The men were half-awake when he entered the hall, Claudine at his side. They sat around in groups, hushed and resolute, eating bread and cheese and preserves from the kitchens, watching him warily.
He gave them his instructions. They frowned, but nodded. Then, he cleared his throat. “We leave now, men.”
Grumbling, for it was early and they'd barely risen, still eating breakfast, half-sleepily, they did as he requested. Fifteen minutes later, his cloak draped over his horse, barely stirring in the breeze, he faced the assembled group. “Right, men,” he said. “As we said. Silent, now. And don't spread out too far.”
“Yes, sir.”
As one, they set off as he led the way, Claudine at his side.
As they rode closer to Duncliffe, the day still gray and hushed, he wondered if the plan would work. It seemed as if it would, and with Claudine's embellishments, he had no doubt that it would be convincing. He only hoped they could keep it going for long enough.
And that they would arrive on time.
The sun rose, the day dawned crisp and overcast. They drew closer to the manor. When they reached a stretch of woodlands he recognized and waited to reach, he raised a hand, signaling a halt. “Wait here, men.”
He made another gesture, and the first two ranks stepped forward, fanning out to give a wide front. They followed him, noisily, to the edge of the tree-line. Claudine rode beside him. He felt a flare of joy, seeing her there. Straight-backed, hair brushed to shining, she rode as if they were on parade, not as if they were heading out to face a hostile enemy.
As they neared Duncliffe, the gray walls drawing in sight, he drew a breath.
He glanced sideways at Claudine, who reached across and gently laid a hand on his wrist, and he moved his own to squeeze her fingers, gently, pleased for the contact.
Then, as they entered the open, he raised the horn to his lips, and blew.
Chaos erupted in the woods.
The two ranks of men beside him stepped forward, showing themselves. Brazenly, a pipe began to sound. Then the noise was deafening, as war-drums began, and cymbals, and every man hallooing as if to bring down the sky.
“South?” Brogan shouted, pitching his voice to carry, as he knew it could, across a battlefield.
There! He saw a motion. A man on a pale dappled horse broke loose and rode toward them. He recognized the fluid, even motions of the rider as the fellow drew close. He rode with a group of men around him, a tight-knit company of six.
“McRae?”
He rode up to face Brogan. He tried to maintain composure, but Brogan could see that he was far from calm. His ocher-brown eyes held a touch of worry as he looked around, surveying the length of the line that faced him.
It's working...
He raised a hand. As one, his men fell silent. The quiet returned.
“South,” Brogan addressed him firmly. “I have heard news of an alarming happening. I understand my neighbor is besieged by Hanoverian forces?”
“You do,” South said, boldly. He glanced to Brogan's left, seeing Douglas there. Worry flared on his face. His eyes took in Claudine and he looked away, hastily. “And I name you responsible.”
“Me responsible?” He tried not to sound incredulous, but it was hard. “And why, pray then, would I do that? Douglas of Duncliffe is my closest ally! There is nothing between us save bonds of agreement.” His voice was harsh.
“Yes. Well, you broke the guest-laws when you stole their cousin against her will.” He glanced sideways, but could not make himself look at Claudine.
“I came with Brogan of free will, Dunstan,” Claudine said clearly. “I found no reason to fear him.” Her voice was like a knife, clean and hard.
Brogan saw South tense, as if struck. His head went up to glare at her. Brogan felt rage fill him, but before he spoke, another interrupted.
“You sought to bring destruction on me – to sow dissent between me and my neighbors. To set me against McRae, so that we tore each other apart. And all for your own ends, to salve your sense of having been unfairly dealt with.”
Douglas spoke with tight control, but his voice grazed the air, like gravel. Brogan looked at his neighbor with new respect. The fellow might be young for his years, but he brooked no deception.
He saw South look to the left of him and to the right, clearly trying to find some inspiration that would let him deny the accusation. When he thought of nothing, he faced Brogan, eyes hard.
“You took what was rightly for me. I challenge you to a fight, to defend my honor...”
