“This is Lady Jossalyn—” Garrick cut off abruptly before saying her last name.
She noticed that he had spoken for her, and wondered if he didn’t want these men to know that she was English. Well, she wasn’t going to stay silent forever, so she might as well get it over with.
“I am Jossalyn Warren,” she said in the most serene voice she could muster.
All of the warriors’ eyes widened, and the sandy-haired one who had come up behind them sputtered into a coughing fit. The dark one who had approached from the front, and who had been looking at her suspiciously, narrowed his eyes slightly.
“As in, Raef Warren?” he said as he continued to hold her with his narrowed gaze.
“He is my brother,” she said simply, trying not to crack under his scrutiny.
“You captured Raef Warren’s sister? Good on you, laddie!” Angus bellowed, clapping Garrick on the back again.
This time, though, Garrick wasn’t prepared for it, and the blow sent him stumbling forward a step.
“What’s the plan, then? Ransom? I heard that that didn’t work out so well for your brother, so I’d suggest—”
“Hold, Angus!” Garrick said firmly. “She is not my captive, and I do not plan to ransom her back to her brother.”
Angus furrowed his bushy, reddish-brown eyebrows at that. “Then why did you drag a wee English lassie with you all the way to the Bru—”
“Stop your chattering, Angus, before you say something foolish,” the dark-haired man glaring at Jossalyn hissed.
“It’s all right, Finn,” Garrick said. “She is loyal to the cause and wants to join us.”
The man Garrick had just called Finn shifted his narrowed stare from Jossalyn to Garrick. “Just because you rut with a lass doesn’t mean that she’s trustwor—”
Before he could finish his insult, Garrick drew the dagger he kept in the top of his boot and closed the distance between them in a flash. He pressed the point of the blade into the little hollow at the base of the other man’s neck lightly. Amazingly, Finn didn’t even flinch.
“Disrespect her again, and I’ll kill you,” Garrick said quietly.
Finn only stared back silently, his unreadable dark eyes boring into Garrick.
“Easy, lads,” the fair-haired man said cautiously. “We’re all on the same side, remember?”
The group remained tense as Garrick slowly pulled his dagger back from Finn’s throat and resheathed it in his boot.
“I’m sure you will be most welcome back at camp,” the young man went on, turning to Jossalyn with a forcibly light tone to his voice. “I am Colin McKay, at your service, my lady. That brute is Angus MacLeod, and the one who forgot his manners is Finn Sutherland.” He swept a bow at her, and she was suddenly reminded of Burke’s smooth gallantry. “But if I may ask, what is a fair English lady such as yourself doing getting involved with Garrick Sinclair and the rebellion?”
She hadn’t thought about how she might explain their circumstances or her desire to join the Scottish fight for freedom to others yet. She hesitated for a moment, but then decided there was no point in dipping her toe in cautiously. She might as well jump all the way in.
“I was trying to escape my brother, so I stowed away with Garrick and his cousin Burke while they were scouting Dunbraes. The long and the short of it is that we all ended up fleeing my brother, and I managed to convince Garrick to let me join him on his way to Robert the Bruce’s secret camp. I am a healer, and I want to offer my skills to your cause.”
Colin whistled softly, his sandy eyebrows arching above his bright blue eyes. “That’s quite the adventure, lass. But if one of the most suspicious and unwelcoming men in all the Highlands trusts you, then I’m sure we can too.” He clapped Garrick on the back playfully as he spoke, but also shot a meaningful look at Finn as well.
Angus, apparently missing the laden exchange, rumbled his approval at Colin’s words. “Let’s be on our way, then!” the ruddy giant said merrily.
Finn didn’t say anything, but even without looking at him, she could feel his dark eyes on her again.
Garrick mounted behind Jossalyn but kept the horse at a walk so as to keep pace with the three warriors striding at their side. Jossalyn had to keep reminding herself that these men were apparently friends—or at least allies—and not enemies.
