He shook his head, looking about to cry.
Aymer called down, “Dinna fret, lass. He’s no’ far, I’m sure, and we’ll get him back straightaway.”
“Who’s no’ far?”
Katie whirled to find Malcolm striding up to her, the laird not far behind.
“Henry is missing. They cannot find Henry,” She said now, latching onto Malcolm’s arm.
“Sound the alarm!” Called the laird.
Katie spun again, the chief on her other side. She almost didn’t recognize his voice. Gone the cheery and silly laird, replaced now by a sternness that should have been a regular feature of this man, to match his naturally harsh countenance.
This gave her no great ease, but plenty of hope that actions were being taken so quickly.
“Malcolm, get what ye can out of them,” Alexander MacBriar directed, pointing to the lads just as the horn began to blast overhead, the noise low and eerie, so very different from the bright notes of the supper call. “Gilbert!” The laird hollered toward the stables. “Bring ‘em out mounted!” Several soldiers gathered ‘round, come from the wall and from other places inside. “Groups of four!” Laird MacBriar continued to command. “Work in patterns, inside sections. Aymer, start splitting them up. Someone fetch the hounds!”
The blare of the horn continued. Katie turned her attention back to the lads, and Malcolm’s interrogation of them. The big man had gone down to one knee, assured the boys, “You’re no’ in trouble, ye ken, but we’ll find Henry sooner, you tell me exactly what happened.”
They took turns, picking up where the other left off, but after nearly a minute of the disjointed telling, a story unfolded.
Mounted soldiers appeared further out, gaining the bridge, the alarm having brought them, their pace furious. Katie spied Alec at the lead, Eleanor at his side, a dozen behind them.
Alec would find Henry—if only to thwart fate or prove somehow that the world was meant to do his bidding. She began to move toward the coming army unit, meeting Alec’s eyes, heavy under his dark frown.
“Henry is missing!” She said before he’d even left the saddle.
“Aye, we’ll find him,” he said without hesitation, dismounting quickly and taking her arm, leading her back to his father and Malcolm. As expected, his own instant certainty was a balm to Katie’s fright.
Malcolm explained what they knew.
“Lads were playing battle down by the gulch, running, hiding on each other. Henry leapt across, went up into the woods there. They lost him.”
“How long?” Alec asked, his solid and warm hand now at Katie’s back.
Eleanor joined them, giving Katie a rare sympathetic nod.
“They canna say. Sounds like quite a bit, more than an hour,” Malcolm said, with a worried look toward Katie.
Alec’s father said, “Aymer’s divvying up the troops, lad. You and each of your officers lead a unit.”
Alec nodded while Katie declared, “I want to go with you.”
“Nae, lass,” said the laird. “You stay here now with me. Let them get to it.”
With that, Alec glanced down at her and said sternly, “We’ll find him, and we’ll no’ return until we do.”
Tears threatened but did not fall. She nodded again, having no choice but to believe this. Alec took off, Malcolm following, running back inside to claim a destrier put out by the stable hands. Eleanor remained a moment more, drawing Katie’s watery gaze.
“We’ll find him.”
“Please,” was all Katie said.
Chapter Eleven
The next many hours were unbearable. Morning turned to afternoon and afternoon to evening. The wind carried on, whistling throughout the keep, throwing leaves and dust about outside. The hall was eerily empty, the quiet doing Katie no favors.
“Aye now, that’s enough, lass,” called the laird, returned to the family’s table some time ago, drumming his fingers upon the wood. “You’re bringing on heartache here, watching ye pace like that.”
The supper hour had come and gone. Even in her state, Katie had thought to ask where everyone was, why none had come to dine. Magdalena MacBriar, putting out a single dish before her husband and then another upon the head table for Katie, had informed her, “All gone looking, lass. They’d have heard the horn sound, would have met up with the searchers, joined the hunt.” Her face was soft, her eyes filled with compassion as she took Katie’s hand. “Now come and eat. I’ll be up in a bit with my own stew. Sit right there, next to our laird. He dinna bite, as well you know.”
