by Mary Wine
The captain leaned toward her to keep their words from drifting to the others eating nearby.
“We needs inspire talk, madam. Let them think we have so much money that we never bother to count it.”
“As if there is such a person alive.”
He shrugged. “You’ll discover there is, if we achieve our goal.”
Deirdre heard hope in his words, but he turned his back on her, leaving her to eat alone. The moment she was finished, the serving girl appeared to lead her abovestairs. The room the girl took her to was small but clean. It was certainly larger than the cot she had slept on for the last few months at the abbey.
The captain followed her in, sending the girl away with another silver coin.
“Should we stay here?”
The man grunted. “I believe so. It will get the locals talking about you and leave the queen unnoticed.” He scanned the room. “My men and I will be below, but you need to stay here, or no one will think you are anyone important.”
He left while Deirdre was considering his words. She scoffed at the closed door, but that gave her little comfort. Her pride stung, but worse than that, she knew she had no right to be offended, because she wasn’t anyone of importance.
It shouldn’t bother her, and still it did. She sat down on the bed and felt fatigue wrap around her.
Well, there was no reason to waste a good bed. She lay down and closed her eyes, silently praying her fortune might be brighter tomorrow.
***
Fate wasn’t so kind.
Her dreams were filled with dark suspicions. She twisted and opened her eyes, feeling unrested. The room was dark, and the seam where the shutters closed over the window was still black too. But her heart was beating faster than it should have been, and her fingers were curled into the bedding like talons. Her mind was trying to decide why she was so ill at ease, and a moment later she heard the sound of steps on the stairs.
They were soft footfalls, but she sat up, rigid with the knowledge that whoever had been searching for the queen was coming.
Maybe she was panicking, but that didn’t stop her from finding the little slipper shoes where she had left them on the floor. A creak of wood announced that whoever was climbing the steps was closer now. Deirdre felt her heart accelerating, and it became impossible to remain sitting on the bed. She looked around the room, her attention settling on the window. For the first time, she was grateful for the delicate shoes, because they made no noise as she crossed over to the window. She found the latch in the darkness and pushed one side open.
The door to her room began to open, sending panic rushing through her. Deirdre didn’t stop to think about what the queen would have done. She shoved the other shutter out of her way and swung one leg over the opening. Moonlight streamed in, illuminating the kilts worn by the men coming through the doorway.
“Stop right there.”
Deirdre didn’t listen. She sent her body over the edge of the window, controlling her drop to the ground with a hard grip on the windowsill. Her robe fluttered free around her legs, and the crisp night air chilled her, but she didn’t hang there for long. A head appeared above her, and warm hands covered hers.
“Are ye daft, woman?”
Maybe she was, but Deirdre let go, and her fingers slid easily out from beneath the ones that attempted to hold her. She hit the ground, and pain surged through her legs. Her knees failed to hold her, and she crumbled into a ball, rolling over several times. She gasped, dragging huge breaths into her lungs while shiny spots swirled past her eyes.
“Get down there after her, lads!”
Deirdre shook off the pain and scrambled to her feet, but the overlong robes tangled beneath her feet. She stumbled and fell to her knees again. Pain slashed through her once again; this time a moan escaped her lips because she couldn’t stop it.
Such stupid clothing…
She struggled to kick it aside but was suddenly lifted off her knees and set on her feet by two men.
“Here now. Enough of this, lady.”
A lantern was shoved close to her face, the yellow light from the flame sending a tiny pain through her eyes as her night vision died. She could only see things within the circle of light cast by the lantern, but she shivered when she looked about her.
“Is she the right one?”
Highlanders surrounded her. There was no mistaking their height or wide shoulders. Each of them had a sword strapped to his back with the pommel rising above his left shoulder so they might pull the weapon with their right hand.
“She’s wearing gold and velvet.”
“But is she Joan Beaufort?”
The man in front of her considered her from his greater height. His hands were propped on his hips as he stared at the signet crown circling her forehead.
“It’s the truth I never expected a noblewoman to go out a window, but I never thought to be tracking any Englishwoman through the Highlands either.”
The men surrounding her chuckled. Deirdre stumbled back a step, only to turn around, because they ringed her completely. There was no sign of her English escort either.
“Here now. There is no need to frighten the woman.”
The one who spoke reached out and turned her back to face him with a firm grip on her bicep. Deirdre gasped and jerked her arm away from his touch.
“Forgive me, ma’am. I meant no disrespect toward yer ladyship, but me laird is looking to meet ye, and I’m charged with the duty of taking ye to him.”
Deirdre forced herself to take a deep breath before answering him. She ordered her thoughts to stop racing and focus on the task of concealing who she truly was. She lifted one hand and covered her lips with it to muffle her voice even more. “And who sent you after me?”
“The Earl of Liddell.”
The proprietor of the inn suddenly appeared on the steps of his business. “Why are ye Camerons causing trouble with me paying customers?”
The man carried a torch that lit the area far more effectively. A crazy jolt of hope tore through her, but it was quashed by the number of Cameron retainers the torch showed her. There were three dozen of them at least, standing back from the circle surrounding her.
