Highland Spy: Highland Chronicles Series - Book 4

by Rose, Elizabeth

  “No’ that.” His eyes darted back and forth and he walked closer and leaned forward to whisper to her. “Someone is tryin’ to sabotage the competition. I told the king I’d keep an open eye and try to find out who it is.”

  “Really? That’s awful,” she said, shocked to hear that someone would do such a thing.

  “I think it’s one of the lairds who made it to the finals, but I canna prove it. All I ken is that too many of the competitors are havin’ accidents that normally dinna happen.”

  “Then ye need to be careful, too, Caleb. Mayhap it’s too dangerous to be competin’ in Storm’s place.”

  “Nay, I’m no’ worried about that,” he said. “However, these next few events have me more than concerned. I might be able to pull off the archery, but there is no way I’ll be able to do well in the hammer throw. And I dinna ken what is involved in the rest of the contest, but I have a feelin’ it isna guid.”

  “I have faith in ye, Caleb, now stop worryin’. I’ll find Slink and meet ye at the archery event. Just keep yer head in the game and yer eyes on the target, and ye’ll have no problems at all,” she said with a wink.

  As she walked away, Caleb wished he could be as confident as Bridget that he’d do well in this competition. Because now he not only had to keep up, but he had promised the king he’d spy on the others and flush out the saboteur. The worst part was that he wasn’t sure at all that he wanted to be the king’s Highland Spy.

  Chapter 17

  “There ye are, Slink,” said Bridget. She’d walked back to where she’d left her father, to find him holding the Highland Chronicles up to the pine marten like the animal was a fly and he was ready to swat it. Slink sat on the top of one of the long, wooden benches that were used for the spectators during the competition. There weren’t many people here now, since they’d all headed over to the archery field already.

  “Stay away or I’ll flatten ye like smashed dung rolled over by a wagon,” warned her father.

  “Da! Nay,” she said, pushing in front of him and scooping the pine marten into her arms. Slink, obviously frightened, turned and crawled up to her shoulder, its retractable claws digging into her thick, woolen plaid to help the animal keep its balance. It looked over at her father and showed its sharp teeth.

  “None of that, Slink,” she said, reaching up with one hand to touch the pine marten. “I think it’s time for a nap and I’m takin’ ye back to yer room.”

  “Nap. Aye, guid idea,” said her father with a yawn. “I need a nap.”

  “Nay, Da, no’ ye. I’m talkin’ to Slink. We need to get down to the archery field because the next event is about to start.” Bridget heard the trumpeter’s horn, signaling that the competition would start up again in five minutes. She still needed to drop Slink off at Caleb’s room, and she was going to have to almost run to make it there and back in time. Her father coming with her was only going to slow her down.

  “Da, take the Highland Chronicles and go to the archery event. I’ll meet ye there as soon as I drop Slink off at Caleb’s room.”

  “All right, Daughter,” said the man, sticking the book under his arm. He walked away muttering something about wanting to take a nap instead.

  “Down ye go, Slink,” said Bridget, gently guiding the weasel-like animal into the leather bag she wore slung over her shoulder. Once it was inside, she took off at a sprint for the keep. Dodging servers with trays of hand pies, and children chasing a pig, she made it back to the castle quickly, and hurried up to Caleb’s room.

  Out of breath, she pushed open the door and hurried inside, closing the door behind her. When she turned around, she stopped dead in her tracks. Valan Douglas was hunkered down on the ground, looking up at her.

  “Bridget,” he said, jumping up. “What are ye doin’ here?”

  “Me?” she asked, feeling sickened by the sight of the man. “What are ye doin’ here, Valan?”

  “I’m here for the competition, just like everyone else.”

  “Nay. I mean what are ye doin’ in this room?”

  “I was told this is the room where the lairds competin’ in the contest are stayin’ and I figured I could sleep here, too.”

  “Ye are no’ competin’ in the contest and neither are ye a laird. Ye shouldna be in Caleb’s chamber.”

  “Caleb?” He looked at her and cocked a half-grin. “Do ye mean that little lad who is standin’ in for the chieftain of the MacKeefes since he broke his toe?” He chuckled, as if the thought amused him.

