The steward nodded, recognizing the Maitland steward’s handwriting, having no illusions about any hope for the Maitlands if Iain didn’t go. “You must, lad. Hundreds of Ramsays pounding at the gates of Hawkmore.”
“I’ll leave a dozen for you,” Iain told him, a twinge of sympathy tinting the grimace that helped deliver these words. “If I’m wrong about Sutherland, if you get even one whiff of Sutherland prowling around, headed this way, you get Maggie and my mother to Aviemore.”
Artair nodded. “Godspeed, lad.”
Iain inclined his head and left the hall. Duncan had already roused so many that the yard bustled with activity. He spotted his captain and Archie and approached.
“Ramsays are at Hawkmore’s gate. We move now and fast.” Lachlan would never have used the phrase a wee critical something if the situation weren’t dire, weren’t near impossible. “Leave only a dozen.” At Duncan’s widened eyes, Iain explained, “Artair has instructions if something goes amiss here.”
“I’d almost feel better taking her with us,” Archie said.
“As would I,” Iain readily concurred. With lightning speed, he ran this possibility through his head. If the situation at Hawkmore were as dire as the missive would lead him to believe, she would be in jeopardy even at his side. “She’s safer here. I dinna ken what we’re riding into.”
“Aye,” Archie agreed, soon enough that Iain supposed he’d reached the same conclusion, with similar arguments for and against in his head.
“Let’s go then,” Duncan said, clapping his hands twice as he moved away toward his waiting steed. He called loudly to all the scurrying soldiers in the yard, “Get to it, lads! We’re bound for Hawkmore and a little big war.”
Chapter Twenty-One
MAGGIE WATCHED THE door close and wrestled with a certain sense that something dreadful was happening. She’d recognized Duncan’s low voice, had picked out the words, boat just arrived from Hawkmore. And Iain had departed fairly quickly. And his regard at his farewell had been bittersweet, intense, and she thought not manifested solely by what they had done only minutes before.
She gave greater thought to his somberness, as if he’d been committing the sight of her to memory. Maggie leapt from the bed, then.
A boat come at night, from his friend Lachlan Maitland, whom he’d only mentioned recently to her. And he’d just looked at her as if he feared he might never see her again.
Good God, Iain was going off to war.
She dressed quickly, thankful that yesterday’s kirtle and gown were clean yet. She wasted no time on her hair and dashed out of the chambers and down to the hall. Glenna was crossing from the kitchens to the doorway, with great purpose it seemed, roused early as well, her gait so swift her limp was more pronounced.
“Mistress,” Maggie called and met her at the center of the large room.
Glenna was caught off guard and stopped abruptly. She appeared none too pleased to see Maggie about at this ungodly hour. But then she sighed, as if she couldn’t avoid the confrontation, and said in her sometimes terse way, “Now, you listen here, Maggie Bryce. They’re leaving, the entire army, and you may not raise a fuss.”
Her heart dropped. “Was—was he not going to tell me?”
“No, he was not. We agreed you didn’t need to know. Of course, you’re not daft, and then neither are you still abed—as you should be—so the sight of his entire army gathered quietly in preparation just outside will need the truth now.”
She didn’t understand. Why would they keep this from her? Why would Iain—
“For this reason,” Glenna said sharply, pointing at Maggie’s anxious face, “because it would upset you and you in turn will cause unrest in him. And that is not how these things are done.”
“But...can I say farewell?”
“Can you do so without causing a scene and in less than a minute? Maggie Bryce, it is a bad omen to send him off poorly. I’ll lock you in this keep before I let you curse their mission.”
Her eyes widened at Glenna’s callousness. But only briefly before she composed herself and nodded. “I will not cause a disturbance.”
Glenna nodded and began moving again toward the door. “Do not make me regret this.”
The sight that greeted Maggie when Glenna pulled the door open was unlike anything she had ever seen. She’d been in Carlisle for months, where thousands of soldiers daily roamed the streets, visible to one and all. From the Gordon keep, she had witnessed her husband’s army gathered en masse to move to Carlisle.
