The Scot's Pursuit (Highland Swords Book 3)

by Keira Montclair

  “Please come back,” the younger lass said, fiddling with the flowers. “What if you’re discovered? I don’t know if I could do this alone.”

  Branwen hugged her again. “If anything happens to me, I’ll escape again. But don’t take any risks. If I’m not back in an hour, return to the cave. ’Tis where you’ll be safest. I’ll find a way back to you.”

  “Even if they lock you up? What if they take you back to my sire’s hut?”

  “Then I’ll run away from him, too. And remember, if I don’t return, Alick will be here eventually. You can tell him everything.”

  “But I don’t know him,” Lora asked, her lower lip trembling.

  “Handsome, dark red hair, muscular. He carries a huge sword. Much larger than the ones our guards carry. His horse is black with white on his face. He wears the red Grant plaid. Jep knows where you are, and he will send him to you. I have to do this or we’ll starve.”

  Lora nodded. “I know. Godspeed.”

  Branwen took off toward the keep, hiding from the men who would be at the gate. When she made it to the outside stables, she noticed Jep standing nearby, brushing a horse down, so she slipped to a closer hiding spot before whispering to him. “Jep.”

  He turned in her direction, his eyes widening when he saw her, and brought his finger up to his mouth to hush her. The next signal he gave her was a flattened, vertical palm: wait. He left for a moment before returning with a small sack. After handing it to her, he left in a hurry.

  That didn’t bode well, so she spun around and ran, her long legs rushing through the meadow toward the tree line that meant safety. She was nearly there when two mounted riders sounded an alarm and rode straight toward her.

  Knowing she was about to get caught, she ran as hard as she could, hoping she could drop the sack close enough for Lora to find it. When they were nearly upon her, she threw it as far in front of her as possible, then ran in a different direction. The two horses gained on her, and one of the warriors scooped her up and tossed her across his horse.

  He slowed and said to his companion, “’Tis Branwen. Lass, why did you run away? Your sire is not a happy man.”

  She sat up and shoved against the man’s chest. “Why, Wiley? Because I’m already married. I married a man from Clan Grant before my sire attempted to wed me to an old fool who already has six bairns. How would you feel in my situation?”

  Branwen knew many of the guards at the castle, and Wiley was one of the ones who had always been more sympathetic to her plight. “Ah, lass. I don’t blame you for the story. He did stick you with a bad one. But the man could die within the year and leave you a widow with all his land. Once the old goat dies, you can warm my bed and no one will care. I’d be pleased to have a sweet taste of you.”

  She gave him her back, crossing her arms in a fury. Men. They all thought alike. They all thought it was so easy to live as a woman, but they had little idea what it was like. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the castle. Your sire is out looking for you.” Wiley led her inside the gates, dismounted, then helped her down. Two guards came forward from the door, two she hated. They each took one of her arms and led her forward, though she kicked one in the shin and bit the other’s hand.

  That earned her a slap. “Foolish wench,” sneered the one who’d hit her. “You deserve what you have coming.”

  They dragged her down into the darkest part of the cellars, where prisoners had been held long ago. Very rarely did they hold any of late, but the cells were always there as a reminder.

  She couldn’t have been more surprised. “What are you doing? I’ll go to my chamber. Take your hands off me.”

  The taller one grinned. “You’re no longer a member of this clan. You ran away. Your sire said you are to be kept as a prisoner until he returns.”

  The door locked behind her. The chamber was empty except for a stool and a chamber pot. One guard returned, unlocked the door, and brought in a pallet, a plaid, and a pitcher of water. “You do get special treatment the others don’t get. You get a pallet.”

  Shocked, she had nothing to say. Staring at the pallet and the plaid, she realized she was in the exact position she’d always been in with her father.

  Powerless. Utterly powerless until he returned.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alick ran toward the door but was stopped by a bellowing voice he knew very well. “Alick!”

  Grandsire.

  “Clan Grant is basically under attack. You will go nowhere alone. Please come back while we plan who is to go where.” No one said a word, waiting for Alick to speak.

