It had been a long time since they’d done any of those things together, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t desert his father the way his mother had left them both. On a good day, early in the morn, he enjoyed his father’s company. It was his own fault for going so late in the day. The next time he’d go way before the sun was highest.
Shaking the thought away, he found a position at the far end of the hall, paying close attention to the Grant lairds and the Ramsay laird near the hearth, openly talking about King Robert, that bastard Edward, and who knew what else. Chrissa had joined them, bold as you please, even though her mother had disappeared. She’d tell him what she knew later, but she tended to cut straight to the point, leaving out the sort of details Drostan craved. She had no idea how fortunate she was to be privy to such conversations.
He wished to know everything that was transpiring in Scotland. It could be difficult to judge which tales were true and which were the inventions of wagging tongues.
Someone bumped his arm, nearly knocking Sky down, but she lifted her head to stare at the intruder with big, beseeching eyes, always anxious for new people to smother her with love or hugs.
“Excuse me. No bother, but may I make a request?” It was a young red-haired lad with freckles dotting his cheeks, and his demeanor was most serious.
“Who are you?” He wondered what youngster would dare poke the arm of a Grant warrior. How he loved that reputation. His pride in being one of them made him understand, to some extent, why his father struggled so, although he would never be able to fathom his other choices.
“My name is Hendrie, and I want more than anything to squire for a warrior for the battle on Midsummer’s Day. I’ve been faithfully watching in the lists and you’re the best fighter.” He stopped and imitated a parry with an opponent, ending it to step closer. “I saw you fight the laird. You did a fine job. Have you been placed on the battle list? Will you get to ride a horse into battle? Be part of the cavalry?” The lad paused with an audible sigh, his eyes huge with hope as he stared up at Drostan. It almost made him laugh. The lad had to be daft to think Drostan had done anything but embarrass himself this morn. Mayhap he’d simply come to the conclusion that Drostan was the most likely to accept him…and he had to admit, the possibility of a squire held merit. While he’d never fought in armor, he’d heard their lairds had ordered many sets to be made for their warriors in the front lines, along with helms. Truth was he had no idea how to don armor and could use help. He’d heard it was a difficult task.
“I hope to join the battle. Before I accept you, I must see how talented you are. Join me in the lists on the morrow, and I have a challenge for you now as well.” Drostan scanned the table by the hearth again, trying to decide if he dared to attempt what he had in mind.
“Anything, master.” The lad’s eyes widened with excitement.
A smile twitched on Drostan’s lips. When had anyone called him master? He might like having a squire.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“One and ten, master,” the lad replied, a look of wonder on his face.
“Do you see the group gathered around the table near the hearth? The one where Alex Grant is sitting?”
“Aye.”
He nodded with such exuberance that Drostan laughed, he just couldn’t keep it inside.
“Take the pup and meander over to an open spot near the hearth. Settle in and then call me over. I wish to hear what they are saying,” he explained, not worried the lad would reveal him.
Hendrie scowled. “I’ll not get in trouble with the lairds, will I? I just arrived on Grant land three moons ago. I wish to stay here, become a Grant warrior.”
“Lad, if they were worried about people listening, they’d be in the solar. Now, can you do it?” He held Sky out to him to see if he would accept the challenge. “And don’t call me master over there, just Drostan.”
The lad took off without looking over his shoulder. A few moments later, Hendrie had found a place by the hearth and was waving him over. “Please help me with the pup, Drostan.”
Drostan sauntered over, his walk a swagger he hoped Chrissa would notice. She was seated not far from her grandfather, pretending not to notice him. Well, hopefully she was only pretending. He thought her feelings for him might be changing, like his had for her, but he wasn’t sure.
Kneeling down, he petted his pup and lifted her into his arms, his ears attuned to anything said by the Grant and Ramsay contingency.
“Do you think King Robert will go through with the battle, Torrian?” Alex Grant asked. “I have this fear he’ll back out in the end because ’tis not the way he prefers to fight.”