He hadn't finished the sentence before Douglas rode forward, striking him across the face. “You thought to threaten my family. My wife and child. And you still speak of honor? Get you hence. Or you will face more than just Brogan on the field today.”
Brogan looked sideways at the young man. He was tense and stiff, shaking with his emotion. He turned to him, nodding. “My thanks, Milord Douglas. It seems our once-guest did not have his fill of facing me.”
Dunstan's brow went up again, and Brogan nodded, grimly.
“You thought you'd finished me off for a moment, didn't you?” he asked. “But then, when word reached you from my home, you knew better, and you decided to act. Well, I might have let you go then, but if I faced you again, my feelings would be different. You have done great wrong here.”
Dunstan's eyes narrowed. He glanced at the men who flanked him, but they had seen Brogan make a gesture, summoning his men forward, and they hesitated.
Dunstan glared at them, too, and then he rode forward, turning his horse. “I won't forget this foolishness!” he called.
“Nor we,” Brogan muttered, but the fellow was already turning his horse. As one, he and his group of five rode off, across the field, back to the woods.
Brogan watched him go. Beside him, he felt Alex, his nominal leader of the troops they had raised, stiffen.
“Milord McRae..?”
Brogan sighed. “Let him go,” he said.
“Milord? But...”
The man sounded almost dismayed. Brogan could have laughed. He had, it was true, assembled them all together, made them wait all night and march in the morning after breakfast, in the cold. And now, it seemed it was for naught? He understood.
“Come on, men,” he said, turning to face them. “We're going back. Take word to Simmons to prepare a feast. This is a day for celebration!”
As the cheers went up from the throats, he turned away. Claudine turned toward him, a frown on her brow. “Brogan? Will you...”
He shook his head. “Alex will lead them back. We are staying here.”
“We are?” Her face lit up, and he regretted that he'd not sent word here sooner. “But...”
“We have some things to celebrate here, too,” he said, smiling.
At that, Douglas rode forward. Pale and drawn, he looked nonetheless content. “You do indeed,” he said, bowing. “And we have reason, too, to prepare a feast. Let's go back to the house.”
Feeling relieved, despite the weary morning they had spent, Brogan rode with him, beside Claudine. Together they rode back to the house.
A DAY FOR CELEBRATION
“So, cousin. You will stay...”
Claudine looked up from where she brushed her hair. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “I will stay here. No need to return to England. Or there wouldn't be, if I could send word to my brother.”
“Yes,” Marguerite agreed.
They were upstairs, in Marguerite own private boudoir. Douglas had, indeed, sent word for a feast, and they dressed for it now. The cooks had been working all day and Duncliffe smelled redolent with delicious smells. Claudine looked down at the gown she wore.
Pink brocade, it was the dress she'd chosen.
I chose well.
She looked back at herself in the mirror. Her hair brushed and styled – Prudence was here, and overjoyed to see her – she looked content and peaceful.
“Well, then, cousin,” Marguerite said brightly. “Let us go do
wn.”
Marguerite wore a blue the color of night sky – deep and rich, with an indigo sheen. It brought out the fine red of her hair. Claudine slipped her arm through her cousin's and together they walked down to the hallway.
Downstairs, the ballroom thrummed with voices. It was strange, Claudine thought, to be here. The memories of her time here seemed a lifetime ago. Already she was content and at peace at Tor McRae, her new home.
“And what a feast we have!” Marguerite said, indicating the laden tables with a sweep of her hand. The hall had been transformed into a vast dining space, trestles brought in to fill the floor where she had danced. A long table was set out somewhat apart from the rest – that was where the family and special guests would dine.
“You do,” Claudine nodded. She breathed in the rich scents of cooking, noticing afresh how hungry she was.
“Yes! Merrick has been on her feet all day,” Marguerite commented. “I am sure she's far from pleased with me and Douglas for that fact.”
At the mention of Mrs. Merrick, Claudine frowned. She had forgotten that strange conversation, the words the woman spoke to her. Trust your heart. Make your own choices.
