The Highlander On The Run (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 1)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Thanks, milady!” Alexander beamed. It was strange, he mused, as he crashed off back to the stream, how help tended to turn up as he needed it.

  MAKING AN ESCAPE

  The sound of scissors, clipped and metallic, was the only sound in the room. Addie, holding them, focused on the blades and tried not to think about anything else.

  I won’t think about my situation. I won’t think about Alexander, or wonder where he is and why he didn’t find me this morning. I won’t think about the tablet in my drawer. And I especially won’t think about Lord DeMarre.

  The former was the hardest part. Lord DeMarre sat before her, head held straight, flaxen hair damp and ready to cut. He regarded her over his shoulder, sleepy cornflower blue eyes as dangerous as the end of a blade. He was one of the English barons – descended from the men invited by a king a hundred years ago.

  “You heard about the knights?” DeMarre inquired.

  Addie felt her hand start to tremble.

  “No,” she said. Her voice was as level as she could make it, which was somewhat shaky. She watched his eyes in the mirror. They held hers, like a snake waiting to strike.

  “Two knights came to the castle yesterday,” he said. “Or the day before…No matter. I was expecting a message from them, all the way from England. But then, they were tricked.”

  “Tricked.” Addie lowered the scissors. Her heart was pounding like a drum.

  “Apparently, somebody waylaid them in the stables. I never received the note. I wonder why that was?”

  “I don’t know, milord.”

  He stretched amply, cracking his knuckles. In the mirror, his eyes never left hers. “They say there’s a spy in the castle. I wonder who it is.”

  “A spy?” Addie sounded horrified. How did they guess?

  “Someone gathering secrets,” he added. “Somebody who has access to information. I wonder who that could be?”

  Addie swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

  They looked at each other in the glass. She measured a lock of his hair level with the rest, trimming the end.

  When the silence had stretched far too long, she spoke. “Was the letter found?”

  “It was,” he purred. “It was mysteriously returned to the knights, sometime between the afternoon and nightfall. I would so love to know where it went, during those hours.”

  “Me, too,” Addie said, bowing her head so that he could not see the fear reflected in her eyes.

  The silence stretched as she continued her work.

  “Finished, sir,” she said, cutting the last strand.

  “Good,” he said.

  He stood as she brushed the cut hair off his shoulders, regarding himself critically in the mirror, turning his head to see the length of it from all angles. It hung to just below his chin, the locks already starting to curl a little as they dried. He was very handsome, she had to admit, with a long narrow face and those big blue eyes. It was his personality that was unpleasant.

  “Will you add ointment, like you did last time?”

  “Um, yes, milord.”

  Addie swallowed hard. Massaging the spiced oil into his scalp was the last thing she wished to do – both because of the intimacy of it, and because it was him. She knew he would be watching her all the while, waiting for her to slip up.

  “Ah, that’s grand,” he sighed, closing his eyes as she massaged in the oil, breathing in the rich scent of spikenard, a popular perfume. It came all the way from India and cost its weight in gold.

  Addie shuddered, saying nothing. She waited for him to say something more, question her still further. She finished her work. He said nothing, just stood and went to the door. At the lintel, he turned to face her.

  “If you hear anything about this spy, you will tell me.”

  Addie shivered. “Yes, milord.”

  “Concealing information is as much a crime as passing it on. You will remember that.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  When she was alone again, Addie leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. The scent of spikenard wound round her, sharp and cloying. She washed her hands, blinking back tears of rage and frustration. How dare he stand and threaten her like that? How did he know?

  As soon as her hands were clean, she ran to the courtyard. She had to find Alexander. They had to leave!

  “McClymond?” she called.

  No answer. That in itself was not unusual. He was often not in the stables, having tasks that took him all over the place. She looked around the place, feeling herself start to sweat.

  “McClymond? McClymond, please…Are you here?”

  “Miss?” a head peered round the edge of the taproom. A youth with grubby pale hair grinned at her.

  Addie almost fainted with relief.

  “Hello!” she gabbled. “Do you know McClymond? He works with the horses, sometimes. He’s a big man, with brown hair…”

  “Aye, I ken him,” the youth nodded. “He were here yesternight. He’s gone off somewhere. Strange,” he added, shrugging.

  “Why? What was it, that was so strange?”

  “It were strange because of the knights. They were looking for him. He left when they left.”

  “No,” Addie whispered. “No. Please.”

  Not waiting a moment longer, she turned and ran out of the stables. Her heart pounded. She looked round the courtyard, desperate. Where could she start looking? He could be incarcerated here! They could have taken him with them! Where to start…?

  A noise drew her gaze to the gate. It was opening. She stared dully at it and the group of milling guardsmen. She saw two horses – big strong coach horses – walk in. A coach followed. A man followed it, on foot.

  “No!” she whispered. However, it was him. Alexander!

  She resisted the urge to run over. Instead, she withdrew into the shelter of the barn, watching as the coachman jumped down, and opened the doors. A tall woman with a veiled hat climbed out. She had a fashionable high forehead, her hair drawn sharply back and concealed below her veil.

  Alexander bowed to her. Addie felt a mix of relief and dismay.

