Dyna’s hands had gone up in the air. “But we know exactly where she is.”
Her father said, “And I guess we know where you’re going.”
Alex didn’t like that they’d heard nothing about Chrissa yet. No ransom request had arrived, and none of the patrols had found any evidence of Chrissa or Drostan. Kyla was sick with worry, and Alex feared she’d go out on her own to find her daughter. The two were more alike than they cared to admit.
Alex cleared his throat to silence everyone in the solar. Jamie and Connor were there in their capacity as co-lairds of Clan Grant, and Logan represented the Ramsay clan. The cousins were also there: Alasdair, Alick, Els, and Dyna, along with their spouses. Alex had invited John to join them, and the lad sat quietly next to his sire. He wasn’t usually involved in these kinds of meetings, but Alex knew it was time, even though the lad was only a decade old.
Finlay and Kyla were also there, of course, along with Avelina.
“We have two serious tasks ahead of us,” Alex said. “My sons have asked me to speak today as the issues we face are of such grave importance. First, we have a group of warriors we wish to send to King Robert. This group will leave in two days. Magnus and Jamie will lead them, while Ashlyn and Isbeil will lead our archers. Torrian will be leading the Ramsay warriors, who will be joining King Robert. The Ramsay and Grant warriors will meet at Gallow Hill and camp together. Maggie will be leading the Ramsay archers with Gavin, Merewen, and Gregor. Do you not agree, Logan?”
“Aye, Molly will not fight. She trains. Torrian will lead with his son, Lachlan. Kyle Maule will be with them.”
Connor nodded, then continued, “The force King Robert has gathered is so large, possibly between six and eight thousand, that we wish to be able to keep track of our men and women. Godspeed to this group.
“The second group will go off in search of Chrissa and Drostan, Astra and Hendrie. We still do not know their location, but I think this group, working together with their special strengths, will be able to determine where they are being held. Hopefully, they’ll find Astra looking for Chrissa. The group of cousins—Alasdair, Emmalin, Els, Alick, Dyna, and Derric—will travel together.”
“What do you think it means that you’ve heard naught?” Alasdair asked. “The other times the English kidnapped Grants, it was for a purpose. What is there purpose this time?”
Alex shook his head, uncertain of the answer to this question. “My guess is they are looking for information and they think they can get it from one of them. Although I have no idea what information they seek. The English know when the battle will be, where, they know who they’re fighting. What else could they be looking for? And I think their numbers are such that they’re underestimating our ability to defeat them, but I could be wrong about that.”
“Neither of them would know the answer to that question either,” Alasdair said. Then, as if noticing Alex’s disquiet, he added, “Don’t worry, Grandsire. We’ll find them.”
“What about me, Seanair?” John asked. Already a tall lad, he looked much like his father and grandsire. Long dark locks surrounded a strong jawline, though he showed no signs of a beard yet. His blue eyes took in everything they could, and he had a memory unlike anyone else Alex had ever met.
“I have not decided that yet, lad. I’m waiting for more patrols to return. Once I receive this information, I’ll decide where you are to go, John. Probably with your sire.”
***
Chrissa paced in her small cell, still furious. Drostan’s mother had confirmed the sheriff’s story: he was a spy for England. To hear her tell it, he’d spied for them for the past two years.
Chrissa had a hard time believing it, and yet the woman had been so convincing. She’d known about Drostan’s father’s abuse of ale, and she fit the memory she had of Drostan’s mother, right down to the ring she wore on one finger. It was a sapphire with a pearl on either side of it, quite a beautiful design. Drostan had hoped to give it to his betrothed one day, but his mother had taken it with her when she left.
“If he was working as a spy as you say, he would not be concerned with making his sire proud, but that still drives him,” Chrissa had challenged her. “Admit it, you left your own son without looking back, and the guilt is now eating at you. Because if you’d taken him with you, he’d be forsaking his father for you rather than the other way around.”
