The Runaway Highlander (The Highland Renegades Book 2)

by Syme, R. L.

  “I’m sorry. I was just thinking of how best to ask this.”

  “Please, Anne.” Broc pulled her to face him and held both of her hands at a distance. “We are old friends, and I think of you as I think of my own sisters. Please ask me whatever you would.”

  “Very well.” She sucked in a breath and held it. This was her best chance. “You’ve done so much for me already, and you know I am so grateful. But I feel I must ask one more thing of you. I’m sure it won’t be such an imposition, given the circumstances of our families now, and if you want to return to Caithness and become head of your family, I could hardly stop you from that, although I would certainly support you remaining here and fighting for Scotland, given the sacrifices that all these men have already—”

  Broccin squeezed her hands and she looked into his eyes, her mouth open to speak more.

  “Anne, I feel I should tell you something before you continue.”

  “Please, Broc, just let me finish this. It’s embarrassing enough, as it is, that I have to be the one to—”

  “Please, Anne.”

  “No, I insist.”

  “Anne.”

  She shook her head. His earnest face had the wrinkled concern of bad news and she didn’t want to stop talking.

  “Anne, I am already married.”

  Her hands released his of their own volition. She couldn’t think about his words, they just didn’t seem comprehensible. Already married?

  Anne could feel the return of her sister slipping through her fingers and her confusion melted into anger. She fisted her hands in her dress and stormed away from him.

  “Married?” she shouted, suddenly not caring if any of the rest of the camp heard her. Why hadn’t she known this? She’d heard that he’d returned to his family for a short time, but who on God’s green earth had he married? Had he fallen for one of the farmer’s daughters? Or perhaps Andrew had a sister? If there had been an alliance with another noble, she would have known about it. Her mother had dragged them off to Edinburgh in the autumn and the last she knew, he had returned home from his exile to find his brother welcoming him back into the family.

  Anne had been equally surprised to hear that he’d been in the Berwick dungeon. But that surprise was nothing compared with the realization that he was married.

  “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Immediately.”

  “I thought I had.” Broc’s hand closed around her wrist and he turned her around. “Lachlan, when I introduced him to you, I thought I mentioned that he was my father-in-law.”

  Anne gasped. Lachlan had known Broccin was married? And then watched her throw herself at him? Why hadn’t he said anything, either? What was with these men?

  She wrenched her hand from his grip and began to pound on his chest. “How could you do this to me, Broccin Sinclair? You were my last hope to save my sister.”

  Tears soaked her cheeks as she beat at him, but he just held out his hands and allowed her to rage at him. She stopped moving and held his gaze with angry eyes. “I should take you back to the dungeons of Berwick for this. That’s it. I take back my rescue.”

  “Your rescue?” Broc laughed and took one wrist in his big hand. “I thought I was the one who rescued you.”

  “Take it back. In fact, take me back. I never want to see you again.” All the anger and frustration at her mother, at Simon Alcock, at her situation, at Broccin, at his new wife… all of it stuck together into one giant ball of hatred inside, and she pushed at his chest and ran in the opposite direction of the camp.

  No one. Once again, no one was there to help her. She collapsed near a little gathering of trees on the edge of a hillside that led down toward the edge of the camp.

  Was this to be her lot in life? Was there never to be anyone to help her? She sobbed into her hands until her throat was nearly on fire with raw emotion and the memory of the Sheriff’s hands.

  She couldn’t let this happen again. She wouldn’t be the one out of control. She would do something about it herself. If Broccin wouldn’t help her, then she would help herself.

  She would find a way to get back to Berwick and get Elena and they would run away by themselves. They didn’t need these renegades for protection. She’d run as far as she could run and find a farmer somewhere who would marry her and keep Elena with her forever and be safe.

  This was to be her lot in life. She might as well get started living it.

  *****

  The camp was fairly spread out, tents pitched among the trees in the little valley. She finally went down on the far side from where the carts and horses were being slowly brought down out of sight. It took several men to lead each of the carts down the steep hill and when Anne saw Broc among them, she knew she had to make her go of it.

