by Ruth Langan
That left Brice and Angus to follow the trail left by Meredith.
“We will travel faster alone,” he remarked when Angus grumbled about their lack of additional men. “We know where the lady is headed. Now we need only catch her before she can fall into any more danger.”
“If there is danger,” Angus muttered, saddling both their horses while Brice tended to his own shoulder wound, “you can be certain the lady will find it.”
Brice looked up with a frown. “Aye. The lady Meredith does seem to have a gift for getting herself into trouble.”
Seeing that his old friend was having trouble with the dressing, Angus dropped the reins and finished tying the strip of cloth about Brice’s shoulder.
“Thank you, my friend. Now let us catch the lady. Before she manages to surprise us again.”
“MacAlpin Castle?”
Brice and Angus sat astride their horses at the river’s edge.
To the east the sky was aflame with the first rosy slashes of dawn light.
“Aye.” There was a softness in Brice’s tone as he thought of Meredith, asleep in one of the upper chambers. “There is no time to waste. We will surprise her by entering before the household is awake.”
Leading the way, he urged his mount into the icy waters, with Angus following. Once on the other bank they dug in their heels and raced across the last miles that separated them from MacAlpin Castle.
At the courtyard they took note of the saddled horses and the packhorses laden with provisions.
“We have arrived not a moment too soon.” Before Brice could slide from the saddle the heavy door was opened and two young women, dressed for traveling, emerged.
At the sight of him both of them fell back in alarm.
“I am Brice Campbell,” he said, studying them through narrowed eyes. “And from your sister’s description of you, I feel as though I already know you.” He turned to the sweet, shy beauty whose raven hair had been coiled about her head in a regal style. Her blue-violet eyes were ringed with black lashes. “You are Brenna, whose talents for cooking and sewing are legend. Meredith claims that men from both Scotland and England would beg for a kind look from you. And you,” he said, turning to Megan, “are determined to never submit to any man. But with hair the color of gold and eyes like a cat, I suspect you will break many a man’s heart.”
The sisters’ mouths opened in surprise; their eyes widened as he bowed before them.
“I come for Meredith MacAlpin.”
How splendid he looked, with his skin tanned and leathery from the sun and his burnished locks tumbling about his forehead. Meredith had boasted about his muscled arms and thighs, his superior strength. And neither girl had forgotten the way he had looked at the cathedral when he had appeared out of the mists to abduct their sister.
Brenna and Megan turned to each other. On Brenna’s lovely face was a look of real pleasure. The romantic in her had devoutly prayed that her sister’s lover would overcome all obstacles to claim what was his.
“So you are Brice Campbell.” She began to take a step forward but Megan caught her arm, holding her back. “We have heard all about you.”
At that Brice’s brows lifted. “So. Meredith is here. Take me to her at once.”
As he slid from the saddle, both young women realized just how tall he was. They had not been prepared for such a fearsome man.
It was Megan who now took charge. “Meredith is not here.”
“Do not lie to me, girl.” He used his most forceful tone, hoping to intimidate her. “Your sister just admitted that she was here.”
“She was. But she is no longer.”
His eyes narrowed. “Where has she gone?”
Megan caught Brenna’s hand and shot her a warning look.
When they remained silent Brice turned to Angus, who had remained in the saddle, watching with interest. “As you can see, these two do not intend to cooperate with us.” He winked. “We shall just have to stay here and watch and wait.”
“But you cannot,” Megan said, stamping her foot. “If we wait any longer she will get too far ahead…”
Brice’s eyes crinkled as the smile touched his lips. “So. You intend to follow Meredith. Without her knowledge, apparently. Where does she go?”
Megan and Brenna turned to each other, then clamped their mouths shut.
Brice crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the packhorse. “A pity you will not need these supplies. I suppose in a few hours it will be too late.”
“Tell him,” Brenna whispered.
Megan shook her head.
