The Scot's Spy (Highland Swords Book 2)

by Keira Montclair

  “Aye,” Els said. “We’ll hide from Joya. Close your eyes, Joya. We’re going to pretend you’re the English and hide from you. If we hide, you’ll never find us.”

  John giggled and Joya closed her eyes. Els led him behind a chest and said, “She won’t be able to find us here.”

  Another delighted giggle from the lad. Els put his finger to his lips. “We can’t let her hear us.”

  “We hide,” he whispered, keeping quiet. “Shhhh.”

  The chamber wasn’t quiet, though, there’d been sound outside for a while now. Preparations for the battle ahead, he suspected, but it had gotten much louder.

  Joya got up and said, “Where are you, Els? Where are you, John?” She took a few slow steps around the chamber. “Oh my, I can’t find you anywhere.”

  John opened his mouth as if he wished to answer her, but Els shook his head. When she came close to them, John jumped up with his wee arms overhead and said, “We hiding.” He laughed and laughed.

  Joya gave him a hug, but she looked up at Els with dancing eyes. She’d never looked more beautiful to him.

  Jumping up and down in excitement, John pointed up to Els. “Again. You hide.”

  “I will. Close your eyes.”

  The lad closed his eyes and opened them right back up.

  “You have to keep them closed or put your hands over your eyes.” The lad covered his eyes with his hands, still giggling.

  “No peeking,” Els insisted. More sound filtered in through the window. Men shouting. The galloping of horses. The English must be outside the gates at this point. Joya cast him a look as he ducked behind another chest. They both knew what the sounds meant, but Els hoped he could keep the boy from the danger, or even the notion of it, so he continued with the game.

  “Ready,” he called out to John.

  The boy opened his eyes and began to search the chamber, carrying his play sword with him. He ducked under the bed.

  Their play was interrupted by a loud bang, a sound that was much closer than it should have been. Els bolted out of his hiding place, grabbed his sword, and headed out the door. John had heard it too, because he held his sword up and faced the door, saying, “I fight.”

  “Nay,” Els said, crouching down to speak to him. “You must stay here and protect Joya and your sister. A warrior must follow orders.”

  Fortunately, he listened, taking the best imitation of a warrior’s stance he’d ever seen. Heart in his throat, Els left the room. He made it to the balcony, surprised to see two English soldiers headed up the stairs.

  “Where are they?” yelled the first one, coming directly toward Els.

  “I don’t know who you’re looking for, but you’ll not get past me.”

  They were halfway up the staircase when John rushed out of the chamber. “I help,” he said. “I Aleshander Grant.”

  “John, go back!”

  Chapter Seven

  With the lad in danger, Els didn’t even think. He charged down the staircase, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The first man swung back, but the way the staircase had been built, he had no clearance. Els struck him in the side and then gave him a shove with his boot, sending him crashing over the side, tearing the railing down with him.

  He landed in such a way that killed him instantly. The second attacker knew it, and with a fierce growl he came at Els, his sword overhead, but Els easily blocked the blow. The hilt of his weapon warmed slightly, surprising him. It felt much stronger than the last time it had happened. The man recovered quickly and came at him again, their blades connecting with a spark and a clash of steel that echoed in the empty hall. But it was easy to overpower him—much easier than it should have been. Els surprised the English bastard with an undercut, catching his sword arm in a blow that forced him to drop his weapon. Using the side of his blade, Els pushed him over the edge of the staircase, where he landed on his partner with a whoosh.

  At least Els wouldn’t have to look at them. At least he hadn’t seen their eyes.

  Els reached for the man’s weapon, surprised to find it uncomfortably warm. The heat had transferred between their weapons, something that hadn’t happened since that day on Grant land. Were their powers truly returning? Should he share this fact with the others?

  The thought was too much for him just now, so he tossed the weapon on the floor. Alasdair came flying through the door, brandishing his sword once he cleared the opening. With one quick scan of the area, he assessed the situation and yelled, “Any more of them, Els?”

  Els moved back up the stairs, tossing his weapon aside and picking up wee John, who had dropped his sword and kept staring at the English who now lay on the floor beneath them. “I haven’t seen any, but check the kitchens.”

