The Scot's Deception (Highland Swords Book 5)

by Keira Montclair

  “I need to see to my sire first.”

  “I can warn him, if you like. It may push you too far to go out there.” Although she wasn’t sure which Inan she would encounter—the kind, old-fashioned man, or the drunkard.

  “I know, but I’ll not rest until he’s been warned about Mama. I’ll not rest until I see him.” His hand reached up to cup her cheek. “You look exhausted. You need to sleep.”

  A sudden fear bit into her. He’d been so ill…what if he didn’t remember what had happened between them? What if he only remembered their argument? He ran a finger down her cheek. “I love you, too. I can read the worry on your face. The way you took care of me…and how awful I felt when we were so upset with each other…it made me realize how much you mean to me. Hopefully, when this is over, I’ll speak with your sire to see if he’d accept my suit for your hand. I know I’m not of noble blood…”

  “That does not matter, Drostan.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers and said, “I pray you’re right, because you’re the only one I want in my life. I’ll ask him once the time is right, and I hope he’ll approve of me.” He brushed his hand across her cheek.

  “Of course he will.”

  “I’ll not believe it until I hear it. First, you need to sleep, then help the Scots win this battle. We need to have everything with Edward’s son finished. Get the English out of Scotland so we can go on with our lives.”

  He kissed her lightly on the lips and said, “Go.”

  So she headed up to her chamber and changed into a night rail. To her surprise, she fell right asleep.

  ***

  Drostan made his way slowly out of the healing chamber, thanking everyone for their help along the way. Alex Grant waved him over to a chair at the hearth, but he said, “With all due respect, I’d like to accept your offer upon my return. I’m sure Chrissa filled you in on all that has transpired, so I feel the need to visit my sire first.”

  “Understood,” Alex said. “Would you like anyone to go with you in case you run into anything you aren’t suspecting?”

  “Nay, I’ll be fine. My thanks to you.”

  He hobbled out the door, not surprised to be greeted by Hendrie and Sky.

  “My lord, I’ve taken good care of your pet.” He held Sky out for Drostan to pick her up so he did, briefly, though he knew he couldn’t take her with him. The last thing he wanted was to drop her by accident. She was still so small.

  “Wee Sky,” he chuckled as she licked his cheeks. “I see you missed me. Many thanks to you, Hendrie, for taking such good care of her.”

  “You have a warrior’s wound, my lord?” Hendrie stared with huge eyes at the bandage around his leg.

  “Aye, seems that I do.” He thought of his father and how a wound had ended his warrior days. Would the same happen to him? Nay, he refused to believe he’d allow something to change his whole being. Even if he couldn’t fight, he could still train warriors. The thought made him wonder why his father had given up so easily.

  The answer seemed quite simple. He’d always blamed his parents’ troubles on his father’s drinking, but perhaps he’d gotten it wrong. He’d certainly gotten her wrong.

  “Did you hear that Sky was the one who found you, my lord?” Hendrie said, bringing his attention back to the moment.

  “What?” He rubbed the pup’s ear, and she promptly gave him a wee yip of approval. “Did you find me, pup?”

  “Aye, Astra and I searched for you, then we told her cousins where you were so they all went after you. We helped. I’m sure of it.” His face beamed with pride.

  “Many thanks to you. I cannot wait to hear more details, but you must save the story for when Chrissa is with us.” He rubbed the scruff of beard on his chin while his gaze searched the area. “Have you seen my sire?”

  “He came to the warriors’ camp the other day. He kept talking about your bravery and your sword skills. Said he didn’t fear for you. He was certain you’d escape and save Chrissa too.”

  “My sire said all of that? Are you sure?”

  “Aye, he wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

  Drostan couldn’t have been more surprised. “Hendrie, I need to go visit with him, and he’s not fond of dogs. Would you mind hanging on to Sky for a wee bit longer?”

  “I’ll take good care of her, my lord. I’ll be in the lists. She likes to be around people.”

