The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  “How did ye learn of their plan to run away?” Alec asked.

  Tears stung Margaret’s eyes. Her hand flew to her chest against the pain of remembering. “I overheard them,” she said weakly. “Gavenia could not be swayed. Bradana was already married then and to a good man. And so I left her and Saint Gabriel behind and followed them. I had known men like Drogo before. I knew the vile deeds he was capable of. I wanted to do everything in my power to save her.” Her faded blue eyes, glistening with tears, locked with Joanie’s. “But I couldn’t. Nor could I save ye.”

  Joanie squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “What happened to you? What did he do to you?”

  Margaret swiped at her tears. “Well, as ye know, I was ill. While ye were working at the tavern, he stuck me in the back of a wagon and drove north for several hours. Then he dumped me on the side of the road.”

  Joanie gasped, her hand to her heart.

  “By the time I made it back to ye, ye were gone. He had sold ye.” Margaret grabbed both of Joanie’s hands. “I searched for ye for years. I lived off the charity of convents and searched every village I passed through. I…”

  Joanie pulled her grandmother close. She stroked her curved back and whispered soothing words. “None of that matters anymore. It can’t. He will win in the end, if we don’t let the past go.”

  Her grandmother pulled away and smiled up at her. “I never dreamed I would see ye again. And it does my heart good to see ye so well and happy,” she said, turning to pat Alec’s hand.

  Alec smiled. “All is just as it should be,” he said, and then he straightened in his seat. He had sensed the lad’s presence the instant before the cottage door cracked open.

  Margaret smiled and clasped her hands together. “Here’s my wee lamb now.”

  A small boy of seven or eight years silently stepped into the cottage and shut the door behind him, then darted to Margaret’s side, burying his face in her neck. “His name is Matthew.”

  “Good morrow,” Joanie said.

  Margaret stroked his sandy hair. “He doesn’t speak. At least not yet. I think he can. I just don’t think he has ever found something he thought truly worthy of saying.”

  Alec felt an immediate kinship with the lad. He stood and circled around the old woman and squatted down in front of Matthew.

  “Aye,” Margaret said, knowingly. “He is like ye. So too was my sister. The sight runs in our blood.” She winked at Joanie.

  Alec held his breath as Matthew turned and looked up at him. A jolt shot through him. The boy had one blue eye and one brown, and a scar ran down the side of his face.

  “He got that when he fell off a wagon last summer.” Margaret said.

  Matthew held Alec’s gaze without wavering. Then slowly he reached his small hand toward Alec’s face and pressed his fingertip onto Alec’s forehead before he closed his eyes. Alec could only wonder what the boy saw. Suddenly, Matthew’s eyes flew open and a knowing smile shaped his lips. He clasped Alec’s hand and pulled him toward the door.

  “Where is he taking you?” Joanie asked.

  Alec lifted his shoulders. “I do not ken.”

  “Well, that’s a first,” Joanie shot back.

  Alec followed the boy through the narrow village paths, passing cottages and a series of long thatch and clay huts, which he assumed housed their stores. Then the pathway opened to the village green, and on the opposite side, Alec once again saw the wooden effigy of Saint Gabriel.

  Matthew dropped his hand and raced across the green and stopped in front of the angel. Alec followed and joined him. The carved saint was massive up close. Alec only came up to his chest. He stared up into the angel’s face. Wooden tears coursed down his carved cheeks. Alec had never seen an angel depicted as crying, but when he looked beyond the effigy at the dozens and dozens of small wooden crosses rising out from the earth, he knew why.

  “Forty-nine blessed wee souls were taken,” Margaret said, coming up behind him with Joanie at her side. “I remember those dark days all too well. Two of my own are buried there. Matthew knows. He likes to sit on my Timothy’s grave. He visits him every day, some days for hours.”

  Alec had to fight the despair that seemed to seep from the very earth beneath his feet. Then a small, warm hand slipped into his, and he looked down into Matthew’s mix-matched eyes. Immediately, clarity reclaimed his senses. “Show me,” Alec said.

  He followed the lad into the cemetery until he knelt in front of one of the crosses.

