A Highlander's Redemption

by Aileen Adams

  So very far away.

  23

  “It’s the only way my plan will work, Alasdair, and ye know it!”

  “Colin, she’s my wife! My responsibility! I will not stay behind!”

  “Then ye will sign yer wife’s death warrant,” Colin said, his voice harsh with anger and cold with the truth.

  “I cannot… I will not, stay behind while ye go after those men who took my wife!” Alasdair shouted, anger coursing hot through his veins. He did his best to ignore his pain, sitting in one of the chairs in the main room of the stone house, watching Colin pace in front of the fire.

  Frustration and rage roiled, that his own body betrayed him and refused to do his bidding. His injuries serious, the dangers of him opening the wound in his side and bleeding to death still very real, but at the moment, he dinna care. All he cared about was getting Beitris back.

  “If ye will just listen to my plan,” Colin said, halting his pacing and glancing upward into the loft where Elspeth lay in her bed.

  Elspeth had taken several severe blows to her head and lapsed in and out of consciousness, but she was safer now, made as comfortable and warm as possible. There was nothing more either one of them could do about her wounds. They would have to wait for her to regain consciousness once again before either of them could assess the severity of them. After carrying her back to the house, Elspeth had fought her way to consciousness long enough to tell them what had happened, to describe the three men who had barged into the house. Alasdair had seen for himself the blood on the floor of the kitchen area where Beitris had stabbed one of them with a knife.

  His chest burst with pride for his wife’s bravery, again humbled, causing him a depth of regret and chagrin that he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forget. At the same time, he feared for her. Surely the outlaws would punish her for that. Beitris, his blind wife, was braver than he could ever have imagined. She had overcome so many challenges in her life, and because of him, was now facing one of the greatest, perhaps one of the deadliest. He was determined to do what he could to save her, to spare her life, even if he lost his own doing so.

  “The English crown has posted rewards, not only of coins, but land in return for the head or heads of rebels who escaped Culloden.”

  Alasdair glanced at Colin with a frown. “And these bounty hunters, these people, they believe that?”

  “Apparently so.” Colin nodded. “But I will tell ye one thing that I do know. I spoke with Beitris’s father yesterday, and I don’t believe he betrayed ye. He may not like ye, he may want his land and his house to return to him, so he can perhaps sell it, but he does not want Beitris back. He made that plainly clear. So ultimately, he would have no benefit other than a few coins as a reward to betray ye.”

  Alasdair mumbled under his breath. Though he loathed Beitris’s father for his greed and avarice, he could believe what Colin said. No matter how the villagers felt about him, he knew that no true and honest Scotsman would betray another, not to the English. Maybe to another clan, but not to the English.

  “Are ye ready to listen to my plan?”

  “Not if it includes me sitting in a chair by the fire like a helpless old man while ye ride off to rescue my wife,” he muttered.

  “I dinna say that ye had to stay behind, Alasdair, even though it would be wise to do so with yer injuries still healing.” He paused and turned, hands on hips as he stared hard at Alasdair. “But when we make contact, ye must stay hidden—”

  “Hiding again? Like a coward?” Alasdair erupted.

  “If ye don’t, my plan will fail.”

  Alasdair sat in the chair, once again cursing his body and the pain coursing through him, nearly taking his breath away. But now was not the time to rest. From what Elspeth said, Beitris had been kidnapped earlier this morning, and nightfall closed in. Finally, he looked at Colin and muttered, “Fine, tell me this plan of yers.”

  As he listened, his eyes widened in disbelief. It was an impressive plan, if somewhat grisly. It might work. It just might work.

  “And where are ye going to get a head?”

  Colin looked down at his feet, then back at Alasdair. “There was an outlaw that I confronted about a month ago, in the forest to the north of us. I buried him there.”

  Alasdair grimaced and pointed to his face. “And what do we do about this?” he asked, pointing to his dreadful scar. “It’s my most distinguishing feature.”

