Beloved Stranger

by Patricia Potter

  “I would take less. ’Tis always good to ask more.”

  In any other circumstances, Lachlan would have smiled. But now he could not. Worry about Kimbra ate through his gut.

  He stared hopefully at the Charlton.

  “I cannot release you now. It depends on yer brother now,” the Charlton said. “Is he a worthy man?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then ye both should have been English,” the Charlton said.

  He walked out, leaving Lachlan angry, frustrated, and more afraid than any other time in his life.

  HE moment Rory met the messenger from the Charltons, the hackles on his back rose.

  He considered himself a good judge of character, and there was nothing about Cedric Charlton that gave him good feelings. He certainly did not want to give the man gold, and yet those were the instructions.

  The gold would lead to a meeting. The Armstrongs had first suggested the border itself. But Rory doubted the Charltons would agree. They would remember an ambush only too clearly. The Branxton Church might be a fair compromise. He would risk going onto English soil, but the church was a sanctuary. There would be enough Armstrongs along to get them out, if it was a trap.

  But the English woman said the Charlton had a liking for Lachlan. He prayed she was right.

  He thought about going himself, but the Armstrong distrust was contagious. He was a prize. Archibald or an Armstrong would not be.

  He went up to see the woman. He knocked, and the door opened immediately after his knock, as if she had been standing just inside, waiting. She had braided her hair, and her gray eyes looked luminous. Until they saw him. Then they became all hostility.

  “I want to go to my daughter.”

  “You will. The Armstrongs received a messenger from the Charltons. I will do whatever it takes to get Lachlan home.” He hesitated. “I am sorry it was necessary to bring you here. You can go home now with the Charlton messenger.”

  She simply nodded.

  “Are you ready to leave?”

  “Aye.”

  When they reached the courtyard, the horses were saddled. The English emissary started when he saw Kimbra Charlton.

  The blood drained from Kimbra’s face.

  “Kimbra,” the English reiver said. “I did not expect to see ye here.”

  “Nor I you.” She glared at him. “You seem well at home here.”

  He reddened. The barb obviously hit home. Rory wished he understood the meaning of it.

  “The Charlton sent me,” the Englishman blustered.

  Rory saw the doubt in her face, but she held her tongue.

  “I need a few words with Mistress Kimbra before she leaves.” Rory took her arm, drawing her toward the stable.

  “You seem disturbed by the man the Charlton sent.”

  “I do not think he sent him.”

  “He had the letter with the Charlton seal.”

  The doubt didn’t leave her face, and it wriggled into Rory’s mind.

  “I cannot understand why he is here. He is not . . . to be trusted.”

  Her assessment agreed with his own instinctive one.

  “Then why is he here?”

  “I do not know. Just do not trust him if you wish your brother back. He hates Lachlan.”

  She said his brother’s name easily.

  “Why?”

  “He is jealous. He wanted to be the Charlton’s favorite. He wanted to have . . . me.” She rushed on. “Not because of me. Because he wanted my cottage and Magnus.”

  He absorbed that. He had been suspicious of her since he met her. But now he found something appealing about her. Had Lachlan also found it so?

  “Mayhap you should not go. I have suggested a meeting at Branxton Church. You can wait and go with us then.”

  “Nay, I must get to my daughter. I will go. I can take care of myself.”

  She said it stoically, as if she knew she was going into the jaws of evil.

  In that moment, he saw much of Felicia in her: the same stubbornness, the protectiveness of those she loved, the unflinching strength.

  The wariness he’d felt before faded. Reiver woman or not, she had a rare dignity. “Archibald, and an Armstrong, will go with you. He will look after you.”

  She only nodded, but he saw something in her eyes that worried him.

  He held out several gold pieces. “For looking after Lachlan.”

  She backed away. “Nay,” she said and turned her back on him. She walked back to the horses.

  He followed, feeling like the worst of villains. He had obviously insulted someone who had helped—mayhap saved—his brother.

  The Englishman looked apprehensive as they approached.