Katie sat as the mistress returned to the kitchen once more.
The laird reached over and patted her hand, awkward but kind.
“It’ll be fine.”
She couldn’t eat, of course, just stared at the trencher, her brain not even allowing her to make sense of what it was, not caring.
Maddie returned shortly, sitting on her husband’s other side, setting her own supper before her. “Eat now, lass, or you’ll see me lose my temper.”
“Och, but leave her alone,” the laird spoke up, though his voice was not raised above its normal hugeness. “She’s worried, ye ken? Same as ye would be.”
“Aye, but Laird MacBriar,” said his wife, who regularly referred to him so formally, “Alec will bring him back. Being sweet on the lass here, he’s not about to let her down.”
Even this, from Alec’s own mother, wrought not much more than a blank stare from Katie.
“Well, it’s true,” Maddie said, shrugging, before she dug into her stew.
Minutes later, while the laird and mistress ate in silence and Katie sat very still, Maddie leaned across her husband and said to Katie, “Did you know my son went missing once?”
“Did he?” Katie asked, without great interest, as quite obviously, he’d been found.
“Was gone for more than seven months,” Maddie said casually.
This turned Katie’s head and lowered her brow. “Seven months?”
Alexander MacBriar sat back swiftly, shoving his hands against the rim of the table. “Now dinna be telling that tale, woman. That’s no’ yours to be spilling.”
With her usual and genuine innocence, his wife wondered, “Is it to be a secret?” She continued to eat, moving the spoon slowly from trencher to mouth. When next she swallowed, she said, “Wasn’t precisely lost. Was taken by the English. Naturally, we had no idea—of either his whereabouts, his capture, or what he was suffering.” To her husband, “But aye, how we fretted when we’d gotten word, aye?”
Her husband nodded, his jaw clenched, so very like his son. He kept his head down, aimed at his lap or the table or food, Katie wasn’t sure.
“Lord knows what entirely he suffered,” the mistress mused with a little shrug. “But not any of it was good. I often wonder what might have become of him if not for the fact that he was imprisoned with his friends, Lachlan and Iain. Their horrors were equal to his,” she said and then amended, “maybe not poor Lachlan, he had it worst, I always thought.”
“Is...is that why he is so often...why he smiles so little?”
“Like as no’,” answered his father. “He dinna—"
“I don’t think that’s the reason,” Maddie said.
“Ye dinna?” Her husband asked. “What ye mean?”
“I mean what I mean, Laird.” She shrugged. “He’s not unhealthy or unhappy or unloved. The lad always had so much pent up...everything, never knew what to do with too much joy or too much fear or too much pain.”
“Aye, I will no’ argue that,” said Alexander. “Face used to turn radish red, I’d say, holding in whatever it was that overwhelmed him. But,” he argued further to his wife, “he’d outgrown all that by the time he left.”
His wife shrugged at him. “And then it returned. I wasn’t surprised.”
Alexander MacBriar said to Katie with some sadness, “He dinna talk about it, not ever. I’d seen enough that I...I had an idea.”
“You had seen what?” Katie asked.
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“It was his father that brought him out of those dungeons,” Maddie said, nodding an affirmation.
“You did? You discovered where he was being held and charged in after him?”
The laird harrumphed. “Nae.” A short pause, while memories assailed him. “I could no’ ever find him, was only a message come to my camp—I was searching, we were set up near the border, had a dozen or so English prisoners myself. So they want a trade and ye ken, I said aye right quick.”
“He dinna trade, though.” Maddie said, pursing her lips sadly, shaking her head.
“You didn’t?”
“I meant to, but they sent one out, showed me some still lived. I sent one over as well, as whole as the day he was taken. Not so what they shuffled over to me.”
“They were to trade the next morning,” Maddie said, taking over telling when her husband seemed lost in his thoughts, grieved by memories. “Aye, but our laird couldn’t stand it, dinna want his son one more second with that kind of evil. Stormed the house in which they were held, carried his son out of there in his own arms, brought a half dozen more out as well—so many less than those English had originally taken.” She whispered to Katie, as if her husband might not hear what was said, seated between them, “Killed more than twenty, tortured to death.”
