“Hurry.” Sky motioned for him to come to her, their packs dangling over each shoulder. “We must be away quickly.”
Struan wiped his blade clean across Oliver’s velvet tunic, sheathed the weapon and ran to Sky. With the two packs and her heavy velvet gown, Sky was having trouble mounting. He fastened his shield to his pack before putting his hands around her waist. “Up you go,” he said, tossing her onto the saddle. He put his foot in the stirrup and mounted behind her. “Where to?”
“This way,” she said, turning the mare’s head toward a narrow path shooting off the clearing. Struan kicked the animal’s sides with his spurs, and the mare took off at a gallop. The two rucksacks bouncing against his and Sky’s sides made it difficult to ride. After a couple of leagues stretched between them and the Erskines, Struan took the reins from Sky and brought the mare to a halt. The beast’s sides were heaving from the double load she carried, and he didn’t want to risk harming their only means of escape.
“We canna’ stop. We need to—”
“We need to make a plan and get our gear better situated.” Struan dismounted and reached to help Sky down. Once her feet were on the ground, he let her go and began pacing. He stopped to stare down the path toward Kildrummy. “I’ve done it this time.” He waved toward the horse. “And now we can add horse thievery to the list, right under incurring the earl of Mar’s wrath by killing his grandson.”
“Nay, Struan. The mare belongs to me.” Sky stroked the horse’s neck, and the animal nudged her mistress, nickering softly in greeting. “She was a gift from my grandsire.” She continued to pet the horse.
What the hell was she going on about? He stared at her, amazed by how calm she seemed. “I killed Oliver.”
“You were magnificent.” She kept her gaze on the mare.
“Are you talking to me or the horse?”
She glanced at him. “You, of course.”
He basked in her praise for half a second before the fear and panic flickering through her eyes registered. The ramifications of his actions slammed into him again. He flexed and fisted his hands. “Maybe we were lucky and no one but the three dead men saw us.” He paced to the other side of Sky and her horse. “What do you think?”
“I caught movement behind Oliver. ’Tis certain another guard was there, and he is the one who left to gather reinforcements. We were seen.”
“Great.” He groaned. “How is it you’re so calm? They’ll be after us soon.”
“Struan, you did naught but defend the both of us. We were attacked. We did naught wrong, though I ken well the earl of Mar will retaliate.” She sucked in a huge breath and let it out slowly. “The Erskines will believe we’re headed straight for Moigh Hall.”
“Aren’t we?”
“Nay.” She shook her head. “We’re heading for Nair. There’s an inn there oft used by my father and cousins whilst conducting business in the area. We’ll stay there long enough for me to write a missive to King James about what has happened and to purchase another horse, so we don’t overburden my mare.” She glanced at him over her horse’s bowed head. “I still have two gold coins sewn into my gown.”
Struan reached under his brigandine to touch the hidden pouch inside. “I have the coin you gave me as well, plus some silver. We could live quite well for a year or longer on what we have. We could lay low somewhere.”
“Aye, but we won’t. A night or two in Nairn, and then we’ll set out for Meikle Geddes. From there we’ll have help. We can steal onto the island of Moigh late at night should the Erskines have spies lurking about.” Sky began walking down the path, leading the mare. “We’ll walk for a bit until my mare is rested.”
“You amaze me, princess.”
“As you amaze me, Struan.” She smiled. “Thank you for saving my life. Had you no’ been with me, I’d be locked away in a tower to be starved and beaten until I agreed to marry that . . . that . . . asswipe.”
Struan laughed at the way his word came out of her mouth. Relief that the two of them remained alive, and so far unscathed, weakened his knees. His head pounded, either from their journey through time, or from the sudden loss of adrenaline pulsing through him. His stomach growled with hunger. “I could use a break and something to eat. How about you?”
“Aye.” She jutted her chin toward a rocky outcropping in the distance. “There by those rocks, ’tis a place where we can make camp well hidden from view to anyone on the trail.”
“Do you know this area?”