  “Your name?” Rory asked curtly.

  “Cedric Charlton.”

  He handed a heavy pouch to Archibald. “There is a thousand pounds in gold, along with a message. The captain of my guard will accompany you, along with an Armstrong.”

  Cedric frowned. “The Charlton wants no Scots on his land. He said I was to return alone.”

  “I am sure he will relent this one time, considering the amount of gold involved.” He paused, then added, “Mistress Charlton will accompany you as well. Unfortunately I had to . . . detain her when she saw us. She tells us she has a daughter who must be missing her.”

  An odd light came into the Englishman’s eyes.

  Rory’s doubts grew stronger.

  “If anything happens to her, or the funds, I will hunt whoever did it to the ends of the earth,” Rory said coldly.

  Cedric ignored him and went to one of the horses and mounted. Rory noted he was well armed, but then so were Archibald and the Armstrong.

  He watched them ride off, then went over to Jamie, who had been standing nearby. He told him what Kimbra had said.

  “Do you think we should go with them?” Jamie asked.

  “Not you. You’ve been a prisoner already. I’ll follow.”

  He went to the Armstrong. “Is Cedric Charlton a traitor to his clan?”

  “Nay,” the Armstrong said, but Rory saw the lie in his eyes.

  “I will follow them,” Rory said. “At least to Charlton land.” He turned to Jamie. “Stay with the ransom money. If I do not return, you pay it yourself.”

  “I want to go—”

  “I need you here,” Rory cut him off. “I have no time to argue.”

  Jamie nodded.

  THE Charlton was in a towering fury when he entered Lachlan’s room.

  “We found the two men I sent to the Armstrongs,” he raged. “They are dead. The message I sent to the Armstrongs was not on them.”

  Lachlan’s heart plunged. “Where were they?”

  “Not far from the border. We would not have found them had we not been searching for Kimbra.”

  “There was no sign of her then?”

  “Nay,” he said reluctantly. “I fear ye may have been right about Cedric, though it tries my heart sorely. One of my men saw both Cedric and his brother ride out just before the messengers left. They have not been seen since.”

  “Would that have given them time to take Kimbra?” Lachlan asked.

  “I do not know. They may have help from the Armstrongs.”

  “Will you accept my parole?” Lachlan asked. “The Armstrongs would not dare to touch a Maclean.”

  “My Charltons will not be pleased to let ye go.”

  “They will, if I return with Kimbra and the ransom. And the traitor.”

  “Aye, that should satisfy them,” he said. “How can I be sure ye will not just return to Scotland? Or that your brother will pay the ransom once ye are there?”

  “My word,” he said. Then he thought of the crest. It was certainly not worth ten thousand pounds or anything close to it, but it was valuable.

  He went to the bed where he had placed it as a constant reminder of his foolishness. “’Tis our family crest. It is probably worth a thousand pounds.”

  The Charlton peered at it closely. “’Tis a f
ine piece of work. Virtue Mine Honour,” he read, then looked at Lachlan suspiciously. “Have ye had this all this time?”

  “Aye,” he lied.

  “A Scottish noble risking his life for a reiver’s widow, an English one?” the Charlton said doubtfully.

  “She is not just a reiver’s woman to me,” Lachlan said, “but even if she was and she had helped me as Kimbra has, I would spend every penny I had to keep her safe.”

  “Then ye are an unusual Scot. And an unusual man. Ye have your parole. Ye can pick among the hobblers. Do ye want many to go with ye?”

  “Nay, I do not want another battle between Charltons and Armstrongs,” he said. “And I cannot believe the Armstrongs would harbor a traitor for long.”

  “Come to the armory and take what ye will,” Thomas Charlton said. “And ye will need a guide.”

  Chapter 26

  KIMBRA rode as far away from Cedric as she could.

  She still did not understand how Cedric had obtained the letter. Surely, the Charlton had not gone addle-headed.

  She certainly did not trust him, nor did she trust the Armstrong riding with them. She’d learned to distrust and detest Armstrongs long ago. The death of Will and the recent ambush on the Charltons had only confirmed her opinion.

