by Katy Baker
They pulled to a halt and then dismounted. Just like the MacFarlanes, the Murray warriors made a line and waited. Ewan and Connail handed their weapons to their men and then joined Merith, Amy and Gretchen as they strode towards the tents. They were perhaps twenty paces away when the flap of the main tent opened and people spilled out. Gretchen smiled as she saw Darcy along with the others that she’d met last night.
Robert MacFarlane stepped forward and Merith walked up to meet him.
“Well met, Merith Murray, and welcome,” he said.
Merith inclined her head. “Well met, Robert MacFarlane.”
Her voice was neutral, her expression bland but Gretchen could sense the tension in her from the set of her shoulders. Merith’s gaze flicked to Quinn who stood beside Darcy. This must be hard for Merith, facing the clan who had killed her husband, no matter how justified it was.
“Please come inside,” Robert said. “Ye have my word of honor that ye will be safe under our flag of truce.” He held out his arm for Merith to take.
Merith hesitated a moment, looked at Ewan, who nodded. Then she stepped forward and allowed Robert to escort her into the tent.
Darcy didn’t go inside. Instead she swept up to Gretchen and Amy.
“It worked!” Darcy said clapping her hands together. “I knew the two of you could do it. Here’s to co-conspirators!” She wrapped her arms around them and hugged them close. “Let’s leave them to it, eh? Come on, I’ve arranged for us to have some refreshments.”
Gretchen hesitated, looking at the tent flap Ewan had walked through. Darcy rolled her eyes.
“He’ll be fine!” she said. “And I’m sure you can bear to be parted from him for a little while. Who’d have thought it—Gretchen Matthews falling in love! I always thought you were too sassy for that.”
“Why can’t I be sassy and in love?” Gretchen shot back.
Darcy laughed “Touché! Come on, I need to sit down. Being pregnant plays havoc with your back!”
She led them to one of the smaller tents. Inside three chairs had been placed around a little table. One was piled with cushions and Darcy lowered herself into this gratefully.
“Ah! That’s better.”
Gretchen and Amy took the two other seats and Gretchen looked between the two women. “So how do you two know each other?”
“We don’t,” Darcy replied, smiling at Amy. “Not personally at least. Dougal came to tell me he was in touch with Amy and after I heard you were asking after me we started conversing by letter. I hope we’ll get to know each other better in the months to come.”
“I hope so too,” Amy said. “How is Dougal? Is he well? Is he with the army?”
“He’s fine,” Darcy laughed. “But better if he saw you I’ll bet. You’re all he ever talks about! He’s a man smitten and no mistake.”
“Do ye think so?” Amy said in a small voice, her cheeks flaming red.
“Think so?” Darcy said. “I know so.” She glanced around the tent. “Where is Farrell? It’s not like him to be tardy with the refreshments. I’ll get him.” She made to get up but winced and put a hand to her belly.
“Looks as though you’ve overdone it,” Gretchen admonished. “I’ll go and find this... what’s his name?”
“Farrell. The steward. He should be in the other tent. If not he’s probably serving Robert and Merith, in which case we’ll have to wait.”
Gretchen climbed to her feet and went outside. The smaller of the three tents sat a little way off. She hurried over to it and called, “Farrell? Darcy’s asked me to come and get some refreshments from you.”
There was no answer so she ducked through the tent flap and looked around. A small table filled most of the space with several jugs and cups sitting on it. Gretchen crossed to the table and reached for one of the jugs but froze as she noticed something lying on the floor.
It was an elderly man wearing MacFarlane colors. His eyes stared sightlessly upward and he had a knife-hilt sticking out of his chest.
Gretchen opened her mouth to scream but a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth and a knife blade pressed against her throat.
A familiar voice hissed in her ear, “Make a sound and you’ll share his fate.”
Gretchen’s eyes widened. Fear pounded through her. She’d know that voice anywhere.
Richard de Clare.
“I’m going to remove my hand now. Don’t try anything. Clear?”