“Tell me.” Though Brice kept his tone low, he wanted to throttle the young girl who displayed a cool manner remarkably like her eldest sister’s.
“Only if you agree to take us along.”
“What?” Brice’s hands dropped to his sides, the fists clenched. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing in sudden anger.
“I will tell you where Meredith is headed. But you must agree to take us along.”
“I have had enough.” Brice turned to Angus. “Come. We will follow her trail.”
“It will take you too long,” Megan said. “But if you take us with you, we can save you the trouble of searching for a trail.”
“You will slow us down. Your sister’s life depends upon finding her before Gareth MacKenzie does.”
“We will not slow you. We promise. And as for Gareth.” Megan shot a look at her sister, who gave her an encouraging nod. “We know where he is, too.”
Brice gave a sigh of impatience. “You are testing me, woman. Tell me. And quickly.”
“First you must promise to take us along.”
Brice gritted his teeth, then nodded.
With a smile Megan said, “Meredith rides to Edinburgh, to seek an audience with the queen before Gareth has her declared dead.”
Reluctantly Brice helped the two girls onto their horses before pulling himself up into the saddle. “Angus, take the reins of that packhorse. We ride to Edinburgh.”
“To see the queen.” As they urged their horses into a trot, Brenna and Megan shouted the words in unison.
To the two young women, it was to be a grand adventure. To Brice, it was a race against time.
Meredith sat astride her horse and drank in the sights of the capital city of Scotland. She had traveled across High Street, surely the cleanest in the world. Channels had been dug on either side to drain off the rain. There were stone houses with their wooden galleries, and farther on, the grand houses and gardens of the Canongate, which led to Holyroodhouse. In Market Cross, with its stocks and pillories, men and women in somber dress bustled about. People gathered to talk, to shop, to discuss the events at Court. Goldsmith apprentices from Elphinstone Court and tinsmiths from West Bow were here, along with stall holders from Lawnmarket. And while they discoursed about the queen, they also discussed the one who ruled Edinburgh and all of Scotland with even more power and persuasion than the queen. John Knox, leader of the Kirk, had spoken openly about his contempt for petticoat government. He waited and watched and vowed that this Catholic queen would feel the wrath of God, as had her mother, as had her young French husband.
Meredith studied the dark, menacing fortress that was home to the queen. Its towers and battlements were not unlike Brice’s Highland fortress. And yet it lacked the warm setting and opulence of a Highland castle.
Brice, she thought as she made her way to Holyroodhouse. If only Brice were here with her. She resented the heat she felt at the mere thought of him. She resented the way her body betrayed her, going all weak and soft when she needed to be strong. She would put aside all thought of Brice Campbell. For now she needed a clear head, a steady heartbeat.
She straightened her spine and urged her mount on, past Tolbooth Prison. How many were incarcerated there, she wondered, whose only crimes were gaiety and laughter? She thought of the love, the laughter, she had discovered at Kinloch House. How far away seemed the Highlands. How far away her love.<
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With every clatter of her horse’s hooves she drew nearer and nearer to Holyroodhouse. And farther away from any chance to escape Gareth MacKenzie. For surely Gareth was already here in the capital city, awaiting an audience with the queen.
With fear and trepidation she approached the gates of the palace. There were perhaps two dozen people milling about, awaiting notification of an appointment with the queen. Many of them grumbled that they had been forced to return each day for more than two weeks.
Meredith’s heart fell. Two weeks. She had not thought about where she would stay in Edinburgh if the queen would not see her immediately.
And what of Gareth MacKenzie? Would he not also be here, or one of his men? Unless, she thought with a jolt, he had been granted an audience immediately. Then, of course, she would already have been declared dead.
She studied the faces in the crowd. There were men and women in their finest clothing, looking extremely uncomfortable. There were clan chiefs, noblemen and a few common citizens who had matters of interest to discuss with the queen. But there was no sign of MacKenzie men. Meredith gave a sigh of relief when she did not see Gareth. So far, her luck was holding.