  But if nothing else, the tall Maclean appeared competent, and if Archibald Maclean appeared a bit old, he also appeared alert. He was certainly armed well enough and wore his weapons with experienced ease.

  She thrust aside her misgivings. She had to get back to Audra. How very much she wanted that.

  And her Scot. That would be bittersweet now. He would be leaving on their return, and she likely would never see him again.

  They reached the border after hours of riding. She was exhausted from the ride the day earlier. So must have been the Maclean, though he showed no sign of it. The Charltons were still six hard-riding hours away.

  She dozed. Suddenly, a cry. Her eyes snapped open.

  The Maclean ahead of them tumbled from the horse, an arrow in his back. Then the Armstrong raced off. An arrow downed him, but his horse kept running.

  She tried to follow, but before she could turn Magnus, Cedric grabbed the reins from her hand.

  His brother suddenly appeared from behind a hill. He went after Archibald Maclean’s destrier, while Cedric held Magnus’s reins. She looked down at the Maclean. She thought she saw him move, but said nothing. Better that Cedric thought him dead. In truth she needed to distract him from the Maclean on the ground.

  In one movement she swung her leg around and slid off Magnus.

  She scrabbled up a steep incline, using her hands to pull her up, then she looked behind. He was approaching, one hand still on Magnus’s reins. She picked up a stone and threw it at her horse.

  Stung, Magnus reared, jerked away from Cedric’s hold, and galloped back toward the border. She heard Cedric’s loud curse. He now either had to follow a horse he had always coveted or give her time to hide. ’Twas easy to do here.

  Taking advantage of his confusion, she started to climb again. She heard him below her. So he had given up on Magnus. He wanted her more than he wanted the hobbler. She stopped and looked frantically for another stone. She saw a small one, picked it up, and aimed it at him, throwing it with all her might.

  It hit him in the face, drawing blood. He cursed again, but he did not stop.

  She scrambled upward, but he caught her ankle and pulled her down. She saw his fist coming at her face, then everything went black.

  CEDRIC cursed her with every ounce of his being. He put his fingers to his face, and they came away bloody.

  She was unconscious. He knew they had to get away from here. Her horse was galloping back to the Armstrongs. They would realize shortly that something was wrong.

  He leaned over and felt her pulse. She was unconscious, nothing more. He picked her up and carried her down to where his horse waited.

  His brother returned with the destrier.

  He should just kill her now. If not for her, he might have Magnus as well as the gold.

  Then he remembered she had saved Lachlan Maclean’s life. Mayhap Lachlan could convince the brother to pay a hefty sum for hers. He brightened. After today, he would have no home on either side of the border. He would need funds to go somewhere else.

  Cedric tied Kimbra on his own mount. “Kimbra’s horse got away. We will go west along the border,” he told Garrick. “We can cross it if need be and say we are Armstrongs. Ye scout ahead.”

  His brother knew the border as well or better than anyone else. He had made enough trips, both with the Charltons and on his own. He knew every cave, every wooded spot, every bog.

  Cedric thought about killing Kimbra and still asking ransom, but he wanted her now more than ever. And he wanted Lachlan’s head. If not for the Scot, Kimbra would have married him. He would have become the Charlton’s favorite, mayhap even his heir. But once the Scot appeared, she had planted seeds of distrust in the old man’s head.

  Cedric mounted the destrier. “Follow me,” he told his brother, and holding the reins of the horse he’d tied Kimbra to, he turned west. The mountains there were particularly rugged, and the horse trail difficult to follow.

  He turned around. She had not gained consciousness yet.

  But soon she would know who her master was.

  ONE of the Charlton’s men, a man named Davie’s John, guided Lachlan through the labyrinth of trails to the border.

  The two of them rode hard, and Lachlan came to appreciate the small hardy horses with sure feet as they crossed the treacherous paths.

  Davie’s John moved his horse closer to his. He had volunteered to guide Lachlan. “The border is just on the other side of the pass.”

