by Baker, Katy
They followed the river bank. There was no trace of the cloying mist that had assailed them on the hilltop or the foul weather that had closed in on them the day before. Now the day was fine, with a blue sky arching above and banks of wispy white cloud on the horizon. A gentle breeze brought the smell of grass and late flowers.
Lia’s headache slowly began to dissipate. She had a million questions she wanted to ask. What had Ross done that he felt the need to atone for? What was the bargain he sought with the Fae?
But she didn’t ask any of them. It was a beautiful day. She was alive, she was safe, and she was with Ross. For now that was enough.
AS THEY RODE, THEY saw not another soul, but nonetheless Ross remained vigilant. Bandits had been known to roam the uplands and Ross would be damned if he would see Lia put in danger again. He’d already failed her once. He would not do so again.
But as they made their way through the sparkling countryside, he realized that they were traveling deeper and deeper into the wild. That was a bad idea. Now Lia had taken a head wound he dare not risk spending a night in the open, as he’d originally planned. She needed shelter, food and warmth.
“Ross?” Lia said. “What is it?”
He realized he’d gone tense, his hands gripping the reins tightly. He forced himself to relax. “Naught, lass. Dinna fash. I was just considering our route.”
“Our route? Somewhere with a cozy little B&B please.”
“B&B?”
She laughed. “Never mind.”
The sound of her laughter sent a tingle right through him. Lord, he loved that sound.
“My mother and aunts will be mighty pleased to meet ye,” he said drily. “Someone else with whom they can discuss the strange things ye have in the twenty-first century.”
“Strange things? Like what?”
He thought for a moment. “My mother once told me of box-like things with tiny people trapped inside. What did she call them? TVs?”
Lia barked a laugh. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess we do have strange things. Okay, no B&B. So where are we going?”
Aye, that was the question wasn’t it? There were no settlements in this area. It was sparsely populated, the poor soil making it difficult to farm. The only people likely to inhabit this area were...
An idea came to him. There was one place he could take Lia. One place where they might find shelter and food and a decent night’s sleep. It would not be comfortable but it would at least be warm and dry. But dare he take her there? How would she react to such a place?
We hardly have a choice, he thought. It is mighty better than spending a night bivouacked in the open.
His decision made, he glanced at the sun to gauge their direction. Nudging Traveler, he guided the horse away from the river and deeper into the forest. They walked for several hours and eventually the deciduous trees of oak, beech and sycamore began to be replaced by pines and fir. They were densely packed together and the space beneath was gloomy. A thick layer of pine needles deadened all sound.
Ross looked around warily, eyes scanning the gloom. To any untrained eye the depths of the forest would appear trackless, a wilderness where no human walked. But Ross had been this way before. He knew the myriad little signs that suggested he was heading in the right direction: a bird skull sitting on a branch, a cairn of boulders carefully placed at the confluence of two deer trails. They were signals, a way of communicating for the people who lived in this place, people who chose stealth and used secret signs to keep out unwelcome visitors.
“What is this place?” Lia whispered, as though she was reluctant to break the silence.
“The Great Forest,” he replied. “Or at least one small part of it. It covers much of the Highlands, a place that follows its own rules, far from the king’s justice.”
As they traveled further into the forest, the signs became more frequent: a bundle of twigs hanging from a branch, a line of white stones laid across the path. They told Ross that they were getting closer.
He’d always prided himself on being an expert tracker, able to move without making a sound, and being next to impossible to sneak up on. After all, hadn’t he been trained by his uncle Finlay, the most skilled tracker in Clan MacAuley? So he was mighty surprised when a voice spoke suddenly from behind.
“Stop right there. One more step and ye will have a crossbow bolt right through yer gut.”
Chapter 10
Lia froze, her heart leaping into her mouth. She dared not turn her head to see who’d spoken. The voice was low and full of menace, leaving her in no doubt it would carry out the threat.
Ross loosed the reins and held out his hands to show he held no weapons.
“I’m a friend!” he called. “I claim right of sanctuary. I wish to speak to Archer.”
There was silence for a long moment then Lia heard whispered conversation. The voice spoke again.
“Name yerself.”
“I’m Ross MacAuley. Yer leader knows me. Take me to see Archer and he’ll—”
“There’s no bloody need for that,” said another voice. “Archer is already bloody here.”
A man stepped out of the trees, appearing so suddenly it seemed he’d materialized out of thin air. He was middle-aged, with a ruddy, weathered complexion and shrewd blue eyes that looked over them appraisingly. His clothing was dyed in shades of green and brown, making him blend seamlessly with the forest. After a moment, he tucked his thumbs into his belt.
“By my mother’s warty arse! Ross MacAuley! How come you’re still alive, you wily old bastard?”
Ross grinned at the man. “The grim reaper hasnae managed to catch up with me yet.” He jumped to the ground and approached the man, clasping his shoulders in greeting.
“Ah it’s good to see ye again, old friend. How are ye, Archer?”
“Still breathing,” Archer replied. “Despite your king’s attempts to make it otherwise.” He slapped Ross’s shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“Fate often leads us down unexpected paths.”
