by Mary Wine
“If ye truly wish to wed again, ye’ll have to be more cunning than those who seek to capture ye,” Deirdre instructed her firmly. “Fortune will favor the bold.”
The queen suddenly straightened her sagging back, lifting her chin high. “I believe I shall hope that you choose to serve me, Deirdre Chattan, for I sense you have the will to tell me the truth, even when you know I do not wish to hear it.” Her attendants looked hurt, and she sent them both smiles of reassurance before turning back toward Deirdre. “I believe you will complement my ladies by bringing something new. Sternness is needed in times such as this. We shall depart as you suggest.”
Deirdre felt her throat tighten, but she refused to falter. She turned and walked toward the wall where several long cloaks hung from wooden pegs. Her hand shook slightly as she reached for one, and she wasn’t sure if the reason was fear or excitement. The fabric felt rough between her fingers, but she smiled as she considered the fact that she would not be sealed behind the closed doors and shutters of the abbey all night long.
It seemed like each night had lasted twice as long, now that she was contemplating riding away into the darkness. Many would call her wicked, and maybe she was. The way her body had leaped to life beneath the touch of Quinton Cameron wasn’t pious. That was a solid truth.
She swung the cloak about so the heavy garment would swirl up and around her body. A simple length of fabric crossed over from the right to the left side of it and was held there with a button made from a slice of antler horn. The wool was rough and worn, but sturdy enough to cut the chill of the Scottish Highlands.
Deirdre turned her attention away from the row of cloaks hanging so silently in the dark. They all looked alike, each one the same as the one next to it. Just like the women who wore them. Deirdre admired their dedication, but she admitted she did not long to serve humbly for the rest of her years. She yearned for something she could not name. The only thing she was certain of was that she would never be happy inside the abbey walls the way Kaie was. Perhaps she would have learned to find contentment in time and gratitude to have shelter from the snow, but she would never commune with the church the way her sister did.
It was that knowledge that sent her back across the floor, along with the hard truth that there was happiness in life, if you managed to find it. She intended to try.
“Aren’t you going to fetch your things, Deirdre?” One of the ladies asked the question.
Deirdre lifted the bar again and sat it beside the door before answering. The lump had re-formed in her throat, and she had to swallow it before she might speak.
“No one here owns anything.” She turned to look at the queen. “I offer ye my service in exchange for yer keeping yer word. I come with nothing but my wits and courage. Even the clothing upon me is the property of the church. If ye wish to change yer mind, now is the time to tell me.”
“I have not changed my mind. If you will wear my clothing and ride across the road in plain sight to trick my pursuers, then we have an agreement that I shall honor without fail.”
The night was black beyond the doorway, but Deirdre found it as welcoming as spring.
Two
The queen and her ladies were obviously not accustomed to being outdoors past sunset. In spite of the thick clouds overhead dropping tiny raindrops on them, Deirdre could tell what direction to go by looking at the landforms. But her companions hung back, reluctant to stray far from the solid stone walls of the abbey. Deirdre had to stop and look back at them. The three stood beneath the arched doorway, their eyes wide and reflecting the meager light. They crowded close about the queen, and it was Joan who finally stepped forward. Deirdre heard the woman pull in a stiff breath before snapping her fingers to get her ladies moving.
Deirdre lifted one finger to her lips to caution Joan against making any noise. The queen stiffened and nodded before she reached down and grabbed a handful of her skirts so she might raise her hem.
Deirdre had no such problem with the length of her robes. They were hemmed far enough above her shoes to allow for her chores. The queen was dressed in ones that hid her shoes, and there was even a train trailing behind her. It would be simple to see she was a noblewoman, even in the dark when there wasn’t enough light to see the rich fabric or the tiny pearls sewn to the trimming at the neckline.
“We must find my escort.”
Deirdre nodded without breaking pace. The queen reached out and gripped her arm.
“How do you know where to find my men?” she asked.
Deirdre turned to face her so her words might carry the least amount. “They would have sought cover, and the forest is the best in this area.” Lifting one hand, Deirdre pointed toward a thicket.
“Oh…yes…of course.”
“We must make haste,” Deirdre informed her hesitating companions.
“Why? It’s black as sin out here.”
Deirdre shook her head. “Highlanders have no fear of the night. I assure ye, if the Camerons are anywhere near, they will see us standing here in the open. With horses, they will run us down like rabbits.”
A shiver went down her back as she considered being caught by Quinton with darkness wrapped around her. There was no doubt in her mind that the man might abandon every bit of civilized behavior when it meant gaining what he desired.
Another ripple of sensation traveled down her body as she considered what it was the man desired. His eyes had been full of passion. She’d listened to poems that spoke of that sort of thing, and never truly believed a person might see such a thing in another, but she had. But that was where her comparison between sweet, rhyming couplets and Quinton Cameron ended.
The man was no gallant knight, full of honor and chivalry. He was a Highlander, solid and sturdy. He’d do whatever it took to achieve his goal, and the man was very much at home in the wilds of upper Scotland. In fact, he thrived in the remote places that the English feared and even the Roman legion had failed to conquer.
