The Highlander’s Awakening Lairds of Dunkeld Series)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Ah,” the guard said, grave. “Back in a second.”

  That must be the guard's breakfast. Lucky fellows. I hope their orders weren't to kill me.

  He shuddered. The thought entered his head, but left it soon after. The MacDonnell was not impetuous – if he had intended to keep Brodgar to bargain for his daughter's return – which seemed his intention – why kill him? All the same, the lack of water or victuals did suggest he wasn't meant to live here.

  Brodgar groaned as his stomach lurched. He went to sit in the tower, feeling as if he might go mad if something didn't happen soon. The hunger, the uncertainty and inactivity were gnawing away at his sanity like river water undermining the riverbank. He clenched his hands tightly.

  A knock sounded.

  “My lord?”

  “Come in,” Brodgar groaned.

  The guard appeared. To Brodgar's amazement, he bore a tray. A bowl of broth steamed there, and two small loaves of oaten bread occupied the lower part of the tray.

  “Don't want you to starve,” the guard said placidly. He put it down.

  “Thank you,” Brodgar said. His voice was croaky and he knew that his eyes were wet. He didn't care.

  “Not at all.”

  The guard walked out, seeming shy, and disappeared. He heard the key turn in the lock.

  Thank Heaven for those kind men. Brodgar lifted the small loaves and finished them before he'd even thought about it, and then finished the broth. He could feel his body start to shake as he ate, the strength returning to his muscles with every mouthful.

  “Right,” he said, leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. “That was breakfast.”

  At that moment, he was too tired to do anything but sit still a while and let his deprived body get on with the job of digesting his breakfast. He flexed his fingers, watching the muscled length of them as he thought.

  This makes things harder. Now that the guards have been so kind, I don't want to jeopardize them by making them negligent. I can't risk their livelihoods by escape.

  He sighed. He had to escape. Mayhap there would be a way to do it without the guards – at least without these guards – being responsible.

  There was a sliver of sunlight breaking through cloud. It illuminated a path on the floor. Brodgar bathed in warmth. He stood and looked out of the window. It was too narrow for his shoulders – or at least he thought it was – and it was four times the height of a man from the ground. He couldn't jump.

  “Come on, Brodgar.” Every minute he lost here was the difference between his plan working – finding Ambeal and Alf, bringing them back – or not.

  As he was pacing, the guards returned.

  “Begging your pardon, milord,” the kind guard said. “His lordship requests your presence.”

  “Oh,” Brodgar said. He was surprised. Why would the thane bring him out now?

  Probably wants to question me.

  Whatever the case was, now was his opportunity to escape. If he could manage to run out of the hall – or wherever the thane was meeting – and evade the guards in the hall, he would be able to escape without jeopardizing these guards.

  Right. This is it.

  “Well, then,” he said, nodding to the guardsmen. “Off we go, then. Thanks,” he added, inclining his head at the breakfast tray one of them was surreptitiously clearing up.

  “Not at all, sir,” the guard said. “Don't mention it.”

  He smiled. “I won't.”

  The guards walked down with him through a colonnaded doorway and into the front of the great hall, where a high arched door, flanked with sentries, admitted people to the hall itself.

  This is it.

  As the guards exchanged a word with their comrades at the gate, Brodgar ran to the right. The guards were so surprised that it took them a moment to react. Then the world splintered into a mass of running men, shouting men, men with weapons trying not to get in each other's way as they converged on the running, twisting, darting figure that moved across the yard.

  Brodgar ran. He didn't think he was going to make it. There was no way. The place was filled with guardsmen and he had not a single hope of getting out through the front gate. He had no time to plan. No time to think. He could only run.

  The stables. I have to get to the stables. If I can find my horse, then I can find my scabbard. Then I will at least be armed.

  “Halt!”

  A guardsman swung a staff out, hoping to trip him. Brodgar saw it coming, and skittered sideways. Even so, it hit his ankle, making him yell loudly. He kept running.

  He heard a sound he both dreaded and welcomed. Hooves.

  A mounted guard appeared from the direction in which he had been headed.

  That way. The stable is that way.