She could suddenly understand Garrick better now that she saw him surrounded by other Highland warriors. It explained a lot of his gruffness, his hardened exterior, and his honed fighting skills. Nothing about these men was soft.
Then again, she suspected that once she got to know them better, Angus would prove tender-hearted, and she sensed Colin was a mischievous and people-loving sort. Finn, however, didn’t strike her as anything but cold and hard.
Despite being in the company of his fellow soldiers, Garrick seemed slightly more on edge that normal as well. He kept one hand on the reins, but he wrapped the other protectively around Jossalyn’s middle, holding her close to his chest. The tension she felt from Garrick, plus her own nervousness, both in the company of strange warriors and in anticipation of reaching the Bruce’s camp, made time stretch. How much farther could this camp really be?
It was likely only an hour or so after they had encountered the three warriors that she got her answer. At another indiscernibly different point in the forest through which they were walking, Colin sent out a loud whistle, which was immediately called back by some unseen watcher in the surrounding trees. Then the woods thinned slightly, and Jossalyn caught a glimpse of canvas between the trees ahead.
As they kept moving forward, she saw more and more splashes of off-white canvas. They were tents, set up in the open spaces between the pine trees. She also saw movement between the trees and the tents.
At first, her eyes registered dozens of men, all clad in different colored plaids, many with fearsome weapons strapped to their hips, backs, or over their shoulders. But once they were moving among the tents, she realized there must be hundreds of men here. Those who noticed them nodded or waved, and many seemed to know Garrick by sight. They would call a greeting to him or welcome him back, often sending curious looks in her direction.
The deeper they went into the sea of tents and men, the more Jossalyn was struck by the scale of it all. This wasn’t merely some thrown-together camp—this was a mobile village. Off to one side she saw several pens filled with livestock, and behind them, a row of carts and wagons, presumably to be able to transport all these tents and gear for the men quickly if the need arose.
But how could such a large and well-run operation stay secret and hidden for so long? The English had heard rumors of the Bruce’s headquarters and sought it with fervor. Perhaps it was the Scots’ superior knowledge of the surrounding area.
But that wasn’t enough. Jossalyn realized that there were at least two rings of scouts and security around the camp. The three warriors they had met were the outer layer, and whoever Colin had whistled to as they approached the heart of the camp would be another level of protection. If anyone approached, either on foot or on horseback, the camp could be alerted and either prepare for battle or disassemble and moved, potentially with several hours of notice.
Jossalyn was in awe of the scale and order of the rebel camp. Everywhere she looked, men were practicing with their weapons, or were leaning over a map spread on a stump, or even preparing food. She caught a glimpse of a few women as well. She assumed that they were the camp’s lemans, but they also appeared to be helping out with washing, cooking, and generally keeping the camp running smoothly.
The group weaved their way through the maze of tents, seeming to know where they were going, though Jossalyn was already thoroughly lost. Eventually, they stopped next to a small tent that looked like all the others, except for the fact that it was adjacent to the largest tent she had seen yet.
“We got you all set up after our most recent move, since we were expecting your return last week,” Colin said to Garrick.
Garr
ick nodded his thanks as he dismounted, and then wrapped his hands around Jossalyn’s waist and pulled her down to the ground next to him. She suddenly realized that all four of the warriors surrounding her towered over her. Burke and Garrick were both tall and broadly muscled, but to be inside a circle of four such hulking, battle-hardened men was rather intimidating. She could see why the English spoke of the Scottish rebels as monstrously large barbarians.
“We’ll let you get settled,” Colin went on, “but then the Bruce would probably like to see you.”
“I’ll see to Fletch,” Angus said, his attention suddenly focused solely on the horse. He stroked its mane and whispered something into his ear.
Colin only smirked at the display of affection toward the animal. To Jossalyn, he said, “Angus had a special place in his heart for beasties of all sorts, lass. It’s probably why he likes Garrick so much.”
