Fraser 02 - Highland Quest

by B. J. Scott

  “You’re a disobedient little chit, aren’t you?” Dungal moved to within inches of where she stood.

  His menacing form towered over her, hovering so close she could feel his ale-tainted breath on her cheek. His words sent a shudder of trepidation skittering along her spine and her heart hammered in her chest, but she refused to show him any fear. When he positioned his hands on the doorframe, trapping her against the wall, Fallon stared straight ahead. “I dinna know what you mean.”

  He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear. “You know very well what I’m referring to. Your uncle told you to stay home, yet you showed up in the village despite his orders.”

  “I love my uncle and dinna want him to be alone during his last hours on earth. If that is a crime, so be it.”

  “You make it sound so noble. But it tells me one thing.”

  “And what would that be?” Fallon asked.

  “Your refusal to do as you’re instructed shows me that you are not to be trusted.”

  Fallon’s stiffened her posture, but continued to stare over Dungal’s shoulder. “I think it deplorable that you willna allow me to say goodbye to my uncle.”

  “I dinna care what you think.” Dungal nipped at her neck, then drew his head back when he got no reaction. “You have roused my curiosity among other things. I may have to rethink my decision to let you go.” He dragged his finger along her cheek. “Unless you see fit to warm my bed. Then mayhap I can be persuaded to look the other way. You’re a feisty lass, and I must admit, women with spirit are more entertaining to break.”

  Fallon pressed her hands to his chest and shoved with all her strength. Caught unprepared, Dungal stumbled backward, but quickly regained his balance.

  “You try my patience, lass. I’ve already told you what a shame it would be to see you swing from the gallows. But give me any more trouble and you will join your uncle.” This time Dungal used his brawn to wedge her against the door. He dropped his head, and despite her attempts to break free, he captured her lips in a brutal kiss.

  Trapped by the bulk of his weight, she found it difficult to draw a breath. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her stomach roiled and her skin crawled when he tried to force his tongue past her pursed lips. While she was not experienced in the passionate exchanges between men and women, she knew what it was like to be kissed by a man she cared for, and how his touch had made her feel.

  When she kissed Bryce, her heart fluttered like a bevy of butterflies were trapped in her chest. Her breath caught, but in a pleasant way. Her pulse raced with excitement, followed by a sense of pleasure and euphoria she didn’t want to end.

  The vile impact of Dungal’s unwelcome advances was different on every level from her brief, but intimate, encounters with Bryce. She tried to resist, but the more she struggled to break free, the more persistent he became. Taking intimate liberties, his large calloused hands roamed her body.

  Relief washed over her when he finally lifted his head, but she could not hold her tongue. “Execute me if you see fit, but I’ll not go willingly to your bed. I’d rather die.” When Dungal laughed, she wiggled her arm free and lashed out, her nails connecting with his cheek.

  Dungal cursed, quickly covering the welts with his hand. His eyes darkened and his face contorted with anger as he reached for the dirk at his side. “You’ll pay for your defiance.”

  Brandishing the weapon in one hand, he wrapped his fingers around her throat with the other and shoved her against the wall. Her head snapped back, striking the stone. For a moment everything went dark. When her vision cleared, she met his hostile glare. Certain her life was over, Fallon closed her eyes and awaited the final blow.

  “The men are assembled and await your instructions,” one of the MacDougall clansmen called out. “A messenger has arrived with word from the Earl of Pembroke. He wishes to meet with you as soon as possible.”

  “We are not through with this by any means,” Dungal growled in Fallon’s ear. He released her and took a step back, then slid his dirk into its sheath and approached the man. “What news is so important that it canna wait?”

  “There has been a turn of events you need to know about. Mayhap we should discuss this in private.” The man glared at Fallon.

  Dungal nodded and the two men moved away from where she stood. But despite the effort to lower their voices, she could still hear their conversation.