She made a muffled sound of assent. Richard withdrew his hand and she gasped in air. He grabbed her shoulder, spun her to face him, knife still held to her throat. He looked different. He’d scraped his hair back into a rough pony tail and was wearing the MacFarlane colours— probably how he’d managed to sneak into the camp. His eyes glinted with malice.
“Thought you’d seen the last of me, did you?” he said. “You should know by now I’m not so easily thwarted. I always get what I want in the end, one way or another.”
“You’re insane,” Gretchen said. “You’ll never get away with this. There are armed guards all around us. You’ll be cut to pieces.”
“Do you think?” he rasped. “We’ll see about that. These Scottish savages aren’t as clever as they think. They’re no match for me, as you’re about to find out.”
“What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.
He stepped close, filling Gretchen’s vision. “Ewan Murray has taken everything from me: my revenge, my place in the clan. Now I’m going to take everything from him. You are coming with me. And Ewan Murray will never see you again.”
Her eyes strayed to the tent flap, hoping, willing someone to walk through. Richard de Clare laughed softly.
“Nobody’s going to help you,” he said. “They’re all too busy ruining my plans. Still, at least I got something out of it. You.”
He quickly tied a gag across her mouth and then bound her hands in front of her. Gretchen watched the blade, never more than a hair’s breadth from her throat and kept as still as possible. When he was done, Richard de Clare nodded.
“It will do for now. Come on.”
He hauled her to the back of the tent where he’d cut a ragged hole. She could see the guards a distance away to her left, two lines of them sitting on their horses, facing each other. If only one of them would look her way, they’d see her. She raised her bound hands and began jumping up and down, trying to get their attention.
De Clare’s fist connected with her cheek, knocking her to her knees. “I warned you not to try anything,” he growled. “You should have listened.”
Gretchen shook her head, dazed, as de Clare yanked her to her feet and pushed her forward. “Hurry!” he hissed. “And stay low.”
Bent almost double, de Clare dragged her over open ground for several yards before the ground suddenly dropped away into a dry stream bed with high walls. This must have been how de Clare had managed to get into the camp unnoticed. De Clare shoved her down the slope onto the dusty stream-bed and grabbed one of her arms, dragging her along. The walls were so high that they were hidden from view now and all Gretchen could see was a strip of blue sky above.
Panic took her. She struggled in de Clare’s grip, managing to rip her arm away. She aimed a savage kick at his shin, pleased when it connected, and he staggered back with a curse. She spun on her heel and ran back the way they’d come.
She’d maybe got ten paces before de Clare slammed into her and sent them both crashing into the dirt. She tried to scream but her gag muffled all sound. They tussled in the dirt for a moment then de Clare pinned her to the ground, the knife pressed against her throat once more.
“You are turning out to be more trouble than you’re worth,” he growled. “Maybe it would be better to slit your throat right here.”
Gretchen’s heart thundered. Her eyes darted everywhere, looking for a means of escape but she could see none. De Clare leaned close.
“You’re lucky I’m a patient man. I’m going to give you one more chance. Any more trouble and I’ll leave y
ou here for the ravens. Now, will you behave?”
Gretchen nodded, eyes on the knife mere centimeters from her jugular.
“Good. Come on.”
He climbed to his feet and pulled Gretchen up after him. He pushed her ahead of him this time, keeping the knife point at her back. Minutes passed and Gretchen strained her ears, listening for pursuit. But there was none.
Ewan, she thought. Where are you?
They walked for maybe half an hour and the camp was out of sight in the distance behind them when they reached a place where the stream bed fell away down a steep cliff. When the river flowed it would be an impressive waterfall. A group of mounted men waited at the base of the cliff with two spare horses. They called to one another when they saw Richard and Gretchen approaching.
A trail wound down the side of the waterfall and Richard pushed Gretchen down it. With her hands bound it was difficult to keep her balance and she tripped more than once. By the time she reached the bottom her hands were bleeding from several grazes.