  “I can give the corpse’s head a scar, ply it with dirt… Besides, after a month in the ground, I don’t suppose that anyone will look too closely.”

  Alasdair grimaced. This was a grisly plan Colin had come up with to convince the brigands who had kidnapped Beitris to release her, to trade the head that the sheriff would swear was that of Alasdair Macintyre for Beitris. It was a good plan, a clever plan, but Alasdair still worried that they wouldn’t be able to find her in time to make the trade.

  “We’ll leave at first light,” Colin said. “And then we will ride hard. I doubt that the cowards have taken much trouble to hide their trail. Even if they know the lay of the land, I know it better. We will find them, Alasdair, and when we do…”

  And when they did, Beitris better be alive, or there was nothing that Colin could say that would sway Alasdair from killing the men who had taken her.

  It had been a long, nearly sleepless night for Alasdair, his mind churning with worry. Colin had gone upstairs to sit with Elspeth, but she hadn’t stirred in hours. Earlier in the evening, he had taken the horses and ridden into the village, trading one horse for another to hasten the journey. He’d sought the aid of the local healer and had returned, telling Alasdair that the woman would come to the house early the following morning. Colin had explained to her what happened, not about Alasdair’s involvement, but only that Elspeth had been accosted and Beitris was missing, and he needed to go find her.

  He and Colin would be gone by the time the healer came, and she was made aware of that as well. He had wondered aloud if Beitris’s father would come when he heard the news, but Colin told him that he had bade the healer woman to keep the information to herself, as it might put her in danger if word got out that both Alasdair and Beitris were missing. As far as everyone in the village was concerned, Alasdair had disappeared over a week ago and Colin wanted to keep it that way.

  By the time dawn crept slowly along the eastern horizon, Alasdair had risen stiffly from the chair where he had occasionally dozed. His muscles stiff and protesting, he nevertheless forced himself to stand. He felt stronger than he had in days, not close to his old strength or stamina, but it would be enough. It would have to be. He would ride with Colin to find his wife if he had to tie himself to his horse to do it.

  Just after dawn leaped over the tree line, Colin and Alasdair were mounted and following the trail that cut right through the field and into the low hills to the northeast. The men hadn’t bothered to hide their tracks. Colin had come up with a good plan and Alasdair could only hope that it worked, and that they would be in time to save Beitris.

  “This way!” Colin shouted from up ahead, pointing to the north.

  Alasdair gritted his teeth, clutched his horse’s reins tighter, and prompted the gelding into a gallop, the pain of every hoof fall making Alasdair want to shout in anger and tempted him to simply fall off his horse and lie in the dirt and grass along the path they followed. He would allow unconsciousness to carry the pain away… but he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

  He wanted a future with Beitris, wanted to have the opportunity and the chance to court her properly, as any man would. Yes, they were already married, but they had not yet consummated their marriage. He felt a courtship was the proper thing to do, especially since his feelings for her had grown surprisingly deep in a short amount of time. The wealth of emotions that coursed through him nearly took his breath away, even more so than the pain in his body. He held one hand tightly to his side, praying that the stitches that his blind wife had put there would hold. So far, th
ey had. Her skills continually amazed him, and he could only hope and pray that her skills would also keep her alive and safe until he could rescue her from her captors.

  He used his thoughts to attempt to distract himself from his discomfort, but his discomfort was nothing when compared to what Beitris might be going through. The thought of those men hurting her or punishing her for his sake drenched his soul with guilt. If she died because of it, he didn’t know how he would carry that burden of guilt. And if she survived, would she hate him for the rest of her life? Despise him for putting her through this? None of it was intended, of course not, but she hadn’t deserved any of this.