“I think he has no choice in the matter. His brother made the arrangements for him. ’Tis an overly civilized approach to war to my mind. Although the king may have wished to settle things differently, without giving the English so much time to prepare and plan, he believes he has no choice. The matter is settled.”
Alick asked, “Why wouldn’t he want to fight? I’ve heard the same from others and I don’t understand. King Robert has never been afraid of a challenge.”
Derric, who’d spent a considerable amount of time fighting with Robert the Bruce and William Wallace, stood up from his spot to stand behind his wife, still seated in her chair. He unwound her long plait and started massaging her scalp, much to her apparent delight. “Here’s what you need to know about our king and why he is so strong.”
Drostan knew a moment of confusion—did he mean Robert or Edward?—then he recalled what Chrissa had said to him once when he’d said King Edward. “Don’t call him that. He’s not our king, Robert is,” she’d barked.
From then on, he’d assumed they spoke of Robert whenever they used the word “king.”
“Robert believes cunning and stealth are far better than face-to-face fighting. He prefers outthinking the enemy to using brute force.”
“Exactly,” Alex added. “Which is why we took Edinburgh Castle back with only thirty of our best men. We didn’t need a thousand men.”
“The English are fools,” Dyna said flatly. “They’re slow and lazy. ’Tis not difficult to use stealth against them. King Robert would have continued on in that manner if not for his brother’s loud mouth. Now we’ll have English everywhere trying to spy. They’ll want to know how many we have, which weapons we’ll use, and everything else they can find out. Be on the lookout for spies.” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, her husband still playing with her hair.
Drostan could not understand why such a powerful warrior was playing with a woman’s hair in full view of everyone. He watched with interest, glad that no one seemed to pay him any mind.
He’d never once seen his sire touch his mother, much less try to please her in front of everyone. Of course, his father had made no secret of his belief that Chrissa’s father, Finlay, spoiled her mother by giving in to her every whim.
Drostan thought they appeared happy, much happier than his parents had ever been. And Derric and Dyna had never made any secret of their passion for each other. Was this what love looked like? ’Struth, he’d like nothing better than to stroke Chrissa’s hair, and if she let him do it in front of everyone, he’d be proud rather than embarrassed. He knew what his father would likely think of that, yet if the conduct was unbecoming of a Grant warrior, then surely Derric and Finlay wouldn’t act as they did.
Alick’s wife held her round belly and said, “I wish I could go along on this one. I could shoot from a distance.”
Alex said, “You have a more important duty at the moment, Branwen.” He nodded toward her belly.
This was something else Drostan found interesting about the Grants. The most renowned warrior in the Highlands spent every eve fussing over his great-grandbairns, telling them stories from picture books. He treated their arguments about who got to sit closest to him or earn the honor of sitting on his knee as seriously as he did the war with the English. Not that Drostan had ever sat by the hearth to
listen to the tales, but he’d seen the gatherings. Sometimes Chrissa even joined in. On rare occasions, Alex sometimes invited all of the bairns on Grant land to participate.
Drostan’s sire had oft said bairns were women’s work, but his mother hadn’t seemed inclined to agree, which had resulted, more often than not, in Drostan being alone.
Dyna and Derric’s youngest daughter, about a year and a half old, toddled into the middle of the group as if she belonged there, followed by two of her cousins, who were apparently watching over her. She’d been named after the god Thor as a tribute to her grandmother’s Norse heritage. Tora could do nearly anything she wished, or so it appeared to him. She was hard to miss because her hair color was so light, like her mother’s.
The lassie liked to pretend she was shooting arrows like her mother, and Drostan had witnessed her aiming them at her cousins in the past. When she did that, Alex Grant didn’t hesitate to chastise her, although he did it with an indulgent smile.
This time her great-grandsire lifted her onto his lap and turned her around to face the group, never pausing in his discussion about the upcoming battle.