She nodded. “I’ve traveled this way many a time with my kin for various gatherings. The path we’re on leads inland, and from there the road widens and will take us to the shores of Loch Ness. From there we’ll continue southward toward Loch Moigh. But we’ll travel west to the village of Nairn first.”
“Here,” he said, taking the rucksacks from her shoulders. “We’ll hang these from the saddle horn for now, and then I’ll figure a way to work the straps so that we can use them like saddlebags.”
They walked along in silence, and everything that had happened replayed in his mind. “It’s not over.”
“Nay, and I pray we dinna cross paths with the Erskines as they ride toward Moigh Hall and we ride west toward Nairn. ’Tis best we travel under cover of darkness until we reach the inn I spoke of,” she whispered, her breath hitching. “I should have listened to you, Struan.”
His protective instincts surged, and he scanned the area for any possible threat. “What do you mean?”
“I had hoped to prevent a war between my clan and the Erskines,” she sobbed. “Because of me, Oliver is dead, and the feud I meant to prevent will begin in earnest.” She sniffed. “Only now, ’twill be worse. Because of my return, instead of a feud over a broken betrothal, now the Erskines’ retaliation will be fueled by rage, a desire for vengeance and a thirst for blood.”
“It’ll be OK.” He came around the horse and drew her into his arms. “Don’t worry, love.” After all, he’d do enough of that for the both of them. He’d killed Oliver, the earl of Mar’s heir, and it wouldn’t matter in the least that it had been a fair fight. It would be his blood the Erskines sought.
Struan’s jaw clenched so tight it offset the pain throbbing between his temples. He’d known his fate all along. He’d felt it to his very soul—coming back would be the end of him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sky leaned against one of the boulders she and Struan had hidden behind to make their camp. She should be resting, since she and Struan planned to travel at night, but sleep would not come to her. She drew up her knees and watched Struan as he slept. Every now and then, he snored softly, and her insides melted. He appeared boyish and carefree in slumber, oblivious to the danger she’d put him in.
Guilt bit at her. Nothing had gone as she’d hoped. They hadn’t arrived in the moments leading up to her disappearance as they’d intended. Nay, they’d fallen into Oliver’s trap. Another worry inserted itself into her mind. Where were Katherine and Connor?
She’d been a fool—thinking herself so important—believing she had to come back because she alone could set things aright. Ashamed of her naïveté, hot tears spilled from her eyes. Struan would be hunted down by the earl of Mar and his men, and nothing but his death would appease the Erskines. “What have I done?” she whispered, laying her cheek on top of her knees.
Their only hope lay with getting word to King James, revealing all that had happened. The earl of Mar’s persistence in pressing the king and court to return the estates once belonging to the earldom gave Sky an edge. Their young king would be gladdened to hear of any altercations involving the earl of Mar. ’Twould give young James another reason to strip away the Erskine laird’s title.
Aye, once she and Struan were in Nairn, she’d write several missives, one to King James, another to their staunchest allies, the Sutherlands, and one to her brother, the baron of DúnConnell.
Glancing at Struan again, she bit her lip. Hers was not much in the way of a plan, but ’twas the best she
could come up with at the moment. Once she and Struan were safely ensconced within the walls of Moigh Hall, she was certain her family would ken what to do to keep Struan safe until he returned home to Gordon Hollow.
She’d lose him, and no matter how her heart might break, helping him to return home was the right thing to do. She crawled to where he slept, lay down beside him and tried to rest. Even in slumber Struan reacted to her nearness. His arm came around her. He sighed as he pulled her to him and wrapped her in his warmth. The contented sound of her horse grazing, the stillness of the day, and with Struan pressed against her, sleep found her after all, and she dozed off.
“Time to rise, princess.” Struan shook her gently. “We need to get moving.”
She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “I’m awake.”
Struan moved around their makeshift camp, gathering their things. “We can eat on the way.”
Untangling her legs from her heavy gown and cloak, she rose and stretched her stiff limbs. “I’ll be right back.” She walked around to the other side of the rocky outcropping to relieve herself. By the time she returned, Struan had her horse saddled and bridled.