“Holds onto anger, and all, mad at himself for not effecting his own rescue.”
“But that’s absurd,” Katie argued against Alec’s self-loathing.
“You tell him that, lass,” said Maddie. “He dinna want to hear it from me. And so ye have it, the lad’s bent on being fierce, never showing weakness, nor fear, nor empathy—God save us all—or anything he might consider soft. Laughter, apparently, would be a softness. A smile for his mother.” She whimpered. “An embrace.”
Katie’s heart broke. The mother in her wondered, “Do you miss your son then?”
“Every bluidy day,” the laird answered instead.
‘Does he...improve when he’s home for any length of time?” She wondered. Was there no saving him?
The laird shook his head even as his wife answered, “He’s a good lad, ye ken, just won’t allow himself to be happy.”
“A weakness,” Katie surmised. How tragic.
When no more of the tale seemed to be forthcoming, no more insight offered about the man that was Alec MacBriar, Katie went to the door again, as she had a dozen times today, standing in the threshold, waiting.
Full night had come, the sky clear and milky black around a bright showing of stars. The wind had died away, left swirled piles of leaves and debris in various spots about the yard. The torches, high on the bailey walls, lit by the laird himself earlier, bathed the yard in a golden haze.
She listened carefully, wanting so badly to hear the sound of horses, of cheery people, anyone, returning with her son. She couldn’t panic, mustn’t panic, must stay strong, but oh how frightened she was.
A lone tear slid away, her ears sensing nothing. But she waited still.
More long minutes passed.
Finally, sounds came to her.
Not jolly, but muted, that she could claim no immediate joy.
Dashing toward the gate, the noise grew louder, not voices, just the sound of hooves clip-clopping over the bridge. Hanging onto the wooden frame of the gate, Katie scanned all those coming toward her, looking for only one face.
He wasn’t there!
Alec rode in the lead, alone upon his horse. There was Malcolm and Aymer.
Henry wasn’t there.
Her hand slid down the wood as she sank to her knees and sobbed forlornly into her chest.
Malcolm called out, “He’s here. He’s safe, Katie!”
She lifted her face—but where?
Eleanor showed herself, moving her large steed around Malcolm and Alec. Henry sat before her, sleepy and untidy, but safe.
Covering her mouth with both her hands, she howled silently her relief. And then leapt to her feet and ran to them, ignoring every other person, her gaze seizing on her son, whom Eleanor easily lowered to the ground, to Katie’s waiting arms.
He wrapped his arms just as tightly around her as she did him, showing her exactly what a fright he’d had as well. When finally she loosened her hold enough to scan his face, taking his hands in hers, holding them wide, checking out every part of him for injuries, he grinned at her and said, “Eleanor saved me.”
THEY RETURNED TO THE hall, let Magdalena and even the laird fuss over the boy, the laird saying with some feigned sternness, “And that’ll be the last time you cause your dear mam fits, aye, lad?”
“Yes, sir.” No small amount of contrition attended his reply, but Henry was otherwise only tired and, as ever, besotted with Eleanor, staying close to her, while so many others convened in the room.
“How do I thank you?” Katie wondered. “All of you?” She let her gaze fall on each and every person in attendance, all those who had done this service for her.
“Aye now,” answered the laird, “ye give and ye receive, aye folks?”
Her hand found her chest, her heart full.
“It’s late,” Alec said, near to her. “I’ll walk you home.”
“Eleanor, too!” Henry insisted, threading his fingers through hers.
No smile accompanied her agreement, but Henry was thrilled, nonetheless.
The four left then, stepping out into the dark night, Henry keeping hold of Eleanor’s hand, a spring in his step. He talked continually of course, bound to make good use of this precious time with his hero.