  Once again, he couldn’t fathom why his father and Bruce Boyd had agreed to this betrothal. What would’ve happened if Alasdair had died on the battlefield at Culloden? He knew his father wanted to see him settle down, to marry and eventually have a family, but until Alasdair had written that note to him, telling him that he was coming home, he wouldn’t have had any idea where his son was or whether he was even alive. He shook his head, tired of so many questions with so few answers. He would never know the answers. He couldn’t sit down and question his father nor determine what prompted this entire arrangement. And what of Beitris’s father? Did Beitris agree with what Elspeth believed with her heart? Was Bruce Boyd so convinced that he wanted to rid himself of his daughter that he would possibly betroth her to a dead man? Perhaps. If Alasdair died and his father lived, that would’ve left her, if something happened to Bruce, in the care of Alasdair’s father. Maybe this wretched contract had been made when his father was still well. Maybe the thought of more land and another house had been enough to convince his father that what he was doing was right, that it was all for the good of his son. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of Bruce Boyd’s reasonings.

  “I see smoke!”

  Alasdair jolted his thoughts from the what-ifs, his fears, anything but Colin’s words. They paused their horses and Alasdair looked up along the steep slope of the mountainside rising to the east, where he saw a faint wisp of fire smoke wafting through the trees up above, and then another, farther along, maybe another couple of miles.

  Colin pointed. “Maybe they stopped there for the night, moved on early this morning, and now they’re up there.”

  Alasdair frowned, fighting his lightheadedness, brushing sweat from his forehead, hand trembling with fatigue and pain. “Why stop again so soon? They’re only a few miles farther.”

  “Maybe…”

  Colin dinna finish his sentence, and he dinna have to. Alasdair understood. It was a chilly morning, no doubt about that, clouds of mist threading its way like spindly fingers through the lower elevations, closer to the marshlands, creeping up the mountainside and through the trees. The earth here smelled loamy, the air damp with moisture that settled on his skin, chilling him to the bone. If Beitris was up there, if the men… Were they torturing her? His heart skipped a beat as nausea curdled in his stomach. He growled low in his throat.

  “Let’s get up there, but when we get close, ye drop back. Ye’ll have my back, Alasdair, but I don’t want them to see ye. Ye remember that. It’s important that they not see ye.”

  Though Alasdair hated to admit it, he knew Colin was right. The entire plan would fall apart if he showed his face. All this would’ve been for naught. Beitris and Elspeth would never be safe if he dinna follow the plan, so though it went against everything in his upbringing, his attitudes, his very sense of manhood, he knew what he needed to do. He dinna like it, and Colin knew that. But for Beitris, he would do anything necessary to have her safe in his arms again, to have a future with her. If she wanted him back.

  They urged the horses forward, moving at a gallop as they rode up the hill, the horses struggling, their muscles bunching with every lunge. Alasdair did his best to help his horse, leaning forward over the gelding’s withers, taking the weight off its rear legs so that those huge hooves and powerful legs could sink deep and propel them upward. At the top of the hill, they edged into the trees, the land flattening out into a small meadow. The smell of firewood burning was stronger up here. They pulled their horses to a halt, breathing heavily, his mount stomping the ground impatiently, anxious for battle. Alasdair gently stroked his gelding’s neck, murmuring soothing words to it. He knew exactly how the horse felt.

  “We’ll get closer, then dismount. Make sure…”

  Quietly, even the horses sensing the need, they carefully wound their way between thick pines, the aromas wafting through the air reminding Alasdair of why he loved this wild and rugged land. The top of the mountain was cloaked in a fog that slowly settled ever lower toward the valley floors, where it would soon meet the rising mist from below.

  Colin suddenly held up his hand and halted his horse.

  Alasdair followed suit as Colin pointed. Through the trees, Alasdair saw a vague hint of movement at the far side of the meadow, close up against the tree line, the movement still deep in shadows. He couldn’t tell how many were there, or if Beitris was with them. They might not be the men they were after.

  They both dismounted, Alasdair more slowly than Colin, ever so gently placing his feet on the ground, gritting his teeth against the pull of tightened muscles in his side, his head throbbing, every part of him feeling bruised. But he focused on the meadow, dealing with the pain. It was still there, ever present, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, but he had gone through the worst of it, and he could function. He pulled the bow and quiver of arrows he had tied to his saddle and approached Colin with carefully placed footsteps, limping, almost glad for the pain now, for it kept him focused.

