Obviously frightened, the boy twisted a wee knife in his hands and inched closer to Malcolm.
Alexander drew a deep breath and knelt down in front of the boy. Gently, he touched his small shoulder and managed to calm his voice. "Och, lad, do not fear. My anger isn't with you. Tell me what you know."
Malcolm nudged the wide-eyed child.
The boy's voice quivered. "My… my laird, I ken I shouldna been about so late and should have stayed in me bed as I'd been told. But I had a hae penny and wanted to trade with the tinker." His trembling fingers held up the small knife. "Fer a bit of leather to make a sheath." The lad swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed in his thin throat. "So, after me mam and me da were abed, I crept out to find the tinker. 'Twas verra dark and nay easy to see me way. I couldna see aught, but heard the tinker's wagon leavin'."
The boy shifted his feet in the dirt and twisted his knife in his hands again. "Then the moon came out and I ran to catch it, but I couldna run fast enough. I saw the tinker had a woman ridin' with him. I didna see her face. But when I heard just now, of Lady MacGregor being gone, I thought mayhap 'twas her."
"How long ago was this?"
"Nay so very long. Mayhap an hour or two." The boy looked up at Alexander and trembled. "I'm verra sorry I didna run fast enough to catch the tinker's wagon, m'laird."
Alexander turned and shouted over his shoulder. "Lewis! Unlock the storeroom. Find this lad leather to make himself the finest sheath in Ironwood!" He smiled and clapped the young boy on his back. "Well done, lad."
Then he ran to his waiting horse. He vaulted into the saddle, pulled on Tursachan's reins, and shouted to Malcolm. "Mount and follow with my men. I go to find a tinker and barter for the most precious prize in all of Scotland!"
**
Alexander and his men followed the tracks of the tinker's wain. Even when the dense Highland mist surrounded them, they didn't stop. Dismounting, he led his horse and men by walking in the rut left by the wagon's heavy wheels. Eventually the mist lifted and the riders covered the distance quickly as they galloped along the worn path. Even with the fog, they had made good time. The tinker couldn't be far ahead.
A light drizzle began to fall. Alexander gripped his reins tighter. The rain would make it harder for them to follow the tracks. He must find her soon. Turning in his saddle, he shouted over his shoulder, "Faster, lads!"
Just ahead lay a small grove of trees. Pulling Tursachan to a quick halt, he stood in the stirrups of his saddle and scanned the wet moor glistening with the light of dawn. The land was empty for as far as he could see. As he sat back in his saddle, his gaze returned to the grove. 'Twas the only cover for miles. Motioning his men to follow him, he galloped for the thicket.
The trees leafy branches obscured most of the early light. 'Twas difficult to see what lay within. Silently, he held up his hand, halting his men. All sat motionless and listened. Small sounds of nature greeted them as a bird twittered and flew from one nearby branch to another. Leaves rustled in a breeze, adding to the shower of raindrops.
Abruptly, the rain ended. A sense of foreboding shot through him with the eerie stillness. Drawing his broadsword, he dismounted and signaled his men to do likewise. They crept forward, their blades ready. Their leather-clad feet made little noise on the forest floor to warn of their approach. When they sighted the tinker's wagon, they charged up and encircled it, only to find it empty. Beside it, a woman's body lay on the ground partially covered by a shawl.
Alexander dropped to his knees beside the still form. God! No! Please no! His hands shook as he lifted the tartan away from the woman's face. Her hair was dark, not golden. "Fiona!" He stared down at her pallid face and closed eyes. A dark bloodstain spread over the front of her dress. Her chest scarcely rose and fell. She was still alive. Barely. Whoever did this couldn't be far.
Alexander's men gathered closer and he shook his head. "Don't stand there. Spread out. Look for Lady MacGregor!" Fiona had not been at Ironwood. She couldn't have been the woman that left with the tinker. He motioned to Malcolm. "Mount up and look for tracks."
Turning his worried gaze back to the woman beside him, he smoothed her hair from her pale face, lifted her head gently, and placed it softly in his lap. Her skin was gray and cold, but the movement caused her eyes to open briefly.