While her gaze mostly stayed with Henry, Katie was especially aware of Alec at her side, and finally, now, gave more thought to the unfortunate tale his parents had told her earlier. She wondered when this had taken place, when he’d been taken captive, but thought this moment not the time to ask. Mayhap she never would, mayhap he only wished to let it rest.
At one point he rubbed his hand along the back of his head and said in a low voice. “You’ve seen a wee bit of troubles since we took you from Dalserf. Mayhap you’re wishing you were there still.”
She jerked her gaze to him. “Good grief, no,” she was quick to assert.
At his quizzical stare, she explained, “If Henry had gone missing in Dalserf, I’d have been forced to comb the woods and creeks and lochs by myself.” Her throat tightened. “None would have helped. None would have offered.” When he remained silent, she said with forced lightness, “You said I did him no favors by smothering him. He’s getting a right nice life education this last week, aye?”
“Mayhap you’d rather it came not at the price of your own terror.”
Her newfound knowledge of his own circumstances caused her to ponder if this were said with some awareness of his own mother’s horror, when he’d gone missing.
Funny, she thought, how the loss of fear and worry—with Henry’s return—thrust thoughts of Alec MacBriar back to the fore. Katie was aware of each step he took, knew that he’d plucked at some leaf as they stepped into the trees, twirled it idly around between his thumb and forefinger. Something nipped at her, telling her to make conversation with him, that she said, “I like Swordmair very much. I-I suppose I should thank you for...insisting we come away from Dalserf.”
“Aye,” was all he said.
They were quiet then, letting Henry’s voice be the only sound for a moment, until he asked, “What changed your mind—about coming to Swordmair? What had you say aye in the end?”
“Mostly, I suppose it was Malcolm who persuaded me,” she said truthfully, though was compelled to admit, “And...and because of those few minutes when you accidentally struck me to the ground when you helped with the laundry.”
He turned a curious eye to her.
Though he asked for no clarification, Katie said anyway. “It was your reaction, actually. You were...immediately remorseful, felt awful I thought.”
“Aye, I did.” There seemed to be a question yet in his tone.
Shrugging, watching her footfalls and not
him, she told him, “I thought a man who feels so poorly for a mere mishap wouldn’t ever wish harm upon me, or bring harm to me.”
“Hm.”
Which was barely a response at all, that she felt the need to defend her reasoning. But she did not, left it at that.
Inside the small village, Henry and Eleanor entered the house first. It was cold and dark and Alec bent almost immediately to the small hearth to light a fire when they’d followed.
Eleanor said to Henry, “You’ll sleep well tonight, lad.”
“I’m no’ tired at all,” he said, indeed wide-eyed and bright.
“Aye, but us old folk are. Climb in there, give your mam some peace tonight.” She pointed to the narrow bed in the far corner of the room. “Get lost again, I’ll no’ speak to you for a fortnight, aye?”
“Aye,” he agreed readily enough. He removed his short coat and jumped up to hang it on the hook beside his mother’s cloak and then sat and removed his shoes, saying to no one in particular, “I dinna wash my face yet though.”
“A little dirt overnight will do you no harm,” Katie assured him. She held back, did not approach him or the bed when he climbed into it, supposing he might ask for Eleanor to tuck him in even.
He did not, just laid there on his back, his hand settled over the coverlet on his belly, and stared at the three adults watching him.
Katie added, “If you do not sleep, I’ll be forced to give you a wee talking-to for the scare you gave me.”
He frowned, “But Eleanor already scolded me.”
Katie’s mouth opened but she said nothing. Inwardly, she smiled. I knew she cared for Henry.
Eleanor said gruffly, “Close the peeps. Canna sleep with ’em open.”
He did, but so tightly that Katie grinned in truth now. She turned to Alec and Eleanor. “I cannot thank you enough. I am forever in your—”
“Let’s no’ get fussy about it,” Eleanor cut her off. “We dinna suppose you aren’t grateful.”
Unsurprised by her opposition to praise, Katie nodded and folded her hands at her waist.
The Love of Her Life (Highlander Heroes Book 6) Page 15
