Reagan kicked her horse up directly next to Gavin's, leaving Isaac slightly behind the pair of them, so they could speak with a semblance of privacy. “It's a grand day for a hunt,” she said.
“Aye, it is,” Gavin replied.
“A grand day for many things.”
“Aye.”
Reagan had a small grin on her lips. “Ye spoke tae ma brother last night,” she said.
“Did he tell ye?” Gavin asked.
“A woman kens these things,” Reagan replied. “I assume he said ye need his permission tae court me.”
Gavin nodded.
“Prove yer worth on this hunt today and I can guarantee he'll say aye.”
“I think it might be yer brother who will win the day.”
“Nae if I hae anything tae say about it,” Reagan said. Her smirk was positively devilish. Gavin laughed and shook his head as she fell back in line with Isaac. What a lass, Gavin thought.
***
Hunting, as a rule, required a lot of waiting. There were signs aplenty, and obvious as well, but the stag seemed to have a rather large head start on the group. Growing frustrated and hungry, Gavin called a stop for an early lunch.
“There's a clearing just up ahead,” he said, and the news was passed down along the line.
Gavin directed them towards where the woods thinned and there would be enough room for the horses to be hobbled and everyone to sit and eat and stretch their legs. The servants had packed cheese and bread and a hunk of haggis to share, along with skins of wine. Gavin made his way to the MacGregor siblings with food and drink in his hands. Isaac wandered off before Gavin reached them, likely to have a piss, leaving Gavin to approach his sister alone.
Reagan was stroking the nose of her horse and feeding it treats from a pocket in her skirts. Her hair had been tied up for the hunt, and a hat to match her jacket helped pin it in place. Her full lips curled into a smile when Gavin sidled up next to her and offered her the wine. Reagan took the skin with a quiet thanks, her fingers brushing against his, and lifted it to her mouth.
“This stag is proving elusive,” he said in an attempt to make conversation.
“Aye,” Reagan replied, “but we'll catch him before the day is out. I hinnae doubt of that.”
“Ye're verra confident.”
“Dinna men like confidence in a woman?” Reagan asked, her voice almost coy.
“This man does,” Gavin said, just before Isaac joined them.
He took the wineskin from his sister's hands and threw his head back to drink from it before clapping Gavin on the shoulder.
“We're drawing close,” he said. “The tracks are getting fresher. By ma reckonin’ we’ll be on the beast in the next two hours or so.” He looked at Gavin. “Then we'll see what kind of man the formerly cursed Loudain child is, and if he is truly worthy of ma sister.” The three of them shared a laugh at that. Gavin's heart beat fiercely when Reagan smiled at him.
“He’s a braw laddie, brother mine,” she said, “whether or not he passes yer wee test. Now stop yer posturing so we can eat. I'm famished, and it's nae good hunting on an empty stomach.”
True to Isaac's word they found the stag an hour's ride west, picking its way through the foliage on the forest floor. At the hound master's command, the dogs were released, howling and yipping and driving the stag onward. Gavin whooped and led the charge. The riders towards the back spread out to flank the stag and drive help drive him back towards the dogs and pursuing hunters. Musket loaded and ready, Gavin looked for glimpses of the stag between the trees. He knew where the beast was being herded, up against the face of a crag where it would be pinned and could be shot without any worries of injuries to the hunting party. Gavin could hear nothing more than the sounds of the dogs barking and the thud of his horse's hooves, and the rush of his heart in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Reagan, her dark hair coming loose from its pins and catching on her shoulders. She looked wild and free, like a princess out of a storybook; a true born highland lass.
They had the stag trapped. The beast lowered his head and brandished his antlers, lowing threateningly as the dogs yipped and danced around, snarling and growling.
“Take the shot!” Isaac shouted. “This prize should belong tae ye.”
Controlling his horse with his knees, Gavin brought his musket up to bear. The stag swung his head about, but there was no escape for him. Gavin's shot was clean and quick and the beast crumpled with a low cry. The hunters cheered and descended on the body, the hound master using sharp whistles and calls to keep the dogs in check. Gavin felt himself grinning broadly, his cheeks hurting from it. Isaac pulled his horse up and slapped Gavin hard on the back.