Yes, she thought, smoothing her hand down the pink brocade of her gown. She had chosen, and chosen well.
The thought of Merrick brought another sadness. The prescriptions she had made for Mother's illness. Now she had no way of getting them to her. She had, by choosing against her father's wishes, cut herself off from her family there.
If only Reid was here. He would know what to do.
She sighed and, feeling wistful, followed Marguerite toward the table.
“So,” Marguerite said brightly as she sat beside her. “This is nice. A pleasure to have us all together again. Douglas? Shall we...?”
“Let the feast begin!”
As Douglas' tone, and the cheer that greeted it, settled into silence, Douglas sat down, grinning, opposite Claudine. The mantle of earldom seemed to slip lightly from him, and he grinned at her like a youth.
“So, cousin,” he said, reaching for a slice of bread to set beside his plate. “You must tell us of your news. What befell you on the road? There must have been several adventures.”
“Well...”
She turned to Brogan, who nodded. “A few,” he replied. “Some unpleasant, but some quite funny.”
As he launched into a tale about how he'd got himself caught in a tangle of briars – Claudine barely remembered the incident, but as he recounted it, she did, laughing as she supplied the details.
All around her, people were smiling and laughing, enjoying the meal and the celebration. The hall was full of talk, and she knew she should have felt elated. She was safe and happy. Brogan was safe, her cousins were freed from threat and Dunstan had been exposed and sent away. Yet there was a cold place inside her, where no warmth touched.
I wish Reid could be here. I miss him. I want to tell him how to help Mama.
She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to think of it. She would not let herself be sad. Not here and now.
As the banquet progressed – they moved on from a stew of river-fish to a selection of pies, and thence to nuts and baked fruits and a wealth of sweet-meats – she noticed Douglas, talking to a footman.
“Yes. Yes. I'll come directly.”
“No, milord,” the man insisted. He leaned forward and said something softly to Douglas.
“Husband?” Marguerite asked, pretty face creased with a frown. “What is it?”
“A visitor,” Douglas said. He looked distressed.
“Well, it could be one of the Halsfield,” Marguerite said quickly. “I was expecting them, and...” She trailed off, as the doors of the hall opened and a tall form strode across.
“Where is he?” someone said, in crisp English. “I have to see him. He might know where she...”
He trailed off as his eyes fell on Claudine. She stared.
“Reid..!”
She meant to speak loudly, but her voice came out, a wavering sob. She stood and went to her brother and enfolded him in a big hug.
“Claudine,” he said, voice muffled by her hair. “Sister! You're safe...” He trailed off, leaning back and resting his hands on her shoulders, looking into her face. His lean, sharp features were lit with his smile, his brown eyes tender, glowing as they scanned her face.
“Reid,” she said, in amazement. “How...where did you...?”
She looked around at Douglas and Marguerite, who looked at her brother.
“My lord,” he said, inclining his head to Douglas. “Cousin,” he added, bowing to Marguerite. Forgive my intrusion. I was with the men, at Berwick when news reached me of a horrifying occurrence,” he said. “I was told that my sister, my sweetest sister, had disappeared from your home, over a week ago. I took leave directly, and rode here. It took so long,” he added, shaking his head. “And now, by some miraculous occurrence, I arrive to find her here, unharmed and radiant,” he added, grinning at her. “What happened?”
Claudine frowned and swallowed hard. “It was true, the news you heard, brother,” she said, moving back toward the table as a footman, at Douglas' prompting, brought a chair and slid it in beside Brogan and Douglas' own. “I was away from here. I had to leave,” she added, swallowing. “For danger of what would happen if I stayed.”
As they explained what had happened, how Dunstan had threatened her and then, pursuing her, attacked Brogan and finally sought to set Brogan against his neighbor, Reid stared.
“The scoundrel!” he exclaimed. “I always thought there was something...” He trailed off. “But Father wouldn't see it. Now I know.”
