Highland Treasure

by Lynsay Sands

  When he started forward again, Elysande stood her ground and said sharply, “Your father’s name is not on the scroll from Wykeman, Simon. Whoever told you that lied to you.”

  Stopping again, he frowned with uncertainty. “But Capshaw said . . .”

  “Who is Capshaw?” Elysande asked quietly when he hesitated. “How do you know him?”

  Simon glanced down at the slats, his expression troubled. “I do not know him,” he said unhappily. “I met him for the first time the night we arrived in Ayr. When I went back out to get your bags, he was waiting in the stables. He said his name was Capshaw, that he was Wykeman’s man and was surprised that I would champion you when it would see my own father hanged and my family ruined. He said Father’s name was in the scrolls as a co-conspirator, and unless I wished to see him swing and lose my title and inheritance, I’d best be sure you never got to Sinclair or the king with those letters.” His mouth tightened. “I have been reporting to him ever since.”

  “I see,” Elysande murmured. “Well, Mr. Capshaw lied,” she assured him, and when he looked unsure whether to believe her or not, she asked, “Do you really think my mother would have sent me with you had your father’s name been in Wykeman’s message? I promise you, it is nowhere in those letters.”

  For one minute she thought he would lay down his sword and beg her forgiveness, but then he frowned. “Or mayhap you’re lying to save yourself.”

  Now that was just insulting, Elysande thought with irritation, and glared at him as she began to pat at her skirts in search of the messages. “I do not lie, and I can show you the messages to prove it. I—” Pausing, she scowled with vexation and started using both hands to find the messages that should be in a pocket sewn into her skirts, and then she stilled as she realized the last time she’d seen the scroll to Sinclair had been when she’d put it into the gown she’d been stabbed in. She had never transferred it to this gown when she’d donned it. She hadn’t even seen the old one since the attack. Dear God, she’d lost the messages and the warning to the king!

  “Tom has it.”

  Elysande’s head jerked up at those words to see Rory stepping down into the heads, his sword drawn. His appearance made Simon cross the last few steps to Elysande and grasp her upper arm.

  “Or perhaps the king does now,” Rory added, his gaze narrowing on Simon even as he asked her, “Are ye all right, love?”

  “Aye,” Elysande answered, and ignoring Simon, she asked, “What does Tom have?”

  “The scrolls,” he explained, looking ridiculously relaxed despite the sword in his hand. “Your mother’s message to Sinclair with the other messages inside. I took it from your dress after the stabbing and gave it to Tom, then I put him and Fearghas and Donnghail on the Marie Levieux, another cog, one heading south to Bristol. I would guess they have put ashore by now, and are on their way to court, or, if the wind was with them for their journey, they may have already arrived at court and the king may even now have your mother’s warning.”

  Elysande gaped at him and then snapped her mouth closed and asked, “Why did you not tell me? I thought my heart would stop when I could not find it. I feared I had lost it.”

  “I could no’ risk anyone overhearing, love. I did no’ ken who was or was no’ working for de Buci, and who might listen at doors for him for a coin. If he caught wind of the fact that the boys were headed for court with Wykeman’s letter, he would have dropped everything and cast a net over the whole of South England to try to capture the men and stop the message. And aside from no’ wanting to see Tom or me men killed, I kenned it was important to ye that the king get his warning.” He smiled slightly. “But I planned to tell ye today or tomorrow. I just wanted to wait until it was too late for de Buci to stop them before I did.” His gaze slid to Simon as he added, “In case some other scurvy bastard traitor who worked for de Buci overheard.”

  Elysande saw the slight wincing motion around Simon’s eyes, and felt his hand tighten on her arm and knew Rory had struck a blow. Simon was young, and newly knighted with all the grand notions of honor and chivalry that a knight was said to have, and he had betrayed them. She knew he would not be able to reconcile himself with what he’d done, even if it had been for his family.

  “Simon,” she said gently. “You need to put your sword down now.”

  His head turned very slowly toward her, and he closed his eyes briefly, before opening them to ask, “Do you promise me my father is not named as a conspirator in the plot?”