  When Alasdair left, Els looked down at John, “You did a fine job protecting your sister, did you not?”

  John nodded, finally turning his head from the gory sight below. “I help.” Then he whispered, “I Aleshander Grant.”

  “Aye, my fine lad,” Els said. “He’d be most proud of you.”

  Emmalin burst inside the hall, and one look at the ruined stairway and the Englishmen’s bodies had her hurrying up the stairs in a panic. “John is not hurt, Els? What about the babe?” She rushed down the passageway and threw herself into the chamber. Els followed her and froze, seeing no one inside. “Joya?”

  “Ailith?” Emmalin cried out. “Where’s my bairn?”

  Just then, Joya emerged from a spot behind the bed where they’d been invisible to all. She handed Ailith to her mother. Smiling up at her with a toothless grin, the wee lassie said, “Mama.”

  Alasdair entered the chamber behind them and put an arm around Emmalin’s shoulders. “’Tis finished.”

  “Thanks be to the Lord,” Emmalin said.

  Meeting Els’s eye, Alasdair said, “I owe you my thanks for protecting our bairns from the bastards who got past us. I don’t know how it happened.”

  Els stared back at his cousin.

  He’d done it. He’d actually fought off the English without hesitating. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

  ***

  Els helped Joya make her way down the stairs to the hall. The potions had helped her quite a bit, and the swelling of her ankle had gone down a considerable amount in the short time since the injury. When she hobbled over to a table, she smiled and said, “It feels much better.”

  Dyna joined them. “I’m relieved to hear it.”

  Alasdair and Alick came in from the outside, grabbing ales before they sat down at the trestle table. The hall was empty otherwise. Most of the work would need to be done outside, although Emmalin had said a wood builder would need to be brought in soon to fix the staircase with wee John walking.

  Outside, the wounded were being treated. The dead buried. Thankfully, all of that was far away.

  “Els,” Alick said, “are you ready to explain why you didn’t join in the battle?”

  Els couldn’t help but feel defensive. Although he wasn’t proud of why he’d made his decision, it had worked out for the best. “I was needed here,” he said. “I think I proved my worth.”

  “He did,” Alasdair said, patting him on the back. “Don’t question the man who saved my son. I came in through the door and saw two Englishmen dead on the ground and Els with my son. I thought I’d pass out.”

  Dyna asked, “Did anyone find out why they chose this castle to attack? Surely they knew they’d lose.”

  Alasdair and Alick shook their heads. Els felt something niggling in the back of his mind. He had heard something, but what was it? He scratched his rough beard, trying to recall what it had been, when the words finally popped into his head.

  He was so surprised that he stood up from his stool. “‘Where are they?’”

  “What?” Alick asked. “Where are who?”

  “Not who,” Dyna explained. “He’s repeating something he heard. Are you not, Els?”

  “Aye, the intruders. One looked at me and shouted, ‘Where are
they?’”

  “Did he say anything else?” Dyna asked. “A name? Mayhap a direction they expected to go?”

  Els shook his head slowly, reaching for more details and finding nothing. “I don’t know who they meant.”

  “Do not repeat those words in front of Emmalin,” Alasdair whispered in an undertone. “She’ll fear they were after our bairns.”

  Joya arched her brow, looking from person to person, then said, “Although I wouldn’t put such a thing beyond the English, I suspect they were searching for you and Emmalin, Alasdair. ’Tis the most logical conclusion. They wanted to find the two lairds.”

  “I prefer that thought to the other,” Alasdair said.

  “Truly, they could have meant anyone,” Alick offered. “Suppose they heard someone else was here?”

  “Did the sheriffs say anything else?” Dyna asked, crossing her long legs at the ankle in front of her. “Mayhap they could shed some light on the intentions of the garrison, tell us more about what is going on in Scotland. ’Tis nearly spring. Things will be changing soon.”

  Alasdair said, “They did mention something. They heard that the Bruce’s followers are gathering near Ayr to await his return. They can go in any direction from there.”

