The Scot's Deception (Highland Swords Book 5)

by Keira Montclair

  He pulled her close again, nuzzling her neck. Kissing it. “I wish I could sleep with you every night. In our clothing…in the forest…under the stars. You in my arms. But I suppose that won’t be allowed.”

  “Nay, though it sounds heavenly.”

  He pulled back slightly and ran his hand through his thick hair. “I suppose it will be safe enough with all the others along.”

  She reached up to fix the lock of hair that had fallen forward in his ministrations. “Drostan, do you not recall the way we used to chase each other through the woods, watching for reivers and marauders? Even when we were young, we used to spy on people in the courtyard and pretend we were saving people from villains.” She ran her finger across his eyebrow, lightly touching his bruise from where his father had hit him. Then she kissed it lightly. “He shouldn’t hit his own son, even by accident.”

  “’Twas just a door,” he said, pushing her hand away lightly, the acquiescence audible in his voice.

  “You forget that I was there when he apologized,” she said, her fingers trailing back down his strong jaw. Why did she feel the need to touch him everywhere? It was like she’d felt it without realizing it all these years, and now the repressed well of wanting was rising up and drowning her.

  He changed the subject, something he often did when they discussed his father. “I recall pretending to be the knight in armor who came to the castle to rescue his princess. Do you remember screaming from the parapets for help? Your uncle thought you were in trouble and raced up the steps so fast he was breathless.”

  She giggled. “There was a time when I wished to be rescued by a fierce Highlander, but when I grew older, I wanted to be the fierce rescuer.”

  “But I wasn’t willing to shout from the parapets for you to save me. I couldn’t agree to that one, lassie.” He chuckled as he nuzzled her neck, then pulled back with a sigh. “You never were like the other lasses, were you?”

  “Don’t you like it that I’m different than most lasses?” she asked, intertwining their fingers as they stood at arm’s length.

  “Aye, I do. I’m not interested in a simpering lass who wishes to sit and sew all day. I love that you ride through the forest with me, practice in the fields.”

  “Do you know what Molly said?”

  “What?”

  “The best spies are couples.”

  “Truly?”

  “Think on it. Logan and Gwyneth, Maggie and Will, Dyna and Derric, Molly and Tormod. We could add two names to that, if we prove ourselves.”

  “Drostan and Chrissa?”

  “Nay,” she scoffed. “Chrissa and Drostan.” And because she intended to have the last word on the matter, she dropped his hand and sprang away from him, rushing toward the keep. Giggling all the way.

  She needed to drench herself in cold water in the bathing chamber.

  When she opened the door, she held on to it and whirled around, knowing she would see him. She’d heard the thunder of his footsteps following her, but he’d never once tried to overtake or stop her. Which hopefully meant he understood what she was about to say. “I’m going, Drostan.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up, telling her he’d relented a bit. “I knew there’d be no convincing you otherwise. I look forward to our journey together.”

  Chapter Eight

  The time had finally come for their trip. Maggie, Molly and the rest of the Ramsay group would travel with them down the mountain until they split ways. The Grant contingency consisted of Magnus, Ashlyn, Derric, Dyna, Drostan, Chrissa, Alick and his brothers—Broc and Paden—and Dyna’s brother Hagen, along with several guards.

  A large group had filtered out of the castle to send them off, including Astra and Hendrie, who stood next to Drostan with Sky tucked under his arm. The horses awaited the travelers, saddlebags packed and ready.

  “Now you take good care of her, Hendrie. I trust you.”

  “I’ll do a fine job,” Hendrie said, “and I’ll keep practicing with the others to get better with the armor.” The armorer had been producing armor in preparation for Midsummer’s Day, giving the warriors time to find the best fit. The next step was to practice donning the armor and removing it. Hendrie struggled a bit because it was so heavy. “’Tis easier every day, Master Drostan.”

