Highland Spy: Highland Chronicles Series - Book 4

by Rose, Elizabeth

  They’d veered off the well-traveled road since Caleb told her that he had a quicker way of getting to the castle. She’d agreed to it, wanting more than anything to get inside the fortress and out of the elements. But now, she wasn’t happy with her decision. The trip at this pace, and in the rain, was taking a toll on her father. She would have to find a healer to look at him soon.

  “Are we almost there?” she called out through the rain, feeling soaked to the skin. It was summer, but traveling in wet clothes made her feel cold.

  “Och, nay,” called out Logan from the back of the traveling party. “We’ve still got another few hours or so to go yet to make it to Hermitage Castle.”

  “What?” she gasped, thinking she’d heard wrong. “Caleb,” she called out, since he was at the front of the line. “Caleb, we need to stop.”

  When he kept riding and didn’t even slow down, she decided she needed to take drastic measures. “Da, stay here by Logan,” she told her father. “I’m goin’ to ride up ahead and talk to Caleb.”

  With a kick of her heels, she directed her horse over the rocky terrain, until she caught up to him. “Caleb, slow down,” she urged him. “I need to talk to ye.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and finally slowed his horse, allowing her to catch up to him.

  “What is it?” He talked to her but continued to look straight ahead.

  “We need to find shelter, and to get out of the rain.” Water ran from her hair and down her face.

  “Nay,” he grunted. “The whole reason we’re takin’ my shortcut is to get to Hermitage Castle by nightfall.”

  “Logan said it’ll be a few more hours of travelin’ yet to get there.”

  “That’s right. But if we pick up the pace we might be able to cut a half-hour off our time.”

  “Nay!” she shouted. “Enough. And we should have stuck to the main road.”

  “Ye agreed to the shortcut,” he reminded her, over his shoulder. “So what are ye complainin’ about?”

  “True, but when I agreed to it, I had no idea ye were goin’ to take us over rocky terrain and open fields in the middle of a storm. It’s hard travelin’ and we need to rest.”

  “Why? Are ye tired?” he asked. “Because I could keep goin’ until we get there.”

  “We’re all tired. And cold and wet, and hungry,” she told him. “Isna there an inn we can stay at for the night?”

  “If we would have stuck to the main road, there were several. But no’ on this route, there is no’. We’ll be lucky to see another person, let alone a tavern or inn until we get to Hermitage Castle now.”

  “We canna go on,” she said, feeling doomed. “My faither is old and needs to rest. Surely, there is somewhere we can find shelter for the night?”

  “Well, there’s an old abandoned priory up ahead,” he told her. “But that’s about it.”

  “Fine. We’ll stop there for the night then.”

  “Nay. I dinna think ye’ll want to stay there. No one does. I suggest we keep on ridin’.”

  “I willna. I’m stoppin’ for the night, and I’ll hear no more about it,” she snapped. “If ye want to keep ridin’ then go. But my faither and I need to find shelter and to rest.” With that, she turned her horse around and headed back to her father.

  “Caleb,” called out Logan a minute later. He rode to catch up to Caleb, his wolf leading the way. “Bridget says we’re stoppin’ for the night? What’s this all about?”

  “I dinna ken,” Caleb answered, slowing down to talk to his friend. “I guess she and her faither need to rest for some reason. She insists we stop, even though I told her the old monastery ruins were the only shelter along this route.”

  “Egads, Caleb. Ye canna mean to say ye’re takin’ them to spend the night at Dutmore Priory? Even the ravens and rats avoid it like a plague. It’s no’ a place to spend the night, let alone take a lassie.”

  “I ken that. But she said she’s stoppin’ for the night with or without us.”

  “Did ye tell her the stories of what went on at Dutmore?”

  “She never gave me a chance to say a word.”

  “Nay, we canna go there.” Logan shook his head. “Just thinkin’ of all the death and destruction that happened there makes me want to keep on ridin’ and never look back.”

  “It’s the only shelter between here and Hermitage Castle and ye ken it as well as I. What’s the matter, Logan? Afraid to stay there?”