  Colin turned to him and then reached for the grisly cloth sack hanging from his saddle, lifting an eyebrow at him. “If these are the men, we will find out soon enough.”

  Alasdair nodded. He heard no sound from up ahead, no crying, no screams, no hint of a woman in the area. His heart pounded at a steady rate as his hand tightened on his bow, his other carefully reaching for an arrow, nocking it on the string as he approached the tree line, keeping himself well hidden but still able to defend Colin if needed.

  Colin approached the edge of the meadow and called out. “Sheriff Colin Ramsey approaching the camp!”

  Alasdair waited with bated breath as Colin emerged from the trees and into the edge of the meadow, one hand grasping the bag by his side, the other raised, as if in warning. He saw two men pause before their fire. They turned toward the sheriff, not reaching for weapons, not acting otherwise surprised by the sheriff’s sudden appearance.

  “What do you want?” a man with an English-sounding accent queried. “We’re not bothering anybody.”

  “Dinna say ye were,” Colin said. “What are ye doing up here?”

  “None of your business,” the other man said, facing Colin. “We’re looking for someone, and we have the paper to prove it, that we have a right to—”

  “Shut up, William,” the man with the accent said, turning back toward Colin.

  Were these the men who had taken Beitris? Alasdair fought every urge within him to charge into the meadow and beat the truth out of the both of them, but Colin had his plan, and he couldn’t ruin it now, no matter how badly he was tempted.

  “Let me guess, yer looking for Alasdair Macintyre,” Colin said.

  “How did you know?” William asked.

  “I told you to shut up!” the other man snarled at his companion. He also turned toward Colin. “We are here legally, looking for a rebel. The law is on our side. You can’t stop us from being here.”

  “And I don’t intend to,” Colin told them. “I heard that there were three strangers looking for Macintyre, hoping to claim the reward for his head. Thought I might be able to save ye some trouble. In addition, I’d like to know what brought ye two out this way.”

  “As I said, we’re looking for Macintyre. You got no reason to question us.”

  “Och, but I do. Ye see, we happen to know one of the women that ye beat. Down by the lake, the sto
ne house. I’m sure ye remember that.”

  William spoke up. “That was only in self-defense—”

  “I told you to shut your mouth!” the Englishman roared, shoving his companion to the ground. Again, he turned to the sheriff, his face twisted with hatred. “She had a knife and tried to stab us with it. She got what she deserved.”

  Fury thrummed through Alasdair’s veins, so much so he felt tempted to pull the bowstring back and let his arrow fly. Cowards, attacking defenseless women. He knew for a fact that Elspeth had not had a knife, but it was Beitris who’d had the knife. Colin acted as if he believed them… All part of the plan. He waited.

  “And the other one? Where is she? We know that ye took her from the house.”

  “You mean the blind one? She tried to kill us too.”

  “Is that so?”

  “That’s so!”

  “Tell us where she is, and I’ll give ye what yer looking for.” Without a word, Colin lifted the sack at arm’s length.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s what yer looking for. Now, where is the other woman?” Colin paused. “We can make a fair exchange, and ye can go yer merry way.” He waited a moment, then continued. “Or we can do this the hard way, and I’ll kill ye both right here, right now.” He shook his head with a grim smile. “And no one will know the difference.”

  William scrambled up from the ground, gave his companion a dirty look, and then turned to Colin with a frown, gesturing toward the sack. “What’s in there?”

  Slowly, never looking away from the two men eyeing him, Colin switched the sack to his left hand, opened the top, and reached inside with his right. He pulled out a head, holding it by its long dirty brown hair, the corpse’s face disfigured by slash marks and caked with dirt, the eyes white and bulging, lips swollen, a half-rotted tongue protruding slightly from its mouth. Colin gave it a wee shake.