“We’re about the earl’s doings.” The retainer in front of her dug in his pouch and produced two silver coins. He tossed them to the innkeeper.
“And he sends his appreciation for yer understanding.”
The coins landed at the proprietor’s feet. The woman who had been in the kitchen appeared beside him in nothing but her underrobe. She bent down to pick up the money. She tossed the coins a few times before nodding with satisfaction over their weight. She looked toward Deirdre, concern wrinkling the skin around her eyes, but she scanned the number of Highlanders in front of her and shook her head before closing her fist around the silver.
“The Camerons are always welcome here.” She turned around and went back into the inn. Her husband looked at Deirdre, but a moment later he followed his wife, taking the torch with him.
Desolation bit into her. For the first time in her life, she understood how it felt to be scorned simply because you had been born in another country. It was a harsh truth Deirdre realized she’d not had enough pity for.
“I’m Coalan, ma’am, one of Quinton Cameron’s captains, and ye have me word ye’ll come to no harm while I escort ye to him.” His voice lowered, hardening with intent. “But ye will be going with me, so no more of yer escape attempts.”
Coalan reached out and hooked his hand around her bicep again. This time the grip was hard, and even when she shrugged, she did not gain her freedom. He pulled her along with him toward horses standing nearby.
“This must be her mare. I’ve never seen gold used on a saddle before.”
Coalan grunted. “Aye, I’ve never had enough to use it as a decoration meself.”
His hands closed around her waist, and he lifted her up with only a tiny grunt. Deirdre landed on the saddle sideways and had to fight to throw her leg over th
e side of the mare before the slippery-smooth velvet saw her landing in a heap at Coalan’s feet.
“Are no’ ye going to tie her hands, Captain?”
Coalan chuckled as he mounted a larger horse and looked across at her. “Tell me, lady. Are ye going to behave, or shall I take the advice of Dirk there and bind yer hands to keep ye from running off into the night?”
His arrogant grin informed her he didn’t think she could give him any worry even with her hands free. Her temper simmered, and she lifted her chin and clamped her lips shut, refusing to answer him. She was grateful it was still night, or the brute would have seen her temper glittering in her eyes.
Coalan scoffed at her. “I’ve a mind to see Drumdeer before sunset, lads. Let’s take Laird Cameron what he wants.”
The name Drumdeer sent fear through her. The castle was well-known, even if she’d never laid eyes upon it. It was built along a ridge, which was where it got its name of drum, which meant ridge in Gaelic. There were plenty of stories of how strong the castle was, and more than one army had learned that lesson through defeat. Once inside, she wouldn’t be leaving until Quinton Cameron said she might.
Coalan reached across and took the reins from her fingers with a quick snap. “Do nae be giving me any cause to regret my choice to leave ye free, lady, for I tell ye I can be a mean bastard if ye come between me and what my laird expects of me. That’s a promise. I swear it.”
The mare followed Coalan’s stallion, and the Highlander took to the night with every bit of skill Deirdre expected of any man she might call by that name. The English feared the Highlanders with good cause. Not every Scot was a Highlander, but Coalan was one. It was in the way he faced the night with confidence. The man wasn’t shivering as he guided them into the forest. There was no hint of unease many would have felt while challenging the shadows the old wives claimed were haunted with specters or demons.
That was a Highlander for you. Deirdre felt it in her blood as well. She’d taken to the night to meet her lover with no more than a single prayer said to ensure her safe travel.
She ducked her head low to prevent a branch from hitting her. The smell of the horse touched her nose, as did the scent of the earth being churned up by the hooves of the animals in front of them. Her hearing was keen, detecting every small sound while they made their way.
In spite of it being a year ago, she recalled how she had challenged the night for what she wanted. Many called her too bold for her gender, but she was her father’s daughter. Fate had been cruel in making her female, for she felt every urge the Cameron retainers did. Deirdre clasped the mare between her thighs without any hesitation. She refused to believe it would make her sterile, and even if such were true, she would not perch herself on the side of the animal. That was a dangerous way to ride and robbed a girl of the ability to hold tight to the horse she rode. Every Cameron retainer was at ease in the saddle, and she refused to behave any differently.
Yet she was a woman among them.
And they believed she was English too.
Deirdre smiled and fought the urge to laugh. It amused her to discover herself once more in the position of being shunned by those she was so close to. After enduring it at the abbey, she was well accustomed to the feeling. She noticed several cutting glances from the other Cameron retainers as the night went on, but it wasn’t until dawn that she truly confirmed her suspicions about her place among them. With light washing over them, their distrust could be seen very clearly.
Coalan finally raised his hand, calling a halt to their progress. Deirdre slid from the back of her mare gratefully. There had been no horses at the abbey, and she was sore now, because riding was something that toughened the body. Her back ached, and so did her tender parts.
Something she would delight in blaming Quinton Cameron for, and that was a promise.
She stomped her feet against the ground to restore circulation in her toes. But the little slipper shoes were too thin, and she jabbed a sharp stone into her foot through her own actions. A small yelp escaped her lips as she hopped about on the other foot and snarled with frustration. The queen might know how to survive at court, but if Deirdre hadn’t changed clothing with her, it was very possible the woman would have been dead by now.