  “Grandsire, I must go after my mother.” After reviewing everything in his mind, he’d made the only decision he could—going after his mother. Branwen was his wife—they’d been married by a priest who could attest to it—and she’d be safe at Thane Castle. No one would harm her. While he wished to return to her immediately, he had to do what he could to save his dear mother first.

  He couldn’t believe his grandfather had stopped him. He was so furious that someone had had the bollocks to go after his mother that he would kill the English bastards for sure.

  “I think you’re missing an important detail, lad.”

  “What?” he asked, turning around and striding back to the man who held everyone’s attention.

  “Where is your mother?” His voice lacked any judgment—it was calm and rational, inviting Alick to weigh his options carefully and not neglect the obvious.

  Something he did too often.

  He hung his head, knowing his grandfather was right. Again. “I don’t know. I planned to ask Magnus. Surely he has an idea.”

  Magnus came in from the kitchen, chewing on a meat pie. “We don’t know where she is. We tried following her, but the tracking fell apart when they crossed a ravine. They must have gone down the burn through water. But either way, the message isn’t coming to us—we’re meant to go to them. ’Tis why your sire and Jamie will be here on the morrow. They’re gathering forces to bring to Glasgow. That’s the location they set to make the trade. Alex for Kyla.”

  “You mean we’re to wait here until they arrive?” Alick said in disbelief.

  “Aye, and you’ll not be going off on your own. We need you as part of the Highland Swords,” Grandsire reminded him. “You know both your mother and your father would tell you not to run off blindly searching when you’ve no idea where to look.”

  Hell, but he’d forgotten about the swords. They had helped the Grants defeat the group of English in the courtyard and John’s kidnappers in Ayr. Perhaps they would help now too.

  Grandsire was right—he couldn’t ride off in search of his mother, but mayhap he could check on Branwen.

  “I think I’ll go to Thane Castle. Papa will not be here until the morrow, and we won’t leave for Glasgow for two days. I have more than enough time to travel to Thane Castle and back. I’d feel better if I brought my wife back here. Her sire is a cruel man.”

  Grandsire glanced down at his hands in his lap as if thinking of some long past memory. After a moment, he sighed and whispered, “Go. It will please me to meet the lass you’ve chosen to be your wife, but you must not tarry. Take Dyna and five guards with you and be back on the morrow. Do not delay.”

  Alick nearly hugged the old man, but he held back and offered a nod of gratitude instead. “I appreciate your support, Grandsire.”

  “You have it. And I will have to tell your sire you are already married to justify your departure.”

  Something Alick would have preferred to do himself, but he agreed with his grandfather’s reasoning. “My thanks to you. I promise we’ll be back soon.”

  “Who were you thinking of just then, Grandsire?” Dyna asked.

  Alex Grant lifted his head, his eyes moistened with unshed tears, and said, “Maddie. When I came upon her the verra first time, she was in a chamber alone and I could tell she had been beaten. Brodie and I left but returned after receiving a note of warning from her stab
lemaster. We should never have left, and I still feel the guilt of it on occasion.”

  Alasdair came forward. “But that had a good ending, Grandpapa. Do not feel guilty. You did what was right in the end and look how it worked out? Had you done it differently, who knows what might have happened.”

  He looked up at his grandson and smiled. “You are wise beyond your young years, Alasdair. Alick, go find your lady and bring her here.”

  ***

  The sound of footsteps, fast and furious, echoed down the hall to her. Nightfall was nearly upon them, or so she guessed. There was a small window near the staircase that let light in, but the light was diminishing.

  She expected she’d be spending the night here. Her hands kneaded furiously in her skirts. How was she to escape? And what of Lora? She hoped the lass would at least find the sack of food.

  It wasn’t long before she heard steps on the stone staircase. She held her breath as she waited to see who emerged. Thankfully, it was Jep.

  “Lass, forgive me, but I tried to warn you. I knew your sire was upset, but I didn’t expect him to put you here.”