  Joya sat forward as he spoke, her expression intent, and Els knew she would wish to follow. Which meant he would go with her. He’d promised as such, and he didn’t wish to be parted from her. Even if it meant he might need to fight.

  “Then do we go there? Are we his followers?” Dyna asked.

  “I need to return home with Magnus and the guards,” Alick said. “The lairds asked me to come back to bring news of everyone’s welfare and what the king is doing. But if you decide to look for the Bruce, I’ll come back and find you.”

  Dyna shifted her gaze to Joya. “And you? What are you planning?”

  “I want to go where the Bruce is. I suspect ’tis where I’ll find my brother.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Els said. “King Edward is not doing well, and he wants Bruce caught. When spring comes, our lands will be thick with English again. I say we find Bruce’s camp, help him early.”

  “Aye,” Dyna said. “I agree. I’ll go, too.”

  She looked at Alick, but he shook his head. “Not until I’ve brought word to our clan. If Magnus is agreeable, we’ll leave fifty men behind and take the remaining guards back home, unless you wish to keep them here.”

  Dyna’s gaze shifted to Alasdair. “I’m inclined to agree with you and Els, but I won’t leave until I know my family is safe,” he said.

  Emmalin emerged from the kitchens just in time to hear him. “Nay, Alasdair,” she said, joining them at the table. “I’ve been selfish to keep you home so long. We need to make our own effort for Scotland. Go to Ayr and see what transpires. With the extra fifty guards, we’ll be fine. We’ll total seven or eight score. Still more than the last garrison.”

  Alasdair looked at Joya. “Do you think our king will come to the western coastline?”

  “Aye, for certes. ’Tis nearly spring. He’ll be back, but who knows where he’ll come ashore. If he’s truly in the Western Isles, he’s not far from his own Turnberry Castle. He could also come up Loch Lomond. But I’d suggest stopping in Glasgow first since it’s on the way. Based on what the sheriffs said, I suspect there will be more English in Ayr. Tongues may be looser in Glasgow. We need to know what we’ll be up against in Ayr since ’tis a royal burgh and the English hold the castle.”

  “Then ’tis settled,” Alasdair said. “Dyna, Els, Joya, and I will head to Glasgow. Magnus and Alick will return to Grant land. I’ll ask Magnus for ten guards to accompany us. I don’t want to take them from my wife’s number.”

  “Aye, ten is a good number,” Joya said. “You’ll not want to travel with any more or you’ll be too noticeable.”

  “I suspect he’ll be willing,” Alick said. “He says we’re to leave at first light.”

  Emmalin nodded. “But not before we have a wee celebration this eve. Meat pies and ale for all.”

  “Now that we’ve settled everything, I need to speak of something.” Dyna sat up straight in her seat and held her hand up. “I’ve a question for you three since no one else is around.” Her gaze went from one cousin to the next. “Did anyone feel any heat in the hilts of their swords?” She waited expectantly. “I know it hasn’t happened in a while, but I had a strange feeling earlier, near the end of the battle.”

  Els waited for the others to speak up first. He wanted to hear their honest responses before he spoke. Only then could he be certain of what he’d experienced.

  “I did,” Alick said. “Near the end. And the last warrior I fought tossed his weapon down as if it burned his hands.”

  A grin slowly stretched across Alasdair’s face as he stared at Alick. “I cannot believe I’m saying this, but I noticed exactly the same thing.” They turned to look at Els, and Dyna did the same.

  Els stared at his hands in his lap, but he could no longer keep quiet. “Aye, I noticed my own hilt heat up, then my opponent stared at his hands. After I pushed him off the staircase, I picked up his sword. It was verra warm.”

  Alasdair asked the question the others were thinking. “Why now?”

  Dyna said, “We’ve tried to replicate it for nearly three years, and we’ve had little success beyond some warmth in your sword hilts. I don’t have any idea why it would have worked here. Any suggestions?”

  Els said, “Mayhap it only happens when ’tis truly needed.”

  No one offered any other ideas. A moment passed, and then Dyna said, “I suppose that could be the reason. Have any of you used different swords? Could it be special swords that work?”