He handed her one of the many small bags of nuts and dried fruit they’d packed. “I’ll walk for a bit,” he said. “You ride.”
“Nay, I’d prefer to walk as well. ’Twill ease my stiffness.” Sky peered around the edge of the outcropping they hid behind.
“I’ve been watching.” Struan took up the mare’s reins. “No sign of Erskines on our trail.”
“Good. I’m certain the earl and his garrison ride toward Moigh Hall as we speak.”
“Won’t they bury Oliver first, have a funeral befitting a noble?”
“Mayhap, but that doesn’t mean the earl hasn’t already sent men ahead to search for us. Let us be on our way.” She took a handful of nuts and fruit and tossed it into her mouth as they started inland for Nairn. A gibbous moon, nearly full, seemed to sit upon the eastern horizon, too heavy to rise. “If it stays clear, we’ll have light to travel by this night.”
They trudged on through the night, taking turns riding, sometimes riding double, until they reached the road north. Exhaustion weighting her limbs, Sky yawned from her place on her horse’s back. Struan led them to a wooden bridge spanning a small burn rushing toward River Ness.
“Stop here, Struan, and let my mare drink,” she said. “Mayhap we could rest a bit behind that rise.” She waved in the direction of the hillock bordering the road.
“All right, but only for a few hours.” Struan scanned the area. “It’s almost dawn.” He glanced up at her. “How long will it take us to get to the inn from here?”
“A day’s journey. Less if we push.”
“We’ll push. Once we’re there, your mare will have grain and a good rest.”
He reached up for her, and she accepted his help to dismount. They led the horse to the burn and let her drink her fill before walking to the far side of the hill to share a meal and rest.
Soon they’d reach the safety of the inn. With that goal in mind, she settled against Struan’s warmth and fell into a fitful slumber, her dreams filled with battle cries and tributaries flowing red with blood.
Sky stood wearily beside Struan as he placed one of their coins on the polished wooden counter and slid it toward the innkeeper standing on the other side. She had to force her eyes to stay open.
“My wife and I require a chamber,” Struan told the burly, aproned man.
The innkeeper’s brow rose. He made a slight gesture with his hand, and two huge men materialized out of the shadowy depths of the taproom to block the front door. “Good eve to ye, Lady Sky,” the innkeeper boomed.
Struan tensed beside her, nudging her with his shoulder and tipping his head toward the lads standing at the door.
“What?” Half-asleep on her feet, she’d been caught unawares. “Oh, good eve to you, Master Harold.”
“I’ve kent ye since ye were a wee bairn, Lady Sky, and yer betrothed as well,” he said, crossing his arms in front of him. “And this man claiming tae be yer husband is no’ an Erskine. Are ye all right, lass?” Suspicion clouded his expression as he eyed Struan.
Sky’s face filled with heat. She should have been a bit more specific with Struan about her family’s association with the innkeeper and his family, or she should’ve stood well back with the hood of her cloak raised whilst he made arrangements. Struan glared at her.
Shaking off her weariness, she straightened. “I’ve . . . we . . . Struan and I eloped. He is my husband, and I am very well, Master Harold. My thanks for your concern.” According to Oliver, she’d only been away for five days. Her disappearance and elopement within that time span, should the gossip have arrived this far, would now make sense.
She lifted her chin, daring the innkeeper to challenge her story. “I never wished to wed the earl of Mar’s heir, for my heart was already given.” She met Struan’s gaze, smiling slightly as his glare turned to an expression of admiration. “We require room and board for two nights. On the morrow, I’ll need several sheets of vellum, quills and ink as well. If you would be so good as to procure them for me, I would be most appreciative.”
Master Harold threw his head back and laughed. “Writing tae your da, eh? Hope tae smooth things over with the earl afore you return home with yer new husband, do ye?” Harold eyed Struan’s garments, assessing their worth. “Ye’ve the look of a Sutherland about ye, milord. Are ye blood kin tae the earl?” A speculative glint lighting his eyes, he took up the gold coin and made change, sliding the silver to Struan. “A nephew mayhap?”
“Aye,” Struan said, taking up the change and stowing it in the leather pouch hanging at his belt.
