Ferra hugged her from behind. “Dinnae worry, I know wot I am doing. Ye will be on yer way tae McDougal land before ye know it!”
Breta drew in a breath. One thing she hadn’t thought of was Garia, and how she would be able to recognize her sister from one hundred yards away.
She would just have to stay away from her sister as well.
2
Will sat back and listened to the other advisors as they discussed their needs with Cameron and Katherine both, biding his time before he would also discuss his concerns. When Cameron had first told him that they would be bringing other clans to their land for the Highland games, he had balked at the idea. Letting down one’s borders and allowing their enemies in was exceedingly difficult to protect and gave Will nightmares thinking about it.
It had been three years since he had been moved to second-in-command and an advisor to the laird and her warrior husband on all things that were meant to keep the clan safe. While the skirmishes had been small, Will knew it was only a matter of time before something bad happened.
“I dinnae understand,” Katherine said to the advisor who prided himself on all things that were the harvest. Even the bottom of his boots was caked in mud, as if he had traipsed through the fields before coming to visit with the rulers. “Ye are asking us tae not plant this year?”
“With all due r-respect, Laird,” the Scot stammered, holding his hand up to his chest. “I dinnae wish tae cause ye worry, but the fields need tae be blessed before we plant. A bountiful harvest must come from the gods.”
Katherine shifted her expression to her husband, who, in Will’s opinion, looked like he wanted to burst into laughter at any moment. “Wot do ye think, Husband?”
Cameron stroked his chin. “I think we should listen tae him. After all, we wouldnae want tae anger the gods.”
The advisor brightened considerably, pleased with their decision. “It will only push the planting back a week, nothing more,” he replied, clasping his hands before him. “Our clan will be prosperous this season.”
Katherine inclined her head as the advisor filed out, her eyes finding her husband’s. “I cannae.”
Cameron barked out a laugh. “I cannae either, Wife. I didnae know that it was so vastly important for our fields tae be blessed.”
Will approached the laughing couple. “Perhaps he should come bless the warriors next. I dinnae wish tae anger the gods either.”
Smirking, Cameron reached for his ale. “’Tis a crock if ye ask me but if it makes him feel like he’s important, then so be it.”
Katherine looked at Will. “I assume ye wish tae talk aboot the games, Will?”
He nodded. “I dinnae think ’tis a good idea. The safety of the clan will be in danger.”
“We have already discussed it,” Cameron said, humor draining from his eyes. “’Tis going tae happen, Will.”
Will forced himself not to grow angered by their decision. “I will need to fortify the walls of the keep...double the guards on watch.”
Cameron arched a brow. “Ye do know that the games are going tae be miles from here, right?”
“That doesnae stop me wanting the keep tae be safe,” he argued. “The warriors will be busy protecting ye at the games. I wilnae leave the keep tae its own defenses.”
“Of course not,” Katherine said, shooting a look at her husband. “It would be reckless tae do so. Do what ye must, Will. We trust ye.”
He knew they did, but it didn’t make him feel any better. It was his duty to ensure their safety and that of their children. After three years, he had learned their mannerisms and how to ensure their safety while making certain they still had their privacy. They had only journeyed once to see Katherine’s cousin, and Will had been relaxed during that journey, knowing that the two clans were relatively peaceful given the connection between the two cousins.
But this was different. Many of the clans still held the McDougals responsible for actions that happened long ago, with a laird that had been cruel. He hadn’t cared about his clan, and when he was killed, the entire clan breathed a sigh of relief. Will’s father had abandoned him on that day—a staunch supporter of the former laird—and Will had been left to fend for himself. For years, he had lived in his family’s hut, working for the laird as a stable boy in hopes that one day he would be able to find something of purpose.
Something more than just being a bastard bairn that was abandoned by his parents.
Will guessed he couldn’t put his mother in that category. She had died giving birth to him and after that, his father hadn’t taken much to raising his bairn. Will had been forced to make his own way, and some nights find his own food, but he had survived.