  “That is my Timothy’s grave,” Margaret called.

  To Alec’s surprise, Matthew began tearing away at the sparse, dried bits of grass and cold earth.

  “Nay, ye mustn’t—” But Alec swallowed the rest of his admonishment when Matthew uncovered a piece of stone with writing carved into it. Suddenly the stone around his neck came to life as never before, searing his skin. For the first time, the heat was unbearable. He whisked the cord over his neck and glanced at his skin, which was red and blistered where the stone had lain.

  Straightway, Alec dropped to his knees and helped Matthew uncover the stone. Swiping his hand across the writing, he fell back, struck to his core and stared at the words. Alba gu bràth.

  Slowly, he straightened and leaned over the stone. Warmth caressed his face. Life pulsed around him like a beating heart. With his own heart racing, he dug his fingers into the earth, searching for the edges of the rock. It was more than three hands wide and nearly as long and thin like slate. He pried his fingers beneath it, lifting it away, revealing another stone. Alec raked both hands through his hair as he stared in amazement at a large purple stone. His eyes narrowed on the broken corner. He seized the shard from the ground and slid it into the break — a perfect fit.

  Chapter Thirty

  Alec closed his eyes and lay his hands on the stone and gasped as images of kings and queens and distant lands flashed in his mind’s eye.

  Hands shaking, he fumbled with the thin slate, covering the purple stone from sight. Then he turned to Matthew. “Ye will find some men in the tavern. One is dark haired, and two have hair as yellow as yers — one is nearly as big as Saint Gabriel,” he said, gesturing to the wooden angel. “Go find them. Take them to the stables. Have them bring me a wagon.”

  The boy nodded and darted off.

  A moment later, Joanie crouched down next to him. “What is happening?”

  Alec had to tear his eyes from the ground. His heart beat harder and harder with every passing moment. He knew what he had found. Glancing back, he saw people begin to gather, watching him. “Quickly, go stand with yer Grandmother. We mustn’t draw attention to what we have here. I would rather not have to answer questions from curious neighbors.”

  Joanie nodded. He watched her move to stand with Margaret who introduced Joanie as her granddaughter, drawing them into conversation.

  Some time later, Ramsay drove their spotted mares hitched to a rough-hewn wagon. In the back, Alec spied Nick, David, and Matthew. It wasn’t until the three men hunkered down beside him that Alec dusted away the dirt he had scattered to cover the secret words of their cause.

  “There’s more,” Alec said, meeting their stunned eyes. He slid the carved slate off, revealing the large purple stone. “We are taking this with us. It will weigh well over twenty stone. David, back the wagon as close to the fence as ye can.” Then he looked at Ramsay and Nick. “We’ll lift it together.”

  David brought the wagon as close to the site as he could without disturbing the graves while Alec, Ramsay, and Nick dug out the stone until they could fit their fingers beneath it. “Together now,” Alec said. Gritting their teeth, they hoisted it out of the ground, then moved it the short distance to the wagon.

  “Cover it,” Alec said to David. “And guard it with yer life. This is now a mission for Scotland. Likely the most important mission we will ever carry out.”

  “What is it?” Ramsay pressed.

  Alec locked eyes with the blacksmith. “’Tis the Stone of Destiny.” />
  The moment the words fled his lips, a bell started to sound. He whirled around.

  “What’s happening?” Joanie asked.

  “’Tis an alarm,” Margaret gasped.

  Alec felt the rider’s urgency before he raced into the green. “English soldiers march this way. A band of forty strong.”

  “How far behind are they?” Nick called out.

  “I spotted them on the road earlier this morning and took to the woods. I raced here as fast as I could. ‘Tis only a matter of hours, not days.”

  “I wager they carry a likeness of me,” Alec said under his breath to Ramsay before grabbing both Joanie and Matthew by the hands. “We’re leaving,” he said. Then he turned to Margaret. “Will ye come away with us?”

  A glint lit her eye. “Ye just try to stop me.”

  Alec turned to the men. “Take the stone and Margaret to Haddington. Do not stop to rest. Change horses if ye must, but make haste.”