  “Caleb isna little. He might no’ be the biggest of the clan, but he has big muscles, I assure ye, and is as quick as a rabbit, too.”

  “Really. Ye seem to ken a lot about him, Bridget. Perhaps he’s been quick as a rabbit with his big muscles around ye?” He came closer and she stepped backward.

  “What does it matter?”

  “Did ye tell him ye’re barren? If no’, then ye’d better, since a man doesna want a wife who canna give him heirs.”

  “That’s none of yer business,” she spat. “Now get out of here before I scream.”

  “I hear yer faither is the king’s chronicler and has been writin’ some guid things about this Caleb.”

  “Once again, it’s none of yer business. Now go!”

  “No’ before ye give me a little kiss for old time’s sake, Wife.”

  “I’m no’ yer wife anymore,” she spat as he reached out and roughly grabbed her by the arm.

  “Dinna fight me, or ye’ll be sorry.” He leaned forward to kiss her. At the same time, Slink stuck his head out of the bag and bit him on the arm.

  “Bid the devil!” he spat, jumping away from her. Slink showed its teeth and hissed.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “I could say the same about what I just saw ye tryin’ to do to my lass,” came Caleb’s voice from the door.

  “Caleb!” Bridget ran to him, thankful he showed up.

  “Who the hell are ye and what are ye doin’ in here tryin’ to kiss my lass?” growled Caleb. He drew his sword and moved toward the man slowly.

  “Dinna harm me. I’m unarmed,” said Valan, raising his hands in the air. “I was just lookin’ for a place to sleep, but I’m leavin’.”

  “Then go! And never return or even think about touchin’ Bridget again, or I’ll have yer head next time. Do ye understand?” Caleb’s face was red, and Bridget had never seen him so angry.

  Valan left the room in a rush. Once he was gone, Caleb sheathed his sword and pulled Bridget into his arms. Slink hopped out of the bag and onto his shoulder.

  “Who was that, lass?” asked Caleb. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “That man is Valan Douglas, my ex-husband,” she told him. “I was married to the cur for two years when I was a young girl. I hate him and always have.”

  “God’s eyes, why is he here? And why was he in this room? What did he want?”

  “I’m no’ sure,” she answered.

  “Well, there is no time to figure this out now. Let’s go.” Caleb took a few steps, then stopped when he saw his pine marten snooping in someone’s bag. “Get out of there, Slink,” he said, pulling him away. That’s when he saw something shiny. Peeking inside, he found a pair of shears, a needle and thread.

  “What is it?” asked Bridget.

  Caleb noticed the bag as being that of Ollie Fraser. “I’m no’ sure,” he said, thinking about the sole of Owen’s shoe.

  “Caleb, where are ye?” came Logan’s voice from the corridor. His wolf was with him. Jack darted into the room, chasing Slink.

  “Get him out of here!” called out Caleb.

  “Jack, come,” commanded Logan, causing the wolf to run back out the door. “Caleb, the archery event has already started. If ye dinna get down there in time ye will be eliminated and Storm will have yer head. Ye ken that he plans on ye winnin’ the crown and title for him.”

  “No’ to mention the money that the king has added to the prize,” said Bridget.

  “Money? W
hat money?” asked Caleb. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

  “I thought ye kent,” said Bridget. “The king has decided the prize this year will be the title, the crown and brooch, and he’s added no’ only fifty gold coins to the prize, but also a small plot of land as well.”

  “Och, then let’s go,” said Caleb, leading the way out the door.

  * * *

  As soon as they got to the archery field, Bridget saw her father sitting on a bench, and another man with him was flipping through the Highland Chronicles. Her heart jumped into her throat.

  “Caleb,” she said, gripping on to his arm. “There is someone lookin’ at the Highland Chronicles. How could my faither let them do that?”

  “Aye, so?” asked Caleb, focusing more on the contestants around them. She could tell he was eyeing them up and down suspiciously.

  “I havena had a chance to write in the book yet about the broad jump,” Bridget told him. “No one was supposed to look in the book until I recorded the event.”