  Branwen peeked out the window at her dear friend. “Jep, you must look for Alick, tell him I’m here. I fear my sire will ask the guards to lie to him. Please help me find him.” She could feel the tears wanting to drench her cheeks, but she refused to give in, instead biting her lip and thinking of the hate she now bore for her sire.

  “I promise to look for him. Here, I brought you a hunk of cheese, but keep it hidden. Lora found the bag you tossed her way and managed to get away without being seen. So do not worry on her. I’ll tell your husband about both of you.”

  “My thanks to you, Jep.”

  He left as quickly as he’d come, but at least she knew she had one ally. Fia would help her, too, if she could, but her friend probably had no idea she was in a cell. Only the guards would know.

  Did her uncle know what had been done to her? She should have asked Jep, but she hadn’t thought of it in the moment. Maybe her uncle could be persuaded to help if he knew the truth of the situation.

  Would Alick come for her? If so, when?

  The worse part about it was the uncertainty. Even if he did come, he wouldn’t know the truth unless he saw Jep or Lora.

  A short time later, she jerked her head up, surprised she’d fallen asleep on the pallet. Someone was putting a key in the lock.

  How she prayed it wasn’t her sire.

  But her prayers had not been answered lately, and this was no exception.

  “No matter what I do, I regret your birth, daughter. Now you’ve embarrassed me. Stand up.”

  She did as she was told, because that was what she’d always done with him, even though her heart rebelled. His hand came out in a wide arc to slap her, the blow so powerful her head hit the wooden wall.

  I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

  The thoughts were so powerful they nearly drowned him out, but his next words caught her attention.

  “You will remain here until Osbert returns. You will do the bedding ceremony, and I will witness it. I don’t believe your lies about marrying the Grant lad, and I’ll soon find out the truth, will I not? I’ll be looking for the bloody sheets as evidence. Osbert will arrive on the morrow and the bedding will commence. Then you will return and care for his children. This time I’ll send three guards to make sure you are watched. And where is Osbert’s eldest daughter?”

  She did her best to look innocent, but her heart was racing in her chest, his horrible threat ringing in her ears. Still, she knew better than to tell him anything about Lora.

  “Papa, I’m telling you that Father MacKenzie married us,” she insisted.

  “You’ve made up many stories before about the priest who talks with you, but I know better. There is no Father MacKenzie, there was no wedding, and you’ll go to Osbert a virgin. He’s paid me good coin for your maidenhead, and he’ll have it.”

  What was happening? Her father had lost his mind. Of course there was a priest named Father MacKenzie. Of course she was married, though he was correct in assuming it hadn’t yet been consummated.

  “I don’t know anything about his daughter. I ran away.”

  “She probably saw what you did and decided to run away on her own. If I find out you encouraged her, you’ll get more than a slap next time.”

  He spun around, opened the door, and left, taking care to lock the door behind him. Branwen rubbed her cheek before carefully shifting her hand to her head. A small knot had appeared.

  Please, Lord. Help Alick find his way to me. Please.

  She fell onto the pallet and rested her head, not wanting to see what came next.

  Branwen slept in fits, the cold and her fear of critters and insects keeping her from any sort of steady sleep. But at one point, she could swear she heard talking. Moving over to the door, she peered out through the small window.

  Male voices in low tones carried down to her from the staircase as boots struck the stone, the sound echoing across the dark of the night.

  The footsteps came closer, and she prayed it wasn’t her sire returning to slap her again.

  What she saw shocked her. Two guards carried an unmoving person down the passageway. She stood back from the door, wanting to see who it was they carried, but not wanting the guards to know she had.

  How she prayed it wasn’t Alick.

  When they passed her cell she stood on her tiptoes, leaning toward the window to look out. All she could see in the night was a glimpse of long, dark hair. Two men carried the person while one went ahead of them to unlock the cell.

  “Did you bring the pallet? He said to treat this one well,” the first man asked.

  The one in the rear said, “I’ll go get one.”

  “And two plaids, a pitcher of water, and a container with bread and cheese in it. We’ll just leave it covered.”