“I don’t believe it!” one of the men exclaimed, kicking his mount closer. “You did it! I never thought you’d get within twenty feet of her.”
De Clare grinned savagely. “How many years have you worked for me, Simon? You should have learned not to underestimate me by now.”
Simon nodded. “So what now?”
Richard de Clare grabbed Gretchen’s arm and marched her over to one of the spare horses. He boosted her into the saddle and tied her to it securely then took the horses reins and guided it over to the remaining mount, tying them together. He mounted his horse and looked at his men.
“Now we ride.”
He kicked his horse into motion and Gretchen clung to the saddle horn as her own mount lurched after it. The rest of the men followed behind. The stream bed widened and they soon sped up into a gallop, thundering along the stream bed in single file. Gretchen squeezed her eyes shut and hung on grimly.
This was a nightmare. It could not be happening. Any minute she’d open her eyes and she’d be back in the tent with Ewan.
But the pounding of the horses’ hooves, the jolting motion of the ride, the shouts of the men told her this was very real.
After several miles the walls of the river bed receded and Gretchen looked out on a different landscape. The moorlands were gone and instead a gentle land of woodlands and pastures surrounded them. De Clare led them out of the stream bed and up onto a narrow track that wound between two hills. As the track emerged Gretchen spied a lake sparkling in the sun and a small, white-washed building sitting at its head. De Clare led them to this building and halted.
He swung down off his horse and then pulled Gretchen down after him. After so long in the saddle her legs gave way and she would have fallen if de Clare hadn’t caught her. He pulled off her gag but didn’t cut the bonds around her wrists.
“Where are we?” she demanded. “Why have you brought me here?”
De Clare grinned at his men. “Told you she was a feisty one. She’ll give me strong children.”
Gretchen’s blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”
The smile he turned on her held no warmth at all. “Don’t you realize what this building is?”
Gretchen noticed for the first time the large wooden cross attached to the top of the building. It was a church.
“Ah, I can see from your expression that you’re starting to understand,” de Clare said. He stepped close and looked down at her. “I swore I would get revenge on the MacFarlanes. Ewan Murray denied me that. So I’ll take revenge on him instead. What better way to get revenge than to take his woman? Make her my woman?” He ran a hand down her cheek. “Oh, don’t look like that, my dear. This is supposed to be a happy occasion. After all, we will soon be married.”
EWAN TOOK A SIP FROM his goblet. The wine was good but Ewan didn’t drink much of it. He wanted a clear head for this meeting. He was seated to one side of Merith, Connail on the other. Across from them sat Robert MacFarlane, his wife Rebecca and his brother, Quinn. They made a formidable trio and Ewan hoped the Murrays impressed them as much.
He’d lost track of how long they’d been talking. Mostly it had been a back and forth between Robert and Merith, her asking questions, him answering them patiently. What had started off as tense and awkward had gradually thawed as the full treachery of Richard de Clare had been revealed.
How could I have doubted Gretchen? he thought. I should have trusted her. How can I make it up to her?
He smiled to himself. They had the rest of their lives for him to make it up to her. As soon as this was over, as soon as there was peace and a semblance of normality, they’d be married.
My Gretchen, he thought. Mine forever.
He dragged his attention back to the meeting. The caravan captain had been brought in and questioned, Merith asking him over and over again to clarify what he knew of Richard de Clare’s plots, probing until she was satisfied that his account tallied up with what was in the parchment Darcy had given Gretchen.
Merith let out a long sigh. She glanced at Ewan. He nodded, giving her encouragement. In truth, he was proud of his cousin. She’d behaved with honor and strength. It would have been easy for her to give into her pride and refuse to admit that she’d been made a fool of by Richard de Clare. But she hadn’t. She’d been open, honest, strong. Everything a laird should be.
“All right,” she said to Robert MacFarlane. “I do acknowledge that ye have spoken the truth. It seems the Murray clan have fallen into a pit of our own making. Nay, of my making. I was too quick to listen to Richard de Clare and before that I was too quick to take up my father’s grudge against ye. Marrying John de Clare only heightened that. It’s time to change. It’s time to end this strife between our clans.”