“Yes,” Claudine said in a small voice. “Now we all know.”
She looked around at Douglas and Marguerite, who watched them with fondness in their eyes.
“Now,” Douglas said, recovering his composure. “Since you're here, I welcome you to Duncliffe. As you see, we're in the middle of a feast. You're welcome to join us, and stay as long as your leave allows.”
“I thank you,” Reid said humbly. “But I must return within another week. I regret I cannot stay longer,” he said, turning to Claudine.
“It's not your fault, brother,” she responded softly. “I know you have your duties.”
“Perdition take them,” he said and grinned. Claudine smiled. It was good to see Reid, with his sharp smile and his quick mind. She’d missed him.
She felt a gaze on her. She looked at Brogan. He was watching her with concern and gentleness. She swallowed shyly.
“Reid, there's someone you need to meet.”
As Reid glanced around, expression mild, she indicated Brogan. His eyes were wide and instant. Claudine recalled her own reaction first: with the long hair, the shirt and the kilt, he looked somewhat outlandish, she had to acknowledge. She couldn't help but shake her head at that, recalling her first reaction.
He might look a bit rough, but really, there is no man gentler.
She was pleased when Reid shook his hand, completely relaxed.
As dinner progressed – Reid was clearly famished, and ate his way through the first three courses while the servants brought the cheese – they talked and caught up on the news they had not been able to share for so long.
“So, milady,” Reid said to Marguerite, with a grin. “I am so grateful that word was sent...”
He trailed off, seeing Marguerite frown.
“I sent no word.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised. “Well, then. It was you, milord?” he asked, turning to Douglas. He also looked confused. “Or you?”
When Brogan, too, shook his head, he turned back, mystified. “Who, then, sent the letter?” he asked. “If not you, or Marguerite, or Douglas, who informed me?”
Claudine frowned. She knew it was not her, but who was it?
“I have the letter,” Reid said, reaching into the pocket of his shirt. “I brought it with me, since it had the name of the place, and the nearby town of Whitcroft.
I did not know the way, you understand.”
“Yes,” Brogan nodded.
As they all talked, trying to fathom who had sent the letter, Reid unfolded it. Claudine glanced at the much-tattered parchment. Yellow and fine-grained, it was the parchment she’d used, in the writing-set her cousins left for her here.
She glanced back, noting a footman looking at it. The fellow took it at her nod and frowned.
“Milord?” he said. “Begging your pardon, but...may I look?”
Reid shrugged. “Of course, do,” he said easily.
The footman nodded. “Milord, I cannot read, or very poorly, but I know that hand. I recognize the paper, too. I know who sent it.”
“You do?” Reid stared at him, astonished. “Well then, send for them! Whoever it was, I want them rightly rewarded.”
Claudine looked around, heart thudding in her chest. She recognized the footman, and the paper, and suddenly it all began to make some sort of sense. She couldn't quite believe it, though, not before the footman reappeared with the person in question. She smiled.
“Prudence!” The astonishment was overwhelming, even though she'd put the information together by then and come to the conclusion. Her maid! She'd helped her so!
“Yes, mistress,” Prudence said, grinning warmly. She looked at her feet, blushing, and then met Claudine's eye, her own eyes shining. “I wrote the note. I couldn't bear to see you in such danger. Beg your pardon,” she added. “If it was wrong of me?”
“Prudence!” Claudine was laughing, her heart aching with the fact that she could even ask that question, despite her joy. Her one wish had been to see her brother, and to have a means to reach her family! Thanks to Prudence, all that could be granted. And she could send word to her mama, and mayhap the cure would even be of benefit to her. She smiled.
“Prudence, of course you did no wrong in so doing. I am so thankful. You are a loyal friend. Whatever reward you would have, pray name it. I will do my best to bring it about.”
“Yes,” Reid added, where he sat beside her. “And I likewise shall.”
Prudence went red. “Begging your pardon, mistress, but there is one thing I wish for.”
The Highlander’s Runaway (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 19