She returned shortly after to find Bram tightening the straps on the horse.
“Are ye hungry?” he asked her.
“Aye. I have no’ eaten since this morning and then I ate only a little.”
Bram opened the flap of the saddle bag and pulled out a smaller brown bag and handed it to Lara. Inside was an apple and some dried venison.
“The men we borrowed the horse from were kind enough to stock the saddle bags with food and coin,” he noted, as his lips turned up at the corners.
Lara had almost forgotten that they had stolen the beautiful black steed. She was grateful they had found the horse when they needed it, and prayed their good fortune would continue.
“If ye are ready, we should be on our way. I want to make it to Dumfries before the sun sets,” Bram suggested, interrupting her thoughts.
Lara cringed at the thought of being back in the saddle. Her aching muscles were one thing, not to mention the strange sensations caused by being held in Bram’s arms. She tried to sit as upright as possible, keeping her distance, but he scooted closer to her, holding on to her even tighter. She hoped it was just to make sure she was secure on the horse, and nothing more.
When they finally reached Dumfries, the hour was late. Lara’s thighs and bottom burned from the hours spent in the saddle and she felt exhausted.
“May I help ye down, lass?” Bram asked, holding his arms up to her.
Lara smiled down at him for his chivalry. She swung her leg over the saddle and took him by the hand as she slid down the side of the horse.
“Thank ye,” she said and curtsied.
But when she took a step, her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground. Sitting for so long on the saddle had caused her legs to go weak and turned her backside numb.
“Are ye alright, lass?” Bram asked, kneeling down beside her.
“Aye,” she responded with a crooked smile, and allowed Bram to help her back to her feet.
With Lara in his arms, Bram could not help noticing how weightless she felt even wearing the baggy wool dress. There was no doubt he was besotted with her, but she was no wench. This close, he could smell the lavender in her hair and the softness of her skin as he cradled her in his arms. As he held her, his manhood grew, but he desperately tried to ignore it.
Once she was steady on her feet, he released her but her body remained close to his. He wanted to think that she felt comfort there, but just as he thought it, she stepped back. He searched her eyes, looking to see if she shared his desire, but they looked tired, with dark circles shadowing the lower lids.
“Thank ye,” she said, holding his gaze.
“Yer welcome.”
Along the thoroughfare were several shops and merchant stalls filled with food, fabrics and pottery. The town was bustling with shoppers purchasing their goods.
As they browsed the stalls of merchants, a woman stepped out in front of Bram. Wearing a tightly fitted red gown with a low neckline, she quickly caught his attention. The woman gave him a mischievous smile but when she looked at Lara her smile faded.
“That be a fine medallion you wear around your neck. Ye can fetch a mighty price for that piece of silver,” the woman said in a thick French accent, eyeing the medallion that hung low around Bram’s neck.
He had kept it secured in the lining of his kilt while imprisoned so that the guards knew not who he was or to which clan he belonged. But now, free from danger, he wore it proudly.
“Aye, and what would ye offer fer it?” Bram asked, curious to know what worth it had to the woman.
“If it is coin you seek I can offer you plenty, or maybe the company of a warm bed for a prize piece like that one,” the woman responded, placing a finger on his forearm, slowly drawing it up and down. Displaying a devilish smile, she continued, “A trade, perhaps?”
Bram met her gaze. Her regard showed that she was quite persistent. He stepped closer so that he was out of earshot of Lara.
“What sort of a trade?” he curiously asked.
Bram’s instinct told him not to trust the woman but his curiosity got the better of him. And he had to admit that under normal circumstances, the voluptuous woman was exactly the type who often warmed his bed.
Squeezing his upper arm, she pulled him closer. She had the sweet smell of lilac and Bram could not stop his eyes from tracing down her neckline and dwelling on her well-exposed bosom. She stepped up on her toes so that her head was near his. He could feel her breath against his ear.
She whispered, “Information.”
Information? He pondered. What sort of information would this harlot have that he could possibly want? Or need?
“What use would that do me?” he asked. “I have nay need for useless words, woman. But for a price I would be willing to sell ye the medallion.”
The woman squinted as if she struggled with her choices. Taking a deep breath, she puffed it all out at once and nodded.
“Well, as I am feeling most generous today, I shall give you both,” she said.
Shifting to his side and wrapping her arm around his, the woman directed him away from the crowd and between two of the shops. Slowly, the woman spoke, articulating each word as if she needed to choose them carefully. Her eyes fixed on Lara.
“You are in grave danger with that chit accompanying you.”
“What sort of danger?”
“If she is the lass I believe her to be, there were men here in the village searching for her. But I can say no more. I do not know who they were. These walls are thin and ears are everywhere. You must take her and be gone from this place.”
Bram did not know whether or not to believe her allegations. The little information she gave him caused his mind to race with a hundred unanswered questions. Bram silently removed his medallion and handed it over to the woman. It made no difference to him if the woman had this medallion or not; he had two others at home.
The woman snatched it greedily and pulled out a small leather pouch kept in the bosom of her dress. Handing the bag to Bram, she turned and quickly made her way down the passageway until the darkness swallowed her whole.