“A brilliant hit!” he declared. “If ma sister will hae ye, she’s yers tae pursue.”
“I'm nae some prize tae be chased after,” came Reagan's voice from behind them, “but if Lord Loudain is presenting his suit, far be it for me tae refuse.” Her eyes had a wild glint to them, dark and fierce, and her smile was cocky and confident. Gavin grinned at her, forgetting for a moment the men around them, seeing nothing but her, sitting tall on her horse.
"It would be ma honor," he said. "And ma deepest pleasure, tae secure such a bond with the MacGregor's."
"Weel, sister?" Isaac asked. "Our wee lord has made his intentions kent. What is yer answer."
"Aye," Reagan said. "It’s aye."
"Then it’s settled then!" Isaac declared. "I ken that we must leave on the morrow, for we wouldn't wish tae trespass upon yer hospitality for longer than needs must, but tonight, I say, we feast!"
His cry brought an echo from the hunting party. Gavin reached for Reagan's hand, and pressed his lips gently to the back of it. They rode side by side at the head of the party back to the manor. A handful more kills were scored along the way, two rabbits and a fat pheasant. It would be quite the feast that night, with so much meat to go around. How silly his parents had been to believe foolish words from foolish old hags.
Gavin glanced back down the line, catching glimpses of the stag and the other game, tied up and ready to be properly butchered back at the house. The cooks would have their hands full that night.
"Ye ken," Reagan said to him, softly, "I would hae found me a way even if ma brother had said nae. Our souls are meant tae be, and I ken ye feel it as weel as I."
"It canna be described," Gavin replied. "Nae in words I ken. But aye, I feel it, and I'd hae found a way as weel. Brother or no."
Reagan's laugh was as sweet as a bird song.
*****
The feast was nothing short of magnificent. It may have been ever better than the first. It was the last night his guests would be staying after all, and no expenses were to be spared. Gavin himself got positively rip-roaring drunk, but even as intoxicated as he was he still didn't slur his words when he asked Reagan for a dance.
She smelled of perfume and wine, and pressed her cheek to his as they twirled about the floor. Her pupils were large and dark, consuming almost all of the blue of her eyes. She must have drunk a considerable amount as well. They weren't the only two. Practically everyone in the room was tipsy at least, if not more, and no one was paying any attention to the two of them.
“Take a walk with me,” Gavin asked, spinning them slowly towards a door.
“Happily so,” Reagan replied.
Their dancing took them to the edge of the floor and they slipped away from the music and laughter into a candlelit hall. The noise grew dim as they walked, Reagan's fingers sliding between Gavin's. Gavin had no untoward intentions, simply a desire to be alone with the woman his soul was so drawn to, like the constant tugging of a string wrapped round his middle. They passed a sitting room, and Gavin drew Reagan inside, shutting the door behind them.
“Wine?” he asked, crossing the room to the liquor cabinet in the corner. A fire had been lit, and the room was warm and bright.
“Please,” Reagan replied, and settled herself in a chair.
Gavin poure
d two glasses half full of the first bottle he grabbed and went to join her. She thanked him softly and took a polite sip. Gavin dragged the free chair closer to her and settled with a sigh, letting his eyes close. A small smile lifted his lips. He could feel the heat of the fire and hear the crackling of the wood, and there was a beautiful woman sitting at his side. Life couldn't get any better.
Until he found himself with Reagan in his lap, her wine discarded, and her soft lips pressing a kiss to his brow. Gavin said nothing. There was no one to see, and even if there were, what did it matter? He had announced his intent to court her in front of half of his guests, and he had no desire to take back his word.
“Ye will hae tae come and visit us,” Reagan said. “In fact, ye must call upon me often, now that we are courting.”
“I shall come every day,” Gavin replied.
Reagan let out a low, throaty chuckle and tipped his head back with two slender fingers beneath his chin. “Ye had best be wary, though, ma laird,” she said. “Perhaps I'm a witch like those out on the moors, come tae steal yer spirit away.”