  He ran. His whole body was filled with the fluid fire of terror and urgency and he didn't notice how his heart thudded or his breath tore or his legs cramped. He only knew the need to escape.

  As he reached the stables, and saw the knot of men there, all running to fetch their horses or arm themselves or simply to do his lordship's bidding and halt Brodgar, a thought occurred to him.

  We trained the horses; my horse.

  He drew in a breath and whistled.

  As he did it, he heard a wonderful sound. The cracking of wood. He saw Arnold appear, moments later, running to him past men who sought to halt his progress.

  “Yes! Arnold. Good Arnold. My beauty...”

  He called it even as his heart soared. He did the leap his father had taught him first and, later, Uncle Blaine had perfected, making him go over it again and again until he could do it as a reflex. He jumped up, grabbed his horse's withers and swung up so he was seated.

  “Ugh!” he yelled as grasping hands reached up, seeking to unhorse him. He saw a man with a pike, readying to stab his mount. He screamed with rage. Drew his sword.

  He didn't think about it as his sword-blade cleaved through flesh. He had never actually used his blade in battle before. However, to kill his horse – his friend, who had just saved his life – he would not countenance.

  He heard a battle cry escape his throat, wild and crazy. He was surprised. He had no idea he could do any of this. He had done it a thousand times in practice, but he'd never actually fought in truth. He spurred Arnold to the left, seeking the water gate. Or anything. Just not the main entrance.

  They rode. As they went, men approached, but Brodgar was ready with steel and few approached closer. He was grateful no one had crossbows on the wall. Or he'd be dead.

  He rode toward the gate.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  FINDING THE WAY AHEAD

  FINDING THE WAY AHEAD

  The solar was warm, despite the fretful breeze outside the windows. All the same, Ettie felt completely numb. She sat on the settee, alone, bent over a new piece of embroidery.

  Where is he? Please, please, let him be safe.

  She had been pacing earlier, but had stopped now and sat with her head bowed over the tiny patterns of flowers and leaves she sewed as if there was meaning to be found in amongst the silken threads.

  “What will I do if they kill him?”

  It didn't make sense. Contemplating a world without Brodgar was like trying to imagine the castle without its walls – no, like the whole world without a sky. It was like staring at a dark void.

  She stared off into the distance, lost in her memories of him. Brodgar, kissing her here in this place. On the roof together. In the woods.

  “Henriette?”

  Ettie blinked. Was someone calling her name? No. It must have been the wind, hissing past the windows.

  “Henriette!”

  “Oh!”

  Henriette stared as Amice appeared in the doorway. Her face was white with shock, and her eyes were huge. “Ettie!” she whispered. “Please. I need help.”

  “Amice?” Ettie stood and went to her, put her arms round her and drew her to the settle. “What is it, little sister? Tell me?”

  Amice hel
d her hand. She was looking out into the room, but clearly not seeing it. Her body shook and Ettie held her, really worried now. What had happened?

  “Alf. It's Alf. Oh, Ettie...” Amice covered her face and sobbed.

  “What?” Ettie felt as if someone stabbed her in the chest. Where was Alf? Was he dead? Captured? Harmed? “What about him?”

  “He's here.”

  “What?” Ettie stared at her. Of all the news, that was the most surprising. And horrifying, for a whole lot of other reasons. If Alf was here, then...then it's only a matter of time before The MacDonnell finds out, and then there really will be war.

  “He's downstairs,” Amice whispered. “In the cellar. I hid him. Oh, God...what will we do?”

  “You hid him. Good.” Ettie felt her heart racing even as strange calm descended. Now she could think again, slowly. Make a plan. “Was there anyone else who saw him? Does anyone know he's here?”

  “No.” Amice shook her head. “At least, I don't think so. I wouldn't let Father or anyone know.”

  “Good,” Ettie said, stroking her soft red hair. “That's good.”

  “What can we do?” Amice whispered. “This is so dangerous, Ettie...” She trailed off, burying her face in her hands.

  “Is he alone?” Ettie asked quickly. Alf on his own would be no real problem: if none of the MacDonnell men saw him, how would anyone know he was responsible? It could be explained away.