The wee one’s smug smile gave Drostan the urge to laugh. “What think you, Sky? Can they not see she’s got what she wishes?” His sire would never have done such a thing.
For a moment, Drostan had an image of himself sitting near the hearth in a small cottage, a wee dark-haired lassie on his lap, Chrissa sitting next to them. A feeling of longing unfurled through him, more powerful than he’d expected.
If they had children, he’d do all he could to make them feel happy, he decided. Because he knew how much it hurt not to have that.
Connor said, “Jamie, I’d like to send a messenger to King Robert to find out more about his needs. Perhaps we can send out a group to train with him, and another one to root out spies. I agree with Dyna. There’ll be English roaming everywhere, looking for information, and we must do what we can to ferret them out before they can return to Edward. But he probably has multiple patrols out already, and we don’t wish to duplicate his efforts.”
“Agreed,” Jamie replied. “We’ll meet in my solar once the messenger returns. When do you expect the English to begin marching this way, Torrian? Have you seen any evidence of them yet?”
“Nay, the last we heard was that troops are gathering at Berwick Castle, where Edward is at present. ’Tis the only Scottish castle of any worth he still controls, besides Stirling. When they plan to advance, I don’t know. Uncle Logan is making his way toward Grant Castle. He was planning to visit Aunt Avelina and then come here. I suspect he’ll be looking for evidence of the English along the way.”
“Papa thinks Edward will have ten or twenty thousand by mid-June,” Molly added.
That brought silence to the group as they all considered the ramifications of that many men. Drostan had no idea how many Scots King Robert had at his disposal, but he intended to be chosen for one of the Grant patrols.
Hendrie whispered, “Will we patrol, master?”
Drostan waved his hand to shush the lad, but he couldn’t blame him for asking what he’d been thinking. In fact, he’d noticed Hendrie had an impressive ability to intuit his thinking.
An invaluable skill to have in one’s squire.
“Your guess, Corbett?” Alex asked. “How many can Robert train?”
Derric scratched his head, halting his ministrations to his wife, who sighed loudly enough for everyone to stare at her. “I’d say three or four thousand trained. He’s calling for any Highlanders to join him, and he cares not how well trained they are, strictly because we’re known for our heart and our strength.”
“’Tis true,” Alex said, rubbing his chin. “I’d like to be involved in this discussion. Once we’ve heard more about what King Robert wants, we’ll make our final decision. Until then, let us enjoy our clan.”
Drostan took that to mean he needed to step away. He looked at Hendrie and said, “Lad, you’re hired. Be at the lists at high sun on the morrow.”
“You’ll not regret it, master.” His eyes lit up with such joy that Drostan had the sudden inkling that he’d just made one of his best decisions ever.
He and Hendrie would be a powerful force together.
Though he’d rather be part of a team with Chrissa.
Chapter Four
Logan stopped his horse, glancing over his shoulder at his sister and her husband, Drew Menzie. “Does this look like the correct location?”
“Aye,” Avelina said, “over there.” She pointed off to the left of their path to a burn that flowed over sets of rocks. With all the rain they’d had of late, the water flow was strong, the sound glorious to Logan’s ears. Although he loved his clan, he’d always felt most at home on the land. Outside.
There were several guards with them, but Logan sent half out to patrol so the men wouldn’t see exactly what Drew and Avelina were here to retrieve.
“Enjoy your memories,” Logan said to the two as Drew dismounted, then helped his wife down. The two walked off toward the burn, their gray hair standing out in the near dark.
Logan pointed to the rest of his guards. “Find a cave for us to sleep in. We’ll have to spend one night.” Off they went. One stayed behind, his gaze following the older couple with obvious curiosity. Although they’d lied about their purpose, telling the guards the Menzies wished to return to the place where they’d met, they hadn’t convinced all of them. “Can you not hear me?” Logan bellowed. “Go!”