Her voice was weak. "Alexander, I'm so afeared! I know I will ne'er be allowed entry to Heaven fer the great wrongs I have done."
"Shh, lass, don't fash. Rest."
He spoke to her soothingly as he cradled her head in his lap. The wound barely oozed blood, now. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Her wound was fatal. She wouldn't last much longer. He smoothed the dark hair back from her face again and held one of her cold hands.
She stirred slightly and cried out, her voice weaker than before. "Alexander! Are ye still there? Everything is so dark."
"Aye, Fiona, I am here with you, as I have always been, since you were a wee lassie. I won't leave you."
She stared up into his face as if she could barely see him.
He slowly passed his hand before her eyes. The dull black orbs didn't follow his movements. He leaned closer to hear her words.
"Alexander, I must confess my sins afore I go to meet God. Ye didna bed me. I made it look so to win your heart. And I have wronged yer brother and yer wife. Naught that I told ye was true." She coughed and a trickle of blood ran sluggishly from the corner of her pale lips. "I sent Lady MacGregor the message telling her to meet ye at Ironwood. She and yer brother traveled there. But they arena lovers. The sheet… 'twas sheep's blood."
Alexander's chest knotted. "My God, lass, why did you do it?"
Her voice was a mere whisper now. "A stranger paid me to help him find her. He said he was her true da. Come to take her back to France. I thought if she were gone, ye would grow to love me. I… uhhhhh."
Fiona's last breath rattled in her throat. Her eyes stared vacantly and she lay silent in his arms.
He reached out and gently closed her eyes. "Oh, lass, I did love you. But as a man loves a sister. Forgive me for not realizing you didn't understand." Bowing his head, he kissed her pale cheek. "I vow to you, Fiona, I will avenge you." A lump tightened in his throat and his chest burned with fury. Fiona was dead. Katherine abducted. Who was this stranger Fiona had spoken of? Angus Gordon was Katherine's sire. What did the Frenchman want with her?
Looking up, he shouted, his voice carrying through the trees. The murderer might still be near. God, let his words bring the swine running at him. Gladly would he kill him here and now. His men hurried over from all directions. Silently, one relieved him of his burden. Alexander rose stiffly as the weight of his guilt pressed down on him. He was responsible for this. He should have known. He should have done so many things differently.
Walking away from them into the deepest portion of the thicket, he scanned the area. A small ravine partially filled with rocks and tree branches ran through one end. He walked over to it, knelt on the ground and began to pull the branches from it. His men followed. While one man held Fiona's body, the rest wordlessly joined him in clearing the sunken patch of ground.
When the area lay empty, he looked up at the somber group of men. Guilt and pain made it difficult to meet their gaze. He forced himself to stand straight and spoke quietly. "We will bury her here and use the stones to cover the grave. I won't have some forest beast disturbing her rest." He walked forward and held out his arms. "Give her to me."
Carrying her body, he returned to the grave. Dropping to his knees, he lowered her gently into the opening. A spatter of dirt broke loose and tumbled in, covering part of her shawl. God, he had used the same one to quiet Tursachan during the storm.
He knelt unmoving beside her for a moment. Then he scooped up a large handful of dirt and let it fall through his fingers onto her skirt. He couldn't put it on her face. Leaning down, he pulled the shawl over her head.
Malcolm rode up and dismounted, his expression grim. One man glanced in hi
s direction and then at Alexander. "We will finish while ye speak to him."
Silently, he nodded and walked away. The sounds of dirt and rocks being pushed back into the ravine dogged his steps as he faced his man-at-arms. His heart plummeted at the older man's expression. "Did you find anything?'
"Aye, hoof prints lead away from here. I followed to a stream in the hills, but the tracks ended there and I couldna find them again."
Alexander quickly told Malcolm of Fiona's confession. "The bastards will need a ship. Where is the nearest port from here?"
"Kirkcaldy is closest. From the direction they were goin', I vow 'tis where they're headed."
"Then we will follow." Alexander bent, lifted a large rock and turned. He walked back to the covered grave and placed his burden on the top. The rain began to fall softly.