“Is something wrong?” Lara asked.
“Nay lass, the woman was just talking nonsense,” he replied. He thought it best to keep what the woman had said to himself, for now. But first, he needed Lara to tell him exactly who she was and why the English had imprisoned her.
Chapter 8
At the end of the market square, Bram spotted a tavern tucked away far from the fray where they could have a meal without attracting unwanted attention. Entering through the door, the tavern was lively - full of music and energy. The booming sound of men’s laughter could be heard echoing off the stone walls, while drunken dancers twirled around, their ale splashing out of their mugs and onto the floor. There was not a single table or chair that was not occupied. Bram took out a few coins from his pouch.
Slipping the coins into Lara’s hand, he whispered, “Stay here and dinna go anywhere.
“Where are ye going?” Lara asked loudly over the noise of the crowd.
Bram could sense her worry. But his instinct told him that it was best to not bring her to Montrose keep. If Lara was in some sort of danger, he did not know what to expect from Stephen.
“I am off to Montrose. I will no’ be long. I think it is best if I go alone. I have no’ seen Laird Stephen in many years’ time and I dinna ken where his allegiance lies. I may no’ be able to protect ye while I am there. It is best that ye stay here and wait fer my return.”
Even though Bram was unsure whether he should leave Lara here, he wanted to take the warning he’d received in the market seriously. He knew that at least one greedy person knew her whereabouts and who she might be. He did not want to take the chance of more people discovering until he knew the complete situation.
“I thought ye said that he was a friend. Can ye no’ trust him?”
“Aye, he has been a good friend, but he would stick a knife in yer back to save his own
arse if given the choice.”
“What shall I do, if the English come, or if I need to find ye?” Lara asked in a trembling voice.
“Dinna worry lass. Just stay here within the market. Dinna venture off too far and ye will be fine. I have given ye enough coin if ye want to buy something in the market. I will be back soon,” he said as he began to turn towards the door. Just as he turned, he looked back at her and said, “And lass, when I return there are some questions that are in need of answering. I can no’ help ye if ye are keeping secrets from me.”
Without allowing her the time to explain or ask him to what he referred, Bram walked away. Like a startled deer, Lara froze. She fidgeted with her hands as she wondered what secrets he could have been talking about. She stood with her mouth agape, but it was as if he’d taken her voice with him. She had hoped that he would just escort her to Fergusson land without questions. She wrung her hands together, dreading their next encounter.
Bram followed the river several miles south until he reached the gates of Montrose Castle. With the sun well below the horizon, the murky water within the castle’s moat looked ominous. The night air was darkened by a veil of heavy cloud that hovered between him and his final destination. Bram dismounted, strapping his sword to his side. As Bram approached the castle, he could see light flickering from a dim lantern at the top of the tower and guards pacing back and forth between the turrets.
“State yer business or be gone wit’ ye,” a guard called out from a small door of the gatehouse.
“My name is Bram MacKinnon. I wish to have an audience with the Laird of this keep.”
“Our Laird does no’ wish to see any visitors today. Come back tomorrow and ye can make yer request then.”
“I’m afraid that tomorrow may be too late. It is of great importance that I see him. If ye will only give him my name,” Bram continued but the guard quickly interrupted.
“Yer name is of nay importance. It is the dead of night and we have our orders. None shall pass these gates without prior notice.”
“I have visited here before. Montrose used to be friendly and welcomed travelers. Is there a reason why it is nay that way any longer?”
“Aye. But I dinna see why I need to tell ye about it,” The guard replied and turned up his mouse-like nose.
As silence passed between them, Bram grew more impatient with the guard. He knew that he needed to press the guard harder into opening the gates for him. Laird Stephen was the only man in the lowlands that held a high enough position to offer him the services he needed. Bram knew that without supplies, he would never be able to journey all the way to the Highlands before winter weather came upon him.
“If ye refuse to allow me entrance ye can be certain that the English will be the ones barging in these gates, for they may only be a few days ride from here.”
The guard looked at him strangely. His voice changed from a loud growl to a sullen tone as he acknowledged the urgency of the situation.
“I will summon our Laird. Remove yer weapons and I will open the gate.”
Bram did as he was asked and handed his sword to the guard. He followed him to the entrance of the keep and was asked to wait in the bailey while the guard went inside to convey his message.
In the bailey, several guards kept watch at their posts. The atmosphere felt strange. This was not the Montrose Castle Bram remembered. Then again, it had been years since he stepped foot inside the castle walls. The bailey, formerly full of activity with peasants and warriors alike, was now barren except for two masons who were repairing a section of the wall that had been badly damaged. Bram now understood the reason for the increased security and the guard’s hesitation.
Behind him, a familiar voice called out his name, “Bram MacKinnon! I can no’ believe me eyes. I heard that ye were killed in battle. But here ye are.”
“Did ye really believe the English could have bested me? Ye should ken never to underestimate a MacKinnon,” Bram responded, smiling back at the man. “It is good to see ye, Max.”
Shaking the man’s hand, Bram said, “And ye as well. What happened here?”