  Hendrie took off and Drostan smiled. He was a fine lad, for certes. Hobbling out to his sire’s cottage was not an easy ordeal. Surprised at how quickly he tired, he wiped the sweat from his brow and continued. He had to warn his father about his mother. She would come for him, of that much Drostan was certain. His father had verbally abused her for years…and she was not the sort of person who’d let such a thing go.

  His father wasn’t a perfect man. Mayhap he wasn’t even a good one, but he’d stayed with Drostan. His mother had left without a word, something that had hurt more than he cared to admit. Now he understood the truth: he was fortunate she’d left. Although his father was a miserable drunk, he was no traitor. Nor could he casually talk about murdering innocents.

  He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He opened it and stepped inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. “Papa?” He didn’t see him in the main part of the hut, so he moved back into the area that held the bed, not surprised to see his father sprawled across it.

  Probably passed out from too much to drink.

  “Papa?” he called out softly.

  No answer.

  When he moved over to the bed, he noticed the blood on his father’s tunic. Heart racing, he touched his hand to the man’s neck to look for evidence of a beating heart. There was a small pulse there, not strong enough to reassure him.

  “Oh, Papa,” he muttered, kneeling next to him and listening for any breathing. “Papa? What happened?”

  Had his mother killed him so callously? If so, she was more of a monster than his sire had ever been.

  “Drostan? Sorry…so sorry… proud of you, son.”

  “Papa, who did this to you? Was it Mama?” His father’s eyes blinked several times, but then he nodded slowly. “Mama. Be careful.” He pointed over Drostan’s shoulder.

  He pivoted so quickly a stab of pain shot through him from the rapid movement on his wounded leg. The sensation was so overpowering, he fell onto a stool, massaging the muscles that were revolting against Chrissa’s tight, careful stitches and the sudden change in movement.

  No one was there, so he turned back to his father. “Papa, hang on. I’ll run for the healer. We’ll get you sewn up. Please.”

  But he could sense the life force leaving his sire’s body, could see the blood pooling on the bed beneath him. “Papa?”

  He felt for the pulse in his neck again, but it was gone. He hung his head over his father, fighting the tears that threatened to drench his face.

  The door opened and his mother stood there, a dagger in her hand.

  “Did you clean it so my sire’s blood isn’t on the weapon you use to kill me?”

  She didn’t look anything like he remembered. Oh, it was her, but something in her face had changed. Twisted. And he no longer recognized the woman he’d known. She was thinner than before, too, and she’d changed her hair, wearing it up on top of her head instead of in a plait down her back.

  “I knew you’d come back. I had one more thing to do with my life before it was complete: kill you both.” She came forward, still brandishing her dagger.

  “Why me, Mama? I never hurt you. If anyone was hurt, ’twas me. How could you desert your own child without a word?” And that was the least of what she’d done. He was so upset that he wished to throttle her, leave her for the vultures, yet he struggled. She was his mother. Wasn’t she supposed to love and protect him?

  Did she ever do that? a small voice asked in his head.

  He flashed to the memory of Alexander Grant telling stories to his grandbairns at night by the hearth. Of Kyla Grant figh
ting for her daughter, coaching her, and always, always trying to do what was best for her.

  His parents had never been like that. Neither of them.

  “Nay,” his mother sneered, “because I knew you’d end up just like him. Lads grow up in the image of their sire. By killing you, I’ll save your wee lassie the struggle of living with a man who does nothing but drown in his ale every day, ignore her wishes, and force her to live in a cold hut in the mountains. I have a better life now. I’m going to live in London once I get my riches. And I will get them. The Grants don’t deserve their wealth.”

  That lit a fire in him and he forced himself to stand. “’Tis where you’re wrong. I’ve never mistreated a woman before, and I never will. But you don’t care about me, do you? You’re a heartless bitch.”

  She came toward him with the knife in front of her. He feared she’d try to use it, but she didn’t. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know you left without saying a word to your only bairn.”