  First, she’d stopped at the cook fire and seen Lachlan. Instead of avoiding him, as would have been more comfortable, she accepted the offered bowl of porridge and sat on a log next to the old, injured man.

  “Do you remember me, girl?” he asked, sipping his breakfast from a carved trencher of bread.

  “We met last night.” Anne nodded politely. A few other men sat on logs eating their breakfast, but none she recognized.

  “But do you remember me from before that?” His dark eyes were kind and as she looked him over, he smiled. “You may not remember. We met only once, at the old Sinclair’s wedding. You were still a young girl. I have a daughter who’s five or six years older than you are, my dear.”

  Anne’s heart thudded. “Is that Broccin’s new wife?” She flushed at her boldness and needed to get a handle on her anger. “Forgive me, my Lord. I did not mean to speak so freely.”

  “You are quite forgiven, my young girl.” Lachlan bit through his bread and chewed it with relish. “Yes, Kensey is my daughter.”

  “I don’t believe I remember her.”

  “You were quite young. I wasn’t sure if you would remember or not. But I remember you.” He took another bite of his bread. “You and your mother and sister share that blonde, Scandinavian coloring that used to be so common here.”

  At the mention of her mother, Anne squirmed. “Yes, we seem to be something of an anomaly wherever we go these days.”

  “Kensey had never seen anyone with truly blonde hair before. Not the white-blonde kind like yours. She spent most of the day with her fingers in your curls.” The glint in his merry face made her heart warm. This was a father who truly loved his children.

  “I wish I could remember.”

  “You must meet her someday.” Lachlan pointed toward the end of the valley where the men brought down the carts. “Broccin tells me that your family lives up toward Wick. That’s only about a day’s ride from us.”

  Anne’s memory flashed with pictures of her home, her other siblings, her father, Nana Min. All of whom would be lost to her. In fact, if these men knew what she had done, and what she’d truly run away from, they might even return her.

  Just for belonging to Simon Alcock.

  These were men of honor, and some of them were noble to boot. They would do their duty to another Scotsman, even if he was an English sympathizer.

  “I will certainly come and meet your daughter someday.”

  Lachlan offered her a bow of his head and pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders. “You will be always welcome in my home.”

  Anne spooned at her porridge and tried to conjure up that ravenous hunger she’d felt the day before. She’d need to eat if she were to find a horse and get away from this place before someone realized who she was, and the fact that she might be of value to the Sheriff.

  “Do you know where Elizabeth is?” she wondered, sipping at her breakfast.

  Lachlan pointed down into the heart of the camp. “She and Andrew will likely be preparing for the day. It’s not yet mid-morning, after all, and there’s much to do to move the camp.”

  She bowed in thanks and left her uneaten breakfast on the stump. Thankfully, Lachlan reached fo
r it after she did so. Anne didn’t want food going to waste, but she just wasn’t in an eating mood. If there was a way to break a horse away from the crowd, or if perhaps Elizabeth could be her ally and recognize what she must do. Either way, she had to find a way to get back to Berwick.

  The tents were low and crudely made. Not all men, it seemed, had access to a tent, either. In between the covered areas were bedrolls in the open, some against tree trunks. Swords, weapons, all possessions left with the beds.

  This was far too mobile a camp to be worried with things like thieves coming from the forest. The reminder of others infiltrating the camp brought up the fact that she would have to find a way of getting out, unnoticed. Because the hill was so far above the tops of the tents, that seemed the most likely way. But once the carts were down, there was no more opportunity to have horses up on the landing, either.

  The valley was long in either direction. Perhaps she could ride out that way. But she didn’t know the terrain and for all she knew, the valley could drop out onto a cliff for all she knew.

  Plus, if she were riding at night, there would be no way for certain to see the terrain. Her progress would be slow and she could risk a horse.