Now he held a lofty position in the clan that he dearly loved, and Will would not let them down.
“How are the new warriors?” Cameron asked, setting his mug back on the table.
Will grinned. “They are getting along, aye.” It had been his idea to have his pick of men like him every fall season that wouldn’t otherwise have a chance of being a warrior. He sent word to everyone, no matter their age, shape, or background to come and try out for a chance to be a warrior. While the first year had not gone as he would have liked, now it was the most sought-after moment of the season.
Just recently he had chosen three young warriors to train with his group. They had gone through the series of concerns that he had when he first made it to the warrior barracks.
While tears were seen as a weakness to some, Will didn’t see it like that at all. Tears could come with anger, frustration, or even happiness. He had experienced those emotions himself long ago.
“Good,” Cameron said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Ye are doing a good thing, Will.”
Cameron’s words stayed with him as he rode out to the site that was being prepared for the games, seated in the saddle as he watched the warriors and clansmen alike erect the tents that the family would sleep in. He did feel like he was doing a good thing. If Cameron hadn’t taken a chance on him, he didn’t know where he would be.
“I see ye are hard at work.”
Will turned to find Trevor next to him, adjusting himself in the saddle. “Ye just couldnae stay away, could ye?”
Trevor grinned. “Nay, I cannae. Ever since I have heard aboot these games, mah sleep has not come as well as I would like.”
Will could understand. His had eluded him far too much over the past month. “I dinnae think this is a good idea.”
“It doesnae matter wot ye think, lad,” Trevor sighed, his eyes on the work before them. “It will be good for the clan tae have the others come tae see we have changed. That is what Cameron is thinking. We need stronger alliances.”
Will blew out a breath. “I dinnae know if this is possible.”
“It will be. Just think of the gathering we had six years past. Things have changed. No one is looking for battles any longer. They are looking for peace.”
Will looked over at his mentor. “Can ye believe It has been six years since ye have wielded a sword?”
Trevor smirked. “Depending on what sword ye are talking aboot!”
Rolling his eyes, he thought of his mentor’s family, including the three bairns that they had, and the one on the way. “Perhaps if ye gave Garia a break every once in a while, ye wouldnae be attempting tae escape yer house so much.”
Trevor looked at him, laughter in his eyes. “Do ye think that is wot I am doing? Nay, ye will know one day that a Scot’s place is next tae a lass who he can’t get enough of. I cannae help it that I have found mine.”
“My lass is the warriors,” Will replied evenly. While he knew that Trevor was happy with Garia, and Cameron with Katherine, he didn’t wish to have to give up his warrior ways for the sake of a lass and children. He was born to wield a sword, and she would be his only mistress for the rest of his days.
“I doubt they will like tae be called that,” Trevor chuckled. “Ye just wait. One day ye will come across a lass ye canna stay aw
ay from, and soon yer mind will change. Soon ye will be thinking of bairns and a warm home with a lass in yer bed. Being a warrior cannae bring ye that.”
Trevor took his leave shortly after, and Will turned his attention back to the preparations, resting his hands on his pommel. His own family had not provided any sort of comfort growing up and had it not been for his father leaving Will behind, he doubted he would be here now.
Sighing, he turned away from the site, kicking the horse into a hard gallop back to the village. This was going to be good for the clan, to continue to strengthen the alliances, but he would still worry a great deal until it was over.
After all, there was a keep to protect as well as the site itself.
Once back to the warrior barracks, Will stripped off his tunic and grabbed his sword, the weight comforting in his hand. The first time he had picked up a sword, he thought he would never have anything good come out of it, that he would cut off his arm or something far worse while trying to wield it like Trevor had.
Yet with time, he had learned the grip and how to balance the weight with his body as he gained the muscle needed. Soon he was sparring with some of the best that the lot had to offer, staying quick on his feet to avoid their swings.