Garrick rewarded Colin for his teasing with a wry smile and one raised eyebrow. Finn didn’t say anything, and instead, simply strode off to another part of camp without even a farewell.
“Don’t mind him, lass,” Colin said as he watched Finn walk away. “He’s a sourpuss, but he’s not a threat to you.”
“If you say so,” she said under her breath.
Colin and Angus bid them farewell and departed also, with Angus leading Fletch behind them. Garrick turned to the tent and held its flap, which functioned as the door, open for her. She slipped under his arm and entered.
It was small and simple, but also surprisingly clean and orderly. There was no floor, only the four canvas walls and a sloping roof. In one corner, there was a cot with a straw mattress and a blanket folded at the foot, and a few feet away on the other side, there was a simple wooden table with a pitcher of water and a basin. There was only one other piece of furniture, a wooden shelf with a few essential items on it like a cup, bowl, a bar of soap, and the like.
Garrick entered after her and was watching her closely. “It’s very simple, I know, but—”
“But all the essentials are covered, I’d say,” she said lightly. She didn’t want to give him a chance to start thinking she was somehow looking down her nose at the accommodations. It was far more basic than her life had been at Dunbraes, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world.
He was still looking uncomfortably around the small space, though. “If you’d like, I can arrange to sleep somewhere else.”
She turned to fully face him, capturing his jaw between her hands. “Now why would I want you to do that?” she said, a slight tease in her voice.
He relaxed under her touch. “Very well, lass, but you can’t say I didn’t try to protect your reputation—and protect you from my lust.”
She smiled up into his handsome face. His jaw was bristly with dark stubble. It could almost be called a beard, given how long it was. She could feel his jaw clench under her touch, and she watched as his gray eyes lit with fire as they roamed over her face. He leaned in slowly, placing a soft, intimate kiss on her lips. He lingered there for a moment, but then sighed and pulled back from her.
“We shouldn’t keep the King waiting,” he said, though the look he was giving her said he wanted to do otherwise.
He approached the pitcher and basin, and then poured some water over his hands and quickly scrubbed them over his face. He held out the pitcher to her and poured the water in a slow stream as she rinsed her hands and face as well. It wasn’t much, but it was the least they could do in preparation to see the man who had crowned himself King of Scotland.
The thought sent Jossalyn’s already-taut nerves pulling even tighter. She re-plaited her hair as neatly as she could, and then smoothed her wrinkled and dirty dress with her hands, though it did little to help. What if the Bruce sent her away, refusing the help of the sister of their English enemy? What if he did worse? What if he believed her to be a spy or a traitor? What if…?
She forced herself to take a deep breath and stop the spinning of her mind. She would have her answers soon enough.
When they were as ready as they could be, she turned to exit the tent, but his hand on her arm stopped her. She turned back to him and watched as he removed both the dagger and its scabbard from his boot, then extended it toward her. She looked up at him in confusion.
“I want you to have this,” he said simply.
“Why? Do you think I’ll need it?” The memory of that very blade pressed against Finn’s neck chilled her inside. What she unsafe here?
“Nay, lass—or, probably not, anyway,” he replied with a frown.
She guessed he was thinking about the same moment that had occurred less than two hours ago as well.
“I would just feel better knowing that you have it, that’s all.”
For some reason, she didn’t entirely believe his intentionally casual tone, but she took the dagger anyway. She didn’t have anyplace to put it, though, so after searching a bit, Garrick found a strip of leather on the tent’s shelf, and then bent and took her ankle in his large, warm hands. As he tied the dagger and sheath to her ankle with the piece of leather, she let herself be calmed by the feel of his hands on her skin.
“We need to get you some boots, lass,” he said at her feet as he finished up fastening the leather. “These slippers aren’t made for the woods, and they are nearly falling apart.”