  Anne heard a woman’s voice, speaking behind the tent walls in low tones. She walked around to the front opening and cleared her throat. After a few more hurried exchanges, the flap opened and a stunningly beautiful golden-haired woman emerged, dressed in a fine, blue velvet gown with gold braided trim. Her hair was elaborately braided and bound at the nape of her neck so that the cluster of long plaits hung down on the right side of her body, almost to her waist. She could have been a European princess, but for the faintly fecal smell that permeated the entire camp.

  “Ahhh. You must be Anne.” The woman held the tent open and gestured inside.

  Anne followed and was led into lush surroundings. Colorful velvet hung everywhere and covered every surface. A stark contrast to the men sleeping on their cloaks only twenty feet away.

  The ornately dressed woman put Anne on what looked like a chair, but turned out to be hay or grass covered in velvet. She sank into it and tried not to make any untoward noises as she continued to sink.

  “My name is Elizabeth de Moray.” The woman held out a bejeweled hand and Anne wondered if she expected Anne to kiss it. Being the daughter of a now-Earl made her higher in rank than the de Moray’s wife, unless she had some royal lineage Anne didn’t know about. Still, she obviously expected the deference, so Anne took her fingers daintily and inclined her head.

  “So nice to meet you, Elizabeth, if I may be so bold.” Anne sat up, pushing herself backwards until she felt some kind of tension at her back. She curled her feet around as though she were still sitting in a chair and offered Elizabeth a sweet smile.

  No use offending her if Anne would need her help.

  “I feel as though I know you already.” Elizabeth sat on a velvet-covered object that was much sturdier than Anne’s seat. She was up a good foot higher than Anne.

  “You do?”

  “My husband told me of your escape from that horrid Sheriff. And Broccin, of course, has told me about your previous arrangements. No doubt, it was a shock to find him married, after all these years.”

  The emphasis on the word married made Anne’s stomach clench. Broc had obviously told this woman about their conversation and that felt like a tiny betrayal. But she kept her smile on.

  “We’d lost touch many years ago, when the old Earl banished him for his association with the renegades.” Anne feigned an air of deference, as though his rejection hadn’t stung at all. “I should have assumed he would find a wife in his travels.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth quirked, just for the tiniest moment. “Well, enough about Broccin Sinclair.” A rustling in the corner of the tent drew both women’s eyes and Elizabeth’s smile returned. “I apologize, but my husband was just about to finish changing his clothes when you arrived.”

  Anne immediately averted her gaze and felt the flush of heat fly up her neck and face. She never would have entered if she’d known there was a man inside, let alone an indecent one. She considered leaving.

  But something told her this Elizabeth was the kind of woman who enjoyed knowing that she had the power over others around her. She was too much like Milene de Cheyne. Scheming, manipulative, power-hungry.

  Elizabeth’s eyes flared as Anne tried to stifle her embarrassment. “He’ll just be a moment.”

  “I’ve come to speak with you, my lady, but it’s nothing your lord husband cannot overhear.”

  Disappointment flickered over the woman’s pretty face and Anne almost cheered inside at her victory. She’d learned, after many years of dealing with her maniac mother, that the best thing was often to ignore their ploys. Even if it meant momentary indecency.

  “I’m sure your husband will have told you that, as I helped in the escape, I can no longer return to my family.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Yes, my dear, and we’re so grateful. Such a shame it should cost you a place in such an illustrious household.” She finished her sentence with such unbridled sarcasm, Anne wanted to smack the smart off her face.

  Would she be so cavalier if she truly knew what Simon Alcock had done to her? What he was capable of? Or was she really that cruel as to wish him on any woman?

  “Unfortunately, because of the manner of our escape, I was unable to find my sister in all the crowd and I fear for her.”

  From behind a long, wide, hanging piece of blue brocade, Andrew de Moray stepped into visibility. He was dressed in the simple clothes of a peasant, which gave strange relief to his wife’s clothing, though Anne would never have said as much aloud.

  His wide, kind brown eyes put her at ease, as they had in the castle, and the dungeon. How such a man found himself with a wife like this blonde cow was beyond Anne’s capacity for reason.