  “No,” Amice said in a whisper.

  “No?”

  “He has Ambeal with him.”

  “Oh. My.” Ettie felt herself sway in her seat. That really was bad. Alf! How could he even think of doing such a thing? Did he want to endanger everything? Bring war to their doorstep? What can we do?

  “I know, Ettie,” Amice whispered. “I saw them in the grounds. By the wall. I thought it was townspeople, coming for aid. I went to them and they begged me to hide them. Said the roads are full of men-at-arms. We have to help.”

  “Well, he hasn't given us much choice, has he?” She smiled. Amice managed to giggle.

  “Oh, Ettie. You're so sensible and practical. I knew you'd help.”

  Ettie shivered. “I hope I can.”

  “I didn't know what to do.” Amice said. “I wasn't sure who we should tell.”

  “We should tell Chrissie.”

  “Oh, no!” Amice covered her rosebud mouth with her hand. “No, Ettie. We can't risk any of them knowing...”

  She meant any of the older members of the family. Ettie would be inclined to agree, except for Chrissie's sorrow. Learning her son were here would likely cheer her, despite the danger. And they could do with an extra head to think over this problem.

  “She is his mother,” she said reasonably. “She would help.”

  “You're right, of course.” Amice sniffed. “But if Father found out...I never saw him in such a rage. I thought he might exile Alf, or kill him...” she shuddered.

  Ettie put her arm around Amice. “I know he was angry. But I don't think Lord Broderick is the kind of man to let his anger cloud everything.”

  “I hope not,” Amice whispered.

  She looked into Ettie's eyes. Ettie made herself sound confident, though inside she was terribly nervous. “Come on. We'll find her.”

  They stood and, Ettie still holding her hand, walked to Chrissie's suite beside Ettie's bedroom.

  “Aunt Chrissie?” Amice called as Ettie knocked. “Are you there?”

  They waited for a few moments and heard footsteps, and then the door opened. Chrissie appeared. She had been crying recently, Ettie judged, though she had covered it with face powder. She blinked at the two at the threshold.

  “Nieces? What is it?” she asked softly. “Can I help?”

  “Are you alone, Aunt?” Ettie asked, indicating the chamber behind.

  “Yes.”

  “Can we come in?” Amice asked.

  “Of course, girls. But what is it?” Chrissie asked, sounding worried. “Has something happened? Is it your mother?” she asked Amice, a frown between her brows. Lady Amabel had been inconsolable since Brodgar left, and the last Ettie had seen, she'd been pacing the upper hallway, talking to no one except Alina.

  “No, it's not that,” Amice said. Ettie shut the door behind them and they faced Chrissie together.

  “It's Alf.”

  “He's back.”

  When the news was out, Chrissie's face transformed into a grin. “He is? Is he safe? Where is he? Can I see him?”

  “He's downstairs,” Ettie said carefully. “In the cellar.”

  “Why? Why isn't he up here, with me?” Chrissie asked quickly. “Is he hurt? Take me to him!”

  “He's hiding,” Amice explained quickly. “He's a fugitive.”

  “Why?” Chrissie looked agonized, her cornflower-blue eyes wide with disbelief and sorrow. “What happened?”

  “He has Ambeal with him.” Ettie said it quickly. The sooner she knew, the better. Then they could think of a solution together.

  “Oh...” Chrissie sat down abruptly. She looked up at the girls. “Heaven help us. What was he thinking? How could he?”

  “I know, Aunt,” Ettie said grimly. “He's endangering us.”

  “He is hidden, though,” Amice said helpfully. “If no one knows they're here, then there's no danger, is there?”

  Chrissie took her hand, smiling fondly at her niece. “My dear, you're right. All we need to do is keep them safe and keep them hidden until the negotiations. That's true.”

  “Well, then,” Ettie said, feeling suddenly nervous. “Will anyone find them?”

  “The cellar is rarely used,” Amice explained. “The only person who goes down there often is the cook, and Lady Amabel, to take stock. He's in the root cellar, at the back,” she explained quickly to Chrissie, who nodded.