From there, he moved to bows and then daggers, his arms boring the scars of those dagger fights so much so that he learned to wear leather bracers to keep from destroying his skin.
Now, as their leader, Will could not show any weakness. He had to be the best fighter, the best swordsman, the best warrior out of them all. Any failure on his part would put worry in theirs, and soon they would not see him as a true warrior, but someone they could not trust in battle.
That was not something he ever wanted to feel.
Will laid the sword on his shoulder as he walked out to the sparring ring, where his new recruits were waiting for their training. All three were dripping in sweat, with various cuts and bruises from their other sparring time with his warriors. He could see the fear in their eyes but yet a measure of strength that Will recognized far too well.
It reminded him of himself long ago. “We have less than a week tae ensure the safety of our clan,” he told them, placing the tip of the sword in the dirt. “Less than a week before ye will have tae help. Can ye do it?”
“Aye,” the three said in unison.
Will grinned as he picked up his sword. “Then show me that ye can.”
They looked at each other. “Ye want tae take on all of us at one time?” one of them asked.
“Aye,” Will replied. He would have them all in the dirt momentarily, but a measure of hope would be replaced with trust over time, and he needed for them to first understand that they were nothing more than whelps that had a lot to learn.
He could teach them.
3
Breta reined in her horse; she gazed out over the moors and the way the fog was rolling in even in the early morning hours. Normally she would be abed at this hour, but sleep had eluded her greatly last night.
So, an early morning ride had been in order. Now that she had been riding for the past half an hour, Breta felt like she had a clearer head at least.
A plan was what she didn’t have. After her talk with her sister, Breta wasn’t so certain that their plan was a good one. There was no way she was going to be able to get out of the keep and in with the caravan of warriors and the like that would be travelling to McDougal land.
And even if she were able to travel with them undetected, there was a far greater risk of being found out once she arrived at her destination. Her sister would like be attending the games and could see through any disguise that she came up with.
Not to mention, her father would be in attendance.
Breta sighed and urged her horse forward, a gentle mare that loved to race across the moors whenever it was just the two of them. Perhaps there was nothing her father could do once she started. It would look like he didn’t think his own daughter could compete—and in a new era of lady lairds and warriors.
She just didn’t want him to be upset with her.
When the rise came into view, Breta halted her horse right before she would move her down the path toward the village. They had three days before the warrior group would depart, and likely with her father as well. If she was going to do this, then she had to act fast.
It was quite likely her sister was already doing so.
With a smirk, Breta nudged the horse forward again. Ferra was a force to be reckoned with, and if her parents thought that their eldest daughters had been a handful, it was nothing compared to what Breta knew Ferra would cause.
The keep was abuzz with activity as she walked into the great hall, the smell of fresh rushes heavy in the air, coupled with the delicious scent of something roasting in the kitchens below. A fire danced merrily in the large fireplace that warmed the stone foundation, and servants scurried about, moving on with their morning duties.
“Breta!”
Breta turned to see Ferra hurrying toward her, her hair flowing in long amber lines behind her. “Ferra,” she sighed, touching her own braid. “Did ye just roll out of yer bed?”
Ferra came to a halt before her. “Of course, I did,” she said haughtily. “At least I donned a gown.”
“And no shoes.” Breta grinned, looking down at her sister’s bare toes peeking out from under her skirt.
Ferra looked down at her bare feet. “That’s why mah feet are so cold.” She then met her sister’s gaze. “I went tae yer room first, ye know.”
“Why are ye looking for me?” Breta asked, crossing her arms over her chest, the warmth of the room seeping into her cold bones.
Ferra’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ve finished yer disguise. Would ye like tae see it?”
Despite her misgivings, Breta found herself nodding and having her sister drag her up the stairs to Ferra’s chamber, where her breakfast tray was still sitting on the table, untouched. “I’ve gathered the necessary items,” Ferra explained as she shut the door behind them. “It wasnae easy.”