  “Ye’d better get rid of him,” said Caleb. “Now, give me a kiss for luck, lass, and I’ll be on my way.”

  She gave Caleb a quick peck on the lips and hurried over to her father.

  “What is goin’ on?” she asked, snatching the book away from the man, closing it and clutching it to her chest.

  “Bridget, this man is a chronicler, too,” said her father. “What was yer name, lad?”

  “I’m Sorley of Clan Douglas.” The man stood up, and Bridget got a closer look at him. He was mayhap thirty years of age, had red hair and green eyes. He wore the blue-green Douglas plaid. A small beard and mustache graced his face. “I’ve been here recordin’ the events of the competition as well and thought we could compare notes. However, yer faither doesna seem to have written down anythin’ about the broad jump, and I dinna understand why.”

  “That’s because my faither often likes to just observe and collect the information and then later write it all down at once,” said Bridget.

  “Why would ye do such a thing?” Sorley asked her father. Bridget decided she’d better answer that before her father said something he shouldn’t.

  “He doesna want to be lookin’ down at the page and miss somethin’ that might happen, that’s why. Right Da?”

  “Aye, right,” said her father with a nod.

  “I see,” said Sorley, not sounding at all as if he believed that. “Well, perhaps we can meet up later and compare our writin’s,” he said with a smile and a nod. “If ye’ll excuse me, I’m goin’ to sit nearer to the king, where I can relay any part of the event that he might miss. My travelin’ companion, Sim, is waitin’ there for me.”

  Bridget didn’t answer, just clenched her jaw, glad the man was leaving.

  “Da, dinna let anyone touch the Highland Chronicles except us,” she said in a low voice. She sat down next to him and whispered, “I found out there is a saboteur in the competition.”

  “Nay, that canna be true,” said the man.

  “And to make matters worse, I saw Valan here.”

  “Valan?” he asked, seeming as if his memory was lapsing again.

  “The man who used to be my husband?” She looked into her father’s eyes. Finally, he understood.

  “Valan,” he grunted. “If he comes near ye, I’ll box his ears. What is he doin’ here?”

  “Causin’ trouble, I’m sure,” she answered with a sigh, looking out to the field where Caleb was getting ready to shoot an arrow. “I hope he can pull this off,” she muttered.

  “What was that, Daughter?” asked her father, holding a hand up to his ear. “Speak louder, I canna hear ye.”

  “I said, Caleb is up next, Da. Let’s watch him.”

  Caleb walked by the rest of the competitors, eyeing them up, trying to decipher which of them, if any, was the saboteur. When he walked past Ollie Fraser, the oldest man in the competition, and also the one who had the most experience with weapons, he stopped. Ollie would shoot after Caleb, being last in this event. So far, everyone did pretty well, but no one had made a bullseye.

  “So. Will ye be the one to make a bullseye, or will I?” asked Caleb.

  The man clutched his bow, shifting from foot to foot, seeming nervous.

  “I – I dinna ken,” he answered.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Caleb with a chuckle. “Nervous because ye think I’m goin’ to best ye?”

  “I was feelin’ nervous because my bow disappeared, but I’ve got it back now, so everythin’ is all right.”

  “Ye lost yer bow?” This didn’t sound like Ollie. “So where did ye find it?”

  “It was half-hidden under the hay. Clement MacLean found it and brought it to me, thankfully. Without my lucky bow, I might no’ make a bullseye like I usually do on the very first shot.”

  “Well, we get two shots, so guid luck.”

  Caleb didn’t even have time for a practice shot since he was up in his chamber. It really bothered him that Valan, Bridget’s ex-husband, was here. He didn’t want to think of anyone having made love to Bridget. Neither did he want to think that someone had mistreated her. With his bow in hand and the quiver of arrows on his back, he walked up and took his place.

  “Ye can do it, Caleb,” called out Bridget from behind him. He turned and smiled, noticing the way her eyes lit up as she watched him. She always supported him and had faith in him, even when he didn’t have faith in himself.

  “Caleb MacKeefe will now shoot his first arrow,” called out the announcer.