  She sauntered toward him, but then she did something he hadn’t expected. “You’re right, I did. Here”—she held the hilt of the dagger out to him—“stab me for what I did to you. Go ahead. Do it.”

  She held the hilt of the dagger out to him, but he refused, recognizing it as a symbol of his family and all he wanted to leave behind. “Nay, I don’t want it.”

  “Take it. Hurt me the way your father did. Go ahead. Take it.”

  He shook his head and held his hands up. “Nay, I’m not like you or Papa. I’m not going to do something I’ll regret for the rest of my life like you have.”

  She tipped her head back, laughing convulsively.

  “You killed a drunk, Mama, but I’m a Grant warrior? Do you really think you can hold me down to stab me?”

  She closed her eyes and laughed harder. If he’d been looking for a chance, he had it. He could have taken the dagger, killed her, and ended this farce, but he couldn’t do it.

  When her laughter died down, she brushed at the side of one eye. “You make me cry with laughter. I knew you couldn’t do it. You’re a weakling, just like your father. You’d never be able to kill me.” She reached for the knife and picked it back up with intent.

  A figure stood in front of the doorway brandishing a dagger in her hand.

  Chrissa.

  His mother spun around to stare at her. “Who the hell are you? If you take another step, I’ll kill him.” Recognition dawned in her eyes. “Ah, ’tis you. You’ve always had a lot of airs for a useless lass. You’re nothing.” She spat at Chrissa’s feet.

  Chrissa tipped her head and said, “I’m the woman he loves, and I adore him just the way he is. I’m pleased he can’t kill his own mother, his own blood.”

  “You two deserve each other. Neither of you have the gumption to hurt me.” She picked up the dagger and flicked it back and forth in her hand. “Who wishes to be first?”

  “Mayhap he can’t bring himself to fight you,” Chrissa said, “but I can.” She flung her dagger and it embedded in the side of the woman’s neck, blood spurting everywhere.

  She was dead in seconds.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chrissa ran to Drostan, throwing herself into his arms. “Forgive me, but she wanted to kill us both… She was going to…”

  “Hush,” he said, setting his fingers against her lips. “She was right. I couldn’t do it unless she went for you, but she would have killed me first, then killed you. You did the right thing.”

  He hugged her tightly while Chrissa fought the need to cry. “Your sire?”

  “She killed him. Stabbed him while he was drunk. He was still alive when I got here. He…he told me that he was sorry.” He stopped to gather himself, a whistle of air traveling though his pursed lips. “He actually said he was proud of me. Words I’ve not heard often.”

  “You must be devastated. You lost your mother and your father on the same day. Drostan, I’m so sorry.”

  He pulled back and kissed her, a tender, loving kiss that nearly brought her to her knees. Then he kissed her forehead and said, “Go. I’ll walk you to the keep so we can inform everyone of what happened. In the morn, you must gather your things and go to Stirling to support our king. If I could go with you, I would, but I would be more of a hindrance.”

  “Before we left for King Robert’s camp, you wanted me to stay back. You said you’d be too worried. Why not now?”

  “Because I believe in you. I’ve seen the way you’ve dealt with everything, from those fools trying to turn our clan against the Ramsays to the way you just protected me when I should have protected you.”

  “You did protect me,” she said, cupping his cheeks. “You saved me from Sheriff Percy. We got away together. We can do anything together. When we’re both hale. I wish you could go with me, but my thanks for understanding why I must do this.” She kissed him, long and slow, and then pulled back. “I love you. I’ll miss you terribly, but I’m going to do as you suggested. I’ll leave on the morrow and should arrive by nightfall. I’m going to sleep and will rise before dawn. Come, let’s go back to the keep.”

  They made their way back to the castle, saying little to anyone. Drostan moved so slowly that she worried he wouldn’t make it all the way back, but she stayed by his side, knowing she’d never wish to leave him again.

  Going to Stirling without him would be difficult, but she would do it. And then she would focus on their relationship. They needed time to get to know one another in a different way, and that she looked forward to, without a doubt.