  “Drostan is fine, Hendrie,” he said. “I’m not your master.” He took Sky from the lad for one last snuggle and then set her down on the grass, where she promptly ran over to Drostan’s stallion, barking as loudly as she could manage. They all had a chuckle at it until the stallion began to prance a bit. Hendrie quickly picked up the pup and said, “Godspeed with you all. I’ll take her to the lists now.”

  “You’ll be with me next time, Hendrie. Keep practicing.” The lad hurried off, and Drostan’s attention was captured by Astra, who was arguing with her sire.

  “But Papa, I could help if I went along. I could be a spy and learn what the English are planning. I could find their camps, and we could take them out in the middle of the night. Then there would be no battle on Midsummer’s Day.”

  Chrissa strolled out of the keep, taking a few sips of water from a skin. She moved next to Drostan and said, “Please tell me he has not given in to her begging.”

  Drostan shook his head. “He won’t, do not worry. But I do think she would be a fine helper for you.” He waggled his brow at her, grinning, and she promptly swung out and slapped his arm playfully.

  “Nay, she’d be a burden, not a help.”

  “Please, Papa. I’ll be good for a whole year if you let me go,” she begged.

  Connor turned to his daughter and said, “This is the last time I’ll tell you. You’re not going, Astra.”

  “But Hagen is going,” she whined. “I’ll prove to you I can be helpful.”

  “Hagen is three years older than you. Stop whining, or I’ll have the guards tie you to that tree until the entire contingency is gone.”

  Astra stomped her foot and ran back to the keep.

  Drostan opened his mouth to speak, but Chrissa held her hand up. “I’ll stop you before you say anything. I was not like her at all.”

  Magnus, the lead in the group, whistled, their sign to mount up, so Drostan lifted Chrissa onto her horse. “And the journey begins.”

  She glanced over at him with such excitement, he couldn’t help but feel the same way. Mayhap he had no cause to worry. They had planned this for years, as she’d reminded him, and there was no reason to expect they wouldn’t be back within the sennight.

  ***

  They arrived at King Robert’s camp shortly after dusk two nights later.

  Drostan dismounted and reached for Chrissa, setting her down gently. Surrounded by her family as they were, he didn’t allow his hands to linger, but it was difficult to touch her chastely when all he wanted to do was touch her, run his hands over her soft skin and nuzzle her neck while she leaned into him.

  He had to stop allowing such visions to dominate his thoughts.

  At least he could speak with her openly.

  “Behave yourself, lass,” he whispered. Her long dark hair was arranged in multiple braids that hung almost to her hips, some tied together, others waving in the wind. She and Dyna liked to try different ways to plait their hair, sometimes odd, but this one he liked. Chrissa claimed it was from Dyna’s Norse heritage.

  Ever since he’d watched Derric unplait Dyna’s hair as he massaged her scalp, Drostan had thought about unplaiting Chrissa’s hair. He’d love to see it loose. His mind kept dancing back to her. He chided himself that it was a dangerous preoccupation for a warrior headed off to dangerous lands, but nothing seemed to help.

  She glared at him and he couldn’t help but smirk. It was reassuring to know that for all that had changed between them—for all Chrissa herself had changed—some things were still predictable.

  Derric waved to one of the king’s men, who hurried off to retrieve Robert. Drostan’s heart raced in his chest. He wished to be near the man, to feel his power. R
obert the Bruce was a living legend, much like Alexander Grant. He could hardly believe his luck. They’d all heard stories of the king from Els and Joya, from Derric and Dyna, and meeting him had long been one of Drostan’s life goals. King Robert had stood strong against all of his enemies: King Edward I and II, the English, countless earls and barons intent on burying him. His brothers had been killed, his wife kidnapped and placed in a cage for all to see by King Edward. Even though she was no longer in a cage, his wife was still held captive by Edward.

  Robert the Bruce had much riding on this battle. Freedom. Of his wife, his family, for all of Scotland. The freedom of his wife from the chains of English bindings was one of the main reasons he still fought. He was so dedicated to the cause of freedom for the Scots that seven years ago, he’d insisted on being carried to battle on a litter despite being gravely ill. Through all of that he had persisted, slowly but surely defeating his enemies, both Scottish and English, with careful and thoughtful stealth, using whatever means available to him.