Robert smiled and his wife Rebecca squeezed his arm, a grin spreading across her face. “I’m mighty glad to hear ye say that,” Robert said. “It’s what we’ve wanted for a long time.”
Merith nodded. “What do ye propose?”
Rebecca leaned forward and placed a scroll on the table. “Terms of peace. It can be signed, right here, right now then we can all go home and there needs to be no loss of life today. It recognizes the Murray and MacFarlane borders, along with MacGregor’s lands as a vassal to ye. It also cedes the western marshes to the Murray clan to do with as ye see fit.”
Ewan sucked in a breath and glanced sharply at Merith. The western marshes had been contested for years, both clans laying claim to them. Whoever controlled those marshes could drain them, paving the way for valuable farmland. The fact that the MacFarlanes were willing to give them up spoke volumes.
This fact wasn’t lost on Merith. “That is a generous offer. Forgive my suspicion, but what’s in this for ye? Ye wouldn’t do this unless there was some benefit for yer own clan.”
Quinn tensed, an angry look passing over his face but Rebecca laid a hand on his arm. “What’s in it for us? Peace, that’s what. The chance for our young ones to grow up free of clan strife. A chance for our crofters to lives their lives without the threat of raids. But aye, we would ask something in return: to restart the fostering between our two clans. What better way to cement a new peace? Yer sister Amy fostered with us for a while and left quite an impression.”
“Aye, I can well imagine,” Merith said wryly. She drew in a breath then raised her head and met Robert, Rebecca and Quinn’s gazes. “Very well. I accept yer terms. Where should I sign?”
Ewan found a stupid grin spreading over his face. He shared a look with Connail and then with Quinn and found the same grins on their faces too.
Peace! There was going to be peace! They’d done it! And it was his Gretchen that had enabled it all.
He suddenly heard a commotion outside then Darcy and Amy burst into the tent. They both looked pale, flustered.
Ewan and Quinn jumped to their feet, hands automatically reaching for weapons.
“What is it, love?” Quinn asked his wife. “Is everything well?”
/>
Darcy shook her head. She gulped down air, trying to speak. “It’s Gretchen! She’s gone! She went to get refreshments from Farrell but when she didn’t come back we went to look for her. Farrell’s dead! Murdered! And there’s no sign of Gretchen!”
Ewan was moving before she finished speaking. He threw himself from the tent, drawing his sword as he moved, and ran a quick circuit of the camp, pulse pounding in his ears.
“In here!” Darcy cried, ducking into the smaller tent.
Inside they found a scene of destruction. A table had been overturned, smashed jugs scattered about the floor and the body of an old man laid out at the back. A ragged tear in the tent wall billowed in the breeze. Ewan pushed through it, closely followed by Connail, Quinn and Robert.
“Where is she?” Ewan growled. “Where is she?” Panic was bubbling in his chest. She had to be here. She had to be!
“Look!” Quinn said. He was kneeling on the ground. A clump of heather had been flattened near his feet and beside it Ewan saw a footprint.
“This way,” Ewan hissed, following the footprints.
They led away from the camp and into a dusty stream bed. Two sets of prints marked the dust, one much larger than the other.
“De Clare,” Ewan breathed. “It’s him. I know it. He’s taken Gretchen.”
“Aye,” Quinn growled. “That’s the kind of despicable thing he’d do.” He called over his shoulder. “Bring horses! We’ll track the bastard!”
“No,” Darcy said, stepping forward. “Look, the trail ends here!”
Ewan knelt down. The footprints ended abruptly. The trail had been deliberately obliterated. Ewan ground his teeth.
“We canna track him,” he grated, climbing to his feet. “We need to know where de Clare was headed.”
“The caravan guard!” Darcy said. “He was present when de Clare met with his master. Maybe he knows something.”
