by Aileen Adams
It only occurred to him just then that she might not accept this gift in the manner which he’d intended it.
“What is it?” She examined the unmarked bottle with a frown.
“’Tis a tonic which is supposed to aid ye.” He sat beside the bed, leaning in that he might keep his voice low. “I purchased it from the healer in Avoch. She made it especially for ye.”
“For me? Whatever for?”
“Because I asked her to.” The lass was determined to drive him mad with embarrassment. “I canna stand knowing ye suffer when there might be a way to avoid it. ‘Tis all. And I could very much use your assistance with the twins. When ye aren’t well, ye canna help me.”
She took this in with a blank expression, as though she could not understand.
“Do ye believe me to be unfeeling?” he finally asked, resigned.
“Nay, nay,” she murmured, shaking her head. “’Tis merely a kindness I had not expected. Especially as Rufus has already made known his feelings on it.”
“And what do ye feel about it? After all, ye have a say as well and dinna ever, ever tell him I came to ye and took your side, lass.”
She laughed behind her hand, eyes shining with the tears which welled there. “Thank ye,” she whispered once the laughter passed. “This… means quite a lot to me.”
He shifted in his seat. “Aye, well, I had better be off. Goods to unload, twins who need seeing to. Ye ought to rest whether ye wish it so or not. And take a slight sip of that after ye drink your broth.”
“Ye happen to be quite a fine man, Drew MacIntosh.” He turned in time to see her hold a finger to her lips. “And I will not tell a soul of it. We wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.”
He snickered, leaving the room. “Aye. We wouldn’t want that.”
“Wouldn’t want what?” Rufus closed the front door behind him before kicking off mud-caked shoes. “Would want the cart full of goods to be left sitting before the house?”
Drew rolled his eyes—knowing as he did that he was the only man who could get away with doing so. “I thought I might stop in and see to your wife before I went about unloading.”
“Dinna worry.” Rufus grinned. “I asked the hands to tend to it before going home. Ye took the trouble to drive to the village, after all—besides, I happened to pass your house on my way from the back fields and found Clyde walking about with one bairn hanging from each arm. I believe he could use a reprieve.”
Drew laughed. “Better him than myself sometimes.” Then, he recalled the conversation at the tavern—ruining his cousin’s good mood was hardly what he wanted to do, and he would’ve rather avoided it, but he needed to know.
“I’ll be sitting up tonight.”
Rufus looked up from where he’d bent to stoke the fire which warmed the house’s central room, where the cooking and dining and general living took place. It seemed rather empty with Davina quartered in her bedchamber, though there was at least a pot of strong broth and a loaf of fresh bread sitting beside it thanks to Innis’s ministrations. “Why is that? It didna seem as though the bairns were ill.”
“Nay. While I wouldn’t wish it so, I would still rather the truth not be what it is.” He let out a heavy sigh. “It seems the reivers are at it again. I had word of it in the village. I will not allow another single head of cattle to be removed from this farm. I swear it.”
Rufus swore under his breath. “Filthy, thieving bastards.”
“Aye.” Drew’s lip curled in a snarl. He could only imagine them, slipping through the shadows, laughing to themselves over how simple it was to steal from a slumbering farm. They would receive the surprise of their lives when they found themselves facing him.
As other men already had. Fortunate some of them were that they’d lived to tell the tale.
4
The night air was damp, chill, causing Anne’s breath to hang about her in a cloud thicker than usual.
Curse it. The cloud of breath gave away her position, wherever she happened to be. Little chance of hiding successfully when one’s breath floated around them. She might breathe behind her hands to conceal what she could, though little good that would do once it came time to lead the cattle away.
She could have brought a scarf to put over her face, but what good would that do when the cattle would be breathing, too. And heavily like as not. It would give them away in a heartbeat.
Malcolm would not wish to hear of it. He would only wish to know why she had failed to complete the task he’d set out for her.
And woe to her if she provided an answer which did not suit him.
She clutched the edges of her thin, dark cloak about her as she walked her spotted gray mare down the narrow, winding road which cut through the woods bordering MacIntosh land. Maebe was a fine companion, sweet and true and patient, and she did not protest these late-night rides through dark, treacherous territory.
An apple or carrot tended to sway her in the direction of Anne’s needs.
At that moment, Maebe picked her careful way through the unlit woods with Anne on her back. The sky was thick with clouds and made it nearly impossible to see which way was which.
“Good girl,” she murmured, patting the mare’s neck as she stepped expertly over a fallen log which blocked the road. More like a path, truly, overgrown and narrow. She wondered how she’d manage to lead frightened beasts through this wilderness and simply decided she must trust that it would be so.
For though she was well aware of the wrong in what she did, the Good Lord seemed to smile upon her efforts time and again. Perhaps because He knew she did not steal for the thrill of it, like the others in the family. She did not pick pockets, slit the straps of sporrans, did not even go so far as to slip into the homes of her victims and take their candlesticks, their little bits of finery, while they slept their innocent slumber.