But this scene before her now was unnerving for all its quietude, for how the metal and steel of knives and swords and helmets, shone and glinted under the light of a dozen torches inside the bailey. The inky midnight sky, ominous and intent on refusing aid to their departure, only added to the eeriness.
And for the sheer numbers. Maggie had not ever seen all of the McEwen army gathered at once, had seen only smaller units at times. But this, now, there must be hundreds, in the yard, spilling out through the gates. The size of the war horses only added to the magnificence of the scene, shrinking the yard with their size, leaving only small pockets of space where a person might stand or walk.
Maggie found Iain quickly enough, at the side of his own destrier, securing straps and gear about the beast. She did not run to him, determined to cause no commotion, as she’d promised Glenna, who’d marched directly to Duncan, giving him a rolled sheaf of papers and something wrapped in linen. Artair was here as well, Maggie saw, aside the horse of Donal, talking quietly with the handsome twin, as grim as any other man present.
It was Archie, closest to Iain, who alerted the laird of her presence, saying something low over the big black between them. Iain lifted and turned his head toward her, seeming about as pleased as Glenna to see her. His hands continued cinching the straps but blindly, as his gaze was on her. Archie said something more and Iain nodded, releasing the leather bindings and making his way to her.
She stood very still, hiding her clenched hands in her skirts. She didn’t bother with any attempt to convey any peacefulness, did not attempt to placate him with any calmness, as she felt this not at all, but she did not become hysterical as her insides screamed that she should.
Maggie descended the steps and Iain met her at the bottom, on the hard ground of the yard. His plaid was now crisscrossed over a shiny steel chest plate, which covered his regular leather breastplate.
Iain tucked his leather gauntlets under his arm and reached between them for her hand.
Only their fingers and eyes touched.
Evenly, she said, “It was wrong of you not to tell me.”
“Aye, but you’ll forgive me, because you ken I’d no’ have ignored it if time were no’ already working against us. But you will no’ fret, lass.”
“I will not...until you are gone.” She glanced around at all the faces that watched them.
“We’ll be gone but a few days, a week at the most,” he promised. “And we’ll take care of all that unfinished business between us when I return.” His grin then was absolutely devilish and held great promise.
Maggie blushed. “And who do I give all my fretting to, since I will be unable to visit it upon you?”
Iain’s lips quirked. “I’m thinking either Artair or my mother would be happy to receive all your concern, lass.”
She truly was very angry with him. But then, she wasn’t a complete ninny, to send him off badly. His mother’s words rang in her head. She shouldn’t burden him with too much negative energy. Still, while she tried very hard to be brave and calm for him, tears gathered.
“Do you have anything else to tell me, then?” She asked.
“I’m no’ sure, but I’m thinking you will enlighten me. Do I?”
Her shoulders fell. “Well, I’ve never actually sent anyone off to battle. I thought maybe there was some protocol, of things to be said and promised.”
“I promise I’ll come back then, lass.”
“Very good,” she returne
d primly, “and I promise to love you if you do.”
Iain cocked his head, his grin untimely and so very beloved. “You will no’ love me if I dinna return?”
Maggie shook her head, her gaze on his plaid, her fingers following, smoothing over the perfect-for-now pleats. “No, that would be impossible. I will be too angry with you.”
Iain touched his forefinger to her chin, lifted her gaze to him. In a low voice for her ears alone, he said, “You ken I’m no’ a simpleton, aye lass?” When she nodded shakily, he said, “So you ken I’ll no’ be so ridiculous as to fall while you and everything between us waits here?”
Her nod quickened. “I was hoping you would feel that way,” she said, but her words were jumbled with tears and nearly incoherent.
“Good girl,” Iain said, his tone patient, “now tell me you love me and let me on my way.”
“I love you,” she said easily, a reflexive response to his request, no great drama attached to the words she’d spoken for the very first time.
