by Terry Spear
Inside, they’d discussed that the best way to escape from here was through the water gate near the south entrance that led toward Loch Lomond. From there, they could walk along the marshy shores until they found a horse, which she assured him wouldn’t be too far since there were many in their clan who lived close to the water in order to fish.
Catriona elbowed Samuel and handed him back his sword. She pointed toward the wall about fifteen paces away. What they were doing was risky, but they had no other choice. He had to find his sisters and she needed to gather forces to get her castle back.
And then she was gone, slipping unseen and unheard over the muddy courtyard to the wall where shadows enfolded her. Samuel waited to see if any of the guards would take note of the sudden movement, but none did. His turn.
He sheathed his sword to hide the glint in the moonlight, but held tight to the hilt so that it did not clang and give away his position. As he ran, he, too, kept to the shadows. Once tucked against the wall, he threw out a breath and gazed up at the guards. Nothing.
Samuel shook his head. Geoffrey’s guards were lazy maggots. Even though they’d stuck to the shadows, his own men were trained to pick up through their peripheral vision anything unusual—and the two of them climbing out of a well and running across the courtyard was definitely in the realm of unusual.
They stayed pinned to the wall for the count of sixty, and then slid painfully slow along the wall, beneath stairs, behind outbuildings. Finally, they reached the south water gate, only to be confronted with it being locked. But what should he have expected? Why wouldn’t it be locked? He cursed under his breath, braced his hands on his hips and shook his head. They might as well announce their presence now, because there was no other way out—
Catriona pulled a large iron key from somewhere in her skirts and slid it effortlessly into the lock. She glanced back at him and he could have sworn she winked. Samuel shook away the shock—and the need to kiss her with relief. She pushed open the door only enough for the two of them to squeeze through and then silently closed it again.
A steep, slippery, set of stairs greeted them. Flanked by two short stone walls, anyone could be seen walking up and down from the battlements above.
Shocking him once more, the woman sat on the first stair and scooted down a few before turning around to stare up at him. This was madness. Pure madness. And yet, incredibly clever. He sat down and scooted his way down, like he had as a young boy still chasing after frogs.
A shout on the ramparts had them stilling, and Samuel watched as Catriona tucked herself against the half stone wall, nearly melting into the rocky surface. How many times had she snuck out of here before?
His blood ran thick with alarm as the shouts continued, only louder. Had they been seen? Had their secret room been found out? Some other thing disturbed?
But then there were answering calls and Samuel realized the men were changing shifts and calling out to those they were replacing.
He shook his head for what had to be the hundredth time. Geoffrey truly was a poor leader. Any enemy watching—himself now included—would know when the men changed guard and how to easily slip past them. Which, was now.
He nudged Catriona. “Hurry, my lady,” he whispered.
She wasted no time in scooting more hurriedly down the steps and when she’d reached the marshy shores of Loch Lomond, she alighted on her feet and took off at a crouched run.
Samuel followed, continuously looking backward to make certain they were not spied as they made their escape. A quarter mile around the loch and they came upon a small cluster of crofts. Hints of peat smoke curled from their chimneys, but they were otherwise quiet. In the dead of winter, the animals were housed within the croft, and so they would have to knock in order to borrow one. Samuel was not pleased about this part of the plan.
The more people who saw them leave the worse off they were, and the more danger they put those people in.
Catriona hurried to the center door whose hearth smoke curled into the night sky and gave three swift knocks. Her breath puffed out silvery in the moonlight. Because of their exertion, she’d not yet started to shiver, but she would soon. Beneath his armor, Samuel was well clothed. Besides, he was used to being out in the elements. A lady would not be. All she had was a blanket from the castle, and though it was thick, it wasn’t enough protection.
“Ask for a cloak,” he whispered.
She shooshed him. “Go stand back there, else they take their swords to ye.”
He frowned at that. Why would a crofter have a sword?
The door opened and a burly, bearded man stuck his head out, an axe gripped tight in his hand. When he saw that it was Catriona, he lowered his weapon.
She whispered to him, and looking both ways outside, the man ushered her inside. His eyes settled on Samuel, but Catriona must have told him he wasn’t a threat for he didn’t call out an alarm, simply glowered. A few moments later, she emerged with a thick wool cloak about her shoulders and then they disappeared into the barn. She exited with two horses and the Scotsman behind her. The large man bypassed the horses in his intent to reach Samuel.
“The lady says ye’re to keep her well and escort her to help in the north with her relations.”
Samuel nodded.
“’Tis good. My family kept hidden when the English came through, else we’d be in the same predicament as a lot of folk.” He jerked his head toward a croft down the road. “Tanner’s wife was… well. She wishes she were dead and ‘tis all he can do to keep her from jumping into the loch.”
Samuel swallowed hard. It was his countrymen who had done that. Men he rode with. “I’d never hurt a woman.”
The man kept his narrowed eyes on Samuel, not accepting nor denying his words. “I’m letting her borrow the horses. Not ye. See that they are returned to me. I’d give everything for the lass and her family, but I’d be happy to see the likes of ye ground to muck beneath my shite.”