“Ah, our castle was attacked by the English. Many of my men died in battle. It took us a good month or two to rid our lands of the English. But tell me, why have ye made such a long journey to my keep? Did yer brother send ye?”
“Nay. My brother dinna ken I survived. He must think me dead and rotting in the ground. Nay, I have come to ask ye fer yer help. I need safe passage back to the Highlands but first I must travel through the black forest towards Fergusson lands.”
Bram watched as the skin between Stephen’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Fergusson? Why would ye go so far west? And to that bastard’s land?” Stephen growled.
“I am traveling wit’ a lass. I have vowed to protect her and see her safely home to her family.”
“I am no’ allied wit’ the Fergussons and neither are ye. That bastard is the English King’s vassal. Why would ye want to help a Fergusson lass? Did prison turn ye into an eejit?”
“I ken they are not allies. But she saved my life. She dinna ken that our clans feud. She kens nothing of politics and nay about who their enemies are.”
“Well, she must be a clever lass fer ye to be so trustin’ of her. Either that or she is daft.”
“I made a promise, Stephen. I am no’ going to break it.”
Stephen’s eyes narrowed, “She must mean a great deal to ye for ye to risk traveling through the black forest and Fergusson land.”
Bram glared at him for his suggestion. The man thought to insult him and Lara. He would not stand there and let Lara’s honor be questioned. If he had to, he would toss Stephen on his arse until he minded his tongue.
In a deep growl, he replied, “As I said, I owe her my life and fer that, I am helping the lass. That is all.”
“I dinna mean any disrespect. If ye need safe passage I can have me men send a message to the Campbells on yer behalf. Take what supplies ye need,” Stephen offered. “We have been friends a long time, Bram, and I will help ye, but if it comes to war, I will no’ be a part of it.”
Bram nodded. “I thank ye fer yer hospitality. When I return home, I will make sure my brother pays ye in kind.”
Stephen gave him a grim look before responding.
“Take the road to the west and then north through the woods. The English troops have been spotted to the west. Ye should nay have any trouble if ye keep off the road.”
“Thank ye.”
Stephen bid him farewell and walked back inside the keep. Bram turned and headed in the opposite direction towards the casemate. There he found weapons, armor and a few logs of peat. Marg, one of the servants, came in and gave him extra clothing, a blanket, and food. Once he’d stored the supplies in the saddle bags, he left to head back to Dumfries.
Lara swirled the remaining wine in her cup before taking another sip. The taste of cloves and nutmeg lingered on her lips. It reminded her of her mother, Elsa. Elsa drank heavily and favored the wine. As much as Lara carried with her fond memories of her mother, she only remembered her mother’s unexplained sadness towards the end. She was a woman who could never be pleased, and would always fight and argue with Lara’s father, though Lara never knew why. On the night she passed, she had summoned Lara to her bed chamber. She spoke of mishaps and regrets but Lara did not understand any of it and by the time the fever came she was talking nonsense. Lara forced her thoughts back to the present, finished her cup of mulled wine, and returned to the market.
As she made her way through the carts of beautiful fabrics, she ran her hand across the rolls of silk and lace. Lara had missed the gowns and riding dresses she was forced to leave behind at Castle Foley when she fled. She was grateful that Rowena had given her a gown to wear, as her gown had been so badly damaged. But she couldn’t help thinking to herself that the wool fabric made her sweat more than a farmer working in the blistering sun.
As she admired the linen and lace, Lara saw from t
he corner of her eye someone following her. It was the woman who Bram had spoken to earlier. Her conspicuous behavior made it hard for Lara to ignore. Slowly, the woman approached.
“Good day to you, my lady. Tis good fortune that our paths have crossed. I know what is in your future,” the woman said.
The woman spoke with a French accent. Lara eyed her curiously.
“My future? And how do ye ken of such things?” Lara asked.
“Follow me into my tent and I can show you,” she said grabbing onto Lara’s upper arm and escorting her into a large tent with dark red linen walls.
“Ye are nay a merchant?” Lara asked as she vividly recalled her standing next to one of the carts in the market.
“Of sorts,” the woman replied.
Inside the tent was a small round table with two chairs sitting opposite each other. In the middle of the table were small stones with bizarre markings and a small stack of thick pieces of paper with painted pictures of exotic and unusual designs. Lara was hesitant for a moment but accepted the chair when the woman offered for her to sit.
“Ye are a gypsy!” Lara exclaimed, her voice louder than it had been before.
The woman laughed at Lara’s reaction.
“I am a woman of many talents. Telling futures is just one of them.”
Lara squinted her eyes in skepticism and waited for the woman to speak. She was curious as to how the woman would perform such a task, for no one, even Lara, could not know her future. She decided that this sort of activity was made for a good jest or wishful thinking but did not for a fleeting moment believe that this woman could predict the future.
Patiently, she sat and waited. The woman grasped the stack of paper and pulled out three pieces at random. The first card was flipped over, showing a picture of a man who looked as if he was in pain. He slumped over to one side and his face had a saddened look upon it.
“I see death. But this death is not in the future, but in the past.”
Highland Daydreams Page 5