  “A few days ago, the Bruce launched an attacked against English cavalry near Clatteringshaw Loch with his small force of Western Islanders. Rumor has it he is returning to his earldom of Carrick and as he goes, he is amassing a large following of those sympathetic to his cause.”

  Dungal cursed. “Stopping him has become even more important than ever. Assemble the men.”

  Fallon inhaled sharply. Was Bryce involved in the battle? Was he injured? She’d given him her talisman and bid him wear it, but would it be enough to keep him safe? She craned her neck in an attempt to hear the rest of the information being shared.

  “What of Aymer de Valance?” Dungal asked.

  “His attempt to retaliate with a surprise attack on the Bruce’s encampment at Glen Trool failed.”

  Dungal raked his fingers through his hair and cursed again. “We honored our part of the arrangement by thwarting the landing at Loch Ryan. Is it too much to ask that the English complete their end of the bargain?”

  “Nay.” Dungal’s clansman shook his head.

  Fallon slowly released the breath she’d been holding while warily watching both men.

  If she were going to escape, she must do it quickly.

  Using Dungal’s temporary distraction, she inched her way toward the edge of the croft. She’d have but one chance and hoped they were so engrossed in their conversation that neither man would notice she’d slipped away until it was too late.

  “Tell the messenger I will speak to him, cousin, but first I have business to complete here.” Dungal inclined his head in Fallon’s direction, but did not turn around.

  “I understand your desire for a comely lass, Dungal, and canna say that I blame you. But I’d stay clear of that one. I heard tell she’s a taibhsear. Sees spirits and death, she does.” He crossed himself and mumbled a prayer under his breath.

  “I set no store in magic or superstition. She can no more foresee death or conjure spirits than you or I.” Dungal tossed his head back, a sinister laugh erupting from his chest.

  “That may be, but—” His cousin began to speak and stopped abruptly. “She’s slipped around the corner of the hut and is getting away.”

  Heart hammering against her ribs and without looking back, Fallon lifted her skirts and ran.

  “When my men find you, I’ll see you’ll join your uncle on the gallows,” Dungal shouted.

  Winded and about to double over from the sprint, Fallon’s breaths came in short, sharp pants. She had not gone far enough to be safe, but she could never outrun them. If she remained in the open, Dungal would be on her in seconds, so she ducked into a dense thicket at the edge of the forest. Her only hope was to stay hidden until he tired of the chase.

  She waited, afraid to move, to breathe, for fear of rustling a branch and alerting them to her location. Judging by sound of their voices, they were closing in fast. Unable to stand the uncertainty, she carefully peered through gap in the bracken, but only far enough to determine their proximity. They’d stopped so close to her hiding place, if she reached out, she could touch them.

  “Let her go, m’lord. We dinna need any bad luck,” his cousin warned. “The messenger is waiting.”

  “Damn the messenger and damn you. I want that lass,” Dungal snapped, then shrugged out of his cousin’s grasp.

  Fallon covered her mouth to suppress a gasp and drew her head back when he took a step closer.

  Had Dungal seen her? Could he hear her heart pounding and sense her fear? She closed her eyes and waited for him to pounce.

  “If you have your mind set on claiming the lass, there will be
time to do so later. Right now, there are more pressing matters to attend. You know where she lives and can sate your needs after you’ve spoken to the messenger and briefed the men.”

  “You’re right as always, cousin. But I will see her punished. You can be certain of that. Let’s go.”

  After a few moments of silence, Fallon hazarded another look. Dungal and his kinsman were gone. Tears surged forth as she crumpled to the ground and wept. She agonized over the decision to leave her uncle to die alone, wrestled with the idea of staying, but in the end knew there was nothing she could do to stop the execution. Even if she admitted her part in saving Bryce, Dungal would not let Donald go in favor of hanging her in his stead. He now had a personal grudge he meant to settle with her as well.

  Despite her anguish, she summoned the strength to move beyond the guilt and sorrow. Bryce was in danger and the Scottish king needed her help.

  There was no time to tarry. She had to warn the Bruce.