  “I promise you,” she said solemnly.

  Simon nodded wearily, and glanced past her to the icy water spreading out around the ship, and then lifted his gaze to the steep cliffs they could just make out in the distance. The shores of Scotland, though she had no idea where. Somewhere far north, she supposed, if they were only a day away from Thurso.

  “Simon, no,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “You would never make it. You will freeze to death or drown.”

  “And hanging is better?” he asked softly, keeping his voice low so that Rory couldn’t hear. “I am sorry for trying to kill you, m’lady. It was a terrible struggle for me even to attempt it each time. Mayhap that is why I failed,” he added wryly, but then shrugged and said, “But while I know I should give myself up and let them hang me for it, I find I have a great desire to live . . . if only long enough to have a word with Capshaw.”

  “Simon,” she began, but it was too late. Releasing her arm, he dropped his sword, stepped past her and disappeared over the side of the ship.

  Chapter 17

  Elysande rushed to the railing and leaned forward to peer anxiously down at the water below. It seemed to take a long time, but finally she saw Simon’s dark head bob to the surface, and then he struck out, swimming for the distant cliffs.

  “Do you think he will make it?” she asked when she felt Rory’s heat at her back and his hands at her waist.

  “I do no’ ken,” Rory said solemnly. “But if he does, I hope he heads to France or somewhere else on the Continent.”

  “Why?” Elysande asked, glancing around at him with surprise.

  “Because do we meet again I would have to kill him,” Rory admitted solemnly. “And I suspect ye would no’ like that.”

  “Nay, I would not,” she agreed, turning back to watch the man struggle through the frigid water. “He was only trying to save his family.”

  “By killing you,” Rory said grimly.

  “Would you not kill for your family?” Elysande asked quietly, and when he scowled at the question, she said, “I would have killed de Buci in a heartbeat to save mine.”

  Rory let his breath out on a sigh and slid an arm around her, drawing her into his side. “Ye’re a fierce lass. Have I mentioned I like that about ye?”

  “Nay,” she said, leaning into him.

  “Well, I do,” he assured her, and laid a kiss on her forehead before releasing her. “Now go away.”

  “What?” Elysande turned on him with surprise, but stilled when she noted the green tinge to his skin, and the sweat above his upper lip. “Your stomach is churning again,” she realized, and then muttered, “Of course ’tis. The tincture I gave you yesterday will have worn off.”

  “Aye,” he groaned, and moved to lean over the railing. “Now go away. Ye do no’ need to see this unpleasantness.”

  “Oh, aye, but watching me on the plank is so much more pleasant,” she said dryly, moving to his side, and pulling his hair back from his face to hold it out of the way for him.

  Her words startled a half chuckle out of Rory that ended on a groan as he clutched his stomach. “Dear God, I hate boats.”

  “And yet traveling to Sinclair by boat was your idea,” she said softly, pressing a kiss to his arm.

  “Aye. It was the best way I could think o’ to keep ye safe,” Rory admitted. “I’d ride into hell to keep ye safe, lass.”

  Elysande felt her heart swell, and pressed a kiss quickly to his cheek. “I love you. I will be back directly.�
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  Rory merely groaned as she released his hair and hurried out of the heads.

  “Oh, good. I was starting to worry, lass.”

  Elysande’s steps slowed, and she smiled at the captain as he approached. “Worry about what, sir?”

  “Well, I saw that Englishman follow ye out to the heads,” he explained. “Looked to me like he was up to no good, so I thought I’d best warn yer husband. He hied himself out there, but the three o’ ye were down there so long I worried the Buchanan was tossing the bastard overboard.”

  “Oh, nay,” Elysande assured him quickly, and then explained, “Simon jumped overboard.”

  “What?” he squawked with alarm.

  “Aye. He was planning to kill me until Rory arrived, and then he dropped his sword and jumped when he knew he was caught,” she explained. “And thank you for waking and warning my husband, Captain. Now I hope you will forgive me, but I have to go. Rory has a touch of tummy upset from the motion of the ship. I need to fetch him his tincture.”