As the gatekeeper approached, she made a sudden decision. With so many important people waiting for an audience, the queen could not be expected to remember one insignificant Highland wench. But there was one whose name would open doors.
As the gatekeeper asked her name and the purpose of her visit she replied in a clear voice, “Meredith MacAlpin to see the queen. At the request of Brice Campbell.”
Her words were recorded and the gatekeeper withdrew. Slipping from the saddle she led her horse to a trough where he drank.
Within a matter of minutes the gatekeeper returned and in a loud voice called, “Meredith MacAlpin.”
She was aware of the sudden interest of the crowd. Men who had hardly glanced her way now studied her with open curiosity. Women, aghast at the sight of a woman wearing men’s breeches and tunic, and flaunting the Highland saffron shirt, watched her with looks that ranged from contempt to amazement.
As she pushed her way to the front of the crowd, the gatekeeper opened the gates and waited until she and her mount were safely inside.
As the heavy gates were closing he bowed slightly and said, “Welcome to Holyroodhouse, my lady. The queen will see you now.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sky was an angry black cauldron that boiled and bubbled. And when at last the billowing black clouds opened up, the downpour was sudden and drenching.
Seeking shelter for the women, Brice found a small hay barn. Inside they inhaled the sweet moist fragrance of dry hay.
Brenna drew her cape about her and found a spot in the corner where she could sit and observe. From what she had seen, this man who had won her sister’s undying love was nothing more than a tough, demanding warrior who drove himself and everyone around him to the point of exhaustion. What was it about him that endeared him to Meredith?
Megan, shaking the raindrops from her cloak, paced about, curiosity causing her to peer into every nook. Satisfied, she perched on a mound of hay in the middle of the room and watched as Brice and Angus led the horses in out of the rain. She was clearly fascinated by this man who had stolen her sister, and then captured her heart.
As was her nature she blurted out what was on her mind, without regard to sensitivities.
“Why did you let Meredith undertake such a dangerous journey alone?”
Brice rubbed a rough cloth over his horse’s quivering flank, choosing to remain silent for several minutes while he completed his task. “Your sister gave me no choice. She slipped away after I had fallen asleep.”
“It seems to have taken you a good deal of time to catch up with her.”
“We had…” He glanced toward Angus. “An unexpected diversion.”
“What diversion?” Megan demanded.
If he found her questions impertinent he gave no indication. “Meredith was abducted by a Highland chief.”
He saw the girl’s mouth drop open. His words were clipped, his description sparse to save Meredith’s sisters from undue suffering. “When my men and I went to her aid, we found ourselves badly outnumbered.”
“Not for the first time,” Angus said dryly.
“Aye.” Brice chuckled. “It seems to be a habit with us of late, old friend.”
Brenna noted the affection between the two men. It warmed her to know that Brice Campbell could inspire such devotion. Perhaps there was something endearing about him. For her sister’s sake she hoped so.
As he worked Brenna noted the way Brice favored one arm. “Could that be where you were wounded, my lord?”
“What wound?” Megan asked.
Surprised, Brice glanced up. “You are very observant, Brenna. I thought I hid it rather well.” He touched a hand to the tunic that covered the dressing at his shoulder.
“You were wounded?” Megan studied him a moment, deciding that she liked the idea of a wounded man continuing on, in the face of pain. “But you managed to best your enemy.” Megan’s eyes danced with the thought of the battle. Like Meredith she would not hesitate to take up a sword. “If you were fighting to save Meredith, how did she manage to elude you?”
Brice’s smile grew. “Your sister seems to have become a master of disguise.”
At the incredulous look on the faces of the two young women he added, “She pretended to be a hunchbacked seamstress, and slipped past everyone.”
“Even you?” Megan asked.
“Aye. I confess I did not recognize her.”
“And now she is ahead of you again,” Brenna said thoughtfully.
“Not for long.” Brice strode to the door and peered at the darkened sky. “Already the clouds are breaking to the west. Within the hour we will be once more on the road to Edinburgh.”