“It’s a deed already done,” Gavin replied. “I'm afraid I'll feel only half myself away from ye.”
Reagan's expression softened, all traces of jest gone. She leaned in, pausing for the space of a breath before she touched her lips to his. Gavin curled his arm around her waist, following her lead, letting her hands touch his hair, and jaws, and shoulders. Her tongue brushed his upper lip, gentle as a spring breeze. Gavin met it with his own, tasting the wine she had drunk, and something beneath it that was just her. Gavin wanted to drink her up like he had the whiskey at dinner.
“Isna it funny how life can bring two souls together?” Reagan asked against his lips. “Tae think we wouldn't hae met unless yer father died.”
“I'm sure we would hae,” Gavin said with a smile. “On some grand hunt.” He paused and ran his fingers up Reagan's spine, through the thick, sturdy wool of her dress. Even with the fabric separating their skin, he could still feel her warmth. “I will be sad tae see ye go. Ye will be safe on yer journey, aye?”
“Of course,” Reagan replied. “Ye needn't worry, Gavin. Ma brother would never let anything happen tae me.”
Gavin smiled at her again, but couldn't help the knot of worry growing in his stomach. The quickest way back to MacGregor lands ran through the moors, the same ones where it had been said that Gavin would meet his death. Reagan left him sitting there with a final, lingering kiss, staring into the fire and contemplating the meaning of fate.
***
Gavin was awake to see his guests off despite the pounding in his head. Gregory brought him tea and helped him to dress and shave and generally make sure he was presentable before Gavin went down to the main hall to say his goodbyes. Isaac and Reagan were among the first to leave, much to Gavin's disappointment. Isaac firmly shook his hand and Reagan chastely kissed his cheek. Gavin raised his hand to them in farewell and watched their carriage fade to a tiny speck on the horizon. The manor felt empty with friends and family gone, but the quiet, at least, was refreshing.
While there was work to be done, Gavin ignored it in favor of more personal pursuits. Being kept under close watch during his childhood had given him a love for reading that adulthood and his abrupt freedom had failed to oppress. Several cups of tea specially made for him helped to keep his headache at bay. He was in his father's library, his library now, a quarter of the way through an old novel when a bit of servant gossip caught his ear and set his heart to racing.
“-in the town talkin' bout outlaws bein' up round the moors,” came a male voice, slipping through the partly opened door. “'N nae like the good rebel kinds, neither. Some nasty types. Bunch 'o men that got out of prison, been making a menace of themselves down south. Guess they're headin' up here now.”
“So long as they keep away from here, I dinnae give a lick-”
Gavin's gaze darted to the clock on the mantle. It had been hours since the MacGregor's and their accompanying household had left. So long as they kept up a steady pace, and with the weather so fine there was no reason for them not to, they would be deep into the moors now. Their coach, laden as it was with rich clothes and valuable jewels, would make a tempting target for any band of outlaws, especially ones who believed they had the upper hand.
Gavin was out of his seat before he could even fully process what he was doing, running down the halls past startled servants and into the manor's modest armory, a small room near to the cellar where arms and powder were stored. He fetched his musket and sword, and pouch of paper cartridges and slipped out into the kitchens and then through the back door, shouting for someone to bring him a horse. He must have looked a sight, for no one questioned his orders, only hopped to carry them out. Perhaps it was nothing, and there was no true danger, but Gavin would rather look a fool than let any harm befall Reagan and her brother if there was something he could do to prevent it.
“Ye!” he shouted, pointing to one of his servants, Peter, who was a particularly good shot with a musket. “Arm yersel and come with me.”
“Sir?” Peter asked.
“Just get ye going, lad!” Gavin shouted. “Now!”
“Aye, sir!”
By the time Peter came back with his musket and pistol in hand, two horses had been saddled and were ready. Gavin's beast shifted uneasily beneath him, sensing its master's tension. Peter nodded to show he was ready and Gavin put his heels to his horse's flanks, pushing the beast into a canter off towards the moors with Peter riding hard at his back. His head raced with a dozen thoughts, and none of them were pleasant. Reagan may have had her brother, but they had brought only house servants with them, and few at that. While Gavin didn't doubt that Reagan and Isaac could defend themselves, it would only do so much against a group that outnumbered them. There was always a chance that no danger would find them, but Gavin wasn't willing to take that risk.