  “Hah!” he spat. “I’m no’ afraid of anythin’. It’s just that ye ken the stories of the restless souls that are buried outside the ruins.”

  “Superstitious then?” he asked. “God’s eyes, ye’re startin’ to sound a lot like Ethan and the way he fears ghosts. It’s just an old place with a lot of dead bodies buried there and that’s all.”

  “All right, we’ll stay,” Logan said, not at all sounding like he agreed with the idea. “But I suggest we dinna talk about the stories we’ve heard, because we dinna want to scare the lassies.”

  “Logan, Bridget’s faither is a chronicler. I’m sure he kens the stories more than anyone and that means so does Bridget.”

  “Did ye tell her the name of the monastery?” asked Logan.

  “Nay.”

  “So . . . ye’re no’ goin’ to tell her?”

  “She wanted shelter and a place to spend the night, and that’s what she’ll get.”

  “She’ll have yer head is what she’ll have, once she finds out where the hell we’re spendin’ the night. Caleb, this place attracts bandits and thugs like flies on a steamin’ pile of dung.”

  “Then I suggest ye dinna tell her.”

  * * *

  By the time they approached the ruins of the priory, Bridget was ready to collapse. Traveling at this rate might come naturally for the Highlanders, but she and her father weren’t used to it. Normally, they were sitting in the king’s castle, being waited on hand and foot. Exposing themselves to the harsh elements, and riding atop a horse at breakneck speeds for hours on end was not to her liking at all.

  “This is it, up ahead,” Caleb called back to the rest of them. The rain continued to fall. It had become so foggy now that she could no longer see Caleb, and could barely see her father who traveled right next to her.

  “It’s the den of the devil,” mumbled her father, raising his head and peering through the fog.

  “We’re stayin’ the night at an old priory,” she told her father. “We’ll be out of the rain and next to a warm fire soon.”

  “Nay. We canna stay here.” Her father’s eyes opened wide. “It’s cursed, I tell ye. We need to keep ridin’.” He took off at a shot through the fog and Bridget had no choice but to follow, since she didn’t want to lose him.

  “Faither, wait!” Thankfully, she was able to catch up to him, and reached over and grabbed the reins of his horse. “We are goin’ to get in out of the rain. Now come.”

  He still looked frightened, but didn’t fight her. She managed to make their way back to the rest of their traveling party.

  “Bridget, is somethin’ wrong?” asked Caleb.

  “Nay. Everythin’ is fine. Where is the shelter?” She peered through the fog, able to see shadows, but not knowing what she was looking at.

  “It’s right there,” said Caleb, pointing. The fog parted for a second and Bridget’s mouth dropped open. They were in the middle of a cemetery with tall gravestones all around them. And where Caleb was pointing was a stone enclosure built into the hill, making a small cave-like structure. In front of the entrance was a rusty, broken iron gate.

  A chill crept up her spine as Caleb led the group forward.

  “This looks like a graveyard,” she said.

  “Aye. There was a battle here hundreds of years ago and many died. The priory was ransacked and everythin’ stolen. Then it was burned.”

  “What is this place?” she gasped, feeling suddenly hesitant to enter.

  He didn’t answer at first, as if he didn’t want her to know. “
It doesna matter.”

  “Please. I need to ken.”

  Finally, he slipped off his horse and made his way back to her. “It’s Dutmore Priory,” he told her. “Perhaps ye’ve heard of it?”

  “Dutmore?” Her heart stood still. Of course, she’d heard of it. She was the chronicler’s daughter. Her job was to help collect stories and this was one of the most horrifying stories of all. The Scots and the English met here hundreds of years ago, and most everyone died in an awful battle, including the monks.

  “The priory itself has no shelter in the ruins, but there is a small enclosure out here that we can use,” said Caleb, reaching up to help her dismount. Lightning split the sky and a deep, low thunder rumbled in the air, resonating in her chest. “What’s the matter, lass? Changin’ yer mind now that ye ken where we are?” He stood with his arms outstretched and that damned arrogant grin on his face. She wouldn’t back down now and give him the satisfaction of telling her that she should have listened to him. Nay. She would spend the night, even if she were too frightened to get to sleep at all.