She chuckled, remembering how rushed she had been when she was preparing to sneak out of Dunbraes and stow away with Garrick and Burke, the two kindly blacksmiths from a few miles north whom she had just met. Yes, her footwear choice had been wrong, but she never would have guessed that she would be standing in the middle of Robert the Bruce’s secret camp in the Highlands of Scotland less than two weeks after she escaped Dunbraes. So much had changed.
Garrick held the tent flap for her again as they exited, but they didn’t have far to go. The large tent practically right next to theirs was apparently Robert the Bruce’s meeting and strategy headquarters. They stopped in front of the tent, and a fierce-looking warrior poked his head inside the canvas.
“Garrick Sinclair and the lass he arrived with are here to see you, sire.”
Jossalyn’s stomach twisted with nervousness, and her heart pounded in her ears.
“Come in!” came a deep voice from within the tent.
The guard pulled back the canvas flap, and they stepped inside.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It took a moment for Jossalyn’s eyes to adjust to the relatively dim interior of the tent compared with the bright summer day outside. She slowly took in the carpeted floor, several heavy upholstered chairs, and the large wooden desk in the middle. Behind the desk sat a man who appeared to be slightly older than Garrick, handsome and well-built. His dark brown hair was pushed back from his forehead, and he had a neat beard on his face that had a faint tint of red to it. When she met his brown eyes, she saw that he was scrutinizing her.
She immediately lowered her head and dipped into a deep curtsy, as she was used to doing in her brother’s presence. She silently cursed herself for staring into the King’s eyes. Her brother would have beaten her for a lesser offense toward anyone of noble blood.
“Nay, lass, rise, rise!” the Bruce said, standing quickly from his chair and walking around to the front of the desk.
She dared a glance up at him from her crouched curtsy and was surprised to see a kind expression on his face. Garrick extended a hand to her and helped her stand, then went directly up to the Bruce and clasped arms with him.
“It’s good to see you again, Garrick,” the King said warmly.
“Aye, it’s good to be back,” Garrick responded with genuine heartiness.
She felt her eyes widen at the exchange, but couldn’t tamp down her surprise. Then the Bruce turned back to her, and her pulse hitched again.
“And who have you brought with you?” he said to Garrick, though his dark eyes surveyed her with curious scrutiny.
“This is Lady Jossalyn Warren,” Garrick replied.
She reg
istered in the back of her mind that he hadn’t tried to hide her last name this time. Perhaps since she had already shared it with the three warriors who had greeted them in the woods, he figured she wouldn’t mind him telling the Bruce.
But her bluster and courage from the forest seemed to have left her, and her pounding heart was nearly deafening in her ears. She almost dropped into another curtsy out of habit when Garrick said her name, but then she realized she would be disobeying a King and jerked herself upright halfway through.
She saw a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth at her awkward movements, but then she watched as her name registered and his face darkened slightly. “You wouldn’t happen to be a relation of Lord Raef Warren, would you lass?” he said with a frown.
“Y-yes, my lord,” she said shakily. “He is my brother.”
The King’s frown deepened slightly, and he shot a look at Garrick.
“Why don’t you take a seat and explain things to me, lass,” the Bruce said, motioning toward one of the finely upholstered chairs nearby.
Her knees shook slightly as she walked over to the chair and sank down into it. The Bruce walked back around his desk and resumed his seat, gesturing for Garrick to take a chair as well.
She registered in the back of her mind that there was a partially drawn curtain behind the desk at which the Bruce sat, and she caught a glimpse of a bed. So this was not only the Bruce’s strategic headquarters, but also his private living space. She swallowed hard, more intimidated than ever to be here. But the Bruce was looking expectantly at her, waiting for her to speak. She swallowed again and took a deep breath.
As Jossalyn launched into her story, she decided to hold nothing back, hoping that her motivations and earnestness would be clear to the King. She told him of what life had been like under her brother, his cruelty and controlling ways, and the freedoms she would steal whenever she could. She explained how her brother had gone to Cumberland to meet with King Edward, who was rumored to be ailing, and how her brother had hoped to ingratiate himself and gain a Barony from the sickly King.
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