  The serving lass brought fresh water and linens to his chamber, so she helped him clean up, then settled in bed, spooned in front of him. She didn’t care what her mother said, she would not leave him this night. The sound of his heartbeat soothed her more than anything could at this time.

  It was a sound to be treasured.

  ***

  When Chrissa arrived at New Park, she was pleased to see so many warriors had gathered to support their king. No one questioned them since they wore Grant plaids, and they were directed over to a group near the back.

  “Grants and Ramsays fight in the group with King Robert.”

  She and the score of guards she traveled with made it to their group in a short time. They’d brought several sacks of food stuffs, so she took the one she’d gathered over to the group where her cousins stood.

  “Chrissa, welcome!” Maggie called out. “We need another archer. We’ll be fighting from that hill over there on the morrow.”

  The group was arranged in a circle around a small fire. Alasdair, Emmalin, John, Els, Alick, Derric, and Dyna. A few Ramsays sat with them too: Sorcha, Maggie and her husband Will, and Molly.

  “Torrian and Jamie are with King Robert,” Dyna explained. “Their warriors are in his band of fighters. Loki brought his warriors, and he is working with the schiltron of spearmen along with Tormod and Cailean. There are four bands of fighters.”

  “How many total?”

  “Around six thousand at last count. There are four sets of spearmen who will go first on the offensive, then a couple of Scottish brigades, then the light cavalry. King Robert is leading the Highlanders and they will go after the cavalry. Anyone who hasn’t trained will be last to fight, if necessary.”

  “So where are the Highland Swords fighting?”

  “All the Scotsmen who haven’t trained with Robert are in the group behind the hill. We’re to lead it. He’s saving us for last.”

  Molly asked, “How is Drostan?”

  Chrissa passed out the loaves of bread and cheese she’d brought, then passed around the sack of apples before she sat down on a log and explained what had happened.

  Alasdair asked, “So his mother was part of kidnapping the two of you?”

  “Aye, she was the one who planned to leave our bodies outside the keep after the battle. The plan was to draw everyone out of the castle so their men could come over the back wall. I’ve informed Grandsire, and with Drostan’s help
, I’m sure they’ll devise something to stop the bastards.”

  “You don’t think his mother’s death will stop it?” Els spoke with his mouth full, which made her laugh, but he got his message across.

  “Nay, I heard a man with her, a stranger, but he could be anyone. If you have any ideas, please let me know.” She went over what she’d overheard, but they had no suggestions.

  “So we battle on the morrow?” she asked.

  “Aye,” Alick said. “You better stay with the archers. There are too many strangers here who’d be happy to find a wife. They’d love to steal you and take you home to the Highlands.”

  She glanced at Maggie to see if he was joking. Her Ramsay cousin shrugged. “I can’t argue with him. I’ve seen many who would do just that. Stay with the group. We’ll fire whenever we have clear shots.”

  Alick added, “Our king had an easy time of defeating de Bohun, one of Edward’s best men, with just his hand axe last eve. He was the first to advance, but King Robert took him out with one blow. We’re going to win this.”

  They continued to discuss the situation and their chances of victory, but she tired quickly. “Where are you sleeping, Dyna?” she asked at last. “I’ll sleep near you.”

  “Right here, once the fire’s out.”

  Sorcha and Molly nodded to her. “We’ll huddle together. Right here,” said Molly. “I’m ready to sleep, too.” The men were quieting down.

  As she drifted off, she thought of Drostan.

  ***

  Drostan buried his father while other men from the village buried his mother. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. At his request, they’d buried her body deep in the woods. She didn’t deserve to be buried with the clan.

  His leg still pained him, but he wouldn’t let it hold him back, so he made his way up to the keep to speak with Alex Grant. He found him seated near the hearth, lost in thought. “My lord, I’d like to ask for your help. While my mother is gone, there is still someone else out there who could be planning to take over your castle. We don’t know how the battle will end, so we should prepare.”