  Giving the man a bright smile, she rushed off to the cargo hold and made her way down. The men were taking care of the horses when she got below: feeding them, cleaning up after them and brushing them down to soothe them. Elysande smiled and waved as she passed, but didn’t stop to talk.

  “Simon’s missing,” Alick announced, approaching as she quickly mixed up more of the tincture for Rory’s stomach. “So is Rory.”

  “Rory is on the head deck, spewing,” Elysande told him as she worked. She didn’t tell him about Simon though. She just didn’t want to talk about him at the moment. Her feelings about the man were conflicted. She knew he’d tried to kill her, but it had been out of fear for his family, and she found she felt sorry for him.

  “Making him more tincture?” Alick asked, and she nodded as she stirred the mixture she’d made. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Elysande started to shake her head and then changed her mind. “Mayhap you could lay out the fur again. It looks as if Rory rolled it up when he woke and he’ll probably want to lie down until the tincture starts to work.”

  When Alick nodded and moved to do what she asked, Elysande thanked him and headed for the cargo doors with the tincture.

  Rory was hanging over the railing, looking exhausted and pale when she got back to him. But he straightened and took the tincture when she offered it. He paused a moment though, swallowing several times before he drank it, and then he stood absolutely still as if afraid any movement might lead to it coming back up. Elysande took the chalice from him and simply stood rubbing his back as they waited for the mix to take effect. A smile claimed her lips though when he began to stretch and press into her caress like a cat being petted.

  A few minutes later, they left the heads—much to the relief of a sailor who had apparently been waiting. They returned to the cargo bay and sat down together on the fur Alick had laid out, then Elysande urged him to rest his head in her lap.

  Rory smiled faintly when she immediately began to run her fingers through his long hair, then rub them gently over his forehead. The touch was almost as soothing as the tincture she made, and he eventually opened his eyes to look up at her face.

  Rory then stared at her for a long moment, taking in the shape of her eyes, and the fullness of her lips. Now that the bruising was gone, he could see she was a fine-looking woman. But even when her looks had been marred by the bruises, he’d been attracted to her. She had a strength and calm that had drawn him, a steely determination that had impressed him, and he only wished he could have impressed her as well.

  “That is an odd look, m’laird,” Elysande said suddenly. “What are you thinking about?”

  Rory recalled asking her the same question not long ago and answered it the same way she had at the time, saying, “You,” and they smiled at each other.

  “Ye ken ye’ve rendered me useless,” he said suddenly.

  Elysande’s eyebrows rose. “I have?”

  “Aye,” he assured her on a sigh, and then closed his eyes and admitted, “From the minute I saw the bruising on yer face on that first day when I dragged ye off yer horse, I wanted nothing more than to help in some way, to use me healing skills to ease yer pain.”

  “You pitied me,” she said sadly.

  “Nay,” he said at once, his eyes shooting open. “Lass, there was no pity. Ye were so magnificent. Until that moment I had no idea ye were wounded, but when I saw the bruising I kenned the pain ye must be in, and yet ye had no’ complained, or even shown that ye were hurting, and ye kept up with us though I’d set a grueling pace fer the ride.” He shook his head with remembered awe. “And then, when I saw yer back . . . My God,” he murmured at the memory. “I did no’ ken where ye got the strength to carry on, but ye did. I was impressed,” he admitted. “And I wanted to impress ye too. I wanted to show off me so-called skills and heal all yer pains. But I was no’ able to help ye at all in the end.”

  “Of course you helped me, husband,” Elysande argued at once, and blushed when the word husband made him smile.

  “How did I help ye?” he asked with amusement.

  “You put liniment on my back,” she reminded him, but he snorted in response.

  “Lass, it was liniment ye made yerself, and that the alewife put on ye several times ere I ever did,” he pointed out dryly. “It did no’ take much skill. Just hands.”

  Elysande frowned, but said, “Well, you also wrapped my ankle when I twisted it.”

  “Alick could have done that, or any one o’ the men,” he scoffed.