  “Is that where we’re stayin’ the night?” She nodded toward the cell-like enclosure.

  “Aye.”

  “What . . . was it used for?” she asked.

  “My guess is that it was where they put the prisoners, if there were any. A dungeon of sorts.”

  “Oh.” The last place she wanted to spend the night was in a dungeon where wounded men were tortured and died.

  “Changin’ yer mind, lass? It’s no’ too late to keep on ridin’.”

  “Nay,” she answered, shaking her head. “What are we waitin’ for?” she asked, resting her hands on his shoulders as he lowered her to the ground.

  “Bridget,” he said softly, staring into her eyes. “Ye dinna have to do this.”

  “Why no’?” she asked, forcing a smile.

  “I can feel yer body tremblin’. If ye’re scared, we can continue ridin’.”

  “I’m no’ scared,” she snapped, dropping her hands from his shoulders. “My body is tremblin’ because I am cold from ridin’ in the rain all day. Now, I said we needed to stop for the night and that is exactly what we’ll do.” Holding her head high, she picked up the hem of her sopping-wet gown and headed over to her father before he decided to ride off into the night again. She would show Caleb MacKeefe that she was brave as well as strong. She wasn’t just a frightened girl who needed a man’s protection.

  Jack howled, causing her to jump. She spun on her heel, thinking for a moment she saw a shadow drift by in the fog. “I’m no’ frightened,” she whispered to herself, thinking that being held safely in Caleb’s strong, protective embrace was exactly where she wanted to be.

  * * *

  An hour later, Caleb sat next to the fire as he and his traveling companions finished eating, and warmed themselves by the fire. The cave-like enclosure was built right into the ground, and was the only place that would give them shelter from the rain. It was small and made from stone. On the stones were scratches, moss, and also what looked like bloodstains to him. It was an eerie place to be and the sooner they left here the better.

  The horses, unfortunately, had to risk the weather, not able to fit inside the area with them. Thankfully, the rain had let up, so it wouldn’t be too bad.

  “Are our clothes dry yet?” asked Bridget, huddled up next to her father under Caleb’s plaid. Because of the long length of the material, they were both able to use it. He’d given it to them while he sat there in his braies and leine and nothing else.

  Logan was cuddled under his plaid with Rhoswen. Jack was off hunting somewhere and Slink explored the area, looking for mice.

  “The clothes are wet and heavy and might no’ even be dry before mornin’,” said Caleb, shifting the gowns on the branches that he and Logan stacked up to hold the wet clothes by the fire. “Why dinna ye get some sleep?”

  “I’m no’ tired,” she said, looking over at her father. “Da, ye should get some shut eye.”

  “I canna sleep when the souls of the dead are all around us,” said Brigham. “There are spirits here that all call out to me, wantin’ their stories told.”

  “Well, why dinna ye write them down in the Highland Chronicles?” asked Logan. “Isna that yer job?”

  “Aye, that is a good idea,” agreed Rhoswen. “I’m sure the king would like to know about your experience in such a place.”

  “Nay!” shouted Caleb. “She doesna want to do that. It isna what the king wants in his chronicles.”

  “Well, what do ye think he wants?” asked Logan. “Passages about men with rock-hard muscles that bards sing about?”

  “That’s enough, Logan,” grumbled Caleb under his breath, shooting him a sideways glance, warning him to stay quiet.

  “Why do ye keep sayin’ that?” asked Bridget curiously. “What does it even mean?”

  “Ye’ll find out soon enough.” Logan chuckled again, making Caleb’s blood boil. He didn’t need Bridget reading what he wrote in the book. Not now, anyway. She was already angry with him for some reason and he didn’t want her seeing that now or she’d never talk to him again. He had hoped by escorting her to Hermitage Castle he would get to know her better and she might like him the way he was attracted to her. Unfortunately, things weren’t turning out as planned. Everything he said or did only seemed to upset her more.

  “Aye, Daughter,” said her father. “I think the king would like to hear about the poor, lost souls.”