Deirdre cast her gaze about, peering into the darker shadows as she tried to decide if there was anyone hiding in them.
“Hurry,” she whispered, but there was no masking the urgency in her tone.
“Yes… we shall.”
The queen tripped when she took her first step, because she forgot to lift her hem. She stumbled and snapped a stick lying on the ground. The pop of the wood made Deirdre flinch, for it sounded too loud compared to the quiet of the night. Her ears were straining to hear even the most distant rumble of horses. Her own breathing sounded harsh, while her heart was thumping too hard.
Deirdre drew in a slow breath to steady herself. She led the others forward, then sighed when they reached the first trees. It felt as good as entering the kitchen after being outside during the dead of winter. The dark branches with their newly grown leaves were as welcoming as a mother’s arms. She pushed her way deeper into their comforting shelter, still listening to every sound in dread.
The faintest whispers touched her ears. Deirdre froze and bent her knees to lower herself to the forest floor. The night wind slapped the leaves against one another, but it also carried the unmistakable sound of human conversation.
The queen held her tongue for once, and Deirdre turned to discover the woman sealing her lips with one of her hands pressed tightly over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear as she hunched down behind her.
It was a wonder the woman had not been captured. She had determination, but little skill when it came to crossing the land. Deirdre eased forward, watching the ground to keep from placing her feet on fallen branches that would be brittle. They moved closer, and the sounds continued, becoming clearer.
“There are my men.” Joan stood up straight. “I know their voices well.”
Deirdre reached up and pulled the queen back down with a sharp tug. “Yer grace, those seeking ye would nae bother yer men if ye were no’ among them but instead sit back and wait to see if ye appeared.”
“Oh God. You are correct.” Joan stifled a whi
mper with her hand. “I am ignorant of how men hunt other men.”
Deirdre was not trained in the art of warfare either, but she had listened to a great deal of boasting by the fireside. She doubted such conversation was common at court, though.
“Do nae fear until we have a reason to. The Camerons rode out quickly when their search of the abbey failed to discover ye hiding there,” Deirdre instructed her. “If we frighten ourselves into whimpering like children, it is certain we shall be captured.”
“Wise words, Deirdre Chattan.” Joan leaned close so her words did not drift. “Are you sure your father didn’t think you a son? You seem to have the knowledge of a Highlander.”
“I was raised as a woman. I assure ye, madam.” Deirdre smiled as she considered the nights in the great hall of Chattan Castle with her father’s retainers all talking over their mugs of ale. “Men talk while the ale flows, and they seem to forget we women are the ones serving their tables.”
The queen snorted. “It is the same at court. Those arrogant lords all think to keep us in our place by insisting we serve their fine suppers, but they never stop to consider what is falling from their lips while we shuffle so meekly behind their tables. I wonder why they believe we are struck with deafness whenever it will suit their purpose. More likely, they simply consider us too timid to take action when needed.”
Each word dripped scorn. Deirdre held her thoughts and kept her lips sealed, but she couldn’t help noticing that the queen was far angrier than she. Perhaps there was hope in that bit of knowledge. Or at least there might be hope in knowing they were both intent on doing something to change the facts that upset them so much.
But the world often wasn’t fair, and reality didn’t care who was content with their lot. Their actions might be admired during fireside tales, but during the bright light of day, there would no doubt be harsh consequences.
“I was raised a proper daughter, but I’d think there is a difference in the manner in which women are reared in the Highlands.”
The queen let out a soft, silvery laugh. “Aye, Deirdre Chattan, there is. One I am grateful for, I assure you.” Joan snorted as she discovered herself caught by a branch. Deirdre reached out and gently swept it aside. “You were taught to survive against the harsh land, just as I learned to navigate the hostile environment of court.”
Deirdre held those words close to her heart. She was risking a great deal to help the queen, but she had made her choice. They moved closer, but the queen and her ladies did not have any skill when it came to masking their steps. The men stopped talking, their eyes scanning the trees around them. There was no fire, evidence that they were indeed trying to avoid capture.
One of them drew his sword.
“It is I, Sir Richard.”
The knight peered in the direction of the queen’s voice. She moved forward, but Deirdre hung back. She didn’t trust the night. It could conceal those waiting to capture the queen so easily.
“My lady, you should be safe behind the door of the abbey.”
The knight offered his queen a courtesy while the others gained their feet and followed his example.
“But worry not, Sir Richard. Going to the abbey has gained us the advantage.”
“How so, my lady?” The man fitted his sword back into the scabbard that hung from his hip. The Highlanders wore their swords across their backs, and the difference made Deirdre hesitate.
“I’ve discovered someone who will help us escape those who seek me.”
The queen turned toward her. Deirdre drew in a stiff breath to banish the reluctance holding her back. A tiny voice in the back of her head warned her to turn and return to the abbey, but her pride refused to let her abandon her course. She stepped forward, and the knights considered her through narrowed eyes. Bathed in darkness, the moment felt slightly surreal, as though she might be only dreaming of escaping from the dawn that would rouse her to another day of serving at the abbey.