  Fallon wiped her cheeks with a brush of her hand then slowly climbed to her feet. Dungal might be busy with his men, but he’d not be occupied for long. She contemplated going to her uncle’s croft for supplies, food, and a mount, but the venture was too risky. The horse she’d ridden to town was tied behind the stable, which by now would be heavily guarded. To try and retrieve the animal would be a fool’s errand.

  Asking one of the farmers for help would only put him in jeopardy and was completely out of the question. With one plausible answer to her problem remaining, Fallon swept the dirt from her gown, secured the brat about her shoulders, and began the trek to Turnberry on foot.

  Relying on memories of a single trip to the seaside town she’d taken with her uncle, Fallon trudged along the rugged hills of Galloway, stumbled over fallen trees, climbed steep slopes, and scaled rocky crags. She recalled that beyond the treacherous terrain lay lush, green valleys dotted with heather and other assorted wild flowers, misty moors, boggy marshland, overgrown forests, and miles of farmland leading to the coast.

  At her current rate of speed, she feared she’d never arrive ahead of the MacDougalls. About to give up hope of ever reaching her destination, she remembered her uncle’s sacrifice, how he’d given his life to help Bryce, and bid her warn the Bruce. She’d not let his death be for naught. Despite what appeared to be insurmountable odds, she would forge ahead and not let Donald down. This thought, these words, prompted her to continue on.

  Her arduous journey began late morning, but by mid afternoon, her shoulders slumped and her legs cramped. Her feet ached from walking on stones and uneven ground in her soft-soled slippers. Each step became pure agony. When she paused to scan the area for a place to rest, the sound of rushing water beyond the next ridge caught her attention. A loch or river must be ahead.

  Mayhap she’d traveled further than she thought.

  She hurried along the overgrown path, crested a hill, and heaved a weary sigh of relief. A stream, babbling over smooth stones, was a welcome sight. As she approached the oasis, the anticipation of quenching her thirst increased with each bit of ground she covered.

  Upon reaching the bank, she fell to her knees, and gave thanks. She dipped her hand into the cool clear water before bringing it to her lips. She closed her eyes and moaned aloud as the liquid slid over her tongue. She scooped out more, drinking greedily before splashing some on her face. When she’d had her fill, she removed her slippers and eased her bruised feet into the stream. The cool surge brought immediate relief.

  Exhausted, she lay back on a bed of soft grass and inhaled deeply, allowing the scent of heather and wild flowers to fill her senses. Savoring the moment, she stared up at the clear blue sky. Her body relaxed and her eyes grew heavy. The temptation to close them for just a few minutes was overwhelming.

  She sat up with a start and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. For a moment she forgot where she was, but her lapse in memory was short-lived. She withdrew her feet from the stream, dried them with the end of her brat, then gingerly eased them into her slippers.

  How long had she slept?

  She brought her hand to her mouth and yawned. Judging by the sun’s placement in the sky, she’d dozed for an hour or more, stealing precious time from the journey. Time she didn’t have to waste. She rose, twisted, and stretched before taking a wobbly step.

  While she should not have napped, the brief rest rejuvenated her energy and spirit. Ready to tackle the next leg of her journey, Fallon pressed on.

  She entered a dense forest a few hours later, but with daylight waning, finding her way became increasingly difficult. Surrounded by tall trees and with no familiar landmarks, she quickly became disoriented. Unsure if she was headed in the right direction, Fallon paused and turned full circle, even more confused than ever.

  Northwest was the direction she needed to go, but which way was north? Everything looked the same. She sat on a tree stump and dropped her head into her hands.

  What should she do now? How could she find her way?

  The answer came to her as if by divine intervention. The thickest moss grows on the north side of a tree. If ever you’re lost, knowing this will be help you to find your way. Her uncle’s words immediately came to mind.

  Fallon scrambled to her feet and moved to a nearby pine. She ran her hand around the trunk, pausing when she felt the soft, moist lichen. She raced to the next tree and repeated the process as she moved deeper into the woods.