Again Samuel nodded, knowing instinctively that anything he had to say would mean naught.
“Keep her safe, else ye’ll have the lot of us to deal with.”
Samuel gave a curt nod and held out his hand. The Scot stared at it for longer than necessary before turning away. But Samuel wasn’t affronted. He understood the man’s disrespect. He had no cause to trust Samuel given that he had arrived with the men who now put his chief and Catriona in danger, had hurt members of their clan, but he needed this man, all of them to understand that he was not a part of that.
Aye, she’d likely be distraught when she found out that beyond gathering his sisters he was to bring back the names and locations of the rebels of Scotland, but he’d never hurt Catriona. When he returned to England, he’d simply have to explain to his king that gathering that information under Geoffrey’s lead was impossible. That he’d had to break away from his regiment in order to do his bidding to his sovereign. Knowing Longshanks the way he did, he’d be able to get away with that—if he gave him what he wanted. When he’d crossed the border of England into Scotland he’d been absolutely clear on his mission. But somewhere in the past twenty-four hours something had changed.
“I’ll keep her safe and return her to you. That I swear.” Samuel waited for the man to turn and acknowledge him, but all he got was a nod before the man checked the saddle of Catriona’s horse and whispered something to her.
“Come on, Sassenach,” she teased. “We must be away afore your brethren decide to search the area for us.”
“They are not my brethren,” he grumbled.
They weren’t. Not the bastards who followed Geoffrey. But the English were, and he was loyal to his king. And yet, he was finding it harder to say exactly why. The Scots may be heathens, but from what he’d come to see so far, they weren’t as bad as his king had made out. Before Gregor Buchanan had been bashed in the head by Sir Geoffrey, the man had fought the way Samuel did. With honor, precision. Samuel’s respect for the man had been solid. His people cared for him, were l
oyal. Gregor’s sister was not unlike his own two sisters. This was a strong group of people which meant they were led by a strong leader.
But what did he really know of them? Nothing.
He leaped onto the back of his borrowed horse. “Lead the way, my Scottish guide.”
Catriona let out a short laugh. “Be prepared for a grueling trip, Sir Samuel, for we are close to a fortnight from our destination.”
A fortnight alone with the scamp.
He’d be lucky to make it out sane.
WHY did she have to mention just how long she was about to be with this man? A stranger? A dangerous stranger?
Catriona nudged her horse into a gallop and they headed down the marshy road that ran the length of the loch. They’d avoid the MacFarlane’s on the left of the loch and stay on the MacGregor side as her clan had entered into talks of an alliance with them. From there, they’d head up into dangerous Campbell territory.
If it weren’t for the fact that she’d agreed to help him find his sisters in Sutherland, she’d make a stop to see the MacGregor and beg for his help. Hmm, maybe she should do that all the same. Then again, the MacGregor was intent on getting his hands on Buchanan land as it covered quite a bit of fresh earth near the loch—good farming land. It didn’t matter that her mother had been a MacGregor, or that her brother was named after their clan. Their uncle was a bastard of the first order.
They were probably not her best choice. Her best bet was with her distant relations in the north who could help her and her brother and cared more for them than their land.
She glanced behind her. The Sassenach knight had a good seat on his horse. At least he had that going for him—along with his many other admirable attributes. Ugh, why was she thinking anything worthy about him at all?
If they actually made it all the way up to Sutherland—bypassing any other English, outlaws or raiding clansmen on the road—it would be a miracle. As slim as their chances were, she had to try. Had to save her brother and her clan.
They were depending on her, and at that moment, she was all they had left.
Dear lord, but she hoped Gregor would be all right. He had to be. He was all she had left.
The trees along the road reached out overtop of them, like long, hooked fingers ready to reach down and pluck them from their horses. Catriona shivered, and used one hand to tuck her borrowed cloak tighter around herself and the blanket tighter on her legs. The crisp, wintry air smelled like snow. It’d been at least a sennight since the last snowfall, and she’d be surprised if flakes didn’t start falling by daybreak.
Just another mark against them.
Indeed, it would be a miracle if they made it.
Chapter 7
CATRIONA glanced down at her hands gripping the reins like a lifeline. Her knuckles were white circles, surrounded by red, angry flesh and her nails purple from the cold. The incessant clicking of her teeth as they chattered rivaled the ping of ice against the tree limbs above them.
When the ice had started to fall just an hour after dawn, they’d moved within the trees hoping the forest would block much of the storm. She was glad they had, because for certain if they were still out beside the loch, they'd have long since turned to ice themselves.
“We should seek shelter,” Samuel called out above the din.
He didn’t sound as cold as she felt. She turned slowly to the left to see him riding beside her. He didn’t look as cold as she felt either. Blasted English. She was supposed to be the heartier of them both, and yet he looked as though he were out for a leisure ride in spring. His armor glinted with ice frozen to the links. How in the bloody hell…?
Catriona nodded, thinking that the flames of a roaring fire sounded like heaven.