  “You also sewed up my chest wound, and bandaged my head wound.”

  “Aye, I was so desperate to do something that I put two stitches in yer chest that ye probably did no’ even need,” he admitted with disgust. “As fer yer head wound, all I did was wash and bandage it, and again, the bandage was no’ really necessary. Anyone could ha’e done that. Ye did no’ need a healer.”

  “You gave me those tinctures to ease my pain when I woke up with my head pounding so vilely after the attack,” Elysande pointed out.

  “’Twas a sleeping tincture. I made ye sleep through the pain, lass. I could no’ ease it,” he said sadly. “While ye’ve made a tincture that I did no’ even ken existed, one that eased my sickness from the motion o’ the boat.”

  She frowned briefly, and then said, “You have kept me safe since Monmouth, seeing me safely out of Carlisle, and on to Ayr.”

  “Lass, I did no’ keep ye safe. Mildrede saved us all in Carlisle, and you led me out o’ the city blindfolded,” Rory pointed out dryly. “Nor did I keep ye safe in Ayr. Ye saved yerself by cleverly tucking yer coins between yer beautiful breasts and falling as ye were stabbed so the blade barely scratched ye.”

  Elysande bit her lip to keep from smiling. He’d called her breasts beautiful. Forcing the smile away, she said, “You are getting me to Sinclair and you sent Tom, Fearghas and Donnghail to court with the warning for the king. You are a hero, husband.”

  “Let’s hope,” he said wearily. “We will no’ ken fer a while if they made it or were stopped and slaughtered by de Buci’s men.”

  Elysande stiffened at the suggestion. “I hope not. I am quite fond of all three men.”

  Rory grunted, his eyes closing. But they popped open again when she said his name softly.

  Meeting his gaze then, she said, “’Tis true I have some skill at healing. But that only means I can help you when you need assistance healing others. And,” she added firmly when he would have interrupted, “you have impressed me time and again since our first meeting. You have given freely of your time, your own coin and your caring to help a lass you had never even heard of before that day in the clearing. You also made me feel safe, and gave me hope.” She met his gaze solemnly. “Those are not things one can learn in a book. They are . . .” She paused briefly, searching for the right word, and then said simply, “They are you. You are a good man, Rory, a man who shows kindness to an English alewife even though she treated you
badly at first, and who saves a king who is your enemy just because it is right.” She smiled. “You are a man worthy of love.” Tilting her head, she added, “People may need a healer, but they do not love them. They love the man.”

  Rory stared at her blankly for a minute, her words rolling around inside his head, and then shifted to tug her down to lie with him on the fur. Once he had her arranged in his arms in the morning position he liked so much, he then kissed the top of her head and said, “Thank God yer mother sent ye to me. She called ye her treasure, and she was right. Fer that’s what ye are to me.”

  Epilogue

  “I want ye all to be ready,” Rory growled in an undertone. “Does the king try to have our marriage annulled and take Elysande away, we’ll need to act quickly. I’ll no’—”

  “What are you men whispering about?”

  Rory snapped his mouth closed and glanced around at his wife’s exasperated voice, and then hurried over to take her arm when she pushed herself up off the chair the king’s guards had rushed to get for her when they’d realized her condition.

  “Ye should stay seated until we’re called, lass,” he reprimanded with a scowl, trying to urge her back into the chair. “Ye should really have yer legs up too. They’ve been swelling o’ late.” Scowling at her, he added, “I canno’ believe ye agreed to travel to the English court in yer condition.”

  “I am only just over five months along, husband,” Elysande said soothingly. “’Tis fine.”

  “Five months but looking nine,” Alick commented with a grin. “I’m thinking we’re about to have more twins in the family.”

  “Aye,” Rory breathed, and swallowed the sheer terror that thought sent through him. God in heaven! They had only just started construction on their castle; it would be five to seven years before it was done. Of course, they could move in once the castle keep itself was done, but that would take at least two years, and then they’d be living with the constant chaos and noise of the wall and remaining buildings being erected. The kitchens, the garrison, the chapel, the towers . . .