Breta looked at the bundle on her sister’s bed. “Wot did ye do?”
“Nothing devious yet.” Ferra grinned as she picked up the bundle. “Ye would be surprised tae see how many cloaks are laying about.”
Breta took the bundle and pulled back the layers, finding a tartan cloak their father’s warriors wore when traveling. “There’s a tunic and a pair of breeks,” Ferra continued, wrinkling her nose. “I dinnae think ye will be able tae wear them.”
“A mere change in clothes is not going tae fool Da,” Breta sighed, placing the bundle back on the bed. “I think I should just let this fool plan go.”
Ferra grabbed her hands, squeezing them. “Ye cannae! ’Tis the adventure ye have been wanting, Sister! If ye give up now, we wilnae have any tales tae tell!”
Breta chuckled as she squeezed her sister’s hands back. “Is that wot ye are using me for? A tale?”
Ferra pouted. “I cannae live them mahself yet, so aye...I am.”
That was one thing about Ferra—she always seemed to tell the truth. “Ye will have yer own tales tae tell one day, mah sister,” Breta said softly, dropping her hands. “But ye are right. I need tae do this.”
“Then I will help ye,” Ferra announced, her hands on her hips. “A bit of berry tae darken yer hair the color of Orin’s and we will tuck it into itself. If ye keep yer head low and inside the cloak, I dinnae think anyone will bother ye, and no one will know.”
A knock sounded on the door; the sisters scrambled to hide the evidence before Ferra pulled it open, revealing their mother on the other side.
She eyed their red faces, arching a brow. “Wot are ye up tae?”
Breta swallowed, wanting to spill her plans right then and there. Their mother could tell when they were up to something, having three lasses that were forever getting into something.
“Nothing,” Ferra said quickly, shooting a look at her sister to silence her. “We were just discussing the upcomi
ng games, Mam.”
“That is why I came,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. “I talked with yer father. He still is unwilling tae let ye compete.”
Breta’s shoulders sagged in defeat. If her mother couldn’t talk him into it, then there was no hope that he would change his mind. “But why?” she cried. “I can handle the games! ’Tis because I am a lass, isnae it?”
“Of course not. It has nothing tae do with it. Wot it does hae tae do with is that ye are his daughter, lass. He cannae see ye in any sort of danger.”
“’Tis the games,” Ferra spoke up. “Why would there be danger?”
“’Tis a gathering of the clans,” their mother explained, a faint smile on her face. “There’s bound tae be some sort of trouble. After all, we are talking aboot hotheaded Scots.”
The three shared a smile. It was widely known that the men were not as levelheaded as the women were, no matter the setting.
“I cannae have mah daughters there because of that,” their mother finished, giving them a tender look. “We will remain here, where ’tis safe. Now, break yer fast and get tae yer work. The sun is nearly risen.”
The sisters groaned as their mother left the room.
Ferra collapsed on the bed. “I just knew she had found me out.”
Breta frowned. “I thought ye were careful.”
Ferra scrubbed a hand over her face, pushing the locks of her hair back. “Of course, I was. She just sometimes can find out in the oddest of ways.”
Breta reached from under the bed and grabbed the bundle, pressing it to her chest. “Just make sure that ye dinnae kill Orin,” she told her sister. “I cannae have his death on mah conscience.”
Ferra snorted, looking hurt that her sister would think she didn’t know what she was doing. “It will be fine.”
Breta left her sister and walked back to her chamber, hiding the bundle so that anyone that came into her room wouldn’t find it. After stripping off her damp riding breeks and shirt, she changed into one of her dresses, checking her braid to ensure that her hair was out of her way. While her mother always said that her hair was her greatest asset, Breta found it annoying and far too heavy for her head. When it was released, it clouded around her head like the sun when it was setting, the brilliant colors streaking across the sky.
Highlander’s Phantom Lass: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance Page 2