  Who’s she? And why is she with him?

  As she watched, the woman walked slowly and elegantly up the steps into the castle. Alexander looked round and caught her eye.

  “McClymond!”

  She lifted her hand. He made a desperate gesture, indicating she shouldn’t come across to talk.

  She nodded, feeling hurt. She turned her back and walked towards the kitchens.

  She’d got as far as the gate when she hear a voice behind her.

  “Addie!”

  She waited, pausing by the big spreading apple tree. She recognized his voice, but waited a moment to join him, feeling angry.

  “Alexander,” she whispered, as he reached for her hand. She twisted round to face him, staring up into his big dark eyes. “What happened? I have urgent news.”

  “They found me,” he hissed. “We have to leave.”

  “They might be watching me,” she warned.

  “What?” Alexander went white. He took both her hands in his. “What do you mean, watching you?”

  “Lord DeMarre,” she said softly. “He suspects me. I don’t know why. He said so.”

  “DeMarre...?” Alexander swallowed hard. He remembered the name, clearly. He looked at her with an expression of horror. “What did he say? Addie, if he…”

  “He just asked me if I knew about the knights,” she whispered. Now that she could talk to someone, she found that she was shivering, weak with a mix of relief and terror. “Alexander…” she paused. “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They stood where they were. The wind whispered in the empty boughs of the apple tree. Somebody dropped a plate in the kitchen, and swore.

  “McClymond?”

  Addie whirled round as somebody came into the garden. Her hands balled into fists, but the man who stood there, cloth cap pulled down over his hair, seemed harmless. He
raised a brow at her, a fleeting smile crossing his face.

  Alexander looked at him angrily. “What, Rennys?”

  The man whistled softly. “Whist! No need tae slaughter me. I came tae say Lady Irmengarde has arranged for your victuals in the kitchen. If you dinnae want them, I’ll eat them myself. Smells grand.”

  Alexander’s brow knotted, but he nodded. “Grand,” he said tiredly. “I’m coming.”

  Rennys shook his head. “Some people,” he murmured. He walked away.

  When he had gone, Addie frowned up at Alexander, confused. “Who is Rennys? And is Lady Irmengarde…” she trailed off, realizing with some little dismay who she must be.

  “I met them in the woods,” Alexander said. “I was lost, and they helped me to return here. I wonder…”

  “What?” Addie asked.

  “Maybe they can help us.”

  Addie frowned. She felt skeptical herself – why would that fine lady help them? A hairdresser, and a stable hand?

  “Mayhap,” she said.

  “Will you come with me?” Alexander breathed. He stroked her hair. “Come with me, please, Addie? All this…it’s getting bigger than just us. Mayhap, if we run away somewhere…to the Highlands, say…we can make our own band of fighters.”

  Addie’s heart lifted. It was exactly what she wanted! More than she had dreamed possible.

  “I want that,” she said.

  “Good.”

  They embraced. Addie breathed in the scent of his skin, felt the firm warmth of his chest pressed to hers. Her arms tightened round him and she drew him close, crushing him against her; wanting never to let him go again.

  “I must go,” he whispered, still holding her tight to him. “Meet me here, at the stables, at one of the clock.”

  “Yes,” Addie said. She reached up and stroked his ruinous hair. “Until then.”

  “Yes,” he said. He strode off. She watched him go, staring after him until his swirling cloak disappeared around the corner of a building.

  When he’d gone, she went into the kitchen. The cook and her assistant were sitting at the table. They looked up as she came in.

  “Why, Addie!” the cook grumbled. “I didnae expect you here.”

  “I’m just passing through,” she said, and dashed away, conscious of their disapproving glances. She headed up the steps at a run. She had twenty minutes to gather everything, to collect provisions and to have something to eat.

  In her bedchamber, she packed her hairdresser’s kit and sewing things. She rolled them all up in a spare gown and belted it with her spare belt. She lifted the kirtle her friend had made and contemplated it a long moment. Should she take it?

  She shook her head. What good would it do her? She was about to put it down when she heard a knock at the door.

  “Addie McMurrie?”

  Her heart hit the floor. It was Mrs. Knapforth, the housekeeper. That meant it was something important.

  “Yes?” she said softly.

  “You’re wanted upstairs.”

  Addie dropped her bundle and ran out. It was only when she got up the stairs that she realized she was still holding the kirtle. She slipped it into her wide sleeve and stared at the person who waited for her there.

  “Addie,” Lord DeMarre breathed. “Perfect.”

  “Milord?” Addie stepped instinctively backwards, her back to the wall. “Why did you call for me?”

  “You know why,” he purred.

  “No, I don’t,” she said. “Milord.”

  He raised a brow. “But you do know. You know about the spy. And you’re going to tell me.”

  “I don’t,” Addie said. Her voice was tight and she was starting to cry, tears of utter terror spilling swiftly down her cheeks.

  “You do,” he repeated. “I know you do. And I will get the truth out of you. Whatever it takes.”

  Addie tensed. She had two options. Either stay here, pleading ignorance until he got sick of it and forced her to tell the truth, or run. If she ran, she would make it all the more obvious how guilty she was.