  Alasdair shook his head. “Nay, I still use my sire’s.”

  “And I use the one my sire gave me,” Alick said.

  “The same for me,” Els said. “I take it back to the smithy often to make sure ‘tis still powerful and sharp.”

  “Think on it. Mayhap we’ll come up with another idea, but our grandsire will be happy to hear that it worked again,” Dyna said. “Alick, you may inform him of our discovery. See if he has any ideas about why this has happened again after so long.”

  Els knew the news would please his grandfather, but he also wished they understood why it had happened. Perhaps they’d uncover it in their travels. Though without Alick, it wasn’t likely to happen again. “Alick, you’ll return?”

  Alick snorted. “If I don’t, Grandsire will tie me to a horse and send me back. You’ll know he’ll want to test this revelation. And he’ll also be searching for a theory.”

  How right he was.

  ***

  Later that afternoon, Joya asked Els to take her on a short walk through the gardens. She held onto his arm, moving slowly, but the pain and swelling in her foot had nearly disappeared. “Staying in bed most of the day must have helped my ankle.”

  “My aunties all say to put an injured foot up high and the swelling will go down. It seems to have worked for you.”

  A stone bench sat at the end of the walkway, so she led Els to that spot, needing to talk with him in private. “Els, we must talk.”

  “If you mean to dissuade us from coming,” he said, sitting down next to her after he got her settled, “you needn’t try. We’ve a duty to help Scotland, just as you do. Besides, ’tis in our clans’ best interest for us to find out where the English are traveling. Mayhap we’ll find King Robert or learn information that could help him. ’Tis our duty to go with you. Although I admit I’d want to do it anyway.” He leaned down then and kissed her, a tender kiss, but she opened for him, teasing him with the tip of her own tongue that would drive him mad.

  When he ended the kiss, Joya dropped her head. How did she tell this man that it wasn’t a good time for them to be a couple? That she had to focus on being a spy. On getting back to the Bruce. Although she’d liked playing pretend at Castle Grant, enjoying the furs and Els’s sweet kisses, the battle at MacLintock Castle
had reminded her why she was fighting, and she couldn’t stop. Els didn’t want to go to battle—he’d said as much. Besides which, when she found Robert, he would have more work for her, she knew he would. When she was alone, she could slip inside any camp and uncover information. Men were easily manipulated with the tease of a little flesh.

  What man would want a woman who flirted with other men? Who walked the dagger’s edge of danger every day?

  Besides, the time she’d spent inside the MacLintock and Grant keeps had made her realize something. She had no idea what went on inside castles. She’d spent her childhood cleaning a hut and digging around in the dirt, and after leaving her aunt’s cottage, she’d spent all her time around men. Her purpose had been to learn how to think like them, how to manipulate them, to find out their weaknesses.

  She had no idea how to run a castle. Watching Emmalin giving instructions to all the servants and the guards, running the kitchens while she balanced a bairn on her hip, made her realize how ignorant she was of the ways of women.

  Joya would make a truly terrible wife.

  “What is it?” he asked, lifting her chin with his finger so he could look in her eyes.

  “I did not mean to dissuade you from coming, Els. I like you more than I’ve liked any other man, but now…now may not be the right time for us.”

  “And when would the right time be? I don’t know how you can judge that.” He leaned back, crossing his arms in front of him. “We’ve no notion of when or even if this war will end.”

  “You want what Alasdair has—a castle, a wife, a bevy of guards to train, and wee bairns. But I’ve never lived that kind of life, and I wouldn’t know how. I’m a wanderer. We don’t make sense together.”

  “Mayhap I’m a wanderer, too. Mayhap I’m tired of being controlled by my clan. Mayhap I’d like to go out on my own for a change.”

  She sighed, understanding what he meant, but she doubted he understood what it was like to be away from family. To be alone. She didn’t want that for him. Nor did she have the strength to turn him away.

  Although it hurt her to say it, she knew that she must. “Els, Robert will ask me to sneak into English camps. I’ll need to flirt with the men to the point of seduction. Would you want to be with a woman like that?”