  “Nay, Faither. No’ tonight,” said Bridget. “We need to get some rest. Besides, if we take the book out of the bag, it might get wet and ruined. Why dinna ye close yer eyes and try to sleep?”

  “Sleep,” repeated her father, yawning and laying back.

  “A few minutes of shut eye sounds guid,” said Logan, reaching for his wife. “Let me warm ye up, Wife.”

  Rhoswen giggled as Logan threw the wet plaid over their heads and the sound of kissing was heard from beneath it. Caleb ignored them, only wishing it were him doing that with Bridget as well.

  In a matter of minutes, Bridget was at his side, no longer using his plaid for cover. She stood there in just her shift with her arms crossed over her breasts. Since her shift was wet, he could see the swells of her breasts well beneath the cloth. Just as he thought, she was not the young girl she pretended to be, but rather a full-fledged woman. He groaned inwardly, and looked the other way. His desire for her only grew stronger now.

  “Can I sit by the fire with ye?” she asked. “My faither is already snorin’ and it sounds as if Logan and Rhoswen are . . . busy.”

  “Whatever ye want,” he said, clearing his throat as she settled herself next to him. It felt odd to be sitting next to each other in not much more than their underclothes. Caleb would rather be under the plaid with Bridget, being busy as well.

  “What do ye ken about this place?” she asked, her eyes scanning the area and settling on the fog outside the cave entrance. “Do ye think we’re in danger at all? My faither seems to think there are dead souls all around us.”

  “Some people say the souls of those killed never left here,” said Caleb, breaking up kindling and tossing it into the fire. He and Bridget both sat there staring into the flames.

  “So it’s haunted then?” she asked.

  “Nay. I dinna believe in ghosts,” Caleb grunted.

  “What about Blackbriar Castle on the Isle of Kerrera?” she asked. “I thought ye and Ethan saw the ghost that was once a woman thrown from the tower.”

  Caleb didn’t want to scare Bridget, so he decided it best to talk about something else instead. “Tell me about yer family, Bridget.”

  “My family?” She seemed surprised that he was interested. “What do ye want to ken?”

  “Do ye have siblin’s?” he asked.

  “No’ anymore.” Despair covered her face.

  “What do ye mean, lass?”

  She picked up kindling, snapping the twigs and throwing them into the fire as she relayed her
sad story to him. “I’m sure ye noticed that my faither is an auld man.”

  “Aye,” he answered, waiting for more.

  “I had three aulder brathairs that I never kent.”

  “They died?”

  “Aye,” she answered, sadly. “In battle, before I was born. I never even had a chance to meet them.”

  “Och, I’m sorry, lass. I suppose they died fightin’ for the king?”

  “Aye, they died fightin’ for King David,” she explained.

  “David?” His head snapped up in surprise. “Dinna ye mean Richard?”

  “Nay,” she told him. “My brathairs were quite a bit older than me.”

  “I’ll say. How old are ye, lass?”

  “I’m three and twenty years of age.”

  “Ye are?” His eyebrows arched. “That’s a year aulder than me. I never would have guessed yer age. Why are ye no’ married?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. Let me continue my story.”

  “Of course. Go on.”

  The fire snapped and crackled as Bridget continued to speak. “My mathair was so heartbroken by the deaths of all my brathairs at the same time, that all she did was cry. My faither wanted another son badly, even though my mathair was almost too auld to give him one. That’s when I was born. One day when I was a wee lass, my faither took me and my mathair fishin’ in the loch. We were in a rowboat, but the boat capsized. I was saved, but my mathair drowned.”

  “I’m sorry, lass.” Caleb didn’t know what to say.

  “My faither raised me on his own, feelin’ guilty.”

  “Guilty? About what?”

  “My mathair’s death. He saved me first, but when he went back for my mathair, it was already too late. After that day, my faither vowed to always protect me, and even managed to get the position of chronicler to the king.” She hesitated, as if there was something she was neglecting to tell him. Then, she finally continued. “Da didna want me to marry and leave him. So he dressed me in baggy clothes and made me braid my hair, so I’d look younger than I really was.”