  “Milord…” she looked round. As she did, she caught a movement on the stairs. Mad old Knott was in an alcove with a broom. He was a friendly, harmless sort, living in his own world. Nobody bothered him, and he bothered nobody: why would they? He was mad.

  She had an idea.

  Letting her eyes roll back in her head, she let out a gurgling gasp. Then she let her knees crumple and started to shake and kick.

  “Curse you,” the baron snarled.

  Addie started to laugh. Thrashing and twisting, she tried to act like a villager her father had once helped. She was a young girl many believed was touched in the head. She was perfectly lucid, her father had explained, except when she was having strange seizures. Some folk thought they were signs of possession by the demons. Her father had hidden the child more than once, to save her from an angry mob.

  Addie screamed and thrashed. She watched the lord through half-open eyes while she did so, trying to judge her moment perfectly.

  He was angry, his face white, eyes narrowed. He was also frightened. She could tell it from his taut posture and his hesitance. It was time.

  Grunting, she edged closer to the edge of the staircase. Then, closing her eyes and sending up a brief but urgent prayer, she let herself roll. She rolled down the steps a few paces, then, as soon as she turned the corner out of sight, she started to run.

  “Help!” she cried, as she burst into the hallway. “Help me!”

  Servants scattered. The guards at the door frowned, but stood aside as she burst through. Still shouting, she ran into the courtyard. She could hear shouts from inside the castle, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before Lord DeMarre had the whole lot after her.

  “Alexander?” she panted. “Please. Be here. Please, Alexander…”

  She ran towards the stables.

  “After her!” Lord DeMarre shouted. She could hear feet striking the flagstones, and somewhere, a horn was sounded.

  “No!” she breathed. Her own death was gaining on her, clad in mail and armed with daggers. She had to get away. Had to run…

  What was the time? She thought she had already heard the bells. It was too late. She had been delayed, and Alexander was no longer here. She looked around, feeling terror grow.

  “Addie!”

  A hand grabbed hers and his voice – his dear, sweet voice – sounded in her ears. “Addie!” he shouted again. “Come on.”

  Together, they ran around the side of the stables. Two horses waited there for them, saddles on. Addie felt her mouth go dry.

  “I can’t ride,” she whispered.

  “I’ll ride with you,” he said. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her onto the saddle. Then, as the first guards appeared at the stable entrance, he vaulted up behind her.

  “Hold on!” he shouted, grabbing the reins.

  Together in the saddle, both horses bolting together to join them, they rode for the gate she’d told him of, the water gate.

  Guards were running from the main gateway. They were clad in mail and plate, though, and their progress was slow. As they rounded the curve of the wall, Addie and Alexander burst through the gate, the spare horse running behind.

  “Alexander,” she whispered. Terror had turned to elation in her soul, making her heart soar.

  “We made it,” he whispered back.

  Together, laughing and crying, they rode away into the woods. Away from the castle.

  A PERILOUS JOURNEY

  Alexander clung to the horse with his knees, his hands reaching around Addie as he rode with desperate fear. After them, he could hear the sounds of soldiers and hunters, the horn signaling them on. He feared that soon they would hear the sound of dogs.

  “Yah!” he yelled. Their horse was tiring, and he knew that a single person riding alone would soon outrun them. They could only ensure they got a good enough head start.

  Addie was clinging to the pommel of the saddle, be
nding forward, her body pressed to the curve of his chest. In another time, he would have rejoiced at the intimacy of the touch. Now, he could simply cling on and pray that neither of them would fall.

  They rode on through the trees.

  “This way!” he heard somebody shout. He winced. They were getting closer.

  “The river!” Addie screamed. “Dogs can’t follow us there.”

  Alexander felt a crippling relief. She was right. If they could cross the river, they could make sure any dogs would lose their scent.

  “Addie,” he whispered in her ear. “If I hold you, do you think we can jump?”

  She nodded. He could feel her heartbeat through her rib cage. She was terrified.

  He could hear the river.

  In the distance, the howl of a hunting hound went up, a quavering, mournful sound that stopped his breath.

  “They’re coming.”

  “I know,” Addie whispered.

  “Hold on tight,” he breathed. Squeezing his horse’s flanks, knowing that he couldn’t make the poor beast go this fast much longer, he closed his eyes and they burst through the trees.

  “The river!” Addie shouted.

  She was right. He could hear it. A roaring sound, like an impossibly strong wind in leaves. He held his breath.

  “Here we go,” he whispered, as they rounded the bend into the clearing. Their spare horse was still running alongside them, head tossing, mane flying. He looked across to the other bank. The river was a little narrower here, perhaps the width of two of his arms, stretched wide. He felt their horse stop, flanks heaving, under them.

  “Easy, lass,” he whispered, patting her neck. “Can you jump?”

  Addie had gone very still in his arms. He squeezed her reassuringly. Somewhere, closer, the hounds barked. They had caught their scent, there was no doubting it. He looked round. The horse that ran beside them was snorting and stamping, ears moving nervously. He was afraid of the dogs, that much was obvious. Their own mount stepped backward, clearly feeling the unease.