  He stepped in front of Anne and took her hand, kissed it, and bowed over it. “My men and I will be forever grateful for your help in liberating our good friends from prison.”

  Elizabeth shifted nervously. “Yes, we are so grateful,” she said, a touch too loud and too quick. “But now, we must address the issue of what to do with her.

  Andrew smiled down at Anne and backed up to stand next to his wife. He put one hand on her shoulder and the other behind his back. “I’m afraid my wife is being indecorous, my lady.”

  “I certainly didn’t mean any disrespect, Miss de Cheyne.” Elizabeth turned her hand in the air as though all would be easily forgiven. Given the slights and jibes she’d been dishing out, Anne was amazed she even understood the need for apology.

  “Of course not.” Anne nodded at Andrew. “No offense taken.”

  “I only meant that we can’t return you to your father. We don’t yet know if your part in the escape has been discovered.”

  “We did kill all of the men in the dungeon,” Andrew said. “And I can’t think of anyone else that would have seen you.”

  A fist of memory clutched at Anne’s heart. “The jailer.” They’d only knocked the jailer unconscious. Unless he’d died from an injury, he would still have been alive, and none of them thought of it at the moment.

  “Still, he did not get an unimpeded look at your face, and wouldn’t know you by name, except as William Campbell’s lady cousin.”

  Elizabeth pouted, no doubt at being excluded from the conversation. “Must we relive each grisly detail?” She caught Andrew’s hand in her own and turned her head into his arm, hiding her eyes. “I can’t bear to think of you all in that place.”

  “I would like to return to the city.” Anne’s courage stuck in her throat. “Alone if I must. But I must recover my sister.”

  “Surely your sister is safer in your mother’s protection.” Andrew’s kind face implored her, even as his wife loosed an unladylike noise.

  “We simply don’t have the resources for both you and your sister.” Elizabeth’s supposed delicacy was quickly forgotten. “Having two additio
nal women in camp would be suicide for the men.”

  Andrew patted her shoulder. “Besides, it won’t be long before I will be forced to send my own wife back to her home. War is coming with the English. There are other nobles in the mid-ranges and the lowlands who are already gathering men. We will soon join William Wallace and his soldiers and we will be a proper army.”

  “No place for women.” Elizabeth seemed almost non-plussed. She couldn’t actually want to be amid the battling forces when war came to them.

  She hardly seemed the warrior type.

  “If you choose to stay with us, I could send you to Moray Firth with my wife. That is where we would likely regroup after the battles have engaged.”

  Anne clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m so grateful that Broccin rescued me. Truly, I am. But I cannot leave my sister to my mother’s devices.”

  “Your father, then?” Andrew wondered.

  “But I fear that he has given so much agency to my mother in the case of giving in marriage, Elena will be sold to the Sheriff in my place without my father even knowing.”

  Andrew’s features turned down in disappointment. “I wish we could be of better service to you, my lady. But I fear that we cannot send anyone back to Berwick.”

  “And if you choose to bring your sister with you, we cannot take you here.” Elizabeth crossed her arms, her face creasing in the unfortunate frown of a spoiled princess.

  “As I said,” Anne began, her heart sinking a little with each word. “I am grateful that Broccin kept the Sheriff from… well, I am grateful he intervened. But I fear we are at cross-purposes.”

  “Meaning?” Andrew came toward her and knelt, his face on her level for the first time. “You can’t mean to return to Berwick on your own.”

  “My only desire is to see my sister safe.” Anne reached for Andrew’s hand and pulled herself to a standing position. “I fear I would only be in the way here, regardless.”

  She swiped at her skirts, feeling as though there should be grass or straw clinging to the fabric, but it was clean.

  “I would have said we cannot spare a horse, but I fear you won’t survive without one.” Elizabeth’s tone was suddenly pliant and the smile returned to her face. “If you wait for them to finish moving the wagons, Gregory should be at the campfire and you can speak to him about requisitioning one of Andrew’s horses.”