“Do you make haste because you love Meredith?” Megan asked boldly. “Or are you merely angry that a woman has bested you?”
Brice stood by the door, illuminated by a flash of lightning. At that moment he looked as fearsome as any barbarian. “You have the right to know my feelings for your sister. And so I will tell you.” He turned toward the quiet, regal Brenna. “Both of you.” In a voice that managed to be both tender and fierce he said, “I love Meredith.”
“If you love her as you claim,” Megan demanded, “why did you not immediately return her to her home?”
“I did not trust Gareth MacKenzie. I feared for her safety here in the Lowlands.”
“And so you placed her in even more danger in your Highlands.”
“Sometimes, little one,” Brice said to Megan, “we are asked to choose between the lesser of evils. I thought that by keeping Meredith with me in the Highlands, I could be close enough to always come to her aid.” He turned to study the progress of the storm. His face was ruggedly handsome in profile. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I have learned that I cannot always be beside the woman I love, to protect her from every harm. I pray the Fates are there to guide her hand and her sword.”
“You are a patient man,” Brenna said with quiet conviction.
“Nay.” Brice almost laughed at the thought. “I am far from patient. But I have had to learn a valuable lesson. When we love someone we are sometimes called upon to make terrible decisions. Decisions that cause pain for one while offering great rewards for the other.”
“I do not understand,” Megan said.
“He means,” Brenna said softly, “that by allowing Meredith to return to the Lowlands to clear his name, he risks losing her.”
At her words Brice’s hands balled into fists by his side.
“My lord,” Brenna said softly.
He turned to her.
“Would you pay any price for my sister’s happiness?”
“Aye. Any price.” His tone was low, vibrating with feeling. “I would even risk losing her if it meant her happiness.”
Brenna shivered. The intensity of his words frigh
tened her. She prayed that neither her beloved older sister nor this fierce Highland warrior would be forced to pay the ultimate price.
Dusk was settling over the city when Brice led his tired party through the streets of Edinburgh.
“It is too late to approach Holyroodhouse this evening. We will have to wait until the morrow to arrange an audience with the queen. For now I will see about lodging.”
Leading the way down a narrow lane near the Canongate, he stopped before a tidy inn. Leaving the women with Angus, Brice went inside. Within minutes he was back to help the women dismount. Lifting their supplies from the packhorse, he led the way to a suite of comfortable rooms.
“Angus and I have the rooms across the hall,” he explained. “The innkeeper will provide us with a meal. As soon as you have refreshed yourselves, you may join us below stairs to sup.”
Megan and Brenna were grateful for the chance to wash away the grime of the journey. Running a brush through their tangled curls, they smoothed their gowns and draped shawls of delicate lace about their shoulders. Then they made their way to the dining room.
Brice and Angus were standing before a roaring fire, enjoying tankards of ale. Their conversation was low, muted. They looked up as the two young women entered.
“We will sit here.” Brice led them to a table set with fine linen and china.
Under the direction of the innkeeper a serving wench offered goblets of wine to warm them. She passed around whole roasted goose, suet pudding and sweetbreads. With tea there were biscuits warm from the oven, spread with clotted cream and jam.
At last they sat back, content, replete.
“I do not remember when a meal tasted so lovely.” Brenna sighed.
“Aye. ’Twas a difficult journey. But you were true to your word,” Brice said, emptying his tankard. “You neither complained nor slowed us down.”
Megan voiced the fear that none of them had been willing to put into words. “What of Meredith? Do you think she is as fortunate as we are, Brice?”
He glanced at Megan, then at her sister, and read the fear on both their faces. “Aye. Somewhere in Edinburgh she is sitting before a roaring fire, enjoying a fine meal.” He could not allow himself to think about the alternative. He would not allow himself to think about his beloved Meredith prowling the darkened streets in search of decent lodging. And in the process, running into Gareth MacKenzie and his men.