His mother had scoffed, sending her a look of derision that hit her deep in her belly. “He doesn’t give a shite about that drunken fool. He’s trying to make me proud. And DeFry. He doesn’t care about Clan Grant, about his father, or about you. If you foolishly thought there was something romantic between the two of you, you were wrong. He is in love with a beautiful, blonde-haired girl who has a large dowry. He does not need a bossy, whiny lass who acts like a man.”
With that, the bitch had whirled on her heels and pranced out the door without a backward glance. Percy had laughed, but DeFry had pretended to be a bit more understanding.
“Sorry, lass. That had to hurt.” But she’d seen the grin on his face as he walked out and then locked her inside with her thoughts.
So Drostan was a spy.
Nay, remember what Grandsire told you. They’re playing games with you!
Was it possible it was all a ruse to undermine her loyalty to Drostan? To confuse her and get her to do whatever insidious thing they wanted?
Still, a small part of her feared the worst. Was it possible Drostan, who’d always spoken so excitedly about being a spy for the Scots, had turned on them and tattled to the enemy? Lying on the cold stone for hours had made her question everything she believed in.
Just as they want you to do, lass.
It was as if her grandsire were in her head talking to her, admonishing her for not trusting those closest to her, those she loved the most.
A key turned in the lock, catching her attention, and she stopped her fretting and waited for the door to open. She no longer had any perception of whether it was day or night, or of how long she’d been held captive.
DeFry stepped inside and said, “I’m bringing you to see your friend. You’ll keep your mouth closed when we travel through the passageway. We need information from you two, and one of you will spill all you know. Turn around. You’ll not be allowed out unless your hands are bound.”
She did as instructed, eager to see Drostan and confront him with what she’d learned. His reaction to the news would tell her whether he was innocent.
DeFry pushed her ahead of him, guiding her down three different passageways before he shoved her into a small chamber where Drostan stood against the wall, his hands bound. No one else was in the cell.
Drostan rushed to her side and asked, “Did they hurt you?”
Sheriff DeFry followed her in, his expression inscrutable, but his name was called by a man farther down the passageway. Something flickered in his eyes, and he left the chamber, saying to both of them, “I’ll be back for the answer to my question, Chisholm. Don’t think I won’t get it.”
The door clicked shut behind him as he yelled, “I’ll be there shortly” to whomever was calling his name.
As soon as they were alone, Drostan repeated his question. “Did they hurt you?”
“Nay, but I’m so confused I don’t know what to believe.”
“About what?” he whispered. “They wish to know where the Ramsays and Grants are meeting before the battle. They say they’ll set us free if we tell them, but I suspect ’tis bollocks. By the way,” he said, dropping his tone even more, “I have no idea where the clans are meeting, do you?”
“What are you talking about?” Chrissa’s eyes widened as she stared at Drostan. No one had said anything about the meeting place to her.
He held his hands out. “Untie me.” They stood back to back, maneuvering against each other, touching and rubbing in ways Chrissa had never imagined, but they finally managed to free each other. Even in captivity, his touch ignited her.
Chrissa took in D
rostan’s appearance—hair in disarray, a light stubble on his cheeks—then launched herself at him. He must have had the same thought because he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close, his lips finding hers, their tongues dueling as if they thought to consume each other. His hands roamed down her sides, finding her breasts, and she tugged him closer yet. She wanted his hardness against her, reminding her of how absolutely fantastic they were together. Moaning as his thumbs found her nipples through the fabric, she ended their kiss and tipped her head back, inviting him to kiss her neck. He obliged, trailing hot kisses all over her neck and down the front of her tunic.
“Wait,” Drostan said, holding her at arm’s length. “Much as I’m enjoying this, we’re both untied. Mayhap we can find a way out before DeFry returns.”
“You’re right,” she muttered, doing her best to straighten her clothing. “I don’t have any idea what you’re referring to about the clans’ meeting place. He said nothing to me about that.”
“So what did he say?” he asked, looking out into the passageway to make sure no one was coming.