How easily Struan agreed with Harold’s assertion about his kinship with the Sutherlands. For the hundredth time, she wondered why he hadn’t shared his origins with her. Was he blood kin to the earl of Sutherland’s family? He surely held himself as if he were of noble blood. Regardless, his fine clothing, though dusty, along with the spurs on his boots and the rest of his gear, attested to his wealth and standing. Obviously he intended to encourage the deception, if indeed it truly was a deception after all.
“Now about that room?” Struan straightened. “My wife and I are weary from traveling. We’ll want a bath, and a hot meal sent up as well.”
“I’ll see tae both anon.” Harold made another slight hand gesture and the two men blocking the door melted back into the crowd filling the first-floor taproom. “Och, you’re in for it now, Lady Sky.” Harold shook his head. “As I recall, yer aunt Elaine eloped with a Sutherland as well, aye?” The innkeeper chuckled. “Ah, but I do love me job, I do. I’m always privy tae the juiciest bits of gossip.”
Still chuckling, he moved out from behind the counter and started toward the stairs. “Come along, my lord, my lady. I’ve a room what befits yer station. ’Tis privacy ye’ll be wanting, aye?” He winked at Struan. “What with being newly wedded and all.”
Her face once again heating, Sky followed Struan and Harold up the stairs and down the long, narrow corridor to the very end by a single glass-paned window. “I trow you’ll find this chamber tae yer liking.” Harold took a ring of keys from under his apron and fit one into the lock. “I’ll send the lads up with a tub and hot water, and my wife will be here shortly with yer supper.”
Sighing, Sky entered the small chamber. A large bed stood against the wall, with a fleece mattress on top and blankets folded at the end. The room also held a few rolled pallets placed against the opposite wall, for any servants who might be traveling with their master. The hearth had been laid for a fire. Flint and steel to start the blaze rested in a mantelshelf built into the wall above.
“Why didn’t you warn me you knew the innkeeper?”
“I did . . . in a way.” She tested the mattress, finding it lumpy. The scent of mint wafted up from the bed, and thankfully, the mattress appeared to be free of vermin. “I told you my da and cousins oft stay here whilst conducting
business.” She stood. “And I did say I’d traveled this way many times. I had hoped you’d reckon—”
“No, I didn’t reckon anything of the sort. Will Harold send word to the Erskines?”
“Nay. Though he loves a bit of gossip, he’s no’ one for spreading tales himself. Plus, he’s loyal to the MacKintosh clan and to my da. He’d lose quite a bit of business should he do aught to incur the wrath of the MacKintosh laird.”
She moved to the mantelshelf and took down the flint and steel. Leaning over the hearth, she struck them together, sending sparks into the waiting tinder. She blew gently, and the tinder ignited, catching fire to the larger twigs. “’Twill be wonderful to sleep in a warm chamber this eve, aye?” A neat pile of logs had been stacked against the wall by the hearth.
“Aye, and to eat a hot meal.” Struan dropped their rucksacks on the bed.
They’d left her mare well tended in the livery nearby, and whilst there, Struan informed the owner they were in need of a good horse to purchase. Sky had no doubt there would be several palfreys to choose from on the morrow.
A light knock sounded on their door. “Enter,” Struan called.
Harold’s wife bustled in, carrying a tray with thick slices of dark bread, jam and a savory-smelling stew steaming from two wooden bowls. She set the meal on a small table standing in the corner, just as a line of servants followed their mistress inside, hauling a wooden tub, buckets of hot water and linens. Another brought two goblets and a flagon of wine.
“I hope you find the chamber to yer liking, my lady, my lord.” The innkeeper’s wife curtsied. “My man says ye’ve recently . . . er . . .”
“Eloped.” Sky smiled warmly at the ruddy-cheeked matron. “’Tis true, Sally.”
Struan came to stand beside her, draping his arm around her shoulders. Sky wrapped her arm around his waist. “This is my husband,” she informed the curious matron, while wishing with all her heart she were speaking the truth. “Struan of clan Sutherland.”
The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) Page 21