Iain smiled and drew her close, wrapping his free arm around her, his chin at the top of her head, catching sight of their very rapt audience, each and every one of them waiting with great tolerance, his mother teary-eyed herself, Duncan’s face screwed up as if to stave off any show of emotion. Iain closed his eyes for just a moment, felt Maggie’s arms slide around his waist. Against her hair, he whispered, “I love you, Maggie Bryce.”
He pushed her away then, as she did not release him willingly. Clenching her lips to restrain the greater sobs that wanted to come, she nodded quietly at Archie and Duncan and Donal, wishing them Godspeed with a tremulous smile, hoping to convey serenity.
Glenna and Artair gathered near Maggie, away from the huge beasts beginning to move out of the bailey. Glenna threaded her arm through Maggie’s.
“You did good, lass.”
“I am pudding inside.”
“As am I. It never does get easier, seeing them off.”
Iain was one of the last to leave the yard. He sent back one last glance to the three near the keep, but Maggie thought his dark and inscrutable gaze was for her alone.
THEY RODE THROUGH THE night. Iain had passed on what little information the missive had detailed, telling Duncan and Archie that they were riding into Lachlan Maitland’s war with the Ramsays and their army of possibly six or seven hundred. The news was passed on through the ranks as they traveled, there being no time for a rousing call to arms, no time for an inspiring address from their laird, stirring these men to any battle fever-pitch.
It was unfortunate that the call for help had come so late as the darkness of the moonless night precluded the feverish pace the note suggested was required.
Normally, he was a master at compartmentalizing, was usually able to separate what was left behind from what he moved toward. Tonight was different, of course, the taste of Maggie’s lips so fresh on his own. He knew very well that Artair would know that the few soldiers he’d left behind must be on constant guard, that Maggie should not leave the walls of the castle at all, but he still found himself wishing he’d actually said those words to his steward.
They had to stop near dawn, had to rest the horses lest the beasts start dropping beneath them. Iain allowed them only thirty minutes, just enough for the steeds to be watered and rested at the nearby loch. When they moved again, the rising sun allowed them to push harder and faster. And all the while Ian prayed they were not too late.
It was still several hours before Hawkmore came into view. The McEwens erupted from the trees a half mile away from Lachlan’s keep. The meadow before them was littered with bodies and tents and strangely, a lone wagon in the middle of the field. Even from this distance, he could see that the gates had been breached, but he hoped and assumed only just, as so many still fought outside to get in.
Iain drew his sword and gave a mighty war cry when all his army was clear of the trees. They raced across the field, the noise of their coming likely subdued by the fighting taking place inside Hawkmore’s wall. Some confusion tinted his hard mein as the fighting seemed to stop momentarily, when they were only halfway across the dry, brown grass. It was suspended only briefly though, and only in pockets. Some Maitlands still struggled against the enemy.
Having participated in too many battles to count by now throughout his adult life, he was only mildly stunned by what greeted him as he surveyed the status through the destroyed gate even before he entered. And while it didn’t shock him, and he continued to move forward, he knew he was likely to never forget the sight. Directly inside the gate stood a woman, small and frightened, her hair held in the grasp of a ridiculously unsoiled man—the Ramsay, he assumed. Just as his destrier stepped foot inside, just as he understood all within were motionless, waiting it seemed, the woman moved, slicing the neck of the man who held her with a small blade in her hand. Ian’s eyes widened but he kept on. Only seconds later, he spotted Lachlan, clawing his way toward the lass.
Whoever she was, she was important to Lachlan.
Iain reached her only seconds after Lach did.
His friend raised his sword and his scarred face to Iain.
“Get her inside,” Iain said brusquely to his friend. “We’ve got this.” He did not mistake or underestimate Lachlan’s relief at the sight of him.
The yard of Hawkmore erupted again into an all out battle, but Iain thought the numbers were further in Lach’s favor now. Iain joined the fray, keeping to his mount, aware of the cowardly Ramsays who turned tail and ran since the McEwens had arrived. Lachlan returned shortly, charging in from the rear yard, his sword raised, his cry vengeful.