“He brought your mother in to me…”
“My mother?” He grabbed her and turned her around.
The look on his face was one she’d never seen before. He looked…stricken. But all of the anger and confusion she’d felt in that meeting came roaring back. “Aye, your mother. She said you’ve turned traitor to Clan Grant and you’re both spies for England.”
“What?” He stepped back, his hands lifting to his hair, tugging it. “My mother? She’s here?” But as soon as he said it, he started shaking his head. “I can’t believe ’tis truly her. I’ve not seen my mother since she deserted us. They’re using trickery to fool us.”
“I’ve met her often enough, Drostan. Plus, she told me things only a mother could know. About your father and how mean he turned whenever he started drinking ale.”
“That’s no special thought. What does she look like?”
“I remember your mother. It was her. She changed a bit, but there’s no doubt ’tis her, I’m telling you.”
“And I’m telling you it cannot be her.”
Chrissa’s voice dropped so no one would hear her comment. “Drostan, if you don’t trust my ability to recognize someone I’ve met several times, then perhaps you’ll trust this. She wore your family ring. The heirloom!”
“What did it look like?”
“It was a large blue stone with a pearl on either side of it. Is that not what it looked like?
“Aye. But it could still be someone pretending to be my mother.” He tugged his hair again, this time hard enough she was surprised he didn’t come away with a handful. “Or it could be her. I guess it could be her. But all she said about me was a lie. A blatant lie.”
”So you swear you’re not a spy?”
“Aye.” His expression hardened. “And if you believed anything that woman told you, you’re not much of a friend to me, are you?”
Something bubbled over inside of her. Whether it was due to the captivity, the hunger, the fear, or her confusion and uncertainty about Drostan’s mother, her emotions finally took over. In a sudden fit of rage, she shoved at his chest, sending him back hard. He lost his footing and fell against the door, which was when it happened.
The door opened and no one was in the passageway.
DeFry had forgotten to lock it.
Chapter Seventeen
Astra and Hendrie continued on that way for an hour, using Sky’s skills whenever they were stuck. The pup started yipping softly as they crested a hill, smoke filtering through the bushes ahead.
“Hendrie, if we find Chrissa and Drostan, mayhap we’ll get a big reward.”
“I’d rather have an award than a reward.”
“What difference does it make?”
“Because ’twould be more special.” Hendrie pointed to a well-hidden area and said, “Sky needs a rest. We should sit for a wee bit so I can feed her. She’s tiring and we may still need her.”
“I don’t see how an award would be better.” She sat back inside the bushes, pondering their situation. What she really wanted was for someone to tell her she was going to be as strong or stronger than Dyna. Her sister was part of the Highland Swords group, and everyone thought she was special. Maybe even magical. And now Dyna’s wee daughter Tora acted like she was Thor himself. Why did no one pay any attention to Astra? She was as smart as any of them. Why did no one else see her for who she was, instead viewing her as a wee lass who needed to grow up?
She was tired of that image.
Hendrie sat down, grabbing Sky and feeding her an apple and some oats he’d stolen from the stables. “All I know is my parents are dead. At least you still have yours. My uncle doesn’t care much about me. You are blessed to have been born with the parents you have.”
She couldn’t deny he was right. What would she do without her sire or her mother? Her father did often give in to her, and while her mother was busy handling all the grandbairns, she knew she was loved. “You’re right. I’m sorry you lost yours.”
“And I have no siblings or cousins or anyone to care about me. Look at all the people you have in your life. I’ve always been quite jealous of anyone in the keep. If you get mad at one cousin, you have many more. But you should stop tattling on people. I’ve heard all about that. ’Tis not the kind of thing you wish to be known for.”
She frowned, hating that he was calling her out on her behavior. “If you’re so smart, what do you wish to be known for?”
He thought for a moment and pursed his lips before answering. “You’ll laugh at me, but there’s someone I wish to impress…someone I wish to be like.”