  Derric’s gaze landed on a Drostan. His thoughts must have been written on his face, because the older man smiled softly and said, “He may not be what you’re expected, lad. He’s no courtly man. He’s lived many of his years in the forest of Torwood.”

  But when the king’s man exited a tent with another man, one who was shorter than many of the Grants, Drostan knew him at once. There was something regal about him, an indefinable quality that had nothing to do with the state of his dress, his height, or the length of his hair. King Robert headed straight toward Derric. “Corbett, good to see you again. And you’ve brought your lovely wife with you. Greetings, Dyna.” His keen eyes took in the rest of the group. “Please, if some of your warriors will see to your horses, my men will bring them ale. The rest of you may come into my tent. We have much to discuss.” His gaze traveled over the group. “If my eyes don’t deceive me, I believe I see a couple more excellent archers with you. Aye?”

  Derric nodded. “Aye, we have Ashlyn and Chrissa, who are Dyna’s cousins. We accept your kind offer.”

  The group followed him into his tent, guarded by several rough looking men. King Robert waved to two other men to join them. Once they arranged themselves within the large space, he said, “Thank you for coming so quickly. As you know, Midsummer’s Day will be here in less than a fortnight. I could use your assistance in training. The Grant warriors are known for their skills.”

  Derric said, “What are your weak spots? Our lairds are prepared to help you.”

  “Chief Ramsay has promised you many archers,” Dyna added.

  “That pleases me. We need all the archers we can find. How many solid archers from Clan Ramsay?”

  “Probably two score and another two score from Clan Grant, though you should know many of them are female.”

  “We welcome them. I’m requesting all able-bodied Scots to join in this battle, however, so do not allow the women to stray far from your warriors. Some have been raised rough and might not recognize your plaid and its meaning. As you well know, there are many in Scotland who still believe they can steal their bride and be within the law. I’ve also need for mounted swordsmen. My schiltrons will only get us so far.”

  “Schiltrons?” Chrissa whispered. “I’ve heard the word before, but I’ve no idea what it means.”

  Magnus tried to shush her, but King Robert laughed. “I’m glad to answer. ’Tis my favorite way to fight the English. We’ll never have their numbers, but we’re smarter and stronger. Whenever possible, I prefer to take the enemy by surprise. Attack from three sides with small groups of men bearing spears, axes, and spikes. The schiltron moves as a unit. They never see us until ’tis too late. I’ll need men for that force. Then I’ll have archers, followed by a cavalry led by one of my best men. Behind that force I’ll be leading the Highlanders myself on horseback, and a large force of Scots on foot. They will be one of my last defenses but not my weakest. I’m counting on our Highlanders to fight strong. We’re facing the end of this war, my friends, but I cannot be in charge of all. And the Highland Swords. I’ve heard much about their power. Will you be able to summon that power against the English? Does it happen when you will it to happen? I’ve heard conflicting tales of their power.”

  Dyna answered, “We must travel together, and when we do, the result can be quite incredible. Our force together seems to weaken our opponent, but not for long.”

  “Then we’ll save them for one of the last forces. Allow the others to bring the English onto our land, into our fighting landscape that we are so familiar with and they are not. We’ll beat them. We just need to know exactly what kind of troops he will bring. The number, the weapons, the armor. What is the bastard doing to ready for this battle?”

  “Aye, King Robert. That plan is sound,” Derric replied, though Chrissa would have liked to see the Highland Swords lead, apparently she was one of the few who thought that way.

  “Which brings me to my next question. I’ll post it to you, Corbett. Think you and your wife would be willing to go to Berwick and travel as spies? Uncover information about that bastard Edward’s plans?”

  Derric glanced at Dyna, who nodded. “It would be our pleasure, my king. The Ramsay chieftain said he would send a messenger if he found out anything that would help our cause, but I believe we could uncover more information if we were directly in Berwick. We can leave shortly. We’ll take two others with us—two new ones in case we’re recognized.”