  “Where will ye go?” Ramsay asked.

  “We’ll let them track us and head north into the mountains.”

  David eyes flashed bright. “Are ye planning on paying Laird Campbell a visit then?”

  Alec nodded. “His Highland warriors will enjoy the extra training.”

  “Ye’re taking the lad with ye?” Ramsay questioned. “Are ye certain that is wise?”

  Alec looked down into Matthew’s eyes. He could feel the boy’s heart pleading to stay by his side.

  “Yer destinies are somehow joined, are they not?” Margaret asked.

  Alec nodded. “I believe so.”

  She nodded then and bent to hug Matthew close and pressed a kiss to his brow. Then she turned to Joanie. “Be strong,” Margaret urged, “as ye always have been. Survive this, ye hear me?”

  “I will,” Joanie said firmly.

  Then her grandmother pressed a kiss to her forehead and one on each cheek. “This is not goodbye, sweetling.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  Geoffrey Mercer thundered into the village heedless of people and animals scurrying out of his path. He raced through the narrow dirt roads until he came to the village green. Behind him, the soldiers under his command fell in line, their horses dancing and snorting as they stopped short.

  Geoffrey scanned the onlookers with disdain, nothing but filthy peasants, no one with any worth at all. He withdrew a scroll from his saddlebag and unrolled the large parchment. A dowel on the end weighted it down. Then he thrust his arm out, shifting in his seat to be sure everyone could see.

  “I am looking for this man. My tracker believes he and his party came through here.”

  People turned away or gazed up at him with wide terrified eyes, but no one spoke up. Pasting a smile on his face, he called out, “Come forward. Tell me what you know, and you shall be rewarded.” Then his smile disappeared, and he kicked his horse in the flank. Turning about, he grabbed the torch from the hand of his second in command. He raised the flame high. “Keep your silence, and I shall burn your stores to the ground.”

  Gasps and outcries arose among the growing crowd. Then a man came forward, wearing a tattered tunic and gripping a felt hat in his fingers. “I know that man,” he said, his voice low.

  “Speak up,” Geoffrey snapped.

  The man flinched. “I know that man,” he said louder.

  Geoffrey slid from his horse and motioned for the man to come forward. He held up the picture again of Randolph Tweed.

  “Are you certain?”

  Gripping tighter to his hat, his shoulders framing his ears, the man stuttered, “He … he came through here. He had a woman with him and three other men.”

  “Are you certain?”

  The man cast his eyes to the ground. “Aye,” he said, his shoulders rising higher. “I’m sure of it.”

  “When they left, were they all on horseback. Did anyone walk?”

  “He rode off on horseback. The others were in a wagon.”

  Geoffrey handed the parchment to one of his men. “Ride out,” he shouted.

  “Sir Knight, ye mentioned a reward.”

  Geoffrey scowled at the peasant. “As your reward, I will spare your life. But if you’ve lied to me. I will return and cut out your tongue.” Then he turned his horse around and raced back the way he’d come.

  The road sliced straight through a forest. Tree branches wove a tangled canopy overhead and boasted buds of springtime, but Geoffrey did not take the time to ponder the beauty or feel the welcoming kiss of Spring’s sunshine slanting through the branches. His mind remained fixed on one thing only — vengeance.

  “Geoffrey,” one of his guards said.

  “Sir Geoffrey,” he snapped. “You were there when Lord Paxton knighted me.”

  “Sir Geoffrey, the trail splits up ahead. A single horse headed north into the mountains. The wagon headed east. Do you want to split the men and track both?”

  Geoffrey looked back at the dozens of knights on chargers behind him and smiled. He would never tire of seeing such a glorious sight. He had no intention of breaking up the men in his command. Shaking his head, he snapped at his man, “And weaken our defenses? Nay. The others are of no consequence. Only Randolph Tweed matters. Follow the rider.”

