “My uncle will meet us at the fortress,” he shouted. “We will go to him there. They are only an hour ahead.”

  The men fell into step around him. He could hear ragged breathing, slow steps. He felt himself becoming the center of a line, then of a crowd who built up behind him, pushing him forward. He did not want to fall, but somehow he knew he could keep himself upright. He was beyond exhausted now – his mind was fastened on a si
ngle goal. To reach the fortress.

  “Come on, men!” he shouted, as he strode ahead. His sword was in his hand and he led them forward, a band of exhausted, weary and injured men. Brodgar looked around, trying to assess the losses. It was difficult to count how many men were missing. The men were fearful now, more so than wounded even, lacking in certainty.

  “When we reach the fortress, we will have twice as many with us. We can return here, and find out what happened,” Brodgar explained, and the men who heard him nodded, growling assent.

  “I don’t know what that was about,” one of them said to him. He was coughing, clearly blinded by the smoke. Brodgar nodded.

  Why had they been ambushed here, of all places? It made very little sense.

  “I thought a night march was a foolish plan,” he murmured.

  Yet, what could he do?

  He looked around at the desperate, smoke choked men as they followed him across the clearing. He could see bloodshot, weary eyes, they walked with the stooping postures of men pushed to their limits. He tried to understand what had happened.

  Nobody had known of their plan. They were too far away from the garrison for it to have been the noise that gave them away. Unless the forest was crawling with scouts from the English garrison, there was only one explanation – somebody in his troops had betrayed them.

  “Damned if I know what happened,” he murmured under his breath.

  His men were quiet around him, quiet and subdued. They were suffering, and that made him angry. He saw a man walking stoically along with an arrow protruding from his arm. He went to him.

  “What is your name?” he asked, falling into step beside the fellow.

  The man looked up at him with wary, wide eyes. “I’m called Camry,” he said. He was wearing a ragged jerkin in the green of Brodgar’s clan, his face stained with smoke and shining with sweat in the torchlight.

  “Well, Camry,” Brodgar nodded slowly. “You need a healer. Walk with me – I’ll make sure you’re tended to as soon as we reach our comrades.”