Archer snorted. “Ain’t that the bloody truth?”
Archer spoke with an accent different to Ross’s and it took Lia a moment to place it.
English, she realized. He’s English.
The man nodded at her. “Who’s your friend?”
Ross stepped back. “Archer, this is Lady Emilia Shaw. We need food and shelter for the night.”
Archer nodded, accepting this without questions. “I guessed that bloody much, lad. Otherwise, why would you be here? This way.”
He gave a hand signal and several men that Lia hadn’t noticed stood up from the undergrowth and then melted away into the trees. Ross took Traveler’s reins and began leading him through the forest, Archer walking at his side.
The two men talked as they moved, their voices too low for Lia to make out. Yet from the way they’d greeted each other and their easy familiarity it was obvious they knew each other.
Who were these people? And what were they doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Archer carried a crossbow slung over his shoulder and a brace of knives strapped around his waist. It was clear he was prepared for trouble.
Up ahead, Lia spotted columns of smoke through the trees and soon they began passing through an area where many of the trees had been felled. As a result, light flooded down, almost blinding after the unending gloom.
They entered a wide clearing and Lia found herself staring around, startled at the sight that greeted her. Houses filled the space. Or rather, Lia amended, wooden cabins that had clearly been constructed from the felled trees. They had roofs made of moss and unworked hide covering the windows. People were moving around the clearing going about the tasks of everyday life: hanging clothes to dry on a line, hammering and sawing planks for another cabin, scrubbing pots or standing around gossiping.
The people wore clothing dyed in the same green and browns as Archer and almost everyone carried a weapon of some kind: a bow, a knife or a simple sp
ear carved from a tree branch. Lia saw men, women, and even a few children amongst the group. There were no obvious roads in or out of this place and yet here was a whole community. Who were they?
As if reading her thoughts, Archer grinned at her. “Welcome to Deepvale, Lady Emilia. Home to the destitute, the broken and the desperate.”
"DOES THAT HURT?"
"Ow! Yes!"
The woman carried on prodding the lump on Lia's head with none too gentle hands. She rocked back on her heels and held up her hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Three."
"Track my finger as I move it."
She drew her hand backwards and forwards across Lia's vision. Lia turned her head to follow it and, although the movement made her a little dizzy, she managed the task.
The woman nodded. "Ye have a mild concussion but naught more serious. Ye will be fine with some rest. Here, drink this."
The woman held out a pottery beaker which Lia gingerly took. She was sequestered inside one of the log cabins that filled the village of Deepvale. Inside, the hut was just one room with a fireplace at one end and sleeping pallets at the other. Ross had left her in the care of this woman, who appeared to be what passed for a healer.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Poppy juice,” the woman replied. “It will ease yer headache and help ye to sleep."
The woman appeared to be a few years older than Lia and had blonde hair severely scraped back into a plait. One side of her face was horribly disfigured by burns. Lia caught herself staring and cleared her throat.
"What's your name?"
The woman, in the process of repacking the leather satchel of supplies she'd brought with her, paused.
"Maggie," she said at last.
Lia stuck out her hand. "Very pleased to meet you, Maggie. I'm Emilia. All my friends call me Lia. Thanks for your help."
Maggie looked at Lia's outstretched hand then warily reached out and shook it.
"Ye are welcome. Any friend of Ross's is a friend of ours."
Lia gestured at the cabin. "Is this your house?"
"This is Archer's house."
"Is he your husband?"
This brought a snort of laughter. "Hardly."
"You're not married?"
Maggie shook her head. "Let's just say I’m not the marrying kind."
Lia lifted the beaker to her lips and drank. The taste was even worse than the willow bark Ross had given her earlier. It was so bitter that the taste made her cough and tears spring into her eyes.
After choking it down, she gasped, "That is supposed to be good for me?"
A smile quirked the corners of Maggie's mouth, pulling at her scars. "I never said it would be pleasant."
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
Maggie lifted an eyebrow. "Ye can ask but I canna promise I will answer it."
"Why are you all here? Miles from anywhere? What is this place?"
Maggie watched her in silence. The woman had eyes as gray as a stormy sea. "Deepvale is what Archer told ye. A place for the destitute, the broken and the desperate."
"And which are you?"
Almost unconsciously Maggie touched the burned side of her face. "Isnae that obvious?"
Lia thought back to what she’d seen since they’d arrived. The precautions the villagers took to keep this place secret, the weapons everyone carried, the way they wore clothes that blended in with the forest. "You're outlaws!"
"Of course," Maggie said, a little defensively. "What else would we be, living out here?” She touched the burned half of her face. “I killed the man who did this to me and for that I was to be hanged. What would ye have done in my place?"
The skin on Maggie's face was red and ridged, melted like candle wax. Somebody had deliberately done that to her? In her place would she, Lia, have reacted any differently?
"I..I'm sorry," Lia said.
Maggie waved a dismissive hand. "Dinna fash. Get some rest. I'll check on ye later."