  ~ * ~

  Joanie and Mathew passed the night asleep in Alec’s arms while he pushed their mount ever higher. He welcomed the first light of dawn, which revealed purple mountains silhouetted against the brightening sky. Joanie and Matthew stirred, awoken by the jarring movements of their horse as the Highland landscape grew increasingly more rugged. More than once, they had to climb down and walk their mount over stretches of treacherous rocks. Still, he pushed their horse and their own stamina to maintain their lead. The English soldiers would have easily overtaken them on the open road, but their large chargers had to struggle over the same jagged rocks, steep inclines, and through the same dense woods.

  Just as the sun rose overhead, a loud cry rent the air. “Cruachan!”

  Joanie straightened, squeezing Matthew closer. “What was that?”

  Her fear penetrated Alec’s heart. “It was the war cry of Clan Campbell. Do not be afraid, but remain still,” he warned, wrapping his arms tighter around Joanie and the wee, Matthew. “In moments, we will be surrounded.”

  Joanie held her breath as darting shapes streaked through the trees like racing specters in the shadows. Suddenly, men like none she had ever seen came thundering down the mountain. Their muscled bodies were clad in draping plaids that showed their sinewy bare legs. Some wore laced boots and tunics while others had bare chests and feet despite the chill in the air. Their hair hung in wild disarray well past their broad chests. In their strong hands, they gripped battle axes and swords. Some brandished small targs and others looked down at her through the hairs of their crossbows.

  Behind her Alec called out words she did not understand. “Tha mi a charaid Laird Caimbeul.”

  The warriors fell silent but kept their weapons at the ready.

  “What did you say?” she whispered, her heart pounding. She fought to hold on to her courage in the presence of the wild Highlanders.

  “I told them I am a friend of their lairds,” he said in answer. Then he cupped his hand around his mouth and shouted. “Alba gu bràth.”

  One man stepped forward then, a smile playing about his lips. Joanie could not help but stare at his raw masculinity. He caught her eye and dipped his head to her. She blushed, having been caught staring and lowered her gaze.

  “Cuiribh uaibh bhur buill-airm,” the man said.

  “He just told his men to lower their weapons,” Alec whispered in her ear. She looked up and watched as the men sheathed their swords and lowered their axes and crossbows.

  “I am Bryden Campbell, my laird’s second. Who are ye?”

  “Ye’re both safe,” Alec whispered in Joanie’s ear as he swung down to the ground. “I am Alec MacVie.”

  Joanie watched Bryden’s eyes light with recognition. “The MacVie name is well known to ou
r clan. Alba gu bràth,” he said, offering Alec his hand. Then he jerked his head up the mountain. “Ye and yer friends are welcome. I will take ye to our laird.”

  Alec smiled up at Matthew who stared wide-eyed at Bryden. “Aye, ye’re right,” Alec said, his voice low. “The Campbells are fierce warriors.” Then he lifted Matthew down.

  “My young cousin has a valiant heart,” Joanie said as Alec helped her to the ground.

  Alec turned and watched as Matthew walked straight up to Bryden.

  “Blessings to ye, wee one. What is yer name?” Bryden said, hunkering down to be eye-level with the child.

  “He is Matthew,” Alec answered for him.

  Bryden canted his head to the side, still holding Matthew’s gaze. “Ye’re a quiet one, are ye? Just like our laird.” Bryden stood then and put a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “Just remember to speak up when it counts.” Then Bryden looked back at Alec. “Come then.”

  When they reached the village, Alec and Laird Donnach Campbell locked eyes from across the green. Alec saw the surprise flash across the laird’s features before he started toward Alec.

  The Campbell’s were stalwart supporters of the cause. On several occasions, Alec had run weapons and coin gathered by the Campbells down to Haddington. He and the laird had also stolen a chest of silver marks on its way to Douglas Castle, which had been seized by an English lord. Donnach was a man of great instinct and few words, which made him ideal for Alec to work with.

  “I’ve received no word of yer coming,” Donnach said simply but not unkindly when he stood in front of Alec.

  “The abbot has not sent me.”

  He held Alec’s gaze for several moments before he said, “Ye’re in trouble?”

  Alec nodded. “And I brought it with me and only a few hours ride behind, I’d wager.”