Though Logan was an old man now, there was still power in that bellow. The man turned his horse around and hurried away, leaving Logan with an uneasy feeling in his gut as he stared off into the horizon.
He’d learned to pay attention to those feelings over the years, so this one weighed on him.
Something was not as it seemed. Evil hung in the air, thick and dank. If Gwynie were here, she’d sense it, too. He’d left Gavin home to watch over her and Brigid, though Brigid’s husband was more than capable. He never had to worry about Sorcha, not with Cailean nearby. The two were to join up with him once they headed north after Drew to return to Menzie land.
He snorted at the thought. His fair-haired daughter had chosen well. Cailean’s fiercely wild temperament and sword skills guaranteed no one would come near her. He’d also protect Gwynie, simply because Sorcha wouldn’t leave her side. Of course, no smart man would dare to anger his wife or any of his daughters—they could skewer a man’s bollocks with an arrow at a moment’s notice.
Still, it comforted him to think of how well his children had married. He felt confident Clan Ramsay would carry on his and Quade’s legacy. Torrian and Heather’s eldest was sharing the lairdship, and Lachlan was proving to be a quick learner. They’d all carry on just fine without him.
Once this mess is done.
Because he wouldn’t consent to leave before it. Though he guessed he’d go down with a fight, no matter which way the Lord chose to move him onward.
On the morrow, Drew would go home to protect his keep and land from all the English marauders. He had been fully supportive of Avelina’s mission. The faerie queen had visited her in the night, informing her it was time to retrieve the sapphire sword, hidden so many years ago, and bring it to Alex Grant. Alex would be in charge of passing it along to its new owner—the new champion of the Scots. Although Drew didn’t wish to leave Avelina, understandably, he trusted Logan to get her safely to Grant land. Not that anyone would be able to harm her while she carried the sapphire sword.
Logan rode his horse a little closer to the burn, watching as Drew climbed up the rocks, tugged on several boulders and tossed them to the ground. After removing four of them, he smiled and reached behind a small grouping, tugging out a cloth bundle. He climbed down carefully, then carried it back to Avelina, and the two opened it together. Logan didn’t have a good enough vantage point to see the sword, but he could tell by Avelina’s posture that it was inside, hopefully just as they’d left it. She lifted her face to her h
usband, and he cupped her cheeks and kissed her. Had to mean they’d found what they were after.
She looked down again, for longer this time, then glanced over her shoulder, her face radiant. Seeing no one else around, she swept the cloth back over the sword and carried it to Logan. “I thought you might like to see how beautiful it was.”
She swept aside the old cloth, revealing the sword in all its glory, the blue gemstones shining in the moonlight.
“Hellfire, ’tis more beautiful than I remembered. And the rubies and emeralds on the hilt are quite stunning, are they not? You did a fine job hiding it and protecting it, Lina. I’m sure many have sought it out, only to come up empty.”
She smiled as she wrapped it up, then leaned over to kiss Drew. “Husband, we did a fine job, and you don’t look a bit different than you did the day we hid it.”
Logan snorted.
***
The next morn, Chrissa made her way out to the lists, looking for Drostan so she could tell him what she’d learned about King Robert.
She also wanted to see him. Although her feelings confused her, she knew she was interested in more from him than friendship. She just had no idea what to do about it.
He wasn’t at the lists, so she headed to his sire’s cottage, hoping to find him there. She passed several people tending to the fields or drawing water from the well, and wished each of them a good morn with a wave. Most everyone was friendly. Although some in their clan believed women belonged at home, others took a great deal of pride in the clan’s female archers.
She could only be herself.
His sire was like that, without a doubt. Drostan’s mother was rarely seen outside the home, spending her time cooking and cleaning. She wasn’t the kind to offer her talents up at the keep, either, one of the reasons Chrissa did not remember her well. Drostan had said his sire wouldn’t allow her to leave that often. He wanted her at home caring for her family.
The Scot's Deception (Highland Swords Book 5) Page 3