That stiffened her resolve.
“I suggest we trade clothing now, before anyone sees us.”
The queen’s men stepped in front of her, surprising her with how abruptly they abandoned their polished manners. One of the knights actually hooked his hand around her forearm and sent her stumbling in order to stand between them.
“This woman is a Highlander.”
“I know it well.” Joan insisted, “She is exactly what we need, for her knowledge of this land will help us succeed in avoiding those who seek me.”
The queen tried to cross in front of her guard, but they refused to let her. Sir Richard extended one of his arms straight out to keep the queen where he felt she was best protected. Joan didn’t care for his insistence. Deirdre lifted her chin and sent a hard look back at the queen’s escort. She’d made her choice, and no one was going to stop her from achieving a place that would honor her father.
“I bid her join us.” The queen informed him.
The knight frowned but lowered his arm.
“You cannot see it, but she favors me. Our hair is the same shade, and our features similar. She has agreed to be a decoy so we may make our way while those looking for us follow her.”
The men all lost their brooding expressions. Several nodded, even Sir Richard. “That’s exactly what we need, madam. A brilliant idea.”
The queen smiled. “You see? God is favoring us. We shall succeed, I am sure of it.”
“Not if we do nae stop talking,” Deirdre informed them all. She closed the distance between them and lowered her voice. “I assure ye my Highlander kin will have no trouble discovering where we are if we continue to speak. We need to exchange clothing, and yer ladies should discard their fine overrobes too.”
“Aye. That is true. The Highlanders know their land well, and those courtly robes are out of place here,” Sir Richard agreed. He raised a hand and pointed at one of the other knights. He pointed toward the forest, and the man seemed instantly to know what to do. He turned to the queen and laid one finger against his lips. Joan didn’t look pleased, but she did remain silent.
The wind was still rustling the new spring leaves. Somewhere an owl cried out as it hunted. Deirdre listened for that cry again, for many of the Highland clans used birdcalls to communicate in the dark. Steps came softly through the trees, and she stepped back, but Sir Richard shook his head.
Men came through the trees, but their swords hung from their hips, confirming they were English. She was shocked, because she had never once thought to be grateful to see the English instead of her own countrymen.
Men continued to appear until there were a good thirty of them. Sir Richard raised his hand and made several signals that sent the men back into the forest. He gestured her forward as the queen turned and followed her escort. The knights cleared the branches from Joan Beaufort’s path as they crept through the dark. Deirdre suppressed the urge to laugh, because she had never encountered a woman who needed such pampering.
Deirdre heard the horses before she saw them in the darkness. The English knight was wise to have the animals resting away from his men. Horses made noise, after all, for the creatures didn’t understand the struggles their masters engaged in.
The queen turned and gestured Deirdre forward. Her two ladies were already pulling on the straps of some sort of bundle secured to the back of one horse. The animal was being used to carry only bundles, and that brought a frown to her lips. Such baggage would slow them down, as well as announce the fact that they were most likely noble. The Highlanders traveled light and often by night. That fact accounted for their ability to surprise their enemies. It was a skill boys learned young and men had perfected by the time they were old enough to be called Highlanders.
The ladies shook out clothing. There wasn’t enough light to see the color, but when Deirdre reached out to touch the overrobe, she sucked in her breath with surprise. The fabric was as soft as a baby’s head. It was plush too, telling her that it was velvet. There had only been a few pieces of such finery at Chattan C
astle, but she had enjoyed sneaking a few chances to finger the expensive cloth when no one was about to smack her hand.
The lady tossed the gown over a nearby rock, making Deirdre gasp to see such a costly item treated so causally.
“It’s an old one our mistress doesn’t care very much for.”
The woman whispered her words as she began to pull the headdress off Deirdre’s head. Both ladies knew their duties well, for they disrobed her without any hesitation, with smooth and even motions. The knights remained on the opposite side of the horses, but Deirdre still wrapped her arms around her bare body. The night air raised her nipples into hard points, and she shivered, standing in only her stockings and boots.
But one attendant knelt and began to work the leather lace that was woven between the antler-horn buttons loose so the sides of her boots separated.
An image of Quinton Cameron sweeping down on them sent a flood of urgency through her. She didn’t trust for one moment that the man was satisfied with his search of the abbey.
A memory of the look in his eyes made her knees quiver.
She bit her own lip in frustration. It was ridiculous to respond to only a memory. He was a man seeking his own rewards, and that was all. She had sampled what men did with women once they had sated their desires. It would be wise to recall just how painful it had been to have her affections ground beneath the boot heel of the man she’d risked everything to have.
The queen’s attendants began to dress her as quickly as they had disrobed her. Stockings were gently rolled so she had only to point her toe and slip her foot into them. They were smooth and soft, not even a hint of rough wool. The women eased her feet into dainty slippers tied with ribbons. Deirdre frowned at them. Satin slippers would see her toes freezing in the Highlands. They also lacked any sort of good sole. She could feel every rock and stick through their thin fabric.