  They turned toward the pass. Watchful, they started through it. Lachlan had nearly reached the end, when he saw two bodies on the ground. One looked familiar. He slipped from the hobbler.

  Archibald!

  An arrow jutted out his back. Lachlan’s heart nearly stopped. Archibald and Hector had been the only two constants in his life.

  “Archibald?” Dear God, please let him live.

  The man moaned.

  Lachlan knelt down. The arrow had gone through Archibald’s body.

  Archibald opened his eyes. “Lachlan,” he said. A pained smile crossed his lips. “We feared ye had died.”

  “Nay, I am still among the living. What happened now?”

  “A Charlton brought a demand for ransom. Rory sent a thousand pounds in gold as . . . good faith.” Archibald struggled to continue. “Kimbra Charlton . . . we found her . . . she was sent back with the ransom. An Armstrong and I were to accompany them.”

  “A Charlton?” Lachlan’s pulse raced. “His name?”

  “Cedric.”

  Hate washed over him. He’d never known real hate before. He felt it now.

  “The woman? Kimbra?”

  “He took the lass with him. She tried to run . . . I think mayhap to distract him from me.”

  Cold fear lodged in Lachlan’s heart. Apparently Cedric had slain two of his own clan members. He would not hesitate killing a woman, nor hurting her in the worst possible way.

  But he could not leave Archibald like this, either.

  “Go, lad,” Archibald said. “Go after her.”

  “I cannot leave you,” Lachlan said, though his heart was breaking. He would do what he could for Archibald, then see whether he could follow the tracks. He looked up at the sky. It would soon be twilight, then dark.

  He turned toward Davie’s John and saw the man leaning over the other fallen man.

  Davie’s John shook his head, then came over to them. “He is dead. An Armstrong by the look of him.”

  “They took Kimbra,” Lachlan said.

  “I will get help,” Davie’s John said. “Someone who can track.” The Charlton mounted and left at a gallop.

  Lachlan stayed at the side of his mentor, the man who’d been more a father to him than his own fat
her had been. He said a silent prayer, then studied the arrow. By God’s mercy it must have missed a lung, or he would be dead now. But one movement could kill him.

  Archibald groaned, tried to move.

  “Nay, stay there,” Lachlan said. “Tell me everything you can.”

  “There were . . . four of us, Cedric, an Armstrong, myself, and the lady. Then I felt as if I were hit by lightning. Someone rode down and went after my horse. That’s all I know, lad. I knew that if I moved again, they would kill me, so I played dead . . . hoped they would say something . . .”

  “Did they?”

  “Border. West. That is all.”

  “How many?”

  “Just two that I saw. I did not get a good look. Just heard them. Lad, I had a thousand pounds for yer ransom.” He looked at Lachlan. “How did ye . . . ?”

  “I was given my parole after they found two men dead near the border and Kimbra Charlton missing.” His face felt like stone, his heart torn in two by the choice he was being forced to make. But he knew Archibald would die if he did not tend him.

  “The lady?”

  “Aye,” Lachlan replied gently. “Now say nothing more,” he said. “I am going to break off the arrow head and pull it through.”

  “Go after them. Yer brother is not far behind me.”

  “When I finish with you.”

  He broke off the head and gave Archibald a piece of wood to bite. He did not have to tell him it would hurt. Then he went to Archibald’s back, braced himself, and pulled.

  The arrow came out. And blood.

  Lachlan pulled off Archibald’s shirt. He tore it and bound the wound.

  He heard a shout then, and looked up. His brother was walking, then running toward them, holding the reins of a horse limping badly and leaving a trail of blood.

  Rory clasped him tightly, then looked down at Archibald on the ground. His eyes were closed.

  “Archibald said they were ambushed, that Cedric Charlton took the money and Kimbra. I have to go after them.”

  Rory closed his eyes for a moment. “Blazes,” he said, “she warned me about him. I should have listened more closely. I was following, but the horse threw a shoe.”