There was no thrill in this for her. There was only a sense of dread. She knew what she needed to do and why it had to be done.
For Liam. Everything for Liam. Second to him came herself, and she preferred her back unscarred. Malcolm had laid the strap to her three times over the years. Only three, and always while she was fully clothed so as to avoid marking her too badly.
He may have been a brute, callous and deceitful, but he was not completely without a heart.
Yet there was only so far he could be tested before one pushed him too far. She’d seen him lose control of his temper in the time it took to bat an eyelash. She hadn’t borne the brunt of that temper. Yet.
And she had no intention of ever doing so.
If only the moon would provide a little light! The thick, heavy clouds refused to part. At least the darkness would conceal her breath and her movements, but what good would that do if she somehow became lost?
She straightened her spine. Only bairns and weak, simple women allowed panic to take hold during situations such as this. Panic would make it all but certain that she’d become lost or make a mistake that would ruin her chances of success. This was hardly her first nighttime excursion. In fact, she’d lost count of how many times she’d done this, riding throughout the night and arriving home with the first suggestion of light touching the sky.
She’d done it in worse conditions, too. Rain was normally a nightmare, turning solid ground to a mass of sucking, slippery mud which made it difficult enough to travel on horseback, let alone while leading one or more plodding, anxious beasts who would much rather be warm and dry in their barn.
As if she, too, would not prefer being safe and warm.
Somehow, she’d proven herself to be the most daring and adept at reiving. They’d all tried their hand at it and some, like her, still performed regularly. They could not match her for always returning home with a prize. Some were forced to flee after alerting those inside the house. Others found it impossible to force the cattle from their stalls—too tense, anxious, their attitude clear for the animals to sense and shy away from.
If only the rain would hold o
ff until she’d made it at least partway home.
She broke through the tree line just on the outside of the stone wall bordering the farm. Even in the moonless night, it was clear how much work had been done to the place since her most recent visit. Two of the outer buildings which had been crumbling to the ground were gone, and in their place were sturdier structures. The thick, choking weeds which had grown in that area were no longer there, telling her this corner of the farm was not as seldom visited as it had once been.
She’d chosen this place for her entry with its former disrepair in mind, but had been proven wrong. Drat. She gritted her teeth and dismounted, choosing to lead Maebe now, rather than making herself more visible in the saddle.
It did not appear as though anyone was awake or about the place. A good sign. She continued at a slow pace, watching intently, waiting for signs of life.
As far as she knew, judging from the silence which hung about the place like the breath hanging about her head, none of the MacIntoshes or their hands were aware of her presence. Would that this remained the case.
Only when she came to a stop near the one remaining patch of crumbled wall—yes, they had indeed finished quite a lot of work, as much of the rear wall had been a crumbling mess on prior visits—did she hear a footstep behind her.
Drat!
She froze, casting a look to Maebe from the corner of her eye. The mare heard it too, of course, her ears pointing back in the direction from which the light sound had come. Perspiration beaded on the back of Anne’s neck, and her sweat-slick palms nearly lost hold of the reins.
She took both in her left hand, the cloak concealing her movements, and reached for the dirk tucked into her belt. If it was a fight they wanted, it was a fight she’d give them. The sound had come from a place too close to where she stood. She had little chance of fleeing on foot unless she wounded her attacker.
She whirled, dirk brandished, her eyes searching the darkness for the enemy.
She came within inches of stabbing her brother in the chest.
“Liam!” she breathed when she realized who stood before her.
His dark eyes, wide with shock, seemed to take up most of his face.
“What do ye think you’re doing here?”
It took a moment for him to find his voice—when he did, it came out as a barely audible whisper. “Following ye, of course. I wanted to come along and watch, so I can do it m’self someday.”
Of all the daft things he could’ve done. She replaced the dirk with a trembling hand—that had been a closer call than she would’ve liked—while shaking her head. “Ye dinna know what you’ve done,” she hissed, eyes darting about. “This is dangerous enough while I’m working on my own. With ye, it becomes twice as much, and twice as difficult, if ye must know.”
His face fell, but she was in too much of a state to care whether she’d injured his pride. The fool had nearly gotten himself killed, and could still be the end of them both, unless she handled this with the utmost care. What to do now?
“Forgive me,” he whispered, sounding for all the world like the wee lad he was.
Now, guilt moved into her heart and pushed rancor aside. “All right, ‘tis done. Nothing I can do about it now, though I would like to know how you managed to track me.”
“On foot.” He brightened considerably. “Ye never heard me?”
She was sorry to say she had not. Were her senses failing her at the young age of one-and-twenty? Or had she been too wrapped up in her thoughts and concerns to notice her brother’s presence?
The only other alternative was to believe him a fine, skillful tracker. Perhaps he was. Perhaps his presence, and her lack of attention to it, was a combination of all three.
“Nay,” she grumbled with another shake of her head. At least he’d had the foresight to wear dark clothing, though neither of them had much to choose from. “You’ll catch your death, running about the Highlands without even a cloak to warm ye.”