  As the darkness and chill of night settled over the forest, Fallon knew she’d have to stop traveling until daybreak. Foggy mist swirled around her feet, adding to the eeriness of her surroundings. While she searched for a place to rest, her stomach growled. She’d been so preoccupied with finding her way that food had not been a priority and was now something that would have to wait until morning, along with finding another source of water.

  Fallon crawled onto a pile of flat stones surrounding the base of a tree. At least she’d be off the dew-soaked ground. With her back resting against the gnarled trunk, she tugged her brat around her shoulders, trying to generate some warmth. But her body trembled and her teeth chattered as the temperature continued to drop.

  What she would not give for a fire and loaf of bread.

  When she closed her eyes, she could almost taste the baked treat. Too hot to handle as it came out of the stone oven and dripping with sweet, fresh honey. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Wishing for things she could not have only made the longing worse. But forgetting about the gnawing emptiness of her stomach was not that easy. The only thing surpassing her hunger was her thirst. Fallon slid her tongue across her dry lips, but the act provided little relief.

  The hoot of an owl caused her to jump. Ominous shadows crept over the ground, consuming everything in their path. While she didn’t frighten easily, she’d never spent the night in the forest alone. Her nerves on edge, she inched the length of plaid up over her head and squeezed her eyes shut. With any luck she’d be able to sleep and morning would arrive quickly.

  Chapter 7

  Bryce tossed another log onto the fire. As he stared into the glowing embers, he heaved a deep sigh. The cacophony of thoughts racing through his mind made sleep impossible. His decision to join the Bruce was the right one, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Fallon. He reached for his throat and stroked the talisman she’d given him. Praying she was safe, and that no one found out she’d aided in his escape. If anything were to happen to her, he’d never forgive himself. Had he let her down the way he did— “You’re brooding, brother.” Alasdair sat on the log beside him.

  “I dinna brood,” Bryce snapped. He picked up a stick and stirred the fire.

  Alasdair laughed and thumped Bryce on the back. “You sound exactly like Connor did when he was pining for Cailin.”

  “This is different.” Bryce countered. “I’m not in love. I don’t want a woman in my life, and have no intention of settling down with a wife and family.”

  “Even if it meant being with Fallon?”
Alasdair raised a brow. “A man canna always control what is in his heart.”

  “I have no heart. The English saw to that when they slaughtered our parents and two brothers. When they joined with the MacDougalls, ransacked our camp in Methven, and executed Simon, they crushed what was left of it. When the blackguards murdered—” Bryce rose and began to pace. “I willna rest until Scotland is free. I’m not worthy of a wife. Any woman who falls in love with me is a fool.”

  “You’re not responsible for what happened to Ashlen.” Alasdair moved to Bryce’s side and slid his hand over his brother’s shoulder. “When the blackguards raided the village, you were but a bairn. There was nothing you could have done, and you must stop blaming yourself.”

  Bryce shrugged away and continued to pace. “I’m not a bairn now and dinna want to talk about the past.”

  “Then you will never be able to put it behind you.”

  “There is no need for you to be concerned. Once Longshanks’ forces are driven back, I plan to go to France and tender my sword for hire, earn a title and some land of my own.”

  “If it is land you desire, Connor will give you as much as you need. A castle and men to guard it are not a problem. Robert can grant you a title and holdings for service rendered.”

  “I intend to earn my fortune and title.”

  Robert the Bruce joined them. “Am I interrupting a private discussion?” He stretched his arms over the fire and rubbed his hands together.

  “Nay, Alasdair was spouting nonsense as usual. He can prattle on more than an old woman. It gets to a point where it hurts my ears.”

  “After your long journey and recent injury, I’m surprised you’re not asleep.” Robert studied both men before taking a seat on a large boulder on the opposite side of the fire.

  “It seems my little brother is smitten with a lass he met when we were holed up at the castle of Michael Scott. But for the life of me, I canna understand why a man who is right in the head would want to tie himself down to a woman.” Alasdair spat on the ground.