Soon the moors spread out before them, low and swampy, the road a winding trail through the safest parts to cross. Gavin reined in his mount, giving the horse a much needed minute to catch its breath, while he stood in the stirrups and scanned the area, looking for any sign of the MacGregor's coach or foul play in the form of bandits.
“They must be further along,” he said to Peter.
“Who, sir?” Peter asked. “Ye never told me why we be ridin' like the devil 'imself is chasin' us.”
“Prowling outlaws,” Gavin replied. “This is the road the MacGregor's are taking back tae their home. I must warn them, if naught else.”
“Aye, sir,” Peter replied. “As ye say.”
What Gavin didn't say was that his heart was racing beneath his ribs, his chest tight with anxiety, his stomach feeling almost sick with it. He was almost sure that something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. He clicked his tongue and urged his horse forward again. He heard Peter follow suit. Tension filled Gavin's body from tip to toe. It made his horse skittish, but his expert hands on the reins kept the beast in check. They trotted down the main road, the both of them keeping an eagle eye out for any indication of trouble.
It was the unmistakable crack of a musket discharge that alerted the two men. Peter's horse reared, nearly throwing the poor lad, its alarmed whinny piercing the sky. Gavin whipped his head in the direction the gunshot had come from, wrestling with his startled horse. He could see white smoke curling into the sky over one of the hills. He snatched up his musket from where it was tied to his saddle and wrenched his horse about, forcing the frightened beast off the road and towards the smoke. Peter, struggling to get his horse under control, did not follow.
Riding straight across the moors was a dangerous path. Any number of invisible ditches could lie in Gavin’s way. There was no way to be sure that his horse wouldn’t stumble into one and break its leg, and throw Gavin off in the process. But he wasn’t about to take the long way round when Reagan’s life could be in danger. As frightened as his horse was, it was well-trained, and followed Gavin’s comman
ds with little resistance. He reached the top of the hill and looked down. The road twisted through the valley, and there, at the side of the dirt and cobbles, was the MacGregor’s coach, surrounded by a party of four men. The shot Gavin and Peter had heard must have been a warning, for Gavin could see no signs of injury or any bodies crumpled on the ground.
He vaulted off of his horse and crouched down amidst the tall grasses. His musket had range, but he only had one shot before he lost the advantage of surprise, and he needed to make it count. His sword and dirk clattered softly in their scabbards as he slid down the side of the hill, the grass scratching at his face and legs. He dropped to one knee at the bottom, surveying his targets carefully.
One was by the carriage door, conversing with either Isaac or Reagan in a voice too soft for Gavin to hear. The other three had their guns trained on the servants and driver, their posture cocky and confident. Gavin brought his musket up to bear and aimed the barrel at the man closest to the MacGregor’s.
“God, dinnae let me miss,” he whispered, and pulled the trigger. The butt of the musket pushed hard against his shoulder and a puff of smoke obscured his view for the longest of seconds. He heard the cries of horses and curses of men, and when the smoke cleared Gavin saw he had made his shot. His target had dropped from the saddle, dead, his horse running out into the moors. The remaining three were searching for the source of the shot. Gavin had to act quickly; he wouldn’t remain unnoticed for long. He slipped a cartridge from the pouch hanging at his waist and loaded it as quickly as he was able, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. He heard another crack and glanced up to see that Isaac had leaned out the window and shot one of the outlaws in the shoulder. The man had dropped his gun. Gavin quickly pointed his musket and fired, the bullet taking the man in the stomach. He crumpled forward over his horse and half slipped from the saddle when the beast startled and ran. Gavin reloaded again, making his way towards the carriage.
The last two outlaws had spotted him now, and he needed cover. The bandits shot, releasing a volley of noise and smoke, but they missed Gavin, though barely. He peered through the grasses, looking for where the men had taken shelter. They had the height of their horses to their advantage, and Gavin was all but a sitting duck out in the open.
The Crime of Protection Page 40