“I am warm and fine,” he promised, grinning. “Are we going to do it?”
Little choice but to see it through now that they had come this far. There was still no sign of movement from the living quarters, and no light in the barn. “Aye, we shall,” she confirmed, bending to hobble the mare in place. “Come. Be as swift and silent as you’ve been all this time.”
“I cut through the woods,” he explained as they dashed across the empty space between wall and barn.
She held a finger to her lips, though at least this helped her understand how he’d managed such a distance on foot. If he’d stolen through the woods rather than taking the roads much of the way, as she had, the journey would not be such a lengthy one. An advantage of traveling on foot. Walking the horse through a pathless stretch of wood on such a moonless night was not a risk she’d been willing to take.
They reached the barn in mere moments, and Liam followed suit when she pressed her back to the wall.
“Catch your breath,” she advised, knowing as she did that every action would now have to be explained to him and would therefore slow her down. She had difficulty containing her irritation at this turn of events. If only he’d been a bit more clever.
If only he had remained at home, safe in his bed.
Once they’d quieted their breathing and calmed themselves, Anne slid down the length of the wall until she reached the corner, then rounded it and crept along until she reached one of the two great doors which led inside. A finger to her lips, she took one of the doors by its leather strap and pulled, opening it just enough for them to slip through.
It was possible to speak a bit more freely once they’d gone inside and made certain no one was lying in wait for them. Aside from the stalls of cattle, there was no other sign of life in the stone structure.
Even so, Anne kept her voice low. “I can carry ye behind me in the saddle. We shall lead a pair of them tonight.”
“Only a pair?”
She rolled her eyes at the disappointment in his voice. “Did ye think we’d be taking the entire herd?”
“Nay. But I can lead a pair as well.”
“That is out of the question.” She did not intend the words to sound harsh and cruel when they came forth, but they did, and they stung him, it was obvious from the way his shoulders slumped. She softened slightly. “It takes a great deal of practice to lead surly beasts who dinna wish to be led. Ye might ride before me and hold the reins while I lead the cattle, though.”
“Ye would allow me to ride Maebe?” he asked, awed.
Maebe was the gentlest creature in the world and would certainly offer him no resistance. Even so, she kept her tone gravely serious. In fact, the situation was a gravely serious one. “Aye, but ye must use the utmost care. I shall depend on ye to lead us home. Ye can manage that, can ye not?”
“Aye,” he breathed, all but trembling with the importance of his task. The mare would know the way home without him guiding her, but he could believe himself the hero if it pleased him.
In fact, he might do well to believe himself heroic for once.
She opened two doors, the stalls adjoining, and led two massive steers out. They would have been sold for meat, she knew, castrated as they were. And they might have fetched a pretty price judging by their size.
That price would now go to Malcolm, for the steers bore no mark declaring they belonged to MacIntosh. He could sell them and dare anyone to question where he’d procured them.
“All right,” she whispered, wrapping rope leads around their necks while whispering and patting them, comforting and soothing as best she could. If only Liam hadn’t come. If only he had not insisted on proving himself.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Keep watch. Make certain no one is coming.”
She glanced over her shoulder to find him peering out into the darkness through the crack in the door. He could do that, at least, while she tended to her task.
With the steers secure, she took the ropes in one hand. Would that t
hey followed without a fight. She might make it through this, after all.
“Open the door,” she whispered, heart in her throat.
This was always the most treacherous time. Without the steers, the most she could be accused of would be trespassing. Now? There was no question of what she intended.
The doors were mercifully quiet, most likely having been recently hung or repaired. They glided open without so much as a squeak or grind. A small miracle, and nearly enough to make her believe this would go well.
Until the click of a pistol changed everything. “Now that I know for certain ye intend to steal my cattle, allow me to introduce myself,” a deep, male voice rumbled over her shoulder.
5
Drew leveled the pistol at the back of the lass’s head, concealed by a loose hood. Yet there was no mistaking the fact that she was female.
A lass! All along, a young woman!
And a lad no older than eight, perhaps nine years!
They’d been duped by a woman and a child!
The shame of it alone was nearly enough to make him fire, but he held back. They would be better off in the hands of the law. He, for one, would sleep better knowing they would not run free, and thieves or not, he had no desire to carry their lives on his conscience.
“Liam! Run!” the lass hissed, presumably speaking to the lad who lingered in the doorway.
Faint light revealed his shocked expression, his utter terror once understanding settled over him.
“Och, Liam. I would not if I were ye.” Drew kept his tone light, almost teasing. “If ye were to run, I would have no choice but to fire this weapon. Not at ye, but at her. ‘Tis your choice.”
The lad looked ready to wet his trousers as he stared, wide-eyed.
The lass was having none of it. “He’s lying. He will not injure me, or he would have already. Go. Go, for the love of God!”
Drew’s hand closed over one of her wrists, squeezing hard enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from her. The hood of her cloak made it impossible to see her, but he did not need to see her face to know there was pain and fury there. He could feel it all in the pulse which hammered rapidly against his fingers.