With that she stalked out. Lia stared at the closed door for a minute. These people were criminals. Why had Ross brought her here? Hadn't he himself warned her of the dangers of bandits and brigands?
The poppy juice was beginning to take effect. She felt her eyelids drooping. Before she could finish the thought she slid into a deep and dreamless sleep.
"YE ARE SURE?" ROSS asked.
"That's what I heard," Archer replied. "Raiding up and down the coast all summer. Villages burned, people and livestock carried off. And what does the bloody king do, eh?" He hawked and spat. "Bugger all, that's what."
Ross turned his ale cup in his hands, contemplating this news in silence. There had not been a raid from across the Irish Sea in his lifetime. His father and uncles had once made a bargain with the Fae in order to stop those raids. It had cost them dearly, but it had worked. The Irish raiders had been defeated, decimated to the degree that Dun Ringill and the MacAuley lands had been safe for over twenty years.
Now, it seemed, all that had changed.
"What will ye do?" Archer asked quietly.
They were sitting by the large communal fire-pit that filled the center of Deepvale's clearing. It felt good to be here again. These people had offered him shelter more than once, at times when he'd sorely needed it.
His father had always taught him that outlaws were bad people, criminals who had chosen to run from the law rather than take responsibility for their actions. Ross had believed that to be true—until he met Archer and the people of Deepvale. Most were just folks who'd fallen on hard times or those who'd fallen foul of the nobility. Archer himself was a wanted man because he'd stopped a young lord from molesting a serving lass in a tavern. In the fight that ensued the young lord had been killed and Archer had fled rather than face the noose.
Aye, he'd learned that things weren't always as black and white as they seemed.
He sighed. "I dinna know. When I rode out of Dun Ringill, I vowed I would never return. Now I must, for the sake of Lia. Now ye tell me they are under attack. Regardless, I dinna think they will either want or need my aid."
There was more gray in Archer’s hair than the last time Ross had seen him and deepening lines around his eyes. Ross was struck suddenly by how much Archer reminded him of his father. Both were strong-willed, charismatic leaders. Both carried the weight of that leadership on their shoulders with unflinching dedication. In other circumstances perhaps Archer and his father would have been friends.
"What about ye?" Ross asked Archer. "How will ye manage now that winter is coming on?"
Archer gave a lopsided smile. "We’ll manage as we always have: with whatever the Good Lord sends our way. The hunting this summer has been good." He nodded to a group of men who were entering the settlement carrying the carcass of a boar strung on poles between them. "It isnae the winter that I fear so much as the spring that follows and the king’s patrols that it will bring." His dark eyes found Ross's. "They get bolder and bolder, forging further into the forest each time. It is only a matter of bloody time before they find us. And then?"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. They both knew what would happen to everyone here should Deepvale be discovered by the king’s men.
Maggie walked up to the fire, slung down her leather satchel, and seated herself on a log.
"How’s Lia?" Ross asked.
"Sleeping. The best thing for her."
The firelight turned the scars on Maggie's face a livid red, making them seem almost alive. She looked over to where the hunters were carrying the boar into the butchering shed. "Looks like we'll all have full bellies tonight."
"Aye," Archer agreed. He drained his cup and then stood. "And seeing as we have guests, I reckon we should bloody-well show them what Deepvale hospitality looks like, eh? We'll have a feast and singing and dancing."
With a nod to Ross, he walked off in the direction of the butchering shed. Ross climbed to his feet. The sun was starting to dip towards the horizon, darkness f
illing the spaces between the trees. He turned to stare at Archer’s cabin.
"Ye shouldnae disturb her," Maggie said in a disapproving tone. "She needs her rest."
Ross started. Lord, was he that obvious? "I willnae disturb her," he replied. "I'll just check if she needs aught."
Maggie rolled her eyes and Ross strode quickly across the clearing to Archer's cabin. He unlatched the door and stepped noiselessly inside. A single candle was burning next to the pallet on which Lia lay, one arm flung out as she slept.
Ross paused by the door. The candlelight played across Lia’s features, making her skin glow with a golden light. She looked peaceful. Peaceful and beautiful enough to take Ross's breath. He padded silently across the room and sat down carefully on the end of the pallet. It creaked under his weight. The blanket laid across her had slipped so Ross gently reached out and tugged it back, making sure she was well covered.
She stirred and then opened her eyes. She glanced around for a moment before her eyes came to rest on him.
"My apologies," he said softly. "I didnae mean to wake ye."
"That's okay. I need to get up, anyway. I have one hell of a crick in my neck."
She levered herself up to sitting, rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms over her head. "Ah. That's better. What time is it?"
"Almost sunset."
"Sunset? You mean I've been asleep all afternoon?"
"Aye. Seems ye needed it, lass."
"Wow. Maggie's poppy juice must really pack a punch." She lifted her head and drew a deep breath through her nostrils. "What's that smell?"
"Roasting meat. Archer has decided there will be a feast in our honor. If ye feel up to it, that is."
"Feel up to it? Are you kidding? I'm so hungry I think I could eat Traveler—hooves, tail and all."
He laughed. "I willnae tell him ye said that. He's a most sensitive creature."