His men remained still and silent for a moment before they drifted back to stand beside their horses. He stood alone by her grave. 'Twas time to say farewell. Kneeling, he spoke quietly. "Fiona, I swear to you, I will slay the man who did this and bring Katherine back. You will not be sent from Heaven's gates. I will make aught aright."
Pulling his dirk from its sheath, he held out his left hand and sliced the blade across his palm. The stinging throb of his flesh echoed the painful pounding in his heart. As the blood welled up, he clenched his fist and held it out over the cairn. The warm sticky fluid coated his palm, ran between his clenched fingers, and dripped on the stones. The red blood mingled with the gentle rain, christening the grave. "God keep you, little sister."
Standing, he ripped the left sleeve from his shirt, wound it around his hand and strode to his horse. Mounting, he looked at his men and raised his broadsword into the air. "Men of MacGregor, Lady Katherine has been taken by the bastard who did this. We go to avenge our own!"
Thundering hooves shattered the quiet of the thicket and echoed from the rocks. The sounds reverberated in his head as he and his men rode off. He would find Katherine. He must.
**
The port city of Kirkcaldy was little more than a small fishing village. It boasted of one inn, which was poor by most standards. Half a dozen cottages and crofts dotted the single road through town.
An angry boy chased a dog across the muddy street. The fleeing animal clenched a mutton joint tightly in its teeth. "Come back here, ye devil! 'Tis our supper ye're stealin'."
A wrinkled old woman, covered with a faded shawl, sat in front of a small stone cottage, shelling dried beans into a cracked clay bowl. A few straggly chickens stirred the dust at her feet for hulls and an occasional bean that dropped to the ground.
Alexander jumped from his saddle, barely waiting for Tursachan's hooves to stop. The startled chickens squawked in alarm and scattered in every direction. "Good day to you mistress. Do you know where a ship can be found which could sail for France immediately?"
She looked up. Obvious surprise etched her aged face. "Fie, milord, this be a poor village. We have no ships to sail such a long voyage. Edinburgh is where ye need travel to find such a one. Mind ye, 'twas a ship such as ye seek, anchored here fer a wee time, but it left on the mornin' tide. 'Twas strange, fer it nay bartered any wares. It but took on a few passengers and left."
His heart pounded painfully. "Good woman, do you know where they were bound?"
"No, milord. But mayhap someone at the dock would ken." She lifted her blue veined hand and pointed further down the road, toward a dilapidated pier that stood at the edge of the shore.
He followed her gaze and nodded. "Thank you."
Pressing several shillings into her hand, he turned, mounted his horse, and called out to his men to follow.
A thin, wiry man, with wrinkled skin like cracked leather, sat cross-legged on the crudely built dock, mending his fishing net. The man looked up as they rode into view, apparently startled by the sound of the riders. His countenance seemed to grow leery the closer they approached.
As Alexander dismounted and walked onto the dock, the fisherman stood and called out in a surly tone. "What do ye want? If ye be lookin' fer that other high an' mighty one, he is already gone. Be ye friends o' his?"
Alexander frowned. "No, we are not friends. What was the name of the man whose ship sailed from here this morn, and where was it bound?"
Apparent suspicion hardened the fisherman's expression. "Och, I didna ask the mon's history. All I ken is he was here fer a wee time an' he didna like anyone aboot his ship. He was sharp spoken to any who asked aught o' him. Now, leave me be. I have better things to do than stand here an' answer a lot o' fool questions aboot that stranger."
Frustration and fear for Katherine drove Alexander into action. In one swift move, he vaulted to the man's side and grabbed him by the front of his worn shirt. "Before God, I will give you reason to answer me. I seek a French bastard who has stolen my wife and killed one of my clan. If you know aught, you best tell me now, or I swear, I will run you through!" With his free hand, he drew his dirk from its sheath and held it menacingly close to the unfriendly villager.
The man's face paled and he stuttered. "Mer… mercy, me lord! I beg yer pardon! I thought ye to be in league wi' the mon ye seek. He's a thievin' devil an' caused naught but trouble whilst he was here."
Alexander tightened his hold. "Tell me his name."
The man swallowed visibly. "The name o' the mon ye seek is Duke Ja Bier. He an' a tinker left on the mornin' tide wi' a young lass who was poorly. She had to be carried on board the ship, she did."