  “Who’s doing the cellar checks?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  Then they left, never once glancing her way, so she didn’t get a good look at any of their faces.

  Who was the person with the dark hair?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alick and Dyna neared Thane Castle well after dark. “I’m glad it’s nightfall,” he said, slowing his horse. He checked the landscape for a good place to hide their horses. After his previous dealings with Arnald Denton, he had no wish to run into the man this eve. If they couldn’t learn anything from Jep, the stablemaster Branwen trusted, then they’d have to sneak inside. The wind blew across the land, giving the night an eerie feel as if thunderclouds were rolling in with the promise of rain.

  He glanced up at the sky, wondering what the weather would bring, when Dyna answered his question.

  “’Tis not going to rain,” she said in a tone he knew better than to question. “But we’ll have to take care, Alick. What’s your plan?”

  They stopped their horses, and Alick said to the guards, “I’d like you to hold back here. See what happens. Keep your eye out for young lasses in case we go in through one entrance and she’s sent out through another. Dyna, do you have suggestions?”

  “I’ll see if I can find my way in through the back entrance.”

  Alick said, “Good idea. She trusts the stablemaster. I would prefer to start with him, but there’s quite a bit of activity going on at the stables so I suspect he won’t be able to tell me much. I’ll do the direct thing and ask to speak with the earl.”

  Alick and Dyna didn’t move, taking in the activity around the outer stables. There were far more guards about than he’d noticed on his last visit. Some of the men had been out hunting, but not this many. And the way the men milled about, speaking in hushed tones, spoke of some clandestine activity.

  Something had changed.

  “Dyna, I know ’tis dark and difficult to see, but do not many of these men sound English? And they’re dressed in plain clothing, too. I see no plaids other than Thane. What say you?”

  Dyna pursed her
lips and said, “I say we need to move and stop talking about it. Because you’re right, and it doesn’t bode well.”

  Alick glanced at her. “I agree. We move.”

  “Meet back here in an hour,” Dyna said. “If anything happens, I’ll run and leave a guard to advise you.”

  Alick nodded. “Godspeed. All of us.”

  They separated and Alick found his way to the stables, taking his horse along so he’d have an excuse to speak with the stablemaster. Jep was there, but he gave him a quick shake of the head to indicate he couldn’t talk openly. Another guard asked him his business. “I’m here to see the Earl of Thane. I saw him a couple of days ago, and he told me to come back.” Not a direct lie, just a wee one.

  The man’s companion, another guard, confirmed, “Aye, he was here. Allow him entrance.”

  “Tie your horse over there and go in through the gates. The guard there will escort you to the earl’s solar.”

  Alick was surprised it was that easy, but he didn’t argue. Nor did he assume it would be easy once he went inside. Perhaps he’d come back to ask the stablemaster questions if he didn’t get his answers. He was led to the great hall, and he stood outside waiting for a few moments before a guard ushered him inside and led him to the closed door of the solar. There wasn’t much going on inside the great hall. A few small groups of guards enjoying ale.

  He hadn’t mentioned Branwen’s name yet, deciding it would be safest for him to speak with the earl about her directly.

  Alick wanted more than anything to begin pacing but decided against it. Before he knew it the door opened and three guards exited. His guide nodded for him to enter. “He’s expecting you.”

  “Greetings to you, my lord,” he said as he stepped inside. William Cargill, the Earl of Thane, sat behind his desk and didn’t move but waved him toward a chair.

  “I’m here to see Branwen, my lord,” he said.

  “Ah, my sweet niece,” the earl said. He scrunched his nose. ‘I’m afraid I have bad news for you. When her sire returned, he quickly took her to Osbert Ware’s residence. They were married immediately. I attempted to persuade him to allow your suit, but he was not interested in having anything to do with you. My apologies. I have a great deal of respect for Clan Grant and my sister would have approved your request to court her daughter. Unfortunately, she’s no longer with us. When I see Branwen again, I’ll share the fact that you came looking for her.”