“Nay, I won’t laugh. I promise.” She had no idea what he was thinking about. Was it one of her relatives—could it be her father? Her grandfather? Or perhaps one of the cousins in the Highland Swords group.
“I wish to be like Loki Grant.”
“Loki? Why?” She loved Uncle Loki, as did everyone, but she didn’t recall what he’d done other than be adopted by Brodie Grant.
“You don’t recall all the old tales? He was only a lad, an orphan like I am, but he protected Celestina for Brodie Grant. He followed the bad men who meant her harm and even put stones in one’s shoes, making him yell. Then he used his slinger at the Battle of Largs to kill the Norse, and he got Brodie to a healer after he was injured. Your grandsire called him up in front of the whole clan and told everyone about his accomplishments, then he gave him his own sword and had all the warriors encircle him and lay their swords down for him too.” Hendrie stared up at the sky and sighed. “They vowed to protect him with their lives.”
“Because he became a Grant.”
“Nay, because of his deeds. ’Tis what I wish for. To do something noble enough to be recognized for. Come, we must move forward. No sense in dreaming.”
Astra nodded, considering Hendrie’s words. Perhaps he was right about the whole award versus reward thing.
Hendrie put his finger to his lips and said, “Hush. I hear something.”
They crept forward as quietly as possible.
When they were closer, Astra peaked through the branches and saw an old, ramshackle castle in the distance, dark and dreary, with crumbling walls. This had to be where Drostan and Chrissa were being held. Then she spotted exactly what she’d hoped for.
Chrissa’s horse was tethered to a tree off to the side, along with another beast she didn’t recognize.
They’d found them. Now what would they do?
“We have to go inside, Hendrie,” Astra whispered.
“Nay, not me. And your arrows are no good inside a castle. We need to go back and get help.”
“What if they leave?”
“We aren’t that far. Less than a half day’s ride. We’ll get help, and the others will come for them. You can bring them straight here now that Sky’s showed us the way.”
The sound of thundering hooves interrupted them so they found a grove of trees
to hide in, off the regular path. They watched as nearly two score Englishman arrived at the castle, all carrying battle axes or swords, dressed in armor and helms.
Hendrie paled and turned to look at Astra.
“All right,” she said, because she might be brave but she wasn’t stupid. “We go for help.”
Sky yipped.
“Get her,” Astra hissed. “And get on your horse. We have to get the hell out of here and fast. If they hear her, we’re in trouble.”
Hendrie said, “Aye, we go now. I’ll be right behind you.”
They took off in the opposite direction, pushing their horses to travel as fast as possible, but they weren’t riding large stallions. In fact, Hendrie had taken one of the smallest horses in the stables. With the upcoming battle, they hadn’t dared to take any of the mounts that would be missed.
A pounding of hooves caught Astra’s ears, and she whirled her head around and let out another squeal. “Hendrie, they’re coming for us! Hurry! Faster!”
They tugged on the reins, but their horses didn’t move any quicker. Worse, they started to slow in fear as big horses came up alongside them, armored men shouting at them. But Astra was so terrified, she couldn’t hear a word they said.
“Are you stopping, Astra?” Hendrie shouted.
“Hell, nay!” she squealed, continuing on her way. One of the Englishmen pointed for her to slow down.
“I’m not stopping for you, you ugly bastard!”
“Don’t make them any madder, Astra. Close your mouth,” Hendrie yelled, though she could barely hear him either. The racket of the hooves was deafening, and the pounding of her heart seemed to drone out all other sounds.
The Englishman next to her reached over and grabbed her, lifting her off her horse as easily as if she were a saddlebag and settling her onto his horse with a thump.
A bolt of lightning shot out of the sky, followed by another and another. The man holding her lifted his helm off and tossed it aside, staring up at the wild sky, the thunder booming and crashing, the ear-splitting noise causing the horses to buck as the ground shook with fury beneath them.
The Scot's Deception (Highland Swords Book 5) Page 13