  Drostan glanced at Chrissa, wondering if he’d heard correctly. Could they be the two Derric referred to?

  Did he dare hope? While he worried about Chrissa on the battlefield, he had to believe spying would be safer. He’d trained her well on how to use a dagger. This could bring all his dreams to fruition—to spy, to fight for Robert the Bruce, to work as a Grant warrior.

  And to do all of those things with Chrissa by his side. What more could he wish for?

  Could he willingly spy with Chrissa and not worry about her?

  Aye, he could. True, he’d worry, but who better to protect her than him? The clench of his jaw was so strong while he waited that he forced himself to stop.

  “Four should be enough to accomplish your objectives, and the timing is good. I wish to know everything. What they’re doing to feed their men, how many they have, and where they’re from. Stay a sennight. Give him time to gather his forces.” Turning to Magnus, he asked, “And how many warriors will Clan Grant send along?”

  “We’re prepared to send close to one thousand men, if that suits you, King Robert.”

  “That will work perfectly. How many on horseback?”

  “Half.”

  “Stay, tell me of your training methods, Magnus.” His gaze shot back to Derric. “Do you have any questions? Spend the night, familiarize yourselves with my new group. Have an ale. We’ve received many foodstuffs as support from the neighboring clans so we’ll not go hungry.”

  “Nay. We’re ready to do our part,” Derric said. Then he motioned to Dyna, Chrissa, and Drostan, and the four left the tent together.

  As soon as the flap closed behind him, Drostan hurried forward to talk to Derric. “Who…I mean…your group…”

  “You’re wondering if we’re bringing you on the spying mission,” Derric said, preempting him. His smile was hard to read. “Think you we would bring you when we could bring Alick and Broc or Magnus and Ashlyn?”

  His face fell, and he didn’t even try to hide it. Hell, but he’d hoped for a chance to prove his worth.

  And if he caught some bastard, perhaps he’d make his sire proud.

  Derric shrugged his shoulders playfully. “Dyna and I had already discussed this possibility. We’re bringing you and Chrissa. Can you pretend to be a couple?”

  He peeked over at Chrissa, her face alight with excitement, just like the day she’d brought down her first pheasant. She’d always outdone him on those hunting trips, a much better archer than he was by far. Would the same be true when it came to spying? />
  He looked forward to finding out. They’d be learning from two of the best, too. Perhaps this could lead to other assignments, to the two of them going out on missions together, alone, spying as a couple like they’d discussed.

  A familiar pang of worry caught him, but if they were always together, he’d always be around to protect her.

  “I think we’ll start by teaching you how to hide your feelings,” Dyna said. “You cannot be that obvious or you’ll get us all caught.”

  “We can control ourselves,” he said at once.

  Derric cocked his head. “This will only work if you both agree to do exactly as we instruct.”

  “Understood.” Drostan wished to shout to the moon above, but he had to keep quiet. They were going to travel as spies. Drostan and Chrissa—together.

  His luck had finally changed.

  ***

  Logan Ramsay found his way out of the cave in the morn. His sister was still asleep. Avelina was softer than his wife or his daughters. Although she used to ride often as a young woman, those days were behind her, and this journey had already gone on past the point of comfort for her. He could tell she’d be aching later today, though he doubted she’d admit it.

  They were all growing too damn old.

  He took care of his needs and moved to the burn to wash his hands, his memory taking him back many, many years to the kidnapping of Brenna Grant. That one decision had turned his life upside down. Actually, set it to rights.

  He’d stolen Brenna from her bed to tend his brother, who’d been gored by a boar, but her talent had been such that he’d convinced her to come to Clan Ramsay to help others who were ill, primarily his niece and nephew. The two bairns had been struck down by a mysterious illness that had plagued them both since birth. Only Brenna had discovered the true cause: they couldn’t eat anything with wheat without vomiting. She had saved his niece and nephew, and his brother had fallen in love with her. Their marriage had brought Clan Ramsay close to Clan Grant, the beginning of an alliance that now ran deeper than a river.