The McEwens were the only mounted soldiers inside the yard, giving them great advantage even as it made them larger targets. But it was over quickly, the entire melee inside the Hawkmore yard. The Ramsay leaders were gone, and their army was now only trying to escape. When nary a clang of steel could be heard, when the yard was filled only with the moans and cries of the fallen, Iain spun his mount around, his bloodied sword held aloft. Only Maitlands and McEwens remained standing. He saw Duncan and then Archie, close to him, panting, their weapons likewise still and dripping with enemy blood.
Hearing Lachlan shouting out orders to his men, Iain dismounted finally and made his way to Lach’s side, sheathing his sword. “I’ll have my men move the Ramsays outside the gate,” Iain offered when Lach had just instructed loudly that the first order of business was to get the wounded inside the hall.
Lachlan turned, showing Iain the whole of the right side of his face, the gruesome scar that deformed so much of it. His expression was one of gratefulness and colored with some hint of the near-escape Iain had rushed into not too long ago. Iain struck out his hand to Lachlan, grinning at this belated greeting. Lachlan ignored his proffered hand and wrapped Iain in a tight embrace.
“Little more notice next time would be appreciated,” Iain said at his cheek.
“I’ll work on that,” Lachlan acknowledged with a short and humorless laugh.
Separating, Iain told him, “Go on then, get your lass, wherever you just stashed her. We’ll get these bodies out.” Already, a wagon had appeared and was being loaded with the Ramsay dead. Likely, Lachlan would give them no proper burial, would possibly ignite one huge pyre far outside the gates to be rid of this rubbish.
“Aye. Iain, I dinna ken how to—”
“Then dinna try,” Iain cut him off. “You’d do it for me, I ken.”
“Aye.” And with a rare humor, almost unheard of from this man, Lachlan said, “Now I have to.”
Iain grinned. “We’ll catch up when this is cleared.”
It was hours later before he met up with Lachlan again, inside the hall, while both the McEwen and Maitland surgeons addressed the needs of the wounded, of which there were plenty. A healer had come as well, an old and bent woman, who was likely to save more lives than the surgeons themselves.
Iain sent his gaze around the hall, but noticed that Lachlan’s was stuck on the lass, wh
o’d been returned to safety inside, and tended to Lachlan’s captain, Murdoch.
“She have anything to do with this here today, those Ramsays?”
“Aye,” Lachlan said, not removing his gaze from her. When he finally did, he showed Iain a grimace. “She was betrothed to the Ramsay son. I may have kidnapped her some time ago, hoping to trade her for peace.”
“How’d that work out for you?” Iain asked, lifting his brow.
Lachlan shrugged, but not without some remorse. “It was coming no matter what, the battle with the Ramsays. Been brewing hot for a long time, made worse these last couple years by them taking advantage of my regular absences.”
Iain nodded, and sent his gaze to the lass as well.
Honestly, she was almost as bonny as Maggie. Almost.
“C’mon, I’ll introduce you,” Lachlan offered, and he and Iain walked toward the woman.
Iain supposed he didn’t need to ask what might become of her now, or what had transpired since Lachlan had kidnapped her. He thought they should have just worn signs announcing their affection for each other, so blatant was their mutual, heated regard when she turned and found them approaching. It was quite astonishing, to see the oft icy Lach so entranced, hardly able to keep his gaze off the lass, and completely incapable of keeping the emotions from his face.
Jesu, but he had it bad.
“Mari Sinclair, meet Iain McEwen, of the Caithness Mackays.”
She dipped a slow and near reverent curtsy, her pretty blue eyes lowered for a moment. When she straightened, she said, “Lachlan Maitland has done a fine job showing what an honorable man looks like, sir, but those Ramsays greatly challenged the concept outside of Hawkmore. I thank you for restoring my faith in humanity.”
Iain grinned, appreciative of her comment, but was not of a mind to let Lach off easy. “This your wee critical something?”
Lach answered with an enormous amount of pride, and nary a hint of embarrassment. “The greatest wee critical something.”
The Truth of Her Heart (Highlander Heroes Book 5) Page 26