They’d not yet passed an inn, and she was beginning to wonder if they would. Already they’d entered Campbell lands, and likely if they did find an inn, the owners would not be hospitable to them for two reasons. One, Samuel was English. Two, her brother and Chief of the Clan Campbell had a bit of a tiff the month before when Campbell’s son asked for Catriona’s hand in marriage. Her brother had considered it briefly before simply laughing him off. But not before the man had a chance to try and seduce her… His bruised ego had been loudly exclaimed through all of Scotland.
But she was glad to not have been linked to the brute.
In fact, she was perfectly happy to remain in her brother’s home forever.
Well, as long as it wasn’t full of English bastards.
“I dinna… know… where… we can… stop,” Catriona said. She blinked rapidly, trying to warm the icicles that had formed on her eye lashes.
“The first place we see,” Samuel said. A frown marred his brow as he examined her.
He must have thought her weak. Well, she wasn’t. She was strong. She simply couldn’t stand the cold, and any normal human being would be in the same state as she—save for him. But he wasn’t normal. Samuel wasn’t a bastard like his counterparts, and yet he was apparently cold-blooded as he was thriving in this awful weather.
Catriona nodded her agreement, though at this point she was starting to doubt they’d find a place and that she’d ever witness a dawn rising again.
She closed her eyes, afraid they too might freeze, and then popped them open when her horse stumbled. Even the poor animals were beginning to be affected by the rough weather. Her borrowed mount had ice on his lashes, crisping his mane, and it had been a while since he’d been able to do anything more than walk. Even hearty Highlanders like herself knew when it was time to seek out shelter before the weather proved deadly.
What felt like hours later, but in reality may have only been a few moments, they passed a young man chopping wood beside a croft.
“Ye look to be frozen there, lass,” he said to Catriona, but his voice trailed off when he caught sight of Samuel. “Well, it’s no wonder with an Englishman holding ye captive.”
The lad was bold for his age—pushing at least twenty summers by the look of it. Only a year or two younger than herself.
“Would… would ye mind… terribly, if we… we warmed ourselves by your fire?” Catriona asked. She gestured to Samuel. “He… he is a friend of mine. Though he is English, he is not like the rest of… them.”
She gazed back at him, realizing that even though she’d said it to get into the warmth of the croft, she meant it. And that bothered her. Samuel was proving to be nothing like what she’d grown up to believe the English were like.
The thought was disturbing.
“Come, I’ll check with the others.”
The young man took his bundle of wood back inside the croft. A moment later, a large man—rather resembling a giant from childhood tales—stepped from within the croft. He had to be close to seven and half feet tall. He held an ax and pressed it against his opposite palm.
“As God would punish us for turning ye out into the cold when ye’re nigh on frozen to death, we’ll let ye stay the night, but the English has to sleep with the horses.”
Catriona sent a pleading glance Samuel’s way and was surprised when he readily agreed.
“Our thanks,” Catriona said to the man. “I am Catriona, and this is Samuel.”
“We dinna want your names, nor shall we give ye ours. If anyone comes looking for ye, we’ll know not who ye were and if ye be captured ye canna tell who it is that helped ye in your escape.”
Catriona opened her mouth to argue, but the man held up his hand. “Dinna bother, lassie. No sane man or woman would be out in weather like this with company like him unless they were running from someone.”
He had a point, and the heat from the croft beckoned. No use in arguing.
The giant took hold of Samuel’s reins while he dismounted and the younger man helped her to get down. They took their horses inside first leading them into the byre with several farm animals and a horse of their own. The giant nudged Samuel into that room, but beckoned Catriona to warm herself by the fire.
“Might my friend war
m himself before bedding down with the pigs?” she asked, trying to sound pleading rather than offended. She gave a small soft smile and a shrug of her shoulders, hoping her feigned naiveté would hit a mark with their host.
The giant grunted, his gaze flicking to the door. She took that as a yes.
Though she’d rather stay and warm herself, she hobbled on numb feet toward the side room. Samuel was brushing down the horses, already having removed their saddles. His weapons and tunic bearing Longshanks crest were piled beside the saddles.
“They said ye can warm yourself first.”
Samuel’s lip quirked in a half-smile but he shook his head. “Go, my lady. I’ll be fine here.”
But she didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave him to freeze. “Just a few moments?” she asked. “For me?”
She hid her surprise when he ducked his head to hide a pleased smile. He did want to be by the fire she was certain, but male bravado often won out over basic needs. When she’d invited him to join her—because she needed him—it gave him an excuse to push that bravado away.
Catriona was not an expert in men, nor the male mind, but having grown up with her brother, who was particularly full of ego and bravado, she’d learned a thing or two.
“Well?” she prodded.
“If it would please you, then aye.” Samuel unbelted the sword at his side, settling it against the wall. “Wouldn’t want to offend them,” he said with a nod of his head toward the giant Scot.
They walked back into the main room of the croft where the giant stoked a raging fire in a rather large hearth. Hanging over the blaze was a pot full of something succulent smelling. He was surrounded by what appeared to be his family—a woman about his age, the young lad, four other young boys and a tiny little girl no more than a few summers. The man had yet to set down his ax, and his boy carried a cudgel. The tension in the room was thick as a whip and would strangle them if not calmed.