  “Wise girl. He can stay hidden there for a while. Now, how about provisions?”

  Ettie couldn't help feeling relieved as Chrissie made practical plans. It seemed feasible to keep him hidden for a few days, and Ambeal with him. At least until they had a chance to think of something better.

  “Right,” Chrissie was saying. “Now. We need two cloaks. Two lamps. Some blankets, a basket of breads and pastries. A ham. A torch, perhaps, for warmth...”

  “Yes, Aunt,” Amice was saying, counting the items off on her fingers as Chrissie said them. Ettie nodded.

  “We should keep a guard,” Ettie commented. “Someone posted to see that no one comes around there and warn them to stay hidden if they do.”

  “Good thought, Ettie,” Amice beamed at her, making her feel proud.

  “We could ask Glenna,” Chrissie suggested, “or Blaire, my maid. We wouldn't have to explain to them exactly what was happening. That way, if they're questioned, they don't need to lie.”

  “Yes. Good. Good idea.” Amice nodded fervently. “If they went down to the north tower, to the room at the bottom, they could see anyone coming around to the door round the back,” she added, thinking aloud.

  “Good thinking, niece.” Chrissie stroked her hair. “Now. Let's get provisions.”

  “Won't someone suspect us, if we take things from the kitchens?” Ettie asked practically. She was rewarded with a wry grin from Chrissie.

  “If I say I want a basket of bread and pastries, I don't think Cook will question anything. And as for the lamps and cloaks and things, we can get those from the attic without anyone knowing. If anyone asks, we're off riding.”

  “Good idea, Aunt!” Amice beamed. She looked much happier – it seemed as if it was turning into an adventure.

  Ettie could feel hope inside her. “Well, then,” she said, looking about. “We'd best get it all done quickly. They'll freeze down there without warm clothing.”

  Amice shivered and nodded.

  Twenty minutes later, their provisions put together, the three hurried down the stairs to the root cellar together. They arrived in a dark space that smelled faintly musty. Ettie drew her cloak around her. It was cold down
here! She walked over the stone-flagged floor, holding Amice's shoulder for direction, as it was also rather dark.

  “Alf?” Amice whispered. “It's me.”

  “Son?” Lady Chrissie called. “My son?”

  “Mother!” A young man appeared suddenly out of the gloom and launched himself at Chrissie. Busy kindling the lamp, Ettie found herself blinking back tears. The two clung to each other in the sudden golden light, Chrissie's small form pressed tight against Alf's chest. He stroked her back and Chrissie's face twisted as she held back her tears.

  “Amice?” a voice whispered. Amice turned.

  “Yes, Ambeal?”

  “Is it safe if people know...” she started, and then trailed off as Ettie lifted the lamp. She found herself looking at a tall, slender girl of her own age or perhaps a little older, with straight auburn hair that hung to her waist and a long, slim face. Her brown eyes were slightly slanted at the corners, her mouth full and trembling faintly. She was beautiful, Ettie thought. She could see why Alf had gone a little mad seeing her.

  “This is my cousin Henriette,” Amice explained firmly. Ettie felt her own heart warm at the words, which were entirely untrue – she was no blood relative whatsoever. “Ettie, meet Lady Ambeal, daughter of the thane of Bronley.”

  “I'm pleased to meet you.”

  “I, too, to meet you.”

  The two regarded each other steadily. Ettie found she liked something about her – the way she met her gaze so fearlessly, the way she was so solemn despite the danger so clearly facing them. She had courage.

  “And you think you'll stay long?”

  “I don't know.”

  Ettie turned back to where Alf and Chrissie were talking. Their voices low and grave, they were clearly having an important discussion. She and Amice turned to tune in. Ambeal joined them. She was half a hand taller than Ettie, much taller than Amice. They all listened to Chrissie's reply.

  “Son, you know it's not safe. But we'll do our best to keep you hidden for four days. That way, when Broderick has made some plan, perhaps you can be set on your way, in secret.”

  “The ways were all blocked,” Alf whispered, clearly still shocked by what he had seen. His long, lean face showed signs of shock and Ettie wished they could do more to comfort him.