Alexander's eyes narrowed and he spoke quickly. "What did the lass look like? Did she speak to you?"
"Fair haired she was. I didna see her but fer a moment, m'lord, an' she didna speak. She had fainted."
Alexander brought the tip of his dirk up to touch the man's throat. "God's blood! Did you just stand there and do nothing to aid her?"
The fisherman attempted to shake his head, but was hampered by the sharp blade. "I offered to fetch me missus to see to the lass, but the duke would have none o' it. He said the lass was his daughter an' needed nay help from no heathen Scot."
Alexander continued to hold his dirk in sight but released his hold on the man's shirt in disgust. "Who was the other man with her?"
Color slowly crept back into the fisherman's face. He took a deep breath. "I heard the tinker called Jules by the duke. 'Tis a passin' strange name fer a Scot tinker, I trow."
"What was the name of the duke's ship and where was it bound?"
The man shrugged. "I saw the ship, but I canna read. I heard tell its name be the Trompeur, m'lord. I dinna ken where it be bound. The ship's captain stayed at the inn." As if no longer worried by the intense look in Alexander's eyes, the fisherman's voice took on a whining tone. "If ye be in need o' a ship to sail sae far, mayhap I could find ye one. Fer a price. I need to earn a wee bit fer me trouble."
Alexander bent low until their faces all but touched. Scorn dripped from his words. "You are more in need of honor and a backbone for you possess little of either. I will seek my own ship."
The sand crunched beneath his feet as he strode back to his men. Climbing back into his saddle, he scanned the horizon, longing for the sight of sails. Sea birds flew through the cloud dotted sky. Their raucous cry pierced the air. Wave after wave rolled across the ocean and ran foaming up on the beach. There was nothing else, only empty endless sea.
The emptiness settled in his heart. He would never feel whole again without her. He must find her. He would find her. Without speaking, he nudged Tursachan into a canter across the crisp sand toward the small inn, his men following behind. 'Twas little more than a small thatched roof cottage. Not many visitors came this way, by the looks of it. Calling to his men to dismount, he entered the cottage, followed by Malcolm.
The inside of the cottage was sparsely furnished. While their feet did not kick up clouds of dust from the packed dirt floor as they did the dusty road outside, the dwelling held little better comfort.
Alexander eyed a worn table that stood in the middl
e of the room. The rickety wooden benches on either side of it looked none too sturdy. He chose to remain standing. A large woven screen of twigs and thatch stood at the far end of the room. He looked at his man-at-arms and silently nodded in the direction of the partition.
Resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, Malcolm walked over and peered behind it. Returning to Alexander's side, he shook his head. "'Tis naught but a wall to hide two empty beds. 'Twould seem they are the best the inn has to offer."
A raggedly dressed old woman hurried through the doorway, her arms laden with chunks of peat and a few pieces of driftwood.
Alexander met her and relieved her of her burden. "Good day to you, mistress. You shouldna have to carry such a heavy load."
"Thank ye, m'lord."
Walking to the hearth, he laid the bundle down, stirred up the coals with a piece of driftwood and glanced at the frail woman.
She stood, still bent, as if years of hard labor had twisted her bones, making it impossible for her to stand straight. Her thin form was covered in the poorest of clothes and her feet were bare.
"My name is Alexander MacGregor, Laird of Ironwood. I seek to know of the ship that left for France this morn. Do you know where it was bound or the name of its captain?"
"Aye, Laird MacGregor, I do ken." She walked over and stirred the contents of a pot set within the stone fireplace. As she spoke, she glanced at him and then back to the fire.
Although the chimney was built of rock, its chinking was badly cracked and an occasional stray spark fell through to sputter out on the dirt floor.
The old woman craned her neck as she looked up. "The ship is bound fer a place named Wimereux, on the north coast of France, if ye can believe what the thievin' captain said." She raised a boney hand, curling it into a fist. "And I ken well his name. He left me inn with nay payin' fer his lodgins'. The reiver's name be Jennert. Devil take him! He spoke our tongue, but he be nay true Scot. We Scots always pay our debts!"
Highlander's Bride (Heart of the Highlander Series Book 1) Page 27