  He put the quiver in place and pulled back the bowstring, eyeing the target across the field. He would have to hit the target twice, once near the middle to have enough points to tie most of the finalists. He still had a chance to win this competition, even with Storm’s mishap. If a finalist came in first place in more than one of the events, there was a good chance they would walk away with the prize. Caleb’s mind was already swarming with daydreams of using the money to build at least a manor house on the land he won, asking Bridget to marry him and live there with him as his wife.

  If he hadn’t been so lost in thought, he might have noticed a man moving through the crowd, coming up behind him. The bow creaked, the taut string stretched, and he aimed the tip of his arrow directly at the center of the target. Then, just as he let the arrow fly, someone bumped into him from behind.

  His body jerked, the arrow went off course, and missed the target altogether.

  “That’s a total miss, and no points will be awarded,” called out the herald.

  “Who the hell bumped me?” Caleb ground out, turning to see a red-haired man standing there with an open book and a quill in his hand.

  “Who are ye?” asked Caleb.

  “I’m Sorley. Of Clan Douglas,” said the man. “I’m sorry to have bumped ye. I was movin’ closer to record the events when someone nudged me from behind.”

  “The king already has a chronicler who is recordin’ the events for the Leader of the Lairds Competition,” Caleb informed him. “Ye are no’ needed to do that.”

  “Aye, but I want to prove myself to the king. I am hopin’ to one day be his personal chronicler.”

  “Caleb MacKeefe will now take his second shot,” called out the announcer.

  Caleb started to turn around, but something caught his eyes. It was the back of a man, pulling his hood over his head, moving to the back of the crowd.

  “Shoot now or ye’ll have to forfeit,” the announcer informed him.

  Catching Bridget’s eyes, she smiled and waggled her fingers. Caleb had to make this shot count since his first one earned him no points at all. He was starting to covet the title of Leader of the Lairds, because he wanted the crown, the land, and also the money. Without it, he’d never be able to give Bridget all he wanted to give her.

  This time when he cocked his arrow and pulled back the bowstring, all he thought about was making Bridget his wife. The idea excited him and gave him the strength he needed. When his arrow shot through the
air, it landed dead center in the middle of the target.

  The crowd cheered and he heard Bridget calling out from behind him. “I kent ye could do it, Caleb.”

  “Yer turn,” Caleb told Ollie. “Let’s see if ye can beat that.”

  Ollie moved up to take his turn. “I’m sure I could do it with my eyes closed now that I’ve got my bow back,” he bragged to Caleb. His first shot was just outside the center of the middle ring, making Caleb’s shot better.

  “Only one more chance,” said Caleb, goading him, wanting him to miss the target. If that happened, Caleb will have won this round, too. But that would be a miracle, since Ollie never missed the target, even on a bad day.

  Ollie pulled back the bowstring, and Caleb heard a twanging sound. His eyes opened wide when he saw the bowstring unraveling right before his eyes. He started to warn the man, but it was too late. The string snapped, shooting up, hitting Ollie in the face, making him cry out. The arrow went off course, and embedded itself in a tree just above the target, missing it altogether.

  “God’s bones, what just happened?” asked Ollie, rubbing his cheek.

  “That was a miss, resultin’ in no points at all,” shouted the announcer. “That makes Caleb MacKeefe the winner of the archery round.”

  Caleb would have shouted out with glee, but seeing what just happened to Ollie, he realized the saboteur was at it again. Caleb had won the round, but only because of foul play. His eyes scanned the area and, suddenly, everyone looked suspicious to him. He needed to find out more, but he couldn’t spy if he didn’t have the time to do it.

  “Let me see your wound,” said Wren, pushing through the crowd with Caleb’s sisters, Trea and Finnea, with her.

  “Caleb, what happened?” Bridget ran up to him with her father. Sorley stood there writing everything down, so Caleb couldn’t say anything in front of him.

  “It was just a bad bowstring,” said Caleb. “Excuse me.” He walked over to the wooden dais where the king sat watching the event. Storm was next to him with his foot wrapped up and propped up on a stool in front of him.