“Ye should have waited for me to assist ye down.” Coalan didn’t sound very sincere.
“I will see to my mistress,” the English captain interrupted Coalan, earning scowls from the Cameron retainers nearby. He didn’t allow their deadly looks to stop him from joining her.
That took courage, and Deirdre wasn’t blind to it. The English captain stood firmly in front of her, refusing to shrink in the face of Coalan’s glare. The Cameron retainer might order that the man be run through, but that didn’t send the Englishman back to cower with his men.
“Aye, that’s most likely a better idea even if it did come from the mouth of an English soldier.” Coalan raked her with a harsh glare. “Seems right ye should look after yer own women. I admit I do nae understand any female who would take to the Highlands wearing that bit of finery.”
Coalan’s voice was thick with scorn, and the English knight growled, “I’ve been in your country for most of my life, and your king is half-English.” He stepped forward, stopping only inches from Coalan. They were well matched, for the Englishman was every bit as large as Coalan, but the Cameron retainers all pressed in, making it clear Coalan wouldn’t be the only man the English knight had to fight.
Coalan snorted. “Ye have courage, man. I’ll grant ye that. ’Tis surprising to find such in an Englishman, but as ye have said, ye’ve been here in Scotland long enough to learn something from us, it seems.”
The Cameron retainers laughed and began to turn back to taking care of their horses. Coalan shrugged and pulled a leather pouch from the back of his saddle.
“I’m nae sure if they teach ye at court what a man makes do with when he’s on the road, but that’s what we have to offer. What did yer mother name ye?”
“Simon.”
Coalan grunted. “Good thing to know, since ye’re intent on challenging me. I want to make sure I can tell the priest yer proper name when I confess I ran ye through.”
“Simon Paul Smithson.” The Englishman spoke each word loud enough for every Cameron retainer to hear. “My father earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, and I assure you I know very well how to make do on the road. That isn’t unique to Scotland. Many an English boy has been raised to serve the noble his father sent him to.”
Simon turned and extended his hand toward where the other English soldiers sat. They no longer had their swords, the scabbards hanging limply from their belts. Deirdre lifted the front of her underrobe and joined them. Her jaw ached from holding her tongue, but she took a place beside the English escort she had agreed to accompany.
She felt completely misplaced, like a fresh strawberry in the dead of winter. No matter how delightful it might smell, you’d still hesitate to bite into it, because you simply knew it did not belong.
“Well done…” Simon whispered as he leaned close to her. “Let me speak for you, or that charming brogue of yours will give our game away.”
Simon opened the pouch and handed her one of the oatcakes that was inside. She took it without comment, but that drew a frown from the English knight.
“I’m sorry there isn’t better fare, mistress.”
There was a firm warning in his tone to recall her place in their charade. Deirdre lifted the oatcake and wrinkled her nose before nibbling on one corner. Two of the Cameron retainers chuckled before turning their attention to their own meals. Simon passed the pouch to another of his men. Their demeanor appeared gloomy, but if any of the Cameron had taken a closer look, they might have noticed the victory flickering in their prisoners’ eyes.
Deirdre felt guilt collide with her reasons for doing what she was. She was a Chattan, her father laird of a Highland clan, and that meant that the Cameron were kin. Deceiving them chafed, but she filled her
mouth with a bigger bite of the oatcake to keep any emotionally fueled confessions from spilling over her lips. She was doing what she had to in order to carve out a place for herself in the male-dominated world.
They lingered only for a short time. The horses were allowed to drink from a nearby stream, but Coalan had them all riding again before an hour had gone by. Deirdre had one precious moment of privacy to see to her personal needs, but she resisted the urge to run from behind a large boulder. In full daylight, the Camerons would run her down with ease. Running on foot while her pursuers had horses was unwise at best. She’d wait for darkness.
But she would run.
That thought kept her company throughout the day. She dreaded making it to Quinton’s castle. Drumdeer was large and solid. Once behind those gates, she’d be at its laird’s mercy.
She shivered as her memory offered up what Quinton could choose to do with her if she was imprisoned inside his home.
Ye might enjoy it…
She ground her teeth with frustration as a voice taunted her with that notion. She didn’t need her flesh turning traitor again. Once was plenty, and that was a solid truth. She refused to listen to her body when it came to men, even if it was only one man drawing her attention. That was one too many.
Besides, Quinton would delight in taking her to his bed, but she was a fool if she believed she would stay there very long. The man would take his pleasure, and the only thing she’d have from the experience would be whatever delight she might gain from the moment.
His kisses delighted you…
Oh, curse and rot it all! She had liked his kisses, and that further annoyed her. She had thought Melor Douglas killed every weakness she might have for the opposite gender, but obviously not. Deirdre lifted her head and noticed the setting sun. She would have to make sure she did not find herself near enough to temptation for Quinton to take advantage of her.
If the Cameron retainers lost her, they’d resume their search, and that would satisfy her promise to the queen. Joan Beaufort need never know Deirdre